Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

M aple Ridge Manor was coming along, but progress was slow, and Hawke needed a break from the business of his grandmother's estate. He had been in the house for as long as a week before knowing the house had a name. After a month, his focus was exhausted, and he figured he had stayed away long enough to make a visit to Mayfair appropriate.

He missed her. He wanted to see her, touch her, and breathe her deep into his lungs, like a part of his soul. Those twelve days after Christmas had been heady sweet even if he and Lovie had only shared a few stolen kisses in all that time. A part of him wondered if she missed him, too. He had to believe that she did, but time had a way of changing the shroud of perception into a dark shadow. Under such a cloak, one could have nightmares.

Because Rochester had left him an open invitation to visit, he decided that no fanfare was needed. Hawke set out for Mayfair with nary a word of warning. Lovie's reaction to him was a bit of a test. An unfair one, to be sure, but one he would allow.

The first thing he noticed when he arrived back in London was the increase in refined ladies and gentlemen taking the air. Women with tiny curls, like springs, wore fancy dresses with festive ribboned hats while parading up and down the sidewalks.

He adored Lovie's hair at its maximum potential, long, silky, and unpinned.

His hack had been stalled thrice by the number of carriages in the streets, and Hawke decided to continue on foot. The house was only a few blocks away, and he could use the brisk walk to bind his anxiety over seeing Lovie again after weeks of solitude.

Hawke recognized the young woman with strawberry-blonde hair who answered the front door as the maid named Margaret. The grand foyer was devoid of people. His footsteps were a resounding echo that traveled the length of the house.

Removing his hat, he asked the maid, "Can you tell me where your mistress is?" He didn't stop to consider what the maid may have thought of his strange request because he hadn't asked after the owner, Rochester. He didn't care. He just wanted to see her.

"She's right here," came the siren's voice he heard in his sleep. To the right of the door, she stood in the middle of an archway that hailed the corridor leading to the drawing room. Her countenance was a practiced, modest calm. But her eyes blinked back surprise, and she moistened her lips.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wright." He forced his voice to remain steady.

Lovie nodded toward the maid. "Thank you, Margaret. I'll see to Mr. Hawke."

His mouth stretched into a half grin, and he held back a vital stare of pure lust. But his pulse was full of love, strong and true, properly containing his wishes, and he watched as Lovie pivoted on her heel and led the way.

When they reached the drawing room, she waited for him to step fully inside, and then she shut the newly hung doors. Before he could react, she turned about and ran into his arms. He dropped his hat, binding her to him, relishing the feel of her body.

"Let me guess," he said near her ear. "You missed me."

Without another word, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed the smile from his lips. He had no reply but complete surrender, answering her plundering attack with his own heated response. His breeches shrunk around his growing need for her, and he nearly lost control when he felt her hands move to unbutton them.

Tugging hungrily on her gown, he bared her shoulder, kissing her hot skin while she unraveled him with her anxious movements. "Is anyone home?"

"No one," she said, then kissed him again. "Show me how it's done."

"Here?" He chuckled against her open mouth.

She nodded, throwing her arms around his neck while the fall of his breeches lay partially open.

Hawke lifted his head, looking over her toward the door. "You're certain?"

"Does it matter?"

"A bit, yes."

She raised a brow and slid her fingers over the length of him.

He made a lustful groan in his throat and hurriedly finishing the unbuttoning job she'd started. Then he bent down, grabbed hold of her skirts, and lifted her off the ground, twining her legs around him. He shifted her until he was at the threshold of entry, then pulled her ravenously down. They each paused to sigh for a moment, and then he carried her toward the dark paneled wall, leveraging her back against it. He held her, both hands under her perfect bottom, posting her up and down in an erotic rhythm like riding a horse.

It took no time for her to learn that if she squeezed her thighs and pushed up with her calves, she could have her fill and her pleasure at her leisure.

As for Hawke, he wasn't sure he had much leisure in the time it would take him to lose control completely. "You better come, darling, or I'm going to beat you to it."

At that, she whimpered against his mouth, pressing firmly against him, quickening her movements to the pace of her wholly feminine panting. She came around him, hard, fast, with sexy whimpers, and he answered with a pleasurable groan, holding her to him while the world beat fiercely around them.

Her head lay against his shoulder. "Not that I care to leave you, but how does one get down?" Her mouth tickled the curve of his neck.

Hawke looked over his shoulder, still holding her pressed against the wall. "We are in a bit of a mess, aren't we? Should I call for the maid?"

She giggled. "Only if you're planning a fast wedding."

He turned to open his mouth, pretending with a heaving breath to shout.

"No." She wriggled her legs around him. "You wouldn't dare."

He smiled into her eyes. "You tempt me with wild ideas." He kissed her once more, pulled her up, wrapped her petticoat between her legs, and set her down. "It's not ideal, but it's better than the messy alternative. Can you manage?"

"Can you?" she asked, a smile on her face while she rearranged her clothes.

She was right. His cock was in no neater condition as he rebuttoned his breeches.

"Are you staying?"

"If the invitation is still open?"

"I'll have your room readied."

"This is my room, darling." He motioned to the drawing room, eliciting a laugh from her, as he remembered waking up on the sofa.

"Come with me." She took his hand, and they snuck from the drawing room like children and ran up the stairs to Lovie's room. "What will they say to find a man hiding in my boudoir?"

"They'll call for a vicar."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling with pure joy as she walked to her wardrobe, disappearing behind the door. "There's a basin behind the screen," she raised her voice to be heard from the dressing room.

It was a dangerous game they played, but Hawke didn't care. He'd marry her now if she'd have him. He washed up. She changed her skirts, and they snuck back into the hallway. "Take me to the billiard room," Hawke whispered.

"There you are, Sister," Hudson said as they rounded the doorway to the billiard room. He was in midshot but straightened when he saw Hawke. "Where did you come from?"

"I got here a little while ago, and Miss Wright was kind enough to give me a small tour."

Hudson eyed him quickly, and then he let loose a white ivory ball. "Of what? Half-empty rooms? I'm certain you were impressed with this unfinished masterpiece after inheriting a large manor, from what Lovie tells me."

"Right. And remember, I also told you that Mr. Hawke is in grave need of direction. He has little experience with running a household. I took him through the kitchens. We didn't hear you come in," Lovie said, if not a little breathlessly.

Hudson eyed her, then glanced at Hawke before returning his gaze to his sister. "And did you find what you needed?"

"Mostly," she said. "I wanted to introduce him to the new cook, but I'd forgotten that Rochester doesn't keep her on Fridays because the two of you are rarely here. What happened to the gameplay today? You said you had lined up several exhibitions."

"I did, but the last two canceled," Hudson said, returning his glaring speculation over Hawke again. He wrinkled his brow. "Are you staying, Hawke?"

"If no one minds. I do need to see my grandmother's solicitor. There are matters to attend to before I return home."

"Home, as in the States?"

"Of course."

Hudson smiled then, as if talk of Hawke's permanent departure was a relief. He waved the cue stick, idly pointing it at Hawke. "I believe Rochester left an open invitation, but I'm not giving up my room this time. I've taken over the guest room you stayed in."

"I don't expect it. I'm sure there are plenty of rooms to let."

"Hudson?" Lovie chastised. "Rochester invited him. He doesn't know the city. He'll stay here."

Hudson shrugged with a little smirk. "The drawing-room sofa is comfortable."

"I'm much obliged," Hawke said blandly. "You interested in a game?"

"I'm no match for you. But I'll play."

They spent the next hour with Hawke teaching Hudson a trick shot or two, and Lovie left them with drinks in their hands. Hawke had little doubt that Hudson knew something was between him and his sister. But without tangible proof, he was gentleman enough not to shout his speculations. However, the day would come eventually. The sooner he and Lovie were engaged, the better.