His look turned intent. “At the time, as I remember, I was speaking of Miss Hurstman. You have reason to worry about her?”
Clarissa almost told him. But no. At this point she wasn’t at all sure that he could be trusted with her secrets.
“Surely Hawk Hawkinville can find out about a Belgian woman married to a British officer called Rowland.”
“Hawk Hawkinville has been somewhat busy. But certainly the next time I’m in London I’ll check on them both at the Horse Guards. She rubs me the wrong way, but she’s probably simply a poor woman in a very difficult situation and with a prickly nature.”
Then he said, “Gads, Maria is probably already at the Peregrine, steaming! Come on!”
He took her hand and they hurried across the green. This was the moment when Clarissa had promised herself that she would propose.
But she had, and she’d been rejected. It was so painful that she couldn’t imagine how men plucked up the courage to do it, especially the second time.
She’d spiraled up to heaven in his arms, then plunged into fear at his violence, and then to hurt and furious shame at his rejection. But she still loved him. Silly, besotted fool that she was, she still loved, still hoped.
They were almost at the inn. She said, “That is a horrid house,” meaning the stuccoed one next door.
“Thoroughly.”
“If your father owns the village, didn’t the builder need permission?”
He stopped and turned her toward him. “Clarissa, I need to tell you something.”
“Yes?” Her heart speeded. She sensed this was something crucial.
“My father is deep in debt to Slade, the man who owns that house. That’s why he couldn’t stop it. My father has mortgaged Hawkinville Manor and all its estates to Slade. If we don’t get a lot of money soon, Slade will be squire here. And the first thing he plans to do is to rip down the manor and the cottages to build an even more monstrous house on the river.”
She stared at him, struck by an almost physical sense of loss. “You can’t permit that! My money. It’s my money that you need, isn’t it? Then why… ?”
He winced. “I can’t explain everything now, Clarissa. But I wanted you to know the truth. So you’d understand.”
“But I don’t understand.”
“Major Hawkinville! Good day to you, sir.”
They both turned to the man who had come out of the white monster. He was middle-aged, fit, and well dressed. If Clarissa had been a cat, she would have hissed.
Hawk put an arm around her as if in protection and moved to avoid the man.
“A lovely day, is it not?” Slade persisted.
“It is becoming less so.” Clarissa could feel tension in Hawk—the leashed desire for violence. The wretched Slade must know it and was deliberately tormenting him.
“You and your lovely lady have had an accident, Major?” the man asked, narrow eyes flicking over them.
Clarissa realized that in addition to being a mess she still had her hat hanging down her back, and her hair was doubtless rioting. A glance showed her that Hawk for once was almost as disordered.
“Only in meeting you, sir,” said Hawk.
“So I suspect,” said Slade in a voice full of innuendo.
Clarissa felt Hawk inhale, and hastily stepped between the men. “You must be Mr. Slade. Major Hawkinville has told me how kind you have been to his poor father.”
Slade froze, and his narrowed gaze flicked between her and Hawk.
“Clarissa…” Hawk put his hand on her again to move her away.
“How happy you will be,” she said, evading him again, “to know that soon your generosity will be repaid.
I am a very wealthy woman.”
It was delicious to see the odious Slade turn pale with shock and fury, but Clarissa didn’t dare look at Hawk. He was probably pale with shock and fury too, but she hadn’t been able to stand seeing him baited.
“My congratulations, Major,” Slade spat out.
“Thank you, Slade.” Hawk’s voice sounded flat. “It must be a great relief to know that your generous loans will be repaid in full, with interest, before the due date.”
“A hasty marriage, eh? Doubtless wise.”
Clarissa blocked Hawk again, facing the iron founder. “Not at all, sir.” She wanted to knock the man down herself! “It will take time to arrange a suitably grand affair. On the village green, no doubt, since Major Hawkinville’s family is so important here.”
Oh, lord. She could feel Hawk’s anger blistering her back.
“The loans come due on the first of August, young lady.”
She assumed what she hoped was a look of astonished distaste. “If you insist on payment on the dot, sir, it will be arranged by my trustees. Under no circumstances will I permit Hawkinville Manor to change hands.”
Hawk’s arm came around her then, pulling her to his rigid, angry side. “As you see, Slade, there is no point in your further residence here.”
The man’s face was still pale, but now splotches of angry color marked his cheeks. “I believe I will wait to dance at your grand wedding, Major.”
“If you insist.”
Hawk turned Clarissa toward the inn, but Slade said, “Is the name of the bride a dreadful secret?”
Clarissa twisted back to say, “Not at all, Mr. Slade. I am Miss Greystone. You might have heard of me.
Some call me the Devil’s Heiress.”
She was then swept away by an arm as strong as iron. Lord, that had been thoroughly wicked, but also thoroughly satisfying. Slade was probably drooling with fury.
So was someone else. Not drooling, but furious.
Hawk dragged her not to the main door of the inn, but through the arch into the inn yard. Ignoring, or perhaps oblivious to, the various servants there, he thrust her against the rough wall. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”
“Trouncing the odious Slade!” she declared, grinning even though her knees were turning to jelly with fear. Glory in the battle warred with memories of Beth’s bruised face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”
“Enjoy being taken by the scruff and dragged through a bramble patch?”
“Enjoy watching him drink bile.”
Suddenly his furious eyes closed, and then he laughed, leaning his forehead against hers. “Zeus, yes. It was worth a thousand torments.”
Clarissa knew she should feel hurt by that, but she didn’t. She was suddenly certain that all was right in her world. She didn’t understand his reluctance, but she was sure it could be blasted into dust. Above all, she was sure that she wanted him, and that he would be all she wanted and more.
She poked him hard in the belly. “If you’re rude again about the prospect of marrying me, I’ll go right back and tell Slade he can have Hawkinville, every last post and stone.”
He straightened to look at her, eyes still wild with laughter. “Clarissa, there is nothing I want more than to marry you.”
“Well, then—”
His kiss silenced her, a hot, enthralling kiss that sent fire into every part of her, though she couldn’t help thinking of the watching servants.
With glee.
He’d certainly have to marry her after this.
“Hawk! Clarissa! Stop that!”
Clarissa emerged from a daze to find Maria hitting Hawk’s back with a piece of wood. Fortunately it was rotted, and was flying into pieces with each blow.
Hawk turned to her laughing, hands raised, and she threw the remaining fragments away in disgust. “
What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. Then she stared at Clarissa. “Or more to the point, what have you done?”
“I ravished her in the wilderness, of course.”
“What?”
“Don’t be a goose, Maria. That wilderness of yours, by the way, is too damn wild. But most of the damage to our appearance was done by our gallant rescue of two children from the river.”
“Rescue?” Maria collected herself. “That doesn’t explain such a shocking kiss in front of the servants.”
“A certain madness comes upon us all after battle.”
“Battle?”
Clarissa was threatened by incapacitating giggles, for a hundred reasons. She simply leaned against the wall and enjoyed the show.
“Clarissa just routed Slade by telling him we are engaged to be married. I thought I had better compromise her thoroughly before she changed her mind.”
She’d won! She didn’t know how, but she’d won. She lovingly brushed some fragments of rotted wood off her future husband’s shoulders.
He turned, and the look in his eyes turned her delight to cold stone. The laughter had gone, and was replaced by something dark and almost lost. A movement beyond him caught her eye, and she saw Lord Vandeimen emerge from one of the stable buildings, suddenly deadly.
Why on earth would she think that?
As if alerted, Hawk swung around. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing!” exclaimed Lady Vandeimen, but then she seemed silenced by the crackling tension.
“Nothing of any great significance,” Hawk said with precision.
Clarissa wanted to protest that, but she too was frozen by something ready to burst out of this ordinary place into the world of claw and fang.
Lord Vandeimen said, “A word with you, Hawk.” His head indicated the stable behind him.
Clarissa put her hand on Hawk’s arm as if to hold him back, but Maria pulled her away. “Come into the inn and tidy up, Clarissa.”
“But—”
“You can’t possibly return to Brighton looking like that.” She ruthlessly steered Clarissa into the building, chattering.
“Lord Vandeimen is not my guardian!” Clarissa broke in, forcing a halt. “What’s going on out there?”
Maria looked at her. “More to the point, what went on during your walk?”
“Nothing,” said Clarissa, “of any great significance.” Then the whole tumultuous half hour burst out of her in tears, and Maria gathered her into her arms, hurrying her along to a private room.
“Hush, dear. Hush. Whatever went on, we’ll arrange matters. I know Hawk loves you.”
Clarissa looked at her and blew into her handkerchief. “You do?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then why doesn’t he want to marry me?”
Maria’s smile was close to a laugh. “Of course he does!”
Clarissa shook her head. “Men are very hard to understand, aren’t they?”
Maria hugged her again. “There you have a universal truth, my dear.”
Hawk followed Van into the pleasantly pungent stable thinking that the day couldn’t get much worse, but knowing that in fact it could.
Van turned and merely waited.
“That kiss probably did go beyond the line,” Hawk said. “But nothing worse happened.” Then he remembered the wilderness. “More or less. That bloody wilderness of yours is a disgrace.”
He saw Van fight it, then laugh. “It’s almost worth it to see you in this state, Hawk. What the devil are you up to?”
“I’m trying to save Hawkinville.”
“I assume you have decided to woo Miss Greystone. Is it necessary to be so crude about it?”
“She told Slade we were engaged to marry.”
Van visibly relaxed. “Why the devil didn’t you say so? Congratulations!”
“I’m not going to marry her, Van.”
Van leaned back against a wooden post, frowning in perplexity. “Would you care to start at the beginning? Or at some point that makes sense?”
Hawk said, “My father is the new Viscount Deveril.”
Van frowned even more. “You’re the son of Lord Devil? The one Miss Greystone inherited from? And I
’ve never heard of it?”
“The new Lord Deveril. You know my father changed his name as a price of marrying my mother. He was born a Gaspard, and that’s the Deveril name. When Lord Devil died last year, he chased back up and down the family tree and discovered that he’s the heir. It’s taken him the best part of a year to settle it, but it’s just about done.”
“Congratulations. You’ll outrank me one day.”
“Bugger that. The name’s fit to be spat upon.”
“A name’s a name. The first Lord Vandeimen was a spineless lickspittle. Is this where the debt comes from?”
“More or less. The squire’s been obsessed by the Deveril money. He thinks he should get it along with the title, that the will was a forgery.” Hawk looked around and spotted a room with a door. “Come in here.”
Van followed, and Hawk shut the door. The room was small and seemed mostly to hold nostrums for treating horses.
“Unfortunately,” Hawk said, “my father is probably right.” He didn’t want to say it, but he had no choice. “I’ve been dangling after Miss Greystone not to woo her but to entice her to spill something about the will.”
“You’re a damn fine actor, then.”
“I’ve learned to be. Van, for God’s sake, there’s no question of marriage! Once Clarissa discovers what I’ve been up to, and that I’m a future Lord Deveril, it’ll all be over.”
“Hawk, this doesn’t sound like you.”
“What, underhanded trickery and sneaky investigation? It’s my stock-in-trade. I’ve softened up plenty of villains for the gutting.”
“But not an innocent young woman.”
“If she was innocent, there wouldn’t be any gutting to be done.”
Van frowned. “All right, let’s talk about this. What exactly do you think her guilty of?”
“Murder, or conspiracy to murder.”
“Murder?” Van managed to keep it soft. “If I’m any judge, Miss Greystone would run from killing a mouse.”
“The mouse wouldn’t be forcing vile kisses on her, and threatening worse.”
“You think she killed Deveril when he tried to rape her? You’d send her to the gallows for that?”
“No, dammit. But remember, she ended up with the dead man’s money.”
It was a detail he tended to willfully ignore.
“All right,” said Van, “do you have any reason other than wishful thinking to believe that Lord Deveril’s will was forged?”
“When have you ever known me to indulge in wishful thinking?”
But his thinking about Clarissa came perilously close.
“It was handwritten,” he said crisply, “witnessed by servants who have conveniently disappeared, and it left everything not entailed to a young woman, to come to her completely and without control at age twenty-one.”
Van’s expression lost its indulgence. “Hell.”
“Hell, indeed. I can add, from Clarissa’s own lips, that she was sold to Deveril and hated him, which he must have known. She threw up over him when he tried to kiss her.”