Secrets of Seduction

by Nicole Jordan

  The journey to Kent went by rather quickly. Hawkhurst spoke little, but Skye found herself telling him all about her family and their history with Isabella. It was only when they reached the small village of Brackstone that she realized how skillfully he had drawn her out with his subtle probing, while she had learned practically nothing more about him.

  He was the most enigmatic man she had ever met, she decided, marveling at how his gray eyes cloaked with heavy black lashes hid his every emotion. She suspected the previous evening’s heartrending revelations were the last she would get for quite some time.

  The ivy-covered stone cottage where midwife Peggy Nibbs lived was pretty and well kept but common enough that the earl looked out of place with his aura of elegance and power. When Skye made the introductions, the elderly dame seemed intimidated at first, but over cups of steaming tea, which Mrs. Nibbs shyly offered, Lord Hawkhurst successfully put her at ease with gentle questions designed to enhance her memories and unearth clues about Lady Farnwell’s trail more than two decades ago. Skye listened to their conversation with growing fascination.

  Mrs. Nibbs knew the general area of Ireland where the fugitive had intended to seek refuge but not the specific county, although she thought the name began with “Kil.”

  She did recall that it was not a large town like Dublin, but a small village. When asked about weather and key geographical markings such as lakes or seaside or mountains, the only detail that came to mind was a castle.

  As for pseudonyms Lady Farnwell might be using, she had hoped to find shelter with a distant female relative whose surname sounded a bit Spanish … something that brought to mind the celebrated lover Don Juan. When Hawkhurst suggested “Donovan,” “Donoghue,” or “O’Donnell” as possibilities, Mrs. Nibbs nodded slowly at the last. “Perhaps Donnelly. Yes, that might be it. I know her ladyship mentioned liking the name ‘Meg’ because it rhymed with mine—Peg.”

  When he concluded his questioning, Mrs. Nibbs expressed her relief. “I am sorely glad the secret is finally out. I did not want to carry that to my grave.” A tear rolled down her wizened cheek. “Now I pray you can find her ladyship and lay my worst fears to rest. It has been a terrible burden, not knowing what became of her.”

  “If she is still alive, she will be found,” Hawkhurst assured her.

  Mrs. Nibbs appeared to believe him, for she sniffed in gratitude and pressed more tea upon him. “If by some miracle you do locate her, my lord, you must not let the new Lord Farnwell know her whereabouts.” Her gaze darkened. “Edgar is not a very good man. Sadly, he is miserly and mean, much like his late father, although perhaps not outright vicious and cruel. He has not been kind to his half sister, Miss Daphne.”

  The Honorable Miss Daphne Farnwell was the daughter that Rachel Farnwell had abandoned as a baby, Skye remembered, while Edgar Farnwell was the present baron and two years younger than Daphne. Edgar’s father—and Rachel’s abusive husband—William, had remarried barely a year after her supposed death by drowning.

  When it was time to leave, Skye embraced the elderly midwife and thanked her for her help, promising she would be among the first to know if Lady Farnwell was found.

  On the return drive to Hawkhurst Castle, Skye expressed her genuine admiration to the earl. “You learned a good deal more helpful information than I thought possible.”

  “You should have had more faith in me,” Hawkhurst responded.

  “True. What comes next?”

  “I’ll start by studying maps of Ireland. Fortunately it should be easier to find her in a village than a metropolis. But I think I will summon a colleague of mine from London to aid me.”

  Skye frowned slightly. “Must you involve someone else? I hoped the search could be done discreetly. We ought not expose Lady Farnwell’s secrets to the world, especially since it could result in serious repercussions for her daughter, Daphne.”

  “Macky happens to be Irish and may have some insight on where best to begin the search.”

  “Is he a spy like you?”

  Hawkhurst didn’t deign to answer her provoking question. “I would have traveled directly to London to meet with him this afternoon, but I must see you home instead.”

  She couldn’t dispute his decision. It would not be prudent for her to travel to London with him where she might be seen by her many acquaintances. The ton thought she had retired to Tallis Court, the Traherne family seat in Kent, and she would just as soon maintain that fiction.

  “How may I help?” Skye asked the earl.

  “You needn’t worry. I will proceed from here.”

  “Do you intend to look for Lady Farnwell yourself?”

  “Perhaps. I want to discuss the plan with Macky.”

  “If you go to Ireland, I ought to accompany you. Uncle Cornelius is my family. I should be part of finding his true love. If we do, I hope to persuade her to return to England to be reunited with him and her daughter.”

  “You can write her a letter.”

  “Lady Farnwell might not heed a letter. I would stand a better chance if I make my request in person.”

  “You are jumping the gun,” Hawkhurst replied patiently. “We must find her before moving on to the next step. You may trust me to act appropriately.”

  She did trust him, Skye acknowledged. He was intriguing to watch in action—dynamic, decisive, sharp-witted, but with a kindly touch that had put an old woman at ease. This was the real Lord Hawkhurst, she decided … a far different man than the dour recluse or the grieving widower she had known over the past two days.

  When they reached his home, however, the familiar grimness seemed to descend over Hawkhurst once more. His tone was curt when he escorted her inside the front hall. “I have asked the housekeeper to stay the next few nights at the castle to act as your chaperone.”

  “Do you fear being alone with me?” Skye asked lightly, but apparently he was done bantering. He gave her a dismissive look before turning to stride off toward his study.

  “May we at least dine together this evening?” Skye called after him.

  “Yes,” he answered gruffly. “For now I have your uncle’s business to attend to. I will see you at seven.”

  At the arranged hour, Hawkhurst appeared in the kitchens, dressed once more in his casual attire. Her body was instantly aware of him, but Skye tried to suppress her desire when he joined her at the servants’ dining table.

  The dinner this time was more in keeping with the usual fare suitable for an earl. They enjoyed less privacy also. Mrs. Hannah Yeats, the housekeeper, along with two of the maids, Maria and Betty, bustled to and fro, serving a variety of dishes.

  Over the meal, Hawkhurst reported that he had sent a messenger to London to summon Macky. Beau Macklin was his real name, Skye learned, and he had formerly been an actor, but she gleaned nothing more except that he would likely arrive on the morrow.

  When they were finished eating, Hawkhurst made to excuse himself.

  “Would you care for a game of chess?” she asked. “Aunt Isabella says you play, and I brought my own set.”

  “Indeed?” His gaze fixed on her. “You were awfully certain of gaining admittance, weren’t you?”

  She sent him a bright-eyed look. “Not certain, merely hopeful. I must warn you, I am rather good at chess since my brother taught me. Quinn is actually quite brilliant when it comes to strategy.”

  “Perhaps some other time.”

  “Are you afraid you will be beaten by a woman?”

  A knowing glimmer lit his eyes and turned the hue to silver. “This is your latest attempt to distract me, isn’t it, Lady Skye?”

  She dimpled. “Well, yes—but I think a little distraction would stand you in good stead at the moment. Otherwise you will just hide away in your study and drink brandy all evening.”

  His mouth twisted. “After last night, I have temporarily lost any taste for brandy.”

  Skye felt it was progress if he could refer jokingly to his overindulgence.

  He
was a superb chess player, she soon discovered when they repaired to his study. He beat her soundly twice, although the third game was closer. When she stifled a yawn, he proposed they retire for the evening.

  “Separately?” she asked although she knew the answer. “I suppose with Mrs. Yeats here, we ought not sleep together in the same room.”

  His response was very dry. “You suppose correctly. In fact, we will never sleep in the same room again.”

  Skye refrained from arguing that point, even though she had every hope of changing his mind. “What if I have another nightmare? Or what if you do?”

  “We will just have to suffer through.”

  Hawkhurst escorted her upstairs to her bedchamber door and parted ways.

  It was with great regret that Skye watched him walk away, yet more than any time since her arrival, she felt hopeful that she was at last slipping under his guard a small measure.

  Hawk dreamed about her that night—one of the most erotic dreams he’d ever experienced. He woke the next morning with his cock stiff and aching, his mind filled with lingering sensations: his fingers tangled in her golden hair, her breast in his mouth, her bare legs wrapped around his hips as he took his pleasure of her and gave her pleasure in return.

  When they met in the kitchens for breakfast, the lucent memory of making love to her hit him like a fresh blow. Unwanted images flooded him … Skye beneath him, sobbing with ecstasy as he sheathed himself deeper within the haven of her body.

  The thought of bringing her to passion again made his loins grow heavy, and he had difficulty hiding the result. Thankfully Macky arrived by midmorning and served as a distraction from his erotic fantasies.

  Macky was indeed a member of the Guardians. The chestnut-haired Irishman was also a charming ladies’ man who had recently—and surprisingly—met his match with a quiet young beauty, Lady Claire Montlow. Claire’s elder sister Eve, Countess of Hayden, had less-surprisingly married Hawk’s fellow Guardian, Sir Alex Ryder. Macky and his new bride continued to reside in England, while the Ryders made their home on the Isle of Cyrene.

  Lady Skye, who had a natural charm even more potent than Macky’s, worked her wiles on the Irishman, enough to coax him to admit that he was occasionally employed by the Foreign Office. It didn’t satisfy her rabid curiosity about the Guardians, Hawk could tell, but she didn’t press further.

  Hawk had her repeat the story about her uncle’s suspected love affair, then related the details he’d uncovered during his interview of the midwife, Peggy Nibbs. Afterward he allowed Skye to sit in on their deliberations as he and Macky pored over maps of Ireland.

  Eventually they decided to concentrate the search in the area closest to England that matched Mrs. Nibbs’s recollections. The southeastern county of Kilkenny boasted a town of the same name built around a medieval castle, as well as a smaller town, Castlecomer, a short distance to the north.

  The region even farther to the north had the additional advantage of being a horse-racing center with a National Stud and a celebrated racecourse. The broad plain of the Curragh in County Kildare was home to a number of studs with top breeding stallions.

  Acting as an advance scout, Macky would travel in the guise of purchasing agent for Lord Hawkhurst, who, he would say, wished to add some champion bloodstock to his stables. Hawk had various contacts in Ireland from his former visits there, but Macky could blend in with the local citizenry with remarkable ease and so could ask questions more easily, he explained to Lady Skye.

  “Then you have played these roles before?” she observed.

  “Aye, that we have, my lady,” Macky answered, his eyes twinkling.

  Hawk explained his rationale. “It will raise less suspicions if Macky goes first, besides making the search progress more quickly. I will follow him a few days later, after I put my affairs in order here at home.”

  Before Macky took his leave, Hawk gave him some additional instructions. “When you return from Ireland, I will want you to find out everything you can about the late baron William Farnwell, and his son, Edgar, as well as Lady Farnwell’s daughter, Daphne. In fact, you should hire Linch to begin inquiries while you are gone.”

  “Who is Linch?” Skye asked.

  “A London Bow Street Runner who has a keen eye for details.”

  The Runners were private thief takers, but Horace Linch possessed a number of skills the Guardians had relied upon in the past.

  When Skye looked concerned at yet another stranger becoming involved in her uncle’s tragic love story, Hawk reassured her. “You may trust Linch to be discreet.”

  Macky made her a similar promise before collecting the miniature portrait of Rachel, Lady Farnwell, to use in his inquiries, then bowed himself out.

  When Hawk was alone with Skye once more, she thanked him for personally conducting the search for the missing Lady Farnwell. “So you mean to leave for Ireland in a few days?”

  “Yes. The sooner the better. I have a great deal of work to do here first, but a delay will allow Macky time to narrow the search area.”

  She nodded sagely. “This is a good time for you to be away. Even if you weren’t inclined to traipse all over Ireland on my uncle’s behalf, you ought not stay here while the damaged rooms are being torn down.”

  Hawk gave her a sharp look. “I don’t need you to coddle me, sweeting.”

  “Certainly you do. Everyone needs a little coddling now and then, and you have no one else to do it for you. I am well practiced at coddling, since I have a large family and any number of good friends.”

  Hawk managed to hide a smile. In some respects, he appreciated her concern for him. Her heart was soft enough that she wouldn’t let him wallow in his pain. But it went against the grain to accept her succor.

  For the next two days, he made it a point to keep away from Skye as much as possible. He did have major preparations to make before he could leave. The first was to send for the architect in order to finalize arrangements for rebuilding the house. The workmen would start sooner than planned, so that the razing of the damaged wing would be well under way by the time he returned to England.

  Another critical step was to summon Isabella here to stay with her niece. It would never do to leave Lady Skye alone in his home for such a length of time without a respectable relative to quell the inevitable gossip.

  Hawk was actually glad to have a mission to occupy him, though. Skye was right. Leaving would allow him to escape the inevitable din of reconstruction as well as the ghosts.

  He was even gladder to delay beginning his courtship of Sir Gawain’s niece. The onerous chore of wooing a shy young miss held no appeal whatsoever.

  Surprisingly Lady Skye made no requests to accompany him on his journey to Ireland. Instead, she claimed to have plenty to occupy her while he was away. She was already supervising his temporary servants and had enlisted the stable hands, including her own grooms, in cleaning and refurbishing the house. And she wrote her cousin Lady Katharine Wilde to ask for help hiring staff from a London employment agency, starting with a permanent housekeeper and butler, although she vowed to leave the final decisions to Hawk.

  His plans progressed much as he wished. Even his relationship with his meddlesome houseguest settled into an amiable truce where she no longer pressed him about his past. Skye didn’t seem particularly sorry that he would be leaving, either.

  The night before his scheduled departure, he was awakened in the wee hours by a creaking sound outside his bedchamber door. Wondering if perhaps Skye had suffered a recurring nightmare, Hawk went to his door and opened it wide enough to see her tiptoeing down the hall, carrying a partially covered lamp.

  “I am returning to my rooms,” she murmured in explanation when she spied him. “I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs for a glass of warm milk.”

  In the dim light, he could just make out her attire. “Then why are you wearing your traveling cloak?”

  His suspicious tone didn’t seem to faze her. “I have no proper dressing
gown with me.”

  Hawk remembered deciding not to loan her any of his late wife’s garments. He could have offered her one of his own dressing gowns, but picturing Skye in his clothing would only have led to unwanted fantasies about removing it.

  When she said a pleasant good night, he made no response. With a frown on his face, Hawk watched her slip inside her room, then returned to his own bed. He rose early, but she must have slept in. He was conscious of a faint, nagging disappointment that Skye was not at breakfast in order to wish him farewell.

  When he arrived in the stable yard where his coach and team awaited him, his footman opened the carriage door and stood back. Hawk was halfway inside when he realized the vehicle was already occupied. Lady Skye sat in the far corner, dressed in her traveling gown and cloak. Evidently she had snuck into his coach while he was breakfasting, or perhaps even earlier.

  He settled slowly on the seat and shook his head in admiring disbelief. “This was the reason for your midnight endeavor, wasn’t it? You weren’t after warm milk to help you sleep.”

  “Oh, but I was,” Skye avowed. “I needed a good excuse in case you caught me roaming the corridors. I put my valise in the boot last night and hid myself here this morning, since I didn’t want you to see me and provoke an argument in front of the servants.”

  “Why ever would we argue?” he drawled sardonically.

  “Because you will no doubt object to my intentions. I am coming with you to Ireland,” she announced serenely.

  “No, you are not.”

  “If you wish to stop me, you will have to throw me bodily out of your carriage.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “If you do, I will only follow you in my own carriage. And I see no point in doubling the expense of searching for my uncle’s true love.”