Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

H awke felt a sense of responsibility after Miss Wright hastily left. He waited outside and observed her walking through the park's winter garden from across the street. Women shouldn't walk alone, this he knew, and he felt as if he'd driven her to act rashly.

Why he found it so delightfully entertaining to tease her, he didn't know. It wasn't like him to be so forward, not anymore, not after the incident where a young woman had almost lost her life because of her overeager brother. Although one could argue it was partly Hawke's fault. It had taken him nearly a decade to be convinced that the disastrous event had not been his doing, that nothing he had done caused it.

Who fights a duel at the na?ve age of fifteen? He should have been chasing skirts instead of defending the honor of a young miss, even if the two of them were friends. It should have been another young man behind that pistol, not him. He should have spoken up and stopped the whole foolish act. But he had not. He should have done many things differently. It had been a hard lesson learned, and the cost was too great to ever allow such a thing again.

After so much time spent hiding from the world, here he was now, enjoying laughter and playful banter with a woman—a stranger. Perhaps it was easier because no one here knew him, and he could pose as anyone he wished. He could be anything—a carefree gentleman, a successful businessman, a world traveler, hell, he could be the mayor of his hometown if he chose. He would have to admit that he was close to being a successful businessman. His father had been, but Hawke had dragged his feet, wanting to make his own way, his own money.

"Mr. Hawke, are you always this irritatingly forward with women? Or is it just me you wish to annoy?" Miss Lovie Wright was a formidable force.

"If I wanted to be forward, I'd have accompanied you to the park."

"Why? Because women should never be alone? Heaven forbid, we should have a moment of peace to think on our own." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "We tend to get ourselves into so much trouble when we're not watched."

He shrugged, jamming his hands uncomfortably in his coat pockets.

"A man without words. Thank you, merciful Lord."

He looked at his boots and chuckled.

"Well, are you going to stand here in the cold all day? Because I'm going inside."

"And I'd be happy to follow." He did just that, walking behind her like a lost puppy, and in many ways, he felt like one. After he helped her out of her coat and removed his, Miss Wright continued to the drawing room. He had to smile because she failed to keep her disinterested charade going when she peeked behind her to see if he continued to hunt her. At least, that's how he defined the surreptitious look and the way she wet her lips.

She was sitting on the sofa when he rounded the entry to the drawing room.

"Miss Wright, it is, in fact, not at all like me to be so forward. But I will admit I may be difficult. I simply wouldn't know because I don't have siblings to keep me in line."

"You must have friends."

"Friends are friends because they enjoy each other's company and are rarely bothered by unseemly personalities." He took the chair adjacent to the settee. "Are we not friends?"

She turned a petal pink. "I don't think we know each other well enough to have formed a friendship."

"Your cousin invited me here after knowing me for a few hours. You've had the pleasure of knowing me for two days, and still, you're afraid of me. Why do you think that is?"

"I'm afraid of you? Is that what you think?" She tried to sound repulsed, a disgruntled woman set upon by a loathsome man. But her nervous chuckle, and the way she folded one hand over the other repeatedly, said something very different.

"It's not what I think. It's what I know. Or is it that you're afraid of yourself?"

"You are completely daft and outrageous." She shook her head.

"Miss Wright, I am but having a bit of fun with you. Nothing more. Harmless banter, or do you not recognize it?"

She studied him, anchoring her gaze with confidence on his face, scrutinizing him with the likes of psychological science. "Do you know what I think?" She tapped an elegantly manicured fingernail against her plump lips. "I think you are hiding behind humor."

He grinned, appreciating her valiant effort to see beyond his veil. "Might we agree that I'm hiding behind charm instead?"

"If charm is arrogance and ego, then yes."

He laughed heartily, relaxing back in his chair, letting his arms hang nonchalantly over the sides. "You are a clever one, Miss Lovie Wright."

"You are under the misguided impression that I invited you to sit with me for the unlikely pleasure of your company, when in reality, I indulged your visit today to ask a favor."

His forehead raised an inch in surprise. He had not expected that. "Now, we are getting somewhere."

"I'm quite serious."

She looked serious—too serious—and it made him uncomfortable. She was right. He hid himself behind wicked behavior. But not sinful. Not quite that far. Not yet.

He sobered. The last time a female asked him for a favor, someone got hurt. He reminded himself, generously, that this was different, and he was older and wiser. "I'm listening."

She blew out a slow, meditative breath, the kind you pause behind for courage. "If I'm correct, you'll need to visit your grandmother's estate. Likewise, I need to visit my family's estate. From what I gather, the two estates are close enough that we could share travel plans. If we rode straight through, with only posting stops, it would be a long day, but we could avoid staying at a tavern, and I'd have the protective company that my brother will insist upon."

Hawke could not be more stunned. "Why would you trust me? What I mean to say is, you're correct. I do need to visit the estate. I'm simply shocked you would ask."

She sat back, an almost confused expression on her face. "I admit that I am as well. Except I do need this, and the question itself is a decisive test."

"Pardon me?"

"Such a direct question and event, and yet you are not teasing or poking fun, which means you are capable of behaving like a gentleman."

"And that's your test? Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"Both." She looked him straight in the eye without blinking. "Perhaps I'm na?ve to trust you, but I do have a feeling—call it women's intuition—something I cannot explain about you. Perhaps it's because we've both experienced such loss. Tragedy is like glue."

"Or a magnet." He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and studied her. Was this a trick? Oddly, it was her comment about naivety that caused him to consider it. "What makes you think your brother or cousin will agree?"

She shrugged one noncommittal shoulder.

"You haven't thought this through. Mind you, I'm not in opposition. The fact I don't readily know my way is reason enough. But you know your guardians will not agree."

"My guardians?" She sounded annoyed, and she squared her shoulders. "I am old enough to be my own caretaker."

"I meant no offense."

"I know what you mean." She blinked away a sigh. "And you're not incorrect, but I also know neither of them have time to escort me, and I can be rather persistent."

"No doubt you are."

"You won't have to do a thing. I'll discuss it with them and explain my reasoning, and when their bullheadedness subsides, they'll agree."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

* * *

An hour later and Lovie was not so sure.

"The house can wait," Hudson said. "For God's sake, it's almost Christmas. What if you're unable to return? What if the weather strikes rain, and the roads are impassable?"

"And what if that doesn't happen?" It was a stupid argument. She had no defense against it. "If that happens, then we'll turn around."

"And then what? Check in to an inn with a stranger? Have you any notion what damage that kind of scandal would cause? It's not just you, Lovie. Rochester and I are working hard to repair his reputation, and we're making headway. We need to strike when the iron is hot, building from the foundation we've laid because our livelihood depends on it."

"It is my reputation that would be tarnished, not yours or Rochester's."

"Do you believe I put so little value on my sister's reputation or welfare? Lovie, even you realize the implications. Families are destroyed or made by any number of singular incidents. Small things can destroy a foundation. One crack in the veneer." He had taken up pacing in the study.

"Hudson," she admonished despite him being the eldest, "at twenty-five, I am quite old enough to travel as I please. No one expects a spinster to behave scandalously."

"You are hardly a spinster."

"I'm on the shelf, according to the most recent debutante drivel. The diamonds of the first water and all that nonsense. And really, Hudson, why do men care? They do whatever they please and pat each other on the back for their ingenuity. Why shouldn't I do as I wish, especially when I rarely keep company with the ton? " She could see the muscle in his jaw working.

"The aristocracy marry for money and prestige, as well you know."

She squeezed her eyes shut because she knew her brother was correct, and she felt the argument eroding beneath her like sand under one's feet when the tide came in. She was too aware that the fallout from Rochester's one slip-up had tarnished his reputation almost beyond repair. All because he and Mr. Darrington badgered the wrong gaming hell owner during one drunken night of bad choices. They managed to lose almost ten-thousand pounds between them, and when their friend Winn Markham stepped in to help, all hell broke loose. But she could hardly blame Mr. Markham for what he had done, not after the gaming hell had cheated her cousin out of his entire year's allowance. Markham was a master at cards, and he'd seen fit to win back everything. Too bad he'd done it dishonestly. That little blunder had cost them all dearly. Their actions had been responsible for the banishment of Winn Markham from his family. Rochester and Darrington figured they owed it to their friend to follow. So, they spent the next three years in Bath. Not quite a prison. But not home, either.

"I see you realize my point," Hudson said.

"What I realize is that, once again, I have no control over my own life. You understand this—I know you do. I've done my share here. I've helped in every way possible, even down to the meals, the staff, everything, Hudson." She was beginning to sound desperate when she wanted to sound confident. "I love you and Rochester. You are my only family. Do you truly think I would do anything that would hurt either of you? Besides, Mr. Jakes our trusted footman will be along. If you want a report, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to send one."

Hudson stopped midpace and scratched his forehead, and she knew she had won.

"I'll be careful. Mr. Hawke will stay at his grandmother's estate, and I'll be safely ensconced in our family home checking on staff and supplies. Besides, it's Christmas, and I want to make certain there's enough for the staff and cottagers to celebrate. We owe them that much. I'll be back before Christmastide." She licked her lips. "Unless, of course, your schedule permits..." She knew it did not. He planned the billiard games that Rochester played for blunt. It was a lucrative business arrangement, and Hudson rarely had time to keep up with a household. She, however, was literally trained for the task.

Aside from hers and Hudson's due diligence, she needed time alone. Friends were few, which meant most of her existence revolved around men. True, they were family, but men, nonetheless. Once she dropped off Mr. Hawke at his estate, she'd have several days to herself, and she sorely looked forward to it. She needed it. And for reasons she did not wish to address, she'd rather travel with a man—and an interesting one at that—than a maid who would talk incessantly about embroidery or frippery. The conversations she'd had with Mr. Hawke had been stimulating. That's as far as she planned to consider.