Fresh pleasure flooded her as she remembered his hardness inside her, his urgent thrusts as he took her.
The quivery feelings in her midsection persisted as Hawkhurst finally stirred awake. When he first spied her, a faint smile of greeting touched his mouth, while his gray eyes held unmistakable warmth. He reached out to touch her bare toes that were peeking from beneath the hem of her nightdress—to see if she was real, she supposed.
At the intimate contact, Skye felt her stomach turn fluttery again, but then a frown claimed his mouth.
Raising his head, Hawkhurst glanced around the bedchamber before returning his gaze to her. He must have recalled where he was and whom he was with, for those fathomless gray eyes leveled on her with an intensity that unsettled her.
Skye felt a flush stain her cheeks. She could no longer ignore the fact that she was still dressed in her nightclothes, alone with a naked man in her bed. A splendidly naked man who had plumbed the secrets of her body the night before.
The stomach-tightening awareness of his maleness made her feel shy and uncertain. She wanted to appear casual and sophisticated, but she was in way over her head, Skye silently admitted. How did one behave after a blazing night of passion with a new lover? With a first lover?
Suddenly she wished she had fled before the earl had awakened. But that would have been cowardly. She would just have to brave it out.
“I decided to let you sleep,” she explained in a rush. “You were so weary that I didn’t have the heart to wake you, and I thought it best if I didn’t go wandering around your house and startling the servants with my presence until you were able to alert them to the reason for my visit—”
Realizing she was running on at the mouth, Skye cut off her steady stream of nervous chatter and took a deep breath. “Thank you for consoling me last night, my lord.”
His expression remained enigmatic. Shifting slowly onto his back, Hawkhurst propped another pillow behind his head, as if preparing for a conversation he didn’t want.
“Do you suffer nightmares regularly?” His raspy voice sounded cautious.
Skye nodded briefly. “Since childhood. They started after losing my parents, when I was sent away to boarding school. But I haven’t had them recently. It must be this house, sleeping in a strange place, combined with the storm.…”
Her nightmares were her chief weakness, one she couldn’t seem to control. It was always the same horrible dream about her parents dying—descending to a watery grave when their ship sank during a storm. The sensation of drowning … reaching out to grasp their flailing hands … struggling futilely to rescue them.
In any other circumstance, she never needed to be coddled, but she was grateful the earl had provided her solace when the terror struck.
Hawkhurst, however, apparently did not share her view. “I did not mean to take advantage of you last night,” he murmured with genuine regret.
“But you didn’t,” Skye said quickly, wanting to reassure him.
He cleared his throat in disagreement, but otherwise gave her no reply. After a moment, he threw off the covers, preparing to rise. As he started to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, he happened to glance down at the bed where a faint pink stain marred the white sheets.
Her blood, Skye realized. The same stain had covered the insides of her thighs before she had washed it away.
“Good God. You were a virgin.”
His tone was faintly stunned while his entire body had gone rigid. His gaze shot back to her. “I never realized.… You seemed more than willing.”
Skye felt her flush deepen. Not unreasonably he had taken her wantonness for carnal experience. “I was willing.”
The grimness of his mouth told her what he thought of her declaration.
“How could you allow me to go so far?” he charged, his tone accusing, and yet she could see his anger was directed as much at himself as her, for he went on without waiting for her reply. “I’ve compromised you beyond all pardonable limits.”
“No one will ever know,” Skye protested.
“I will know. You are an unattached female guest in my home and Isabella’s niece.” Roughly he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled raven hair and muttered a low oath. “Bella will have my head when she finds out.”
“So would my brother. Quinn will likely want to shoot you. But they don’t have to find out.”
Skye couldn’t help a wry wince at the thought of her brother’s reaction. Quinn might be something of a rake himself, but he would have an apoplectic fit if he thought his baby sister had given her body to a near stranger, nobleman or not. Quinn’s protectiveness was why she hadn’t informed him of her plan to come to Hawkhurst Castle in the first place.
“I certainly won’t tell either of them,” she added for good measure, “and neither should you.”
Sinking back against the headboard, Hawkhurst absently drew the covers over his lower body to shield his nudity. “I cannot just ignore what happened.” He swore again. “I don’t usually go around raping virgins.”
Embarrassed laughter escaped her throat. “I would imagine not.”
His gaze turned deadly. “You find this amusing?”
“No, not at all. But it was hardly rape. I seem to remember begging you at one point.”
“That doesn’t justify my actions. I should be shot.”
She had practically seduced him, and he was taking the blame? Skye couldn’t let him feel guilty for what was primarily her fault. “You are not to blame, my lord. You were only comforting me as I asked.”
“That is no excuse.”
“I tell you, I wanted it to happen.”
His gaze pinned her again. “Did you purposely lure me to your bed by feigning your nightmares?”
“No, of course not.”
“I didn’t think so. Your cries were too real to be pretense.”
“They were very real. And I could have stopped you if I’d chosen to.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was overcome by passion.”
That was undeniably true. She hadn’t consciously set out to seduce him. She’d simply been so overwhelmed with desire that she had willingly surrendered her maidenhead.
Skye took a deep breath, deciding to try and reason with him. “Lord Hawkhurst, the damage is done. You needn’t flagellate yourself over it.”
His silence spoke volumes, since he looked as frustrated as the devil.
“You are making too much of what really is a minor matter,” Skye insisted.
“A minor matter?” He looked ready to explode at her observation. “Don’t pretend you have no comprehension of the position this puts us in,” he ground out.
Her brow furrowed. “What position?”
Gazing up at the ceiling, he made a visible effort at control. “We will have to marry. It is the only honorable course.”
Skye stared back at him blankly. “Marry?”
“I take responsibility for my mistakes.”
“I don’t want to be your mistake.”
“But you are.”
She could scarcely believe her ears. He was actually proposing to marry her, albeit with grave reluctance. “You don’t wish to wed me, my lord,” she reminded him. “You came all the way to England to claim a certain bride, remember? You are supposed to begin courting Sir Gawain Olwen’s niece soon.”
“That is beside the point.”
She pursed her lips. “Have you married every woman you had affairs with?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. “Obviously not.”
“Why should it be different with me?”
“You know exactly why. Because you are not just any woman.”
“We should not be forced to wed simply because we made love. We can pretend it never happened.”
“Impossible. You could be pregnant with my child. Have you thought of that?”
Skye’s gaze arrested. No, she hadn’t thought of that. Aunt Isabella had told her about how to p
revent a man’s seed from taking root inside her body, but that had been the furthest thing from her mind last night.
“There is no help for it,” Hawkhurst stated darkly. “If there’s a child, we will have no choice but to wed.”
Skye opened her mouth to object, then shut it again. If word got out that she had spent the night in the earl’s bed and refused to wed him, she would likely be ruined. Certainly she would be if she bore a child out of wedlock, a transgression that would stain his honor as well. She could weather a scandal, of course; in fact, scandals were practically expected in her family. But she would never sentence a child to a life of illegitimacy. Not when she knew the stigma her cousin Jack had endured, being the bastard son of a European prince.
Yet she didn’t want to trap Lord Hawkhurst in marriage because she was with child. If she were to attempt such a calculating scheme, he would always hold it against her. No, she wanted him to love her first.
Perhaps that was a valid argument she could use, Skye realized. Having someone to love, to belong to, was vitally important to her, even more crucial than her desire to find the ideal mate.
There was no question that Hawkhurst was a man she could love. Yet the reverse might not be true. He’d already had the love of his life and buried her. Skye knew instinctively that it would take a great deal to make him fall in love again. And he would never give her that chance if she forced him to wed her.
“I will not marry you under such conditions, my lord,” she said firmly. “I want a husband who will love me.”
“What you want is also beside the point,” he retorted.
His insisting on marriage would upset all her careful evaluations. Skye felt a twinge of panic, but she tamped it down. She had gotten herself in this pickle, and she would have to get herself out.
She managed a calm smile. Sweetness was almost always more effective than stubbornness and belligerence.
“Your sentiment does you honor, my lord, but I cannot accept a proposal from you. I mean to remain in control of my own destiny.” Skye made a face and let her tone turn sincerely apologetic. “I confess that being the master of my fate is an irrational obsession of mine. But you see, I cannot marry you to satisfy some moral code of society’s.”
A muscle hardened in the earl’s jaw, but he seemed to realize the futility of further argument. With a grim look, Hawkhurst rose from the bed and snatched up his dressing gown from the floor. Pulling the garment on, he yanked the sash closed, then stood staring at her.
They were at an impasse, however, for she would not back down. Turning, he stalked to the door.
“Do you still mean to make me leave this morning?” Skye called after him in a purposely meek voice.
The look he shot her was withering before he strode out, shutting the door forcefully behind him.
Skye bit her lip hard, uncertain whether her outright refusal to consider marriage had helped her cause or hurt it.
She had meant her declaration about fate. She would never settle for a forced marriage if she could help it. And neither should Hawkhurst.
He shouldn’t be compelled to marry her out of obligation. Nor, for that matter, should he have to wed the Olwen girl out of duty, as was his current plan. Everything Skye had learned about young Miss Olwen pointed to her being a milk pudding. Hawkhurst didn’t deserve such a cold fate. Being locked in a loveless marriage of convenience with so unequal a mate would only cause him pain. And regardless of whether he was destined to be her own mate, Skye wanted desperately to save him from more pain. Which meant somehow preventing his pursuit of the Olwen chit.…
Skye went still as a sudden thought struck her. The possibility that she was with child might actually work in her favor. Surely Hawkhurst wouldn’t send her away until he knew if she was carrying his child. And until it was confirmed one way or the other, he wouldn’t be able to court Miss Olwen, either.
A thoughtful frown turned down the corners of Skye’s mouth. Suggesting a waiting period was likely the best way to delay his courtship of his mentor’s niece. However, she needed to give the earl a little time for his anger to cool off before making her suggestion.
In the meantime, Skye vowed, she was not leaving Hawkhurst Castle. In the French fairy tale, the beast had imprisoned the beauty. In this case, she would do the imprisoning—holding herself captive until Lord Hawkhurst agreed to let her spend time with him.
And if he never agreed?
Skye let out a shaky breath, knowing everything still depended on her powers of persuasion.
But she was not giving up yet. Not by a long chalk.
The snorting, prancing stallion was a handful—just the challenge he needed to work off his frustration, Hawk decided grimly. He often rode to conquer his demons, and this morning he was also gentling his newest equine purchase, who was young and fractious and dangerous even to his experienced grooms.
With a touch of his heels, Hawk set the magnificent black Thoroughbred into an easy canter rather than the full gallop needed to expend the horse’s excess energy. Normally the quiet meadow was ideal for schooling, but the drenching rain had left the grass slick and treacherous. And, admittedly, Hawk’s focus was not solely on his task.
He found it impossible to shake off his anger. Even though Lady Skye had willingly offered her body to him, he was furious at himself for giving in to his sexual need.
He’d been something of a rakehell in his younger days before marrying Elizabeth. And as a widower, he’d occasionally interrupted his solitary life on Cyrene by enjoying the sexual favors and companionship of various Cyprians. But his bed sport had never extended to seducing virgins.
He didn’t harm innocents, period. Bloody hell. Last night he’d disregarded his deepest principles, seeking oblivion in pure carnal release, losing himself in the hot, sweet comfort of Skye’s body.
And now all his long-held plans might be in jeopardy. If he was forced to wed her, he would be unable to fulfill his obligations to the Guardians and their beloved, aging leader.
Some of his anger, Hawk knew, was reserved for Skye herself—for tempting him to want again. She had shocked his numbed carnal hunger violently to life and, far worse, had made him feel long-dead emotions. Bloody, bloody hell.
In truth, from their first encounter he’d thought her more sophisticated than she actually was. He should have known better, particularly last night when she’d tried to hide the pain from losing her maidenhead. There had been nothing calculated about their joining, though, he was now certain. She hadn’t lured him into her bed with the goal of compromising herself.
If he’d had any doubts, they would have been wiped away by her response to him this morning—the sweet flush of desire on her face, the unguarded openness of her expression, the honesty in her blue eyes. Her shyness was unfeigned, and her nervous chatter was actually endearing to him.
Yet she was perhaps the last woman he wanted to marry, in part because of the dangerous effect she had on him.
Apparently she had no desire to wed him, either. It frankly astonished Hawk that she’d rejected the idea of marriage so readily. Most ladies her age would have leapt at the chance to snare a wealthy earl, even a reclusive, scarred, ill-tempered one. Initially her refusal had won a measure of admiration from him, until she’d stated her reasons. Her talk of love had roused an instinctive discord in Hawk. She wanted a husband who could love her, and he had absolutely no intention of loving again.
Not that the choice was his to make. He didn’t believe he was even capable of loving again. He’d buried his heart with his dead wife.
His discord had stayed with him until this moment—and regrettably translated to his mount. When the stallion shied at a phantom object in the adjacent woods, Hawk brought him up short, then used a firm leg and a soft word to send the horse forward again into a stronger canter. He had no business letting his foul mood affect the nervous animal.
Relying on small circles and more complicated patterns to regain the stallion’s attention, H
awk wiped his mind clear of the frustrating beauty inhabiting his castle in order to refocus on his work.
Nearly an hour later, just as he was finishing with the stallion’s schooling, Hawk caught a glimpse of a horsewoman riding toward him. Recognizing Lady Skye, Hawk swore another low oath. He should have expected her to do the unexpected and follow him out to the meadow behind the castle.
Just as unexpectedly, she was riding bareback, astride like a man. Her golden hair was down, while the hem of her gown was hiked up a bit to show dark stockings and an expanse of pale thigh.
Remembering those smooth, slender limbs wrapped around him made a rush of heat spike through Hawk.
So did her appearance when she reached the edge of the meadow where he’d come to a halt. She looked as charming and lovely as a summer morning.
Her skin had an enchanting flush that only enhanced her beauty, bringing to mind the potent memory of how she tasted, how she’d responded. He could still feel her beneath him, writhing with the desire he’d awakened in her.…
Fiercely disciplining the riot of his senses, Hawk eyed her disapprovingly, making it clear by his stare that he was not happy to see her. “What the devil are you doing here, Lady Skye?”
“I saw you riding off on your stallion from my bedchamber window, so I went to your stables to await your return. When you never appeared, I decided to come to you. I feared you wouldn’t give me the chance to speak otherwise.” When his frowning gaze narrowed on her mount, she added hastily, “This is one of my own carriage horses. I didn’t want to take one of yours without permission.”
“You balked at acting without my permission?” he drawled, his gruff reply designed to keep her at a distance. “How astonishing.”
His sarcasm won a quick smile from her. “I know you are protective of your horses, and I did not want to get your grooms in trouble.”
Lady Skye’s consideration impressed him, but Hawk was not about to let her see it. In the face of his dispassion, she went on doggedly.
Secrets of Seduction Page 6
