Authors: Amanda Scott
Mollie turned obediently when Cathe told her to do so, and held out first one hand, then the other, to have her nails trimmed. Over the maid’s shoulder she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass again and licked her lips nervously.
Hawk would no doubt already be annoyed with her if his relatives had informed him about even half the things she feared they might have felt it their duty to tell him. She tried to remember if she had ever seen him angry. All she could call to mind, however, was a lilting laugh and a pair of gray Colporter eyes that crinkled at the corners more often than not. In the face of his father’s fury, Hawk had customarily been tight-lipped, and the gray eyes had taken on a chilly glaze, but she couldn’t remember him ever losing his temper. And if he hadn’t lost it with his father, chances were good that he simply never lost it. Still and all, she decided, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, it wouldn’t do to cross him straightaway. Not, at any rate, before one had at least an inkling of which way the wind might blow.
Thanking Cathe and taking a last look at her nails, which, though much improved, still were a long way from meeting Mathilde du Bois’ high standard of perfection, Mollie scooped up a creamy, light wool shawl to protect herself against the chilly drafts in the great hall, and sallied forth to welcome her lord and master home from the wars, confident that she looked every inch the lady of the castle.
She heard his generous laughter as she approached the landing of the huge double staircase that descended in twin arcs to either side of the great hall below. From the landing itself she could see them all gathered before a huge fire, even larger than the one in the rear hall. There were several men, a beaming Lady Bridget, who was seated in a Sheraton armchair to one side of the hearth, and a dancing Lord Harry, clearly unable to contain his excitement at having his eldest brother home at last. The boyish voice piped above the others’.
“Can I go to Eton sir? Uncle Andrew said ’twas for you to decide, ’cause Aunt Biddy said I wasn’t strong enough, which ain’t nothing but stuff, ’cause I’m tough as whitleather. Only ask Ramsay. He says—”
“Hush, bantling.” Hawk’s tone was offhand, for his attention had been claimed, as she had meant it to be, by the sight of his slender, beautiful young wife, gracefully descending the broad, sweeping stairs to meet him. The shawl, draped negligently over one arm, trailed behind her on the steps, beside the short demitrain of her gown. It seemed as if she was unaware of any need to manage either one. Her head was high. The hand not holding the shawl rested lightly on the highly polished handrail. She was looking at him, her gaze seeming to hold his easily. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and although her soft, rosy lips were slightly parted, every poised inch of her bespoke the nobility of her heritage and her rank.
Hawk strode forward to meet her at the bottom of the stairs.
Mollie had heard him hushing the boy, and her first thought was that while she had remembered the lilt in his laughter, she had forgotten that particular caressing timbre of his low-pitched voice. Even the two words, spoken in that offhand manner to Harry, were enough to send tremors of excitement racing through her body. When he looked straight into her eyes, she felt mesmerized, as though she were suddenly walking on air. Though she could not take her eyes from his, she was keenly aware of his size as he strode to meet her. Hawk seemed to have grown both broader and taller in the years they had been apart.
He had not yet taken time to change clothes. He wore a dark jacket, cut loosely to allow room for his massive shoulders to move without binding, but the buckskins encasing his legs did little to conceal the ripple of well-developed thigh muscles. His cordovan riding boots were mud-spattered. He was darkly tanned, and his thick, tawny hair, though darker than hers, was nearly as sun-streaked. He smiled ruefully as he took her small hand in his much larger one.
“Good day, my lady. Forgive me for tarrying here when I should have been taking the opportunity to rid myself of all this dirt.”
His features were as harsh as she remembered them, but the gray eyes under the straight brows were warm and glowing. Again her body responded of its own accord. Mollie could feel her breasts swelling as the nipples pressed against the fabric of her chemise. Color touched her cheeks when his gaze drifted to her cleavage, but her voice was steady enough when she spoke.
“’Tis of no account, sir, if you will but forgive me for taking so long in preparing myself to welcome you home.” Afraid he would misinterpret matters if she kept staring at him so blatantly, Mollie let her eyelids droop slightly, as if the gesture might somehow prevent him from seeing straight into her mind. But then she discovered she was more aware than ever of the fact that he still held her hand in his.
“You look charmingly, Mollie,” he said quietly, “and you smell delightfully of jasmine. Come and meet my travel-worn companions. The thin one there by Aunt Biddy is Jamie Smithers. I believe you’ve met him before.”
“Indeed I have,” Mollie answered serenely, smiling at the tall dark-haired man, dressed with the same casual but neat air that his host affected. “How nice to see you again, Sir James.” Smithers bowed.
“And the foppish gent with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the mantelpiece, is Lord Breckin. Have you met my lady before, Breck?”
“Not had the honor,” the heavyset, dandified gentleman said, straightening and giving a nod in Mollie’s direction. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
There were several other introductions to be made before the quick tread of boot heels from above heralded the arrival of Lord Ramsay. He hurried down the broad staircase with a grin and a hand outstretched to greet his brother.
“Hawk! Welcome. About time you decided to show your face around here again.”
“Thunder and turf!” exclaimed Hawkstone, giving the young man’s hand a hearty shake. “Ramsay? I’d never have recognized you, lad. You must have gained a full three stone since I last clapped eyes on you.”
“Thereabouts.” Ramsay chuckled, looking his brother over from head to toe. “You’ve changed a good bit, yourself.”
“Aye, I’ve put on a few pounds, but neither of us has changed as much as that young whelp yonder. What on earth have you been feeding him, Mollie?”
Mollie smiled at the glowing Harry. “He has a growing boy’s healthy appetite, sir, and will eat well nigh anything.” She had been watching her husband closely while he greeted Ramsay, trying to detect any sign of the annoyance she expected him to feel toward her. She was certain he would say nothing to her in front of the others, but she had hoped to be able to judge the extent of his displeasure and thus to be better prepared when the time came to meet it. As she looked up at him now, she saw nothing but warmth in his eyes.
“Mollie’s the one who hasn’t changed,” Ramsay said into the stillness that had followed Mollie’s comment. “She never seems to change at all.”
Surprisingly, Mollie saw that Hawk seemed shaken by his brother’s words. There was the faintest flicker of something that might have been irritation stirring in the gray eyes that looked down into hers, but she couldn’t, even with her vivid imagination, think the irritation was directed at herself. Nevertheless, a little shiver nudged at the base of her spine when she realized she was seeing but a trace of what might later be unleashed about her ears. Forcing a smile to her lips, she said, “Nonsense, Ramsay, everyone changes in four years, even the Lady Bridget.”
“Oh, dear,” said the plump little gray-haired lady seated near the hearth. It was clear to all of them that Mollie’s sudden reference to her had cast Lady Bridget into a state of some confusion. Withdrawing her hand from Hawk’s, Mollie hastened to her.
“Indeed, ma’am, ’tis true. But how I wish the rest of us could claim to have altered so charmingly. You quite put us in the shade, you know, with your gentle manners and your kindness to everyone.”
“How nice of you to say so, my love,” responded Lady Bridget with a smile that lit her pale-blue eyes. She patted Mollie’s hand. “Is it not pleasant to have dearest Gavin at home again? A man, you know, always seems to make things a deal more comfortable.”
“Now, how can you say so, Aunt Biddy,” Ramsay teased her, “when you know perfectly well that Papa never made anyone the least bit comfortable?”
Lady Bridget turned to him in flustered protest, but Mollie cut in swiftly. “Do not roast her, Ramsay. I shan’t allow it. You know very well that Aunt Biddy had long depended upon your father and has felt his loss most keenly. She has too much gentleness of spirit to tell you to your head that you’ve no business to be saying such things to her, but I have not.”
Ramsay only grinned at her, but Mollie recollected her manners at once when her husband’s voice sounded directly beyond her.
“It seems that even Mollie has changed,” he said gently. “Do you often take my unfortunate brothers to task in this manner, my lady?”
She turned to face him, contrite but determined to show him she would not allow anyone to torment Lady Bridget. The laughter in his eyes steadied her. “I do so only when they deserve it, sir, but I should not have spoken as I did in front of Sir James, Lord Breckin, and the others.”
“Don’t bother your head about them,” he said, casting a glance at the gentlemen in question. “Breck’s too tired, Jamie’s too addlepated, and the others too concerned with their own conversation to pay any heed. You, however,” he added, still gently, directing his glance at the elder of his two brothers, “ought to do so.”
“Ought I, indeed?” Lord Ramsay’s eyes were still twinkling, but both the twinkle and his smile faded when, after a brief silence, he looked questioningly from Hawk to Mollie and back again, the second time encountering a steady gaze with a hint of steel beneath it.
“You owe Aunt Biddy an apology for your hasty words, do you not?” Hawk said quietly.
Resentment flashed briefly in Lord Ramsay’s eyes before he turned to do his brother’s bidding, and Mollie was surprised to feel a similar resentment of her own at Hawk’s interference. It was one thing for her to light into Ramsay, quite another for Hawk to do so. How dared he walk in as if he owned the place, and begin by asserting his authority over them all! Not that it was not all of a piece with what she had expected from him.
It was a moment before she realized how ridiculous her thoughts were. Hawk did own the place. He had every authority. Clearly, Ramsay had realized that fact more quickly than she had, for his apology to Lady Bridget was as graceful as anyone might wish, and there was not the slightest trace of resentment when he turned to warm his back at the fire afterward.
Harry had been regarding them all rather measuringly. Now he stepped forward. “You haven’t said yet about Eton,” he informed Hawk with studied casualness.
“You’ve scarcely given me a moment to consider it, bantling,” Hawk replied reasonably. “’Tis not the sort of decision to be made in the twinkling of a bedpost. I shall have to think about it.”
“And talk to Uncle Andrew?”
“And talk to Uncle Andrew.”
Harry gave a sigh of resignation that brought a smile to Hawk’s lips. The boy eyed him speculatively. “Will you have to discuss with Uncle Andrew whether we can still go to London next week, also?”
Hawk lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Mollie. “You were planning to leave for town next week?”
“Yes, we were,” she replied. “’Tis the beginning of the Season, you know.”
“Ah, yes, the Season.”
Was she imagining it, or was there a flicker of meaning in the gray eyes as he regarded her? “We can postpone our departure if you wish it, sir,” she said calmly.
“No, there is no need to do so. It suits my own plans admirably, I assure you.”
The gentlemen retired soon after that to prepare for supper, which was served earlier in the country than it would be served once they reached London. Harry followed the others, knowing that his tutor would be awaiting his return to the schoolroom, and Mollie found herself alone with Lady Bridget and Lord Ramsay.
“Oh, my dears,” said the elderly lady, “I was frantic when we heard he was coming and no one seemed to know where to find you. Wherever did you go?”
Mollie opened her mouth to speak, but Lord Ramsay beat her to it. “We merely went riding, Aunt Biddy. Nothing for you to be in a fidget about.”
“Yes, but do you know, I am nearly always in a fret when you two are out and about together. Only remember how angry Thurston was used to become when you got into scrapes, which you very often did.”
“Well, we are older now, and I, for one, am much better behaved,” Lord Ramsay pointed out. “I apologized very nicely for joking you, did I not?”
“Indeed you did, though it wasn’t necessary. I knew you were only funning. ’Tis simply that I begin to think of Thurston and how tragic and…”
Her voice trailed away, and with a speaking look at Ramsay, Mollie reached over to pat the smooth little hands folded neatly in Lady Bridget’s lap.
“We know how it is, ma’am. Though I do think,” she added a bit tartly, “that it was outside of enough for Hawk to go shoving his oar in when he can know nothing of the situation.”
“Well,” Ramsay admitted, “I felt that, too, for a moment, you know. Dashed awkward, ticking a fellow off in front of strangers like he did. Still and all—”
“Still and all, nothing,” Mollie said. “He had no business to do such a thing to you, and so I shall tell him.”
“Oh, no, my dearest one, you mustn’t,” Lady Bridget protested. “Only think how unbecoming. It will be difficult for all of us at first, you know, growing accustomed to having a master at Hawkstone again, but it is all for the best. Truly it is.”
Mollie could not agree with her that their best course was simply to bow beneath Hawk’s authority every time he chose to exert it. He had been away for four years, and she knew perfectly well that it would take time before he was ready to take the reins into his own hands entirely. Why, he didn’t even know his new bailiff by sight. How could he possibly expect that the man would simply take his orders? But she also knew it would distress Lady Bridget to continue the conversation, so she changed the subject to a more acceptable one. And once they had all adjourned to the dining room for supper, she exerted herself to play the role of the proper lady again. It was not until after supper, when Ramsay had accompanied Sir James and another gentleman to the stables to be sure the horses had all been properly attended to, and several of the others were setting up for a game of whist with Lady Bridget as their fourth, that Mollie found herself having private conversation with her husband.