Secrets of Seduction

by Nicole Jordan

  Skye searched for something to say, to distract him from the pain he must have felt each time he returned to his empty home, and wound up chattering about the nearby village of Hawkhurst, what sort of market and shops it offered. She hoped Bella would be able to help coax Hawk out of his self-imposed isolation and chip away at the granite wall of defenses he’d erected to avoid more excruciating pain.

  Lady Isabella must have been watching for them, for when the coach swept up the rutted gravel drive and came to a halt in front of the castle, she ran lightly down the steps, exclaiming in delight at their arrival.

  True to expectations, her warmth and easygoing nature were on display for them all. The lively half-Spanish widow was nearing middle age, but she seemed much younger than her forty-six years as she embraced Skye first. “I am so pleased to see you, my dear.”

  “Thank you for coming to our rescue, Aunt Bella.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Her treatment of Skye had always been motherly but in a way that fostered independence, since she ardently believed that women should not be at the mercy of men, as she had been during her first marriage to a Spanish nobleman.

  Isabella turned to Hawk next and pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek. When Skye spied the silent look they exchanged, she interpreted Hawk’s piercing glance to mean something like, I intend to throttle you, Bella, for sharing so much of my past with your niece.

  Aloud, he said only, “I will speak to you later, my lady.”

  The moment of reckoning had to be postponed while Isabella welcomed Rachel to the castle. She caught the baroness’s hands in her own, and for the sake of the servants in earshot, greeted her as Mrs. Donnelly. But once they were all inside and had handed over their outer garments, Isabella didn’t delay in arranging more privacy.

  After ordering tea to be brought in, she led the way to the drawing room, where a fire burned cheerily in the hearth. Immediately, she was more effusive toward Rachel and more sympathetic as well as they sat side by side on a sofa. “Please let me say that I am all admiration, my dear. After the trials you endured … to maintain such strength and presence of mind as to fool your tormenter and begin your life over entirely in another country … well, I don’t know that I could ever have been as brave. I know we shall become fast friends.”

  Rachel flushed in gratitude and seemed well on the way to being won over.

  Skye was glad her aunt would take Rachel under her wing. Not only were the two nearer in age, Bella had far more worldly experience and would be better at making a lady with such a traumatic past feel safe and cared for.

  Then Hawk explained what he needed in the way of a disguise for Rachel, starting with henna dye for her hair. Isabella’s dark eyes lit with mischievousness and she promptly launched into a tale about her time in the Kingdom of Algiers in northern Africa, when she’d been held captive in the harem of a Berber sheikh and learned about exotic cosmetics and beautifying agents such as henna. “Leave everything to me. I promise I can make Mrs. Donnelly look like an Irishwoman born and bred.”

  While her aunt was reminiscing, Skye noticed that the drawing room had already been restored to a semblance of its former elegance. The ghostly holland covers had been banished, every wood surface gleamed with beeswax, and the air no longer smelled musty and damp.

  When Skye remarked on it, Isabella beamed with pride. “I must admit, I have accomplished a great deal since my arrival last week. Wet tea leaves sprinkled on the carpets before sweeping cuts down on the dust, while incense burned daily helps drive away odors.”

  “You have worked wonders, Aunt.”

  “As you suggested, we are conquering the house room by room. It has helped that Kate started hiring staff from London—Lady Katharine Wilde is my other niece by marriage,” Isabella explained to Rachel before addressing Hawk again. “A good number of the furnishings are long out of fashion, my lord. It may cost you a pretty penny to replace them, but I shall take pleasure in diminishing your purse,” she teased in the bantering way of a long friendship.

  Hawk did not immediately respond, for he seemed to be occupied in listening intently. Just then Skye became aware of the faint din in the distance—a din that sounded like hammering and pounding.

  “The reconstruction has begun?” Hawk asked Bella.

  “Not quite yet. The damaged rooms in the east wing have been razed and much of the debris hauled away. Your architect, Mr. Beald, wishes to meet with you at your earliest convenience.”

  “Now is a good time. If you will pray excuse me, ladies …”

  When Hawk rose from his chair and made for the door, Skye hurried to follow and caught him before he could leave the drawing room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To confer with Beald and inspect the renovations thus far.”

  “May I come with you?” she asked, not wanting him to face the demolished wing alone.

  He hesitated. “If I deny my permission, will you make a pest of yourself and tag along anyway?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The faint hint of exasperation reappeared, which relieved Skye, as did his rather mild command. “Come, then.”

  He led the way outside to the rear of the castle. Work had progressed significantly on the damaged wing, Skye saw at once. A gaping hole stood at the end of the east wing, and most of the evidence of the fire was gone.

  The architect’s crews were scurrying here and there, filling wagons with debris from the wreckage, just as Bella had said. Judging by the virtual army of workers, Skye suspected Hawk was paying a fortune for speed so he could bring his new bride home as soon as possible.

  A muscle worked in Hawk’s jaw, but otherwise his response was indiscernible. Skye felt his homecoming could have been much worse, though. The air of neglect and hopelessness about the castle seemed somehow diminished.

  Perhaps it was partly due to the bustling atmosphere. The sun would set soon, and the laborers seemed to be striving for as much progress as possible before dusk. Or perhaps the change was due to the season and clement weather. It was a clear, crisp autumn day, and the gold and red colors of the surrounding landscape added to the pleasant aura.

  Skye was immensely glad for the fair weather. Sunshine made everything brighter, and if the storms would retreat for the moment, her dreams would be more peaceful, even if Hawk would not be sleeping beside her to comfort her.

  She hoped Hawk’s sleep would be helped as well. He seemed to divine what she was thinking, for he drawled in a wry voice, “I won’t be driven to drink or start throwing brandy decanters, if that is what worries you.”

  Skye smiled in relief. “In truth, it does worry me.”

  “Then you may stop watching me so intently. You are scrutinizing me as if I might erupt at any moment.”

  Actually she was more concerned that Hawk would hold all his bitterness and grief and anger inside. But rather than argue that eruptions could be healing, she noted that a tall, thin man was walking across the courtyard toward them.

  When Hawk introduced him to Skye as a renowned architect, Mr. Nathanial Beald hastened to give a report.

  “My lord, I am pleased to say that we are slightly ahead of schedule. The next step is to erect wooden scaffolding to begin rebuilding. And as we discussed, we will reuse the stone to make the exterior of this wing appear to match the rest.…”

  Skye was glad to discover that the renovations would take perhaps five or six more months to complete, but the interval would do little to prevent or even delay Hawk’s expected courtship. He could still take Miss Olwen for his bride, even if he had no splendid estate to offer his countess yet.

  But for just now, Skye was content that Hawk would be occupied and his dark memories overshadowed by this new purpose.

  She left him conferring with the architect and poring over blueprints, and made her way back to the house. She wanted to give her aunt and Rachel time to become acquainted. Thus, rather than return to the drawing room, Skye stopped by the kitc
hens and spoke to the cook about dinner: where to hold it and what to prepare. Then she went to her own room to change her attire for dinner.

  Isabella, bless her, had brought a trunkful of gowns, but Skye chose a simple blue kerseymere dress in deference to Rachel’s lack of formal attire.

  She was repinning her hair in a knot at her nape when Isabella knocked lightly and entered at Skye’s invitation.

  “I have given Rachel the bedchamber adjacent to mine. Poor soul. But I do like her gumption in defying her brute of a husband.”

  “So do I,” Skye agreed.

  “Tomorrow we will begin work on her disguise and shop for a proper wardrobe for her, but for now I will loan her some of my gowns. She is more my size than yours.” They were of similar heights, but her aunt’s figure was plumper with a thicker waist.

  With those details settled, Isabella wasted no time in expressing her curiosity. “So, my dear, I am on pins and needles to hear about your romance with Hawk. What have you determined thus far?”

  Skye winced. “I am convinced he is my match, Aunt Bella.”

  “So you are compatible in mind and body and heart?”

  “In many ways, yes, I believe so. I felt sparks of lightning from the first moment we met, just as you predicted. When I am with him, I forget how to breathe. And yet we have an undeniable connection beyond the physical. He makes me yearn for something deeper.”

  “How far have you progressed in the physical realm?”

  Skye felt her cheeks flushing at her aunt’s plain speaking. “Farther than I expected. You were right. Passion with a special lover is amazing. But as for my dream of finding true love with Hawk? He is very likely wed to the Guardians, so nothing I say or do may matter.” She explained his reason for choosing Miss Olwen, then sighed. “Even if I could persuade him to fall in love with me—which is questionable—we may have no future together.”

  “And on his part? What does Hawk believe?”

  “I had to confess about Kate’s theory. He thinks the notion of us being legendary lovers is absurd.”

  “Still, you did well to tell him the truth.”

  “I know. ‘Honesty is imperative for love to grow.’ Weren’t those your exact words? If you have other secrets of seduction to share, I should very much like to hear them.”

  Isabella pursed her lips thoughtfully. “For now, my best advice is to strive for patience, my dear. You cannot force love, particularly with a man so emotionally scarred as Hawk. He must learn to love again, and you are the perfect woman to teach him.”

  “I will do my best. Perhaps I can claim some progress. Since we first met, he has become less reclusive and a trifle more open about his feelings. But it is supremely frustrating to be so helpless.”

  They spoke for quite a while longer, with Bella offering consolation and inspiration and Skye explaining her immediate plans, starting with the arrangements for dinner and Hawk’s severe dislike of his own dining room, then catching up on the other Wilde family members and Skye’s hope for Uncle Cornelius’s reunion with Rachel.

  The last thing Aunt Bella said before leaving to change her own attire was for Skye not to lose heart—just the encouragement Skye needed to bolster her resolve.

  Following her aunt to the door, she gave Isabella a fierce hug. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you here, dearest auntie.”

  “I know, darling girl. But never fear, we will not fail.”

  Upon shutting her bedchamber door after her aunt, Skye marveled at how much lighter her spirits felt after their coze. In her campaign to win Hawk’s heart, she had needed to call in reinforcements, and there was no better general in the war of love than Lady Isabella Wilde.

  Skye had not looked forward to the evening ahead, but it turned out to be more pleasant than she’d anticipated. At her insistence, they took supper in the drawing room, with the various dishes laid out on a side table, much like a buffet supper at a ball. Skye claimed that not only was the dining room too formal for the four of them, it still needed to be cleaned and made habitable. Additionally, the warmth of the hearth fire made the drawing room more appealing.

  From Hawk’s sharp gaze, she knew that he knew what she was doing: protecting him from his dark memories. She also wanted to make his newest guest feel at home, so thankfully he refrained from chastising her and actually joined in the effort to make Rachel’s first evening as comfortable as possible.

  After supper they played cards. There was no music, for the pianoforte was dreadfully out of tune, and Skye decided that singing would be too effusive. But in the future, she intended to introduce music as well as charades and other parlor games and perhaps poetry readings to the evening’s entertainment.

  When it was time to retire to bed, Rachel’s grateful-if-weary smile was all the reward Skye needed, yet Hawk also seemed more at ease than before.

  In fact, the next two days proceeded better than Skye could have hoped for. She kept a close eye on Hawk, but the new aura about the castle seemed to have a positive influence. He spent most of each day out in the stables or in the meadows riding and training his new stallion to escape the noise from the construction, which at times was deafening. Skye stayed busy setting his home to rights, wearing her oldest gown and a muslin headscarf, not only supervising the servants in cleaning, but performing a myriad of other tasks. Aunt Bella and Rachel pitched in and were especially helpful in deciding whether to replace or refurbish the furniture, carpets, and wallpaper and in discussing the best fabrics and colors.

  Another accomplishment was the disguise to better conceal the baroness’s former identity. The henna dye arrived from Macky by special messenger, and Isabella set to work transforming Rachel’s hair from gray-streaked brown to an attractive shade of auburn, so she could abandon the turbans. Carefully applied cosmetics—particularly kohl to make her eyes appear more exotic—also created a much different look from her miniature portrait.

  On the afternoon of the second day Skye had to deal with another big obstacle. She was upstairs with Rachel and the housekeeper, inventorying linen, when one of the new footmen announced that Lord Cornelius Wilde had arrived and was awaiting her in the library. Her pulse suddenly quickened in anticipation, but Rachel went rigid with fear.

  Skye offered her a heartening smile. “Pray continue with the inventory, Mrs. Donnelly. I will send for you when the time is right.”

  If the time is ever right, Skye amended silently as she hurried downstairs. She still had a great deal of persuading to do.

  She had asked for her uncle to be shown into the library for a reason. It was where the dedicated scholar was most comfortable, for one thing. Additionally, he would consider it criminal that the leather-bound tomes had been neglected and allowed to gather dust and mildew for a decade.

  As expected, he had donned his spectacles and was examining the shelves closely, a disgruntled look on his lined face.

  Now over sixty, Cornelius had silvering hair and heavy eyebrows. His tall, refined build and high-boned features lent him an unmistakable aristocratic elegance. Yet as a brilliant classics scholar, he had a vague, unfocused air and was uncomfortable in most social settings. To Skye, he was the dear, dear man who had given up his quiet, intellectual life to raise five rambunctious, irrepressible orphans.

  After warmly embracing him, Skye removed the holland covers from a leather couch and made him sit beside her.

  “As I said in my letter, you know that Aunt Bella and I are helping her good friend Lord Hawkhurst renovate his home. I have hopes that you will help save his library.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, “of course I will help. In truth, I am eager to begin. That is a priceless edition of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics simply rotting on the shelf.”

  “There is another, more important, reason I asked you here, Uncle.”

  “What could be more important?”

  Skye took a breath. “I have some news that I think you will welcome. At least I hope you will be pleased.”
>
  As Cornelius sat waiting expectantly, she swallowed, realizing she was highly nervous herself. “The thing is, Uncle … I have a confession to make. Some months ago, I found your love letters to Baroness Farnwell.”

  His blue eyes narrowed, as if he was disappointed in her. “I thought I had those well hidden.”

  “You did.” Skye cleared her throat, feeling once again like the child her long-suffering uncle had tried to discipline after catching her in some mischief or other. Not wanting to become sidetracked, she plowed on. “It seems that you loved her very much.”

  “I did.”

  “How do you feel about her now, after all this time?”

  He looked taken aback by her question.

  “I know I am prying,” Skye hastened to add, “but it is not mere rudeness. I have a good reason for asking.”

  His eyes clouded. “I never stopped loving her.”

  “Then what if she didn’t drown all those years ago?”

  Cornelius blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that … Rachel Farnwell is still … alive.”

  Disbelief warred with hope on his features as he reached out to grip her arm. “What the bloody devil are you saying?”

  Unlike his charges, her mild-mannered uncle never cursed. The urgency in his tone was a measure of his shock, Skye knew, so she hurried to explain how Rachel had been so desperate to escape the abusive baron, she had staged her drowning and fled to Ireland.

  When she was done, Cornelius sat there unmoving, trying to digest her revelation. He seemed stunned as if by a blow.

  “Rachel is still alive, Uncle,” she repeated, prodding.

  “Dear God.” His mouth was trembling as he worked to suppress strong emotions. “All that time … I never knew.”

  “Would you like to see her?”

  He shook himself and focused his blind gaze on Skye. “See her? How is that possible?”

  “She is here now, at Hawkhurst Castle.”