Secrets of Seduction

by Nicole Jordan

  “You cannot travel all that distance with me. My inquiries could take a fortnight or more.”

  Lady Skye had an answer for that also. “I am not concerned about scandal, remember? To conceal my identity, I will wear a veil in public and pose as your widowed cousin, at least while we are in England. See”—she held up a black bonnet with a swath of black netting—“Mrs. Yeats loaned this to me. It should be adequate to prevent me from being recognized by anyone who happens to know me.”

  Hawk felt an urge to grind his teeth. “Your brother will be angry.”

  “My brother has no say in this matter,” Skye assured him. “I can manage my own life. Moreover, Quinn will be mollified if we succeed. He loves our uncle and wants his happiness almost as much as I do.”

  Her expression grew earnest as she leaned closer to Hawk. “Please, my lord.… Fate played a horrible trick on my uncle, but now I have a chance to set it right. I would never forgive myself if I let it pass by without trying to help.”

  “You have already done more than enough.”

  “No, I have barely begun.”

  Hawk eyed her with a baleful look, half-exasperated and wholly vexed. He believed Lady Skye when she threatened to follow him. He couldn’t let her go haring off to Ireland alone. If nothing else, he would have to protect her from herself.

  With a disgruntled sigh, he rapped on the coach roof, giving his coachman the order to start his team. This was not surrender, Hawk told himself. He merely wanted to accomplish his task quickly so he could be rid of Skye and temptation.

  “Do you always get your way?” he grumbled when the carriage was moving.

  She flashed him a brilliant smile and laughed softly. “Almost always,” she replied without even a pretense of humility.

  His lips twitched. “You are an aggravating, conniving little wretch, do you know?”

  “Yes, I know, but I will grow on you over time.”

  Hawk gave a snort. “I doubt that.”

  He wouldn’t give her the opportunity to grow on him, he promised himself, but for now it appeared he was stuck with her.

  Determined to ignore her as much as possible, Hawk stretched his long legs out on the opposite seat and leaned back against the leather squabs. Then he crossed his arms and shut his eyes, prepared to get some of the sleep that had eluded him the previous night because of his erotic dreams and pretend he wasn’t acutely aware of the charming beauty who sat there on the seat beside him, smiling so sweetly and smugly.

  Skye was vastly relieved that Hawkhurst had agreed to let her accompany him, albeit under duress. Yet he was distancing himself from her, she could tell. When he woke from his slumber, he unbent only enough to tell her the route they would take.

  They were now heading for the seaport of Bristol, where they would likely have to wait for a passenger ship to ferry them to Wexford Harbor in Ireland. From there they would travel northwest to Kilkenny, the closest county to England that matched the details Mrs. Nibbs remembered. Hawkhurst had made this exact journey several times in the past, in search of champion bloodstock for his racing stables.

  Otherwise, he withdrew from conversation the first day, hiding any emotion in his eyes behind that dark fringe of lashes. Skye resolved to bide her time, but it was difficult in the close confines of his coach. Her physical awareness of him grew with each mile they traveled. Sitting so near to him, she could feel the warmth of his splendid body and smell the now-familiar scent of his skin mixed with the freshness of soap.

  When they reached Bristol late that evening, they took separate rooms at an inn but ate supper together in a private parlor. Over the meal, he made one more effort to dissuade her. “I will happily hire a carriage to convey you home in the morning.”

  Skye shook her head. “You will not change my mind, my lord.”

  The stakes were too high, she added silently, both for her uncle and for herself. This was her best and perhaps sole chance to win Hawkhurst as her heart-mate, and she wasn’t giving up.

  He continued pressing her, however. “Bella is scheduled to arrive at my estate tomorrow. She will worry when you are not there to receive her.”

  “I left her a note of explanation. She will not only understand, she would encourage me to accompany you. Besides, I might actually be able to help you find Lady Farnwell. Two heads are often better than one.”

  “I already have two heads with Macky. Three, counting Linch.”

  “It is not the same thing. You obviously haven’t considered Lady Farnwell’s perspective. If a number of strange men come hunting for her after all these years, she may take fright. As a woman, I will stand a better chance of soothing her fears. Especially since I am related to her former lover.”

  Hawkhurst gave her credit for the point but said he would be able to manage Lady Farnwell on his own. “Furthermore, I have no desire to be burdened with a meddlesome pest the entire journey.”

  Skye smiled up at him. “Instead of chiding me for meddling, you should be thanking me for providing you a reason to leave home.”

  His mouth curled. “You are all consideration.”

  “Indeed, I am. It is not healthy to dwell on your sorrows. I can provide you a distraction and keep you company.”

  “I have no desire for either.”

  When she offered to play chess—or cards, if he preferred—to break up the monotony of their travels, he agreed to chess but didn’t seem to appreciate the teasing note in her voice when she added, “If I win, you must tell me more about the Guardians.”

  Hawkhurst responded with more than a hint of exasperation. “You will learn nothing more about them from me.”

  “Why is it so imperative that your league remains a secret?”

  “If I tell you why, it won’t be a secret anymore, will it?”

  Other than their chess matches and meals, however, Hawkhurst spent as little time as possible with her. Two mornings later, they boarded a ferry, along with the earl’s carriage and servants. As they sailed out of the mouth of the Severn, heading for the Irish Sea, Skye stood at the prow of the ship beside Hawkhurst, unable to contain her excitement, despite a chill wind and rough seas.

  “I have never been to Ireland before. In fact, I have seldom left England, although I accompanied my family across France this past summer to support Jack when he visited his father’s principality of Navartania, so this will be an exciting adventure for me. The Wildes are known for their audacious exploits, but I never am allowed to enjoy any.”

  Judging from Hawkhurst’s skeptical glance, he didn’t appear to believe her. “What do you call camping on my doorstep in a thunderstorm?”

  “That was unnerving, not exciting. And I am speaking in generalities. My brother is overly protective of me and firmly resolved to keep me out of danger.”

  “Can you fault him for that?”

  “I suppose not. But it is hardly fair. Quinn is the daredevil in our family and is even an intimate of Lord Byron. He risks his own skin far too frequently to my mind, and his cavalier attitude toward his own safety is our greatest source of disagreement. After losing our parents, I couldn’t bear to lose Quinn also. And he feels similarly about me. But my gender is a significant additional disadvantage.”

  She glanced up at Hawkhurst. “You have traveled the world, so you wouldn’t understand how liberating this journey to Ireland is for me. You have never had to bow to the dictates of society, either. It is enormously frustrating, being hemmed in by the strictures governing women—especially unmarried young women.”

  To underscore her complaint, Skye raised the face veil she had worn in public since leaving his estate in East Sussex. She had always wanted to do more, to be more than genteel young ladies were permitted to be. But this was actually the first time she had ever struck out on her own in a major way, without her family close by. Even when she’d gone away to boarding school as a girl, her cousin Katharine had been with her. Kate was privy to her current plan to romance Lord Hawkhurst, but wouldn’t interfere un
less Skye specifically asked for help. She didn’t intend to tell Quinn at all, for he would likely drag her home.

  “Please, allow me to enjoy this moment, Lord Hawkhurst,” she entreated in a low voice.

  He held her gaze for a long moment, studying her as if judging her sincerity. Then surprisingly, he relented. Rather than retire belowdecks, he summoned one of the crew to fetch her a blanket, then wrapped her in it to keep her warm and stood beside her, answering her questions about Ireland and relating interesting facts about his travels there.

  As the ship crossed St. George’s Channel, the vivid green land mass grew till it resembled a jewel rising from the water.

  “How striking,” Skye murmured. “I can see why Ireland is called the Emerald Isle.”

  Later, as they grew closer, Hawkhurst pointed out various features along the coast, which led to a discussion about horses.

  “You seem to know Ireland well,” Skye observed. “You said you come here often to purchase bloodstock?”

  “Every few years. Some of the best stock comes from Ireland.”

  “Have you always bred horses?”

  A dark cloud momentarily claimed his features. “Not until I moved to Cyrene. I began breeding as a diversion but continued in earnest when I had success crossing Berbers and Arabians with Irish and English Thoroughbreds.”

  “Why would you want to mix breeds?”

  “To leaven stamina and endurance with speed and grace.”

  “And you sell the horses you raise?”

  “Most of them. Not for the income as much as the satisfaction of creating spectacular results.”

  “But you train them as well, do you not?”

  “Sometimes. That is purely for the satisfaction.” His warm tone seemed to verify his statement.

  “I think I can understand why,” Skye observed. “Horses are magnificent creatures, and you clearly have a magical touch with them, judging by the stallion you rode the other day. How do you ever manage to gentle a horse like that so easily?”

  “I start by letting him know my voice and scent and touch to persuade him to trust me.”

  That was precisely what she was trying to do with Hawkhurst, Skye thought. Not that she could allow him to know her strategy. She would drive him away if she let on how badly she wanted him. That was one of her Aunt Isabella’s prime rules in the game of love: A lady should never appear to chase a gentleman. She must contrive to let him pursue her instead.

  Skye had quizzed her aunt in great detail about how to approach Hawkhurst. You must be his friend and confidant, simply be there for him when he needs comforting, Isabella had warned her.

  Easier said than done, Skye had quickly discovered, given the way he closed himself off from the world. Except for that one night of drunken revelations, he was clearly an intensely private man who’d finely honed the art of protecting his secrets. He was maddeningly remote and elusive. Undoubtedly numerous other women had attempted futilely to overcome that elusiveness.

  Skye had every intention of succeeding, however. She had made her choice. Hawkhurst was her future mate, she was sure of it. She had only to make him see it.

  That, and win his heart.

  Glancing at him now, she swallowed her misgivings. Despite the earl’s rakish behavior in his salad days, he had fallen in love and become a devoted husband and father. Skye devoutly hoped that if he had loved once, he could do so again.

  But first she needed to help him put to rest his tragic past. From practically the first moment of meeting him, she had felt his overwhelming sadness, his loneliness, and she meant to put a stop to both. She was most haunted, however, by Hawkhurst’s guilt that he hadn’t perished with his family.

  Skye pressed her lips together in determination. She would give him a new reason for living by making him fall in love with her.

  A difficult task, yes, but not impossible.

  She was a Wilde, after all.

  They spent the night at the small seaport of Wexford, and then set out for the town of Kilkenny early the next morning, where Hawkhurst had arranged to rendezvous with Macky. When they arrived at the designated inn, a message awaited them from Macky about his lack of progress, saying that he had ridden to the smaller town of Castlecomer and should return by the next afternoon.

  They were met with additional news that did not sit well with Hawkhurst. Due to the traveling fair in town, the inn was nearly full, so they were able to book only a single bedchamber and no private parlors.

  To Skye’s disappointment, Hawkhurst said he would spend the night with his male servants. Perhaps to avoid being cooped up with her for the remainder of the day, however, he offered to show her the sights while they waited for his colleague, much to her surprise and delight.

  In medieval times, he told her, Kilkenny had once rivaled Dublin in historical importance but had not grown apace. Even so, it boasted both a cathedral and a castle of gray stone overlooking the River Nore, as well as shops and a market. Upon attending the fair, Hawkhurst bought her an ice and took her to watch the jugglers and acrobats and a troupe of actors performing parts of the Shakespearean comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  The engaging entertainments made Skye feel as if she were celebrating a holiday rather than pursuing a somber investigation. Hawkhurst himself seemed to relax a small measure and even cracked a smile once or twice when she teased him about his solemnity.

  At the conclusion of the long day, she was pleasantly weary but returned to the inn with reluctance. She hadn’t wanted the enchantment to end.

  “Thank you for a lovely day, my lord,” she told him earnestly as they entered the Green Goose. “I can’t remember when I have enjoyed myself more.”

  Perhaps Hawkhurst might have answered had the innkeeper not greeted him just then. “My lord, a message arrived for you barely moments ago.”

  Hawkhurst took the proffered letter but waited until they had climbed the stairs to her room before breaking the seal and scanning the contents.

  “Is it from Macky?” Skye asked.

  “Yes. He discovered a possible lead to Rachel Farnwell’s whereabouts.”

  Excitement filled Skye. “What does he say?”

  “A shopkeeper in Castlecomer recognized the subject in the miniature portrait. It resembles a woman by the name of Meg Donnelly, who lives in a small village close to Castlecomer.”

  “That is famous!”

  “Don’t raise your hopes too high,” Hawkhurst warned. “It might not be Lady Farnwell.”

  “But it might be. So what is our next step? Should we travel there tonight?”

  “Such haste isn’t necessary. Macky wishes to investigate further and try to confirm her identity. If so, he won’t approach her alone. You and I will leave in the morning in time to meet with him at noon. It is less than two hours’ drive.”

  Skye found it difficult to contain her anticipation, but she realized that no purpose would be served by racing to reach Castlecomer that evening.

  They could have dined in the public room of the inn, but Hawkhurst ordered supper to be brought upstairs to her room. Even though she’d given up her face veil once they’d disembarked in Ireland, they wanted to avoid her needless exposure.

  Over their meal, Skye became conscious that this might be her last opportunity to be alone with him for a while, since they would be joining his colleague the next morning. She dallied as long as possible over the game of piquet that followed, knowing that Hawkhurst intended to spend the night elsewhere.

  When it was time to retire, she stopped him before he rose from the table. “You needn’t leave, my lord. There is no reason to inconvenience yourself by sleeping with your servants when a perfectly good bed is right here.”

  He glanced dismissively at her. “There is only one bed.”

  “We have spent two nights together already. What harm will there be in doing so once more? Please, won’t you consider staying here with me tonight? I have not slept well on this entire journey, being alone in str
ange inns.”

  That was completely true. She’d had another nightmare last night, although not a severe one. But she also wanted him to sleep with her so she could comfort him. There were still shadows lingering in his eyes—shadows she longed to banish.

  “It would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Skye added lightly. “You are supposed to be a hero. You should act like one and console me.”

  Faint amusement curved his lips, even as he studied her skeptically. “This is another of your connivances, isn’t it?”

  There was no avoiding the perceptive depths of his eyes, so she didn’t even try. “I may be conniving,” she readily admitted, “but I usually have good reason. In this case, I can sleep much more peacefully with you. Nothing needs happen between us. We can remain perfectly chaste.”

  Hawkhurst hesitated a long moment. When she was about to give up hope, he shook his head in self-deprecation, as if hardly believing he would agree to her proposition. “Very well. I’ll stay.”

  Feeling a great surge of relief, Skye smiled. Rising, she moved around the table. “Here, let me help you off with your coat.”

  “I can undress myself,” he said dryly.

  “But you have no valet present, and I don’t mind. Besides, I would like you to reciprocate. It is not easy untying a corset by myself.”

  He allowed her to take his coat and waistcoat. While she hung the garments on a wall peg, he removed his boots and cravat.

  Drawn by his irresistible allure, Skye couldn’t help watching him. His well-tailored shirt and breeches clung to his body, accenting his lean, muscular grace. His shirt followed, revealing the powerful play of the sleek muscles of his chest and shoulders and arms. Her pulse quickened as he stripped down to his drawers. He was so beautiful he took her breath away.

  Then he crossed to the bed to turn down the covers, giving her his ravaged back, reminding her once again of his tragic past.

  Feeling less steady at the sight of his burn scars, Skye started to undress herself. She managed her gown and half boots and stockings easily, but when it came time to untie her corset, she presented her own back to him.