Authors: Amanda Scott
They were sitting on a little settee in the window embrasure where he had guided her as soon as the others suggested cards. “I feel as if I need to introduce myself to you,” Hawk said with a smile.
“Maybe you do need to do something of the sort, sir,” she replied. “You are by way of being a newcomer, are you not?”
“Well, hardly a newcomer,” he countered, “but perhaps a prodigal son.”
“And was the fatted calf to your liking, my lord?”
He grinned at her, and she found herself responding. “Everything has been as I expected it to be, Mollie. I knew I had left Hawkstone Towers in capable hands.”
“I expect you are referring to Mr. Brewer, sir. He is no longer with us, however.”
“No, Andrew wrote some time ago to inform me that you had hired a new bailiff. Troutbeck, his name is, I believe.”
“Indeed, and he is an excellent man,” Mollie replied, surprised that he was so casual about it. “Lord Andrew does not approve of him, though.”
“No, I collect that he tried to put his nose in where it didn’t belong, and your Troutbeck sent him off with a flea in his ear.”
Mollie chuckled. “You don’t mind?”
“Good Lord, no. The less we see of Andrew, the better I shall like it. Sanctimonious old hypocrite was used to entertain himself by lecturing me upon the necessity for showing proper respect for one’s father. He’s one of the reasons I lit out for the Continent. If your Troutbeck has routed him, I have nothing but the greatest admiration for the fellow.”
“Well, he hasn’t routed him precisely, and he is not
my
Troutbeck, sir. Now that you are returned, at least.”
“Ah, yes.” He looked down into her eyes, and his own gaze was a searching one. “Perhaps you will tell me why my return has set you in such a tizzy, my lady?”
A
SILENCE FELL BETWEEN
them, and Mollie could feel the warmth flooding her cheeks. She glanced at the cardplayers, all seriously intent upon their game. Still, this was not the place to discuss her peccadilloes. Forcing a smile to lips that were suddenly stiff, she returned Hawk’s look as steadily as she could.
“Surely, you exaggerate, sir,” she said.
“I don’t think so.” His gaze did not waver.
She swallowed, careful not to look away. “’Tis merely that your arrival was unexpected, sir. You caught us unprepared. We are all a little nervous lest you not approve of some trifling thing or other.”
“I have seen you watching me much the same way a robin watches a stalking cat, my lady, and over the years I have grown to be a tolerable judge of men. I know the members of the fair sex have certain idiosyncrasies, but I am no mean judge of them, either.”
“I am sure you are not.” She could not help the touch of sarcasm, and the twinkle in his eyes did not surprise her.
“Just so,” he said, “so don’t try to gammon me, sweetheart.”
She was sure the endearment fell cheaply from his lips, but she could not help the little glow of warmth it kindled within her. The feeling steadied her again, and she knew what she could say to him.
“’Tis as I said before, sir, though it is difficult to make my meaning clear. You are but new to us, a stranger almost, yet a stranger with the power to control our lives. And you appear to be only too ready to exert your authority. Can you blame me for being wary?”
“I’ve no wish to interfere with your lives.”
“But you do so without so much as giving it a thought, sir. Only remember Harry pestering you to let him go to Eton. ’Tis your decision to make, though it should have been mine or Lady Bridget’s. We raised him, after all.”
“Andrew should have made the arrangements last year,” Hawk said, frowning slightly.
“There, you see, you do not even acknowledge that we might have had a say in the decision. Not that we did,” she added. “Lord Andrew would not even consider it. Your father had opposed Harry’s going for his own selfish reasons, but your uncle would have it that the boy is sickly and would suffer further ill health at school.”
“Good Lord, Harry doesn’t look sickly in the least.”
“No more he is. Your father merely kept him about for his own entertainment. But he is growing to be too much of a handful for his tutor, so something must be done.”
“Well, I can think of no good reason not to send him to Eton at Michaelmas. I’ll look into it.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.” She had forgotten her resentment. “Harry
will
be pleased.”
“Well, don’t go telling him yet. I still want to speak to Andrew. There may be some other reason you know nothing about. And don’t poker up like that,” he warned her. “I daresay there are a number of things that neither my father nor my uncle saw fit to confide to you or Aunt Biddy.”
“To mere females, you mean.” Mollie’s lip curled. “I’ll have you know, sir, that were it not for Lady Bridget and myself—”
“I’d not have stick or stone to come home to. Is that not what you’d dearly love to say to me?”
It was precisely what she wanted to say to him, but she had recollected herself and knew it would be unwise to speak her mind so freely. She smiled at him.
“I hope I’d not say anything so uncivil. Lady Bridget said we must all allow ourselves time to adjust to your homecoming.”
“Aunt Biddy is wise. But you are evading matters, sweetheart, Harry is not the reason you have been watching me so warily.”
“No, sir. It…it is Ramsay.”
“Ramsay!”
“Indeed, sir, you ought not to have ticked him off in front of those other men,” she said, plunging to the heart of the matter.
“Ticked him off, Mollie?”
She bit her lip. “Scolded him, sir. I find I have a habit of using the language I hear most often. Forgive me.”
“Willingly. But did you not, ah, tick him off yourself in front of the same two gentlemen?”
“But I apologized for doing so, and it was not by way of being the same thing at all. I have no authority over him, sir.”
She had spoken earnestly, and now she watched him, wondering if he had any comprehension of the point she was trying to make. He was silent for a moment, considering her words. Then he looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“There was a moment when I thought he resented what I said to him, but the moment passed so quickly that I decided I was mistaken. And I was scarcely harsh with him, Mollie. Moreover, no one else paid any heed to us, I assure you.”
Mollie sighed. “Whether they heeded or not does not signify, my lord. ’Tis enough that they were present. And harsh or not, we are not recently accustomed to bowing before anyone’s authority, least of all yours. So, of course Ramsay resented it, but he could scarcely tell you so to your head, especially…”
“Yes? Especially, what?” he prompted.
But she had herself in hand again and shook her head firmly. “No, my lord, it is not for me to say more. I should not have said so much.”
“Nonsense. You may say what you like to me.”
But she shook her head again, knowing she must not. She could not tell tales of Ramsay. He would, in his own good time, tell his brother that he had decided to skip a full term at Oxford in order to be a man about town. No doubt, after this afternoon, he would delay that confession as long as possible.
When she continued in her silence, Hawk gave a little sigh, but he did not press her. Instead, he turned the conversation to the estate, asking first rather general questions and then, as he became aware of the depth of her understanding, more specific ones. In this way the time passed quite amiably until the tea tray was brought in.
The cardplayers had finished their game and Ramsay and the others had long since returned from the stables. No one made much of an effort to stifle yawns, and although Ramsay glanced once or twice at his brother as though wondering if the time were right for private speech with him, he evidently decided against it, for he went upstairs with the other gentlemen as soon as the servants came to clear away the tea service.
Hawk bent to kiss his aunt on the forehead. “Going up, ma’am?”
“Indeed I am,” she replied. “What a day this has been. Such a lovely surprise, my dear, having you home again. You have kept us in such a worry, you know, these past years.”
“I am persuaded you would like very much to read me a scold for being so long away,” he said, “but I hope you will not.”
“Oh, no indeed, Gavin. I would not presume to do such a thing. A gentleman always knows his own mind best, after all. Not but what Andrew might not have something to say to you on that head, but you needn’t pay him any mind, of course. Not anymore.”
Hawk grinned at her. “You cannot know how relieved I am to hear you say so, ma’am, but why not?”
“Why, you are master of Hawkstone now,” she replied simply. “What on earth could Andrew have to say to that?”
“Nothing at all, dear ma’am. Shall we go upstairs with you?”
“There is no need to do so, for here is my faithful Prentice, come to see why I am dawdling so. I have been raking, Prentice, but Lord Breckin and I won four guineas at whist, so it has not been for naught. Good night, dear ones. Gavin,” she added, placing one plump, smooth hand upon his arm and giving it a squeeze, “I am so glad you have returned safely to us at last.”
He kissed her again and then stood with Mollie, watching her go up the sweeping stairway with her dresser.
“Shall we go up, too, my lady?”
“If it please you, sir.” Mollie’s voice seemed to come from deep in her throat. She hoped he would merely see her to her door, say good night, and be on his way to the master’s chamber, which had long since been prepared against his coming. She feared matters would not arrange themselves so comfortably as that, however, and could scarcely claim to a feeling of even the slightest surprise when he stopped her as she turned toward the second flight of stairs at the end of the gallery.
“My things have been put into my father’s room.”
“I know that, sir,” she replied evenly. “My room, however, is still in its same place.”
“Not tonight, Mollie.”
She let out a small sigh of resignation, but gave it one last effort. “Please, my lord, I need time to accustom myself to your return. You have no right—”
“I have every right, sweetheart. You are my wife.”
Her eyes flashed and she controlled her voice only with an effort. “So I am, my lord. Do you expect me to prove my gratitude for the fact by bedding with you once or twice every four years?”
She saw the muscles contract in his jaw and knew she had angered him, but the words had been said. She could not unsay them.
Hawk looked into her eyes, and his voice was tight, so his words surprised her that much more. “I deserved that, Mollie, and I no doubt deserve to hear a good deal more of the same, but I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to such stuff here in the gallery, where the world can overhear us.” He placed a firm hand beneath her elbow. “We have much to discuss, you and I, and it is even possible that we might discuss some of it tonight. But whether we do or not, you are coming with me now. For, like it or not, you
are
my wife and will obey me when I wish to be obeyed.”
She glared at him, but she knew she had lost. He was perfectly capable of carrying her if she refused to go with him peacefully. And it occurred to her as well that she ought not to fling her anger at him until she had discovered how much he had learned about her activities. She would not give in meekly, however. Head high, she placed her hand upon his forearm.
“Very well, my lord, if you insist. It is indeed your right. I should prefer time to prepare properly for bed, however.”
“Never mind that,” he retorted, his voice suddenly gruff. “I’ll attend to any preparation you need.”
Flushing deeply, Mollie realized her last hope that he might merely be taking her to his bed to sleep had just been swept away. His words made it clear that he meant to claim his full marital rights. Her hand trembled slightly on his arm, and Hawk looked down at her. Her face retained its unnatural color, and her lips were drawn tightly together.
Hawk patted her hand. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle.”
Her gaze flickered upward. “I am not afraid, sir.” She wasn’t. He had, four years before, been a patient, considerate lover. So considerate, in fact, that he had scarcely touched her. On their wedding night he had dallied so long with her that she had been nearly ready to scream at him, to beg him to take her. Not that she had not been frightened at first, for she had been. She had known very little about the act of coupling. But with Hawk her fears had soon dissipated, and she had been fascinated by everything he had taught her. But he had been distressed when he had hurt her. It had been he who had insisted upon caution and patience, he who had insisted upon waiting until she had fully healed before indulging himself again in the delights of her body. Those had been his words, but Mollie had doubted him and wondered what she had done to displease him. His insistence upon departing for the Peninsula soon afterward had only reaffirmed her doubts. She wondered why, after so long away from something he had not been enthusiastic about to begin with, he was so anxious to bed her now.
Nevertheless, even before they reached the huge master’s suite, her body had begun to respond to him. She could feel her blood stirring, feel the tiny hairs at the back of her neck tingling, the tips of her breasts pressing against the fabric of her gown. Even her toes seemed to want to curl in her satin slippers, and there was a stirring between her legs as well. Before he had shut the door, closing them into the candlelit room with its cheerful fire, its heavy, carved furniture and dark, ornate wall hangings, and the huge, beckoning bed, her knees had weakened and her nose and cheeks felt numb.
Mollie raised a hand to one cheek as Hawk watched her.
“What is it, sweetheart?” She told him, and he chuckled low in his throat. “You are breathing too fast and not deeply enough. Take a slow, deep breath.” It was more difficult than it sounded, but she managed to obey him. Then he put his hand upon her shoulder, and she nearly gasped again, stiffening a little when he urged her closer.
“You…you said you wished to talk,” she reminded him.