Secrets of Seduction (6 page)

Feeling enchanted, Skye held her breath. The spell remained as he rose to his feet and brushed his hands against his breeches.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, unconsciously moving toward him.

“Is there anything more you need tonight?” he asked.

I need you
, was her unbidden thought. “No. You have done more than enough.”

Realizing her voice had instinctively turned husky, Skye cleared her throat and halted a few steps from him. “I am sincerely grateful.”

“Then I will leave you now.”

For a moment, however, he remained unmoving as he stared down at her. The dark fringe of his lashes defined eyes that had turned to silver—a look that was spellbinding.

In response, Skye went totally still. Butterflies had suddenly returned to riot her stomach—a nervous agitation that had nothing to do with anxiety about the storm or fear of bad dreams. Rather, it was intense sexual awareness.

Being alone with Lord Hawkhurst in the bedchamber, with the golden glow of firelight highlighting his masculine beauty, sent pinpricks of lightning rippling over her skin to penetrate deep inside her.

It was amazing what this man did to her, how easily his nearness made her forget all about her alien surroundings. She had been kissed before by ardent suitors, passionately and at great length. But not one of them had ever affected her the way a simple look from Hawkhurst did.

She was not a complete novice about carnal relations, either. She had learned enough from her aunt about the arts of seduction to know theoretically what happened between a man and a woman during lovemaking. And she was prepared for resistance from Lord Hawkhurst to even her simplest advances.

Yet she wasn’t at all prepared for his impact on her. He made her pulse race and her body burn. Sensual images flashed in her mind, begetting a myriad of emotions … pleasure, heat, anticipation.

Skye took another step closer, drawn toward him like a helpless moth to a beckoning flame.

When his gaze dropped to her mouth, her own lips parted but no sound emerged. She could picture herself kissing him, embracing him. She could envision sharing this bedchamber with him, this bed … how it would feel if they undressed each other and lay side by side … bare, warm skin touching.…

She thought he might be sharing the same fantasies, for his hand started to lift, as if he might reach up and touch her face. But, just as quickly, the moment ended.

The delectable images abruptly faded when Hawkhurst stepped back and crossed to the door without another word. Turning back to her briefly, he sketched her a slight bow and let himself out.

Skye exhaled slowly, mingled disappointment and relief rushing through her. In the span of one more heartbeat,
she would have walked straight into his arms. And all her careful plans would likely have been shattered.

This would never do, she warned herself. She had to conquer her intense attraction for Hawkhurst, for one false move could get her instantly banished from his castle.

With a grimace of disgust at her lack of self-control, Skye spun around and marched toward her valise so she could change out of her still-damp gown and prepare for bed, quite alone.

Hawk shut his
guest’s bedchamber door with unintended force. Tearing himself away from Lady Skye had been supremely difficult when she was looking at him with desire written all over her beautiful features. The huskiness of her voice, the soft yearning in her wide blue eyes, told him clearly that he could have her if he’d wished to.

Actually, he did wish to, rather urgently. She was pure temptation. It was absurd, how fiercely she aroused him. When he’d locked gazes with her, sheer lust had blazed through him. He’d forced himself to leave before acting on his primal urges.

Hawk swore another low oath to himself.

It was even more absurd how a delicate-looking beauty had put him on the defensive so effortlessly. He couldn’t believe her audacity, barging into his castle, making herself at home, wrangling an invitation to stay for the night, threatening to complain to her aunt about his ungentlemanly behavior. It was a low blow, using Bella as leverage.

And then she’d accused him of being a recluse and a grump. No one until Lady Skye had dared confront him on his moroseness. He hadn’t always had a taciturn nature, Hawk reflected grimly; it had only developed so over time.

However, his surliness tonight when she’d asked if he had any dry clothing for her to wear was because she’d touched a still-aching wound inside him.

Perhaps he could have unearthed some of his late wife’s gowns, but that would have seemed like a betrayal of Elizabeth. Fortunately avoiding comparisons of the two women was fairly easy since they were not much alike in figure or appearance. Elizabeth had been more solidly built with dark hair and more vivid coloring.

Not pale and delicate and sensual like Lady Skye.

Not annoyingly persistent or refreshingly bold, either.

Despite Hawk’s determination to remain unmoved by her arguments, Lady Skye had amused him and even made him laugh for the first time since leaving Cyrene for England three weeks ago. Conversing with her, sparring with her, had provided a welcome distraction from his depressing though elegant monstrosity of a house.

Especially on a night like this. The storm had dredged up too many excruciating memories, for this was much like the night his wife and son had died.

By then, he’d been working for the British Foreign Office for four years and married to Elizabeth for three. The hour was late and he was returning home from business in London when he’d ridden through the estate gates to see an eerie glow in the night sky. The fire had
begun in the nursery and trapped Elizabeth and two year-old Lucas, Hawk later learned. A drenching rain had eventually extinguished the flames and spared the rest of the house, but he’d arrived much too late to help his family.

His failure to save them had changed him forever. He had survived when he hadn’t wanted to.

In fact, his grief and guilt were what had sent him to Cyrene in the first place. When Sir Gawain offered him membership in the elite league, exiling himself to a Mediterranean island nearly a thousand miles away had seemed a fitting punishment.

Instead, the Guardians had given him a fresh purpose. For the past decade, they had filled a huge hole in his life when he’d desperately needed it. And now, to return the favor, he’d come home to Hawkhurst Castle to court Sir Gawain’s niece.

He hadn’t slept much since his arrival. In truth, he’d deliberately remained awake each night for as long as possible, making himself utterly exhausted so that he could eventually close his eyes without haunting images preying on him, relying on copious amounts of fine liquor to help keep the ghosts at bay.

Lady Skye was right. Too much brandy with too little food was not good for his temper. But drinking was better than prowling the halls of his empty house and remembering the love and laughter that had once filled it.

He was bone-tired now, Hawk realized. Even so, he had no desire to risk temptation by retiring to his bedchamber just down the hall from his unwanted guest.

Hardening his jaw, Hawk turned toward the back staircase. He had every intention of resisting Lady Skye,
no matter how irresistible she was. He would send her on her way first thing in the morning, before his effort to remain impersonal and aloof failed spectacularly.

Meanwhile, he would return to his study and continue making heavy inroads into his store of expensive vintage brandy.

By the time he made his way upstairs again four hours later, the storm had died down and an uneasy quiet had descended over the house. Wearily Hawk entered his bedchamber and shed his clothing. He was about to don a nightshirt when he heard a muffled cry from outside his room.

Wondering if he was imagining ghosts, he opened his door and let his gaze sweep the dark corridor as he listened intently. When the cry of distress echoed more loudly this time, he realized it had to be coming from Lady Skye’s room. A vague sense of apprehension filling him, he quickly pulled on a dressing gown and went to investigate.

Her chamber was dimly lit by the hearth fire’s burning embers, but he could see her lying in bed, whimpering, evidently in the throes of a nightmare. In her thrashing, she had flung off the covers, and her nightdress had ridden up to midthigh, exposing pale, slender limbs.

Hawk hesitated on the threshold, reluctant to be drawn in. Then she cried out again and he felt an unwanted softening inside him.

He shut the door quietly behind him and moved closer, his protective instincts stronger than his need to guard himself. He understood the terror of nightmares, having dealt with his own for many years.

The dampness on her cheeks told him she’d been crying in her sleep. Tears still welled beneath her closed eyelids as he gazed down at her.

Wanting to console her, Hawk gingerly sat beside her on the bed and touched her shoulder gently. She came awake with a violent start, her entire body shaking. Spying him, she gasped, then pushed herself up and lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life.

Reflexively, Hawk slid his arms about her, even before a wrenching sob escaped her.

“Please … hold me …” she pleaded hoarsely.

Hawk eased onto the bed more fully and held her as she’d asked, murmuring soothing sounds the way he had once done for his young son. Lady Skye clung tightly, shivering. Pressing her face into the curve of his neck, she tried to get even closer, as if she might burrow into him. Hawk responded by gently stroking her hair, her arm, her slender back.…

Her body continued trembling, though. Seeking his warmth, she pushed aside the lapels of his dressing gown and rested her cheek against his bare chest. “Please … don’t leave me.…”

At the fear engulfing her, Hawk felt a sharp ache near his heart. Determined to keep her warm and safe, to hold the terrors at bay, he brushed her cheek with his fingers, wiping away the tears. All the while he murmured to her in a quiet, crooning tone, gentling her as he would a terrified young mare, sprinkling kisses upon her temple, her hair.… Before he realized it, he was breathing deeply of her fragrance, taking it inside him.

Her delectable scent penetrated his brandied haze,
awakening his other senses to full primal life. Suddenly sexual awareness hit Hawk like a blow. Very little separated their bare bodies—her cambric nightdress, his brocade dressing gown. He hadn’t sashed his robe tightly enough, either. His manhood stirred, while desire, heavy and urgent, tightened his body.

Hawk bit back a groan. Embracing her like this was severely testing his fortitude. What he’d meant to be a comforting embrace had turned unexpectedly heated. Every part of his body vibrated with the tension she had created, and in another moment, he’d grown fully aroused.

He suspected Skye felt a similar desire, for she went very still. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the rapidly beating pulse in her throat. Then her hand curled around his nape and moved lower, beneath the collar of his robe. When she drew a shallow breath, he knew she was feeling the burn scars on his back, the ridges of puckered flesh caused when a smoldering beam had crashed down upon him.

Faintly, her hand stroked the back of his neck, and she pressed her lips to his chest, as if consoling
him
.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

Her face was damp with fresh tears, he realized. She was crying over him. Hawk froze. He didn’t want her pity. Catching her wrist, he drew her fingers away from his damaged flesh, unwilling to bear her efforts at solace.

Unfortunately, she raised her face to him.

Temptation beckoned anew. Huge sapphire eyes, ripe rosy lips, flawless ivory skin. Hawk locked his jaw, fighting her allure, but he had no defense against her tear-filled eyes.

Bending his head, he kissed a path along her cheekbone to her soft lips. She tensed at first, as if startled, yet the quiver of her mouth under his kiss told him she felt the same intense attraction. When he deepened the pressure, her resistance melted. Rather than pushing him away, Lady Skye responded with fervor, leaning into him as if hungry for his mouth, for his touch.

When she opened to his penetrating tongue, heat seared him. Heat he didn’t want. Possessiveness he
shouldn’t
want.

He almost left her right then. Buffeted by the emotional jolt of her kiss, Hawk badly wanted to pull away. But instead, his hand slid down her body, caressing, stroking. He’d been too long without a woman, without a soft feminine touch, and every nerve and fiber in his being was clamoring for her softness.

When his palm skimmed along her bare thigh, a rasping murmur that had nothing to do with protest sounded deep in her throat. And when his hand rose again to cup the ripe swell of her breast, she arched into his touch.

She was as eager for him as he was for her, Hawk knew without a doubt.

His lips moving on her flushed face, he laid her back against the pillows and pulled down the bodice of her nightdress, then drew back to drink in the sight of her.

He’d imagined how she would look in the golden glow of firelight. Ivory, velvet-smooth skin. Firm, lush breasts. Rosy-tipped nipples. Luscious, inviting warmth.