Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

F rom the moment Hawke set foot in England, nothing had gone as planned. Case in point, instead of visiting with his grandmother, he was seeking out a Mr. Atherton, the solicitor listed on the paperwork he'd been given at the dock office. He managed to secure a cab with the help of a footman and headed to Gray's Inn.

The imposing brick building seemed to loom over him. He felt lost in more ways than one. A holiday. No family. And now the unease of stuttering through the legal process. Was he to walk through the cavernous archway or seek out a door on the street? He wandered the grounds for twenty minutes, which were admittedly well tended, beautiful in fact, lined with trees and perfumed with flora. Eventually, he gave up his prideful sense of direction and simply asked a passing boy.

"On that there second row, sir. Yewl find Mr. Atherton's office." Hawke didn't move, just searched the fa?ade for another hint until the boy clarified, "Right there, sir, through that door." He pointed to a mahogany door set in the recess of a stone arch.

Hawke dipped his head in thanks and handed the boy three pence for his time.

Dark paneling covered the office walls, and he tried not to think of it as a church while he sat quietly waiting for the secretary to return from delivering his message. Without an appointment, he expected no less.

The scent in the room was reminiscent of a polished cathedral, just like the one where his father's funeral had been held. So much loss, so many funerals, and he didn't care if he never saw the inside of a religious dwelling again. In the last five years, he had lost his parents and the man he had apprenticed under, who was like an uncle. In many ways coming to England felt new, different, and refreshing, but he also knew it couldn't last. This was not his home, although after meeting Mr. Rochester and his cousins, he felt as if he'd made friends.

"Mr. Hawke." A gentleman emerged from an interior door, and Hawke stood. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I hadn't expected you today."

"I assume you are Mr. Atherton?"

"Oh, yes, yes. Forgive me. Busy day. Come in and have a seat." The solicitor walked a bit hunched like someone perpetually looking for something they'd dropped.

Mr. Atherton appeared to be in his fifties, with gray hair, a thick middle, and sporting spectacles that he wore at the end of his nose. Hawke took a seat in front of a large desk stacked with leather portfolios. His fingers itched to move the inkpot sitting atop a mess of paperwork. The circumstances, all of it, made him nervous.

"I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."

"Well, now. I know this wasn't the visit you had expected, but I thought it prudent to send notice to the dock before you traveled the distance to your grandmother's estate. Which brings me to why you're here." He slid a folio aside, bent his head to see something nonexistent under his desk, then flipped through several loose sheets of vellum.

All the while, Hawke watched that inkpot creep another inch closer to the edge of the desk. Assuming the eccentric man had a method to his madness, Hawke didn't offer to help.

"Ah, now I remember." Mr. Atherton held up a finger, and then he opened a drawer and pulled out a small folder. "The will. I won't bore you with legalities, since there are no other living relatives. The estate, everything your grandmother had, was left to you."

It came as no surprise since Hawke was her only grandchild and apparently the last of the family.

"I have some paperwork here, somewhere," Mr. Atherton said, his gaze shifting about his desk again. "Things to sign. Legal papers and all that nonsense. I imagine you'll want to check on the estate sooner than later. I was out there two weeks ago."

Hawke grimaced with the reminder that he'd missed his grandmother by days.

The man looked from over his spectacles. "It's in adequate shape, but there are few servants left, and you'll need to hire more if you're going to live there."

"I'll be there temporarily."

"The land steward retired but feel free to call on me if you need advice on hiring another."

Hawke sighed inwardly. Without a land steward, the place would likely fall apart before he could decide what to do with the property. He was in no mood to sell it anytime soon. To do so would feel like another loss. There had to be something of his father there, and he intended to spend a few drunken nights looking for clues of treasured memories that his grandmother might have kept. Family was important. Even though he hadn't set foot in his grandmother's home in over a decade, there had been plenty of correspondence.

These were his thoughts as he traveled the short distance back to Rochester's. He passed too many hotels to think he couldn't find a room tonight. Wearing out his welcome was not high on his list of goals.

* * *

With Rochester still scarce, Hawke found himself admiring the man's billiard room. The deep burgundy baize was unusual and must have been expensive. The table, he knew, was something fine, indeed. He kept his itching hands in his pockets to keep himself from picking up a cue.

"You're back." Without preamble, Miss Wright announced herself on the threshold of the gaming room, one of the few rooms with a hinged door.

Hawke turned, pulling his hands from his pockets and smoothing down his jacket. "Your cousin has a beautiful table." Hawke examined the room, arcing his gaze over the ceiling conversationally. "And for a private room, this is unmatched."

"Rochester spends more time here than anywhere else in the house. That's why it's completely furnished and decorated while something as important as a parlor goes empty. It's his pride and joy, I assure you."

"Then he hasn't met the right woman." He grinned, raising his eyebrows. "Do you play?"

"Me? No. I'm too busy darning socks like all fine women." The comment, although given in jest, held a bit of mockery as well.

"I promise your talents are being wasted." He gave her a half smile and watched as she came fully into the room. Her presence awakened an unexpected joy in him.

She strolled around the table, her fingers lightly touching the polished edge. "You think you know me, Mr. Hawke?" She gazed up under her lush auburn lashes. "Darning socks takes a great deal of talent. Besides, I may be an accomplished pianist."

"And I'd say you're lying." His comment produced an immediate, dimpling smile, one that apparently shocked her because she wouldn't look at him.

"Try to prove me wrong."

"That's easy, madam. You have no pianoforte. Certainly, you'd never live in a house without one."

She laughed. A melody that struck his heart. She stepped away from the billiard table, her hands folded primly. "I hadn't considered that. Of course, you're right." She took a seat on one of the leather tufted chairs. "Sit if you'd like." She motioned to the chair directly opposite her, placed beside a cozy, circular side table.

Hawke gladly accepted her invitation, allowing his morning with the solicitor to slip away in her presence. "So, you don't play the pianoforte. You don't play billiards, and I know you're lying about the socks." He slanted a dubious look her way. "Tell me something that Miss Lovie Wright likes."

"I like my family. I like the theater and music despite the fact I cannot play a musical instrument, and I cannot sing a note."

"And?" he asked when she stopped as if there was nothing else.

"And, I don't know. I can tell you readily what I don't like. I don't especially like the London Season, except for the theater, perhaps. I don't like gossip, which could be why I don't care for the Season, and I don't much like cooking and will be forever grateful that Rochester finally found someone who can do it."

He licked his lips, considering her from her lovely auburn hair to the tip of her chin because he dared not look lower. "You know what I think?"

"Hardly, Mr. Hawke. You're very hard to read."

"Unlike you who wear your soul in your eyes."

She scrunched her brow. "And what do my eyes say?"

"That you're curious."

"About many things. But I have a feeling you're speaking of something specific. I'm intrigued. What has me curious?"

His gaze fell to her mouth. "You want to know what a kiss is like."

She started to laugh. "You're incorrigible. Besides, I'm not a tame shrew nor a silly debutante. I've been kissed."

He raised a brow, daring her. "Yes, but in that instance, the man kissed you, and you're curious what it would be like to initiate it yourself." He sat back, happy with his teasing estimation.

"Why would you think that? It's absurd." The last came out accompanied by a nervous laugh.

"Because I see it in your eyes. I can sense it through your gaze. You look at me with intense passion, most of the time, and perhaps a hint of surrender, too." This was a dangerous game. He didn't want to scare her away. He only wished to see her blush.

She cocked a brow at the same time she folded her arms. "If my eyes are full of passion, it is not the adoring kind. And your eyes, Mr. Hawke, are full of ego."

"I pathetically admit to that truth. Now, it's your turn. Tell me you've never kissed a man."

She huffed out a sigh and lost her smile. "If you mean that I've never walked up to a gentleman and voluntarily initiated a kiss, then no, I have not."

"Aw, but you will." His arrogance surpassed his own expectations.

"You think I want to kiss you." She tried to sound indignant with that statement, but in just seven words, she'd lost her breath.

He sat back, folding his arms. "Miss Lovie Wright, I don't think it. I know it. And if you're wondering, it wouldn't be ill-received either."

"Well, Narcissus, if you are missing your own reflection, I can have a mirror hung over your bed tonight."

Oh Lord, he hadn't expected that. Now his mind was conjuring up all manner of mischief with this woman. He chuckled. "Go ahead and do your best to flip this narrative. It doesn't make it less true."

"I don't even know what to say. I cannot believe your daring. Certainly, your banter needs honing."

"And you, sweet, are the one to do it." He grinned without apology. "If I've offended you so deeply, why haven't you thrown me out yet?"

She tilted her head. "Because it is Christmas, and I am known for my kindness and generosity."

"We'll see."

"You are an arrogant beast." The words were direct but lacked conviction. "How long do you plan to stay?"

"Until spring."

"In this house?" Her eyes were round.

"Doubtful. Not to worry. I'll leave for my grandmother's estate as soon as possible and likely stay there until I leave for home."

"If you're in a hurry to return to the States, why wait until spring?"

"Because travel by ship is almost impossible in the winter and much safer in the spring. I'd rather return home in one piece." He watched her, their gazes locked, his mouth grinning and hers grim. "I wouldn't worry, though. It won't take you that long to give in."

"To?"

"Your curiosity. I guarantee you'll kiss me before spring." He knew he had gone too far.

She took a breath that signaled an end to the conversation. "I think I'll take a nice walk. My ardor can use some cooling off, apparently."

* * *

Lovie didn't know whether she was miffed with herself for allowing such a ludicrous conversation or if she was intrigued by the daring Mr. Hawke. She wandered the park, allowing the cool breeze to lift the heat from her cheeks while she enjoyed the relative solitude. Since the park was close by and because she always promised to stay in sight of the house, she had no reservations about walking alone. Ten minutes could do wonders. However, today it had done little more than give her ample time to consider her supposed curiosity.

After seven minutes, she felt the cold bite of winter through her cloak and decided to return home. She watched the street, waiting for a break in traffic and looking for the driest path across. As she checked the road, her gaze landed on the opposite walk where the unmistakable outline of Mr. Hawke stood, presumably waiting for her to rush over and kiss him fiercely on the mouth with all her passionate heart.

Let him believe his own wicked musings all he wished. It wasn't true. She did not want to kiss him.

She absolutely, with all certainty, did not.

If she had to say it a hundred times before she believed it herself, then it would be an exercise worth doing.