Secrets of Seduction

by Nicole Jordan

  “No, you are definitely not dreaming,” Skye said tenderly.

  “Dear God,” Daphne repeated in a hoarse whisper. “Please … tell me, where is she?”

  “She is here in England now.”

  Daphne shook herself. “This is unbelievable. May I see her? Does she want to see me? How is she?”

  Looking dazed, Daphne rose to her feet and took two steps toward Skye, then stopped. “Forgive me, I am behaving like a madwoman.”

  Skye smiled briefly. “Not at all. It is only natural that your thoughts are scattered after such an enormous revelation caught you off guard.”

  Inhaling again, Daphne forced herself to resume her seat. “I have innumerable questions, but perhaps I should allow you to speak, Lady Skye.”

  “To begin with, your mother is well, and she longs to meet you. The story of how she came to leave you is dreadfully painful for her, and she wishes to explain her reasoning herself in more detail and beg your forgiveness.”

  Daphne nodded, her expression becoming more subdued. “How did you and Lady Katharine come to be involved with my mother?”

  “I happened across some of her correspondence to my Uncle Cornelius before her marriage and realized she had once been a friend of his. When Mrs. Nibbs confided the circumstances of her escape, I went to Ireland to find her. She has been living there under an assumed name. This is her likeness when she was much younger.”

  Skye withdrew the miniature from her reticule and passed it to Miss Farnwell, who sat there staring avidly.

  “I look a good deal like her at that age.”

  “Yes, but we have been at pains to disguise her appearance in order to maintain the fiction of her death.”

  Daphne’s brow furrowed, then cleared. “Because of my brother? Edgar doesn’t know, does he?”

  “No. The consequences could be dire for Lord Farnwell. The succession would be in question if it were proven that his own mother’s marriage to your father was invalid.”

  Evidently Daphne had no desire to dwell on her brother, for she returned to the former subject. “When may I see my mother?”

  “Very shortly, if you wish,” Skye said. “For now she is staying with a friend of my family’s in East Sussex. Katharine and I thought we should devise a natural pretext for you to accompany me to the country. Perhaps I could commission you to paint some watercolors of a lovely old rose garden.”

  “That seems ideal,” Daphne mused aloud, her thoughts racing ahead. “I could easily leave tonight. Lady Gowing will not mind making do without me for a time. I only need to cancel some engagements first.…”

  Kate interjected her own opinion. “There is no need for such haste, Miss Farnwell. Tomorrow will be soon enough, or even the day after. We don’t want to raise any undue suspicions with your unexplained actions.”

  Daphne frowned at her choice of words. “No, of course not. Even if Edgar were completely unaffected by my mother’s return, I don’t want him to know of it. He is spiteful enough to thwart my happiness on general principle. We have long been at loggerheads.”

  “So you can understand why we must maintain secrecy for now.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  The discussion turned to formulating plans then, and they agreed to wait another day and a half before Skye escorted Daphne to Hawkhurst Castle. Kate planned to remain in London rather than accompany them. Her carriage would return Mrs. Nibbs to Brackstone the next day and then be at Skye’s disposal.

  That night Skye slept in her own bed for the first time in weeks. It was good to be home, she decided, even if the magnificent town house belonging to the Earl of Traherne seemed strangely empty.

  Quinn was still away at points unknown, having become obsessed with his own version of changing fate. Their parents had died at sea off the coast of France—a tragedy that might have been prevented in a vessel that could outrun a storm. Thus, Quinn was set on funding the design of an enormous steam engine that could power sailing ships.

  He had disappeared on his quest over a month before, but Skye was glad for his absence, since she hadn’t wanted him interfering with her attempted romance with Hawk. She spent the next day catching up on correspondence with her friends and dispatching social obligations. And the morning after that, she set out for East Sussex with Daphne in Kate’s carriage.

  Daphne was alternately excited, anxious, nervous, and hopeful. As they neared Hawk’s castle, she asked Skye to remain with her when she met her mother for the first time. Skye did her best to put Daphne at ease and prepare her for what to expect, particularly for what her mother was like. And then Skye listened while Daphne shared her concerns.

  When they arrived, it was near midday and a chill rain was falling. The renovations for the family wing were not as obvious upon their approach, but the gravel drive seemed less rutted and the overgrowth of the park had been significantly pared back. Rachel must have been watching anxiously from a window, for as soon as their carriage drew to a halt, she appeared on the front steps above them.

  Clearly, Daphne hardly dared to breathe as a footman opened the carriage door for her. Rachel looked just as nervous as she slowly descended the stone stairway.

  When she reached Daphne, they stood there in the rain, drinking each other in. Lord Cornelius had followed at a discreet distance and stood watching the two of them. It was left to Skye to make the introductions, then move the encounter inside, where liveried footmen accepted their wet outer garments and bonnets.

  They couldn’t hold a tender reunion in front of all the servants, yet once they made it to the parlor, the searching glances resumed. Mother and daughter were both weeping silently, tears of happiness running down their faces.

  Then Rachel took Daphne’s hands and murmured in a hoarse voice, “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Daphne gave a watery laugh. “Of course I can, Mama.” Then she winced. “I ought not call you that, oughtn’t I?”

  “I fear not, my dearest girl. You must address me as Mrs. Donnelly or Meg.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It only matters that I have found you. I always dreamed of knowing my mother, but it seems impossible that my dream has come true.”

  “I feared you would hate me,” Rachel said in a choked voice.

  Daphne’s expression remained solemn. “When I first learned of your existence, I felt a bit resentful that you had left me.”

  “I could not take you with me, Daphne, no matter how agonizing the choice. You were so very young—just a tiny baby. Your father would never have ceased looking for us if I had stolen you away. It was difficult leaving my family and friends, but abandoning you was like ripping out my heart.”

  Daphne’s slow nod suggested understanding. “I realize why you felt it necessary to fabricate your death. Papa was not only cold and heartless but physically brutal. But it is harder to accept why you kept the secret from me after he was gone.”

  “I was frightened by the possible ramifications. The truth could alter your life so drastically. I didn’t dare expose you to your half brother’s wrath, for one thing. He inherited your father’s temperament, from what I can gather.”

  “Yes, Edgar is much like Papa.”

  “So perhaps you can see why I thought it best for your sake to maintain the lie that I had lived for twenty-five years. Moreover, I had no confidence that you would welcome the news, until Lady Skye persuaded me to take the risk.”

  Daphne cast Skye a thankful look. “I am enormously grateful that she did.”

  Rachel hesitated. “I must ask, Daphne … did your father ever raise a hand to you?”

  “No. He was mostly indifferent. I think because I was a daughter, not a son.”

  Rachel shut her eyes briefly in relief. “Thank God. That was my worst fear—that he might hurt you, but I gambled that he would provide you a far better life than I ever could. And later … I learned that his new wife was a quiet-spoken gentlewoman from an impeccable family and hoped she could raise you to become a genteel young lady. I see I wa
s not wrong.”

  Daphne smiled at the compliment. “My stepmother was not unkind, simply frivolous and shallow. She had a great eye for fashion and style, though, and she encouraged my interest in roses and watercolor painting, even though she disliked being out of doors herself and had no fondness for art or science. I think I must have acquired my attachment to roses from you. I know that you loved roses.… Painting in your rose garden at Farnwell Manor always comforted me. Somehow I felt close to you when I was there.”

  Suddenly, Rachel buried her face in her hands and heaved a great sob. Groping blindly, she sank into the nearest chair and continued to weep.

  Daphne’s concern was evident in the way she hovered over her mother. Cornelius, too, was visibly anxious at her distress, but Skye felt certain the tremendous emotion Rachel was feeling was relief and joy rather than sadness, and so she passed over a handkerchief from her reticule.

  A short while later Rachel quieted and wiped her eyes. Still sniffing, she looked up. She was smiling broadly. Beaming, in fact. “I am perfectly fine, my dear. I am crying from sheer joy. You cannot know how I have longed for this moment.”

  Daphne’s features softened. “Indeed, I can, for I have felt the same longing all my life.”

  At the touching exchange, Skye let out her breath in relief, her own fears allayed. This promising, heartwarming beginning boded well for their reunion.

  After Rachel’s outburst, they all took seats and initiated the process of becoming acquainted. They were strangers, after all, and had a quarter century of catching up to do. Emotions and feelings and thoughts came pouring out in fits and starts. One comment led to another tangent, which diverged to a different subject altogether, before circling back again as they explored each other’s lives and characters and history.

  Most surprising to Skye was Daphne’s familiarity with Cornelius’s scholarly works. She had read his treatise on Ovid numerous times and professed to be a great admirer. Skye’s biggest regret was that her uncle and Rachel had to hide their love. Cornelius was merely introduced as the patriarch of the Wilde family and a longtime friend of Rachel’s.

  Skye badly wanted Daphne to know about her parentage, but the truth could only hurt her. As the daughter of a baron, she might be able to weather a scandal involving her stepmother and stepbrother. But if it was discovered that she was the child of her mother’s illicit lover, she would be ruined in society, no matter her illustrious patrons or connections.

  Even so, their reunion was a joyous occasion, and Skye was resolved to enjoy it. At dinner that evening, Daphne met Lady Isabella, who contributed to the congenial, lively atmosphere.

  Hawk was also present, to Skye’s mixed relief and dismay. She hadn’t encountered him the entire day, whether because he was busy or purposely avoiding her, she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t read his expression, either, but the impact of seeing him again was just as powerful as always: Her heart lurched and warmed at the same time, while her body was jolted with sexual awareness.

  She had no opportunity to speak to Hawk alone, a circumstance she was certain he had contrived. It was the following afternoon and nearly teatime when Aunt Bella found Skye to say that she was worried about Hawk after just witnessing a disturbing episode: A gardener had found a metal box of toys buried beneath a bush that likely had belonged to his lordship’s son. Upon opening it, Hawk had stiffened grimly, then stormed away.

  Aunt Bella thought he might have taken refuge in his study. “I think you should go to him, Skye.”

  “Yes, of course,” she answered, knowing the find would have brought up more agonizing memories for him.

  Skye went directly to the study. The door was not locked, so she pushed it open slowly and peered inside the room. Hawk was seated at his desk, a sheaf of papers before him, but he was neither reading nor writing. Instead, he was staring down at a small, bronzed toy horse that stood on his desktop.

  Quite obviously, he’d been raking his hands through his hair. And when he glanced up at the intrusion, the bleakness in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Fierce compassion swamped Skye. She desperately wanted to go to Hawk. She longed to smooth back the disheveled locks falling over his forehead and ease away the lines of pain on his face. She yearned to wrap her arms around him and comfort him and drench him in tenderness and love.

  But she did none of those things. Rather, she flashed him a bright smile and exclaimed cheerfully, “Good, I found you. Don’t go away, my lord. I shall return posthaste.”

  With that, Skye closed the door softly and hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, all the while praying she could soon provide Hawk with at least a temporary balm for his despair.

  Skye returned to the study with her notebook listing her planned renovations and refurbishments for Hawk’s castle. The toy horse was gone from his desk, as was his look of bleakness, but his desolate expression had been replaced by no emotion at all—which was almost worse, in Skye’s opinion. She couldn’t bear for him to shut her out.

  “Please, will you come with me, Hawk?” she asked. “I want your opinion about what to do with the west tower.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, this very moment. It cannot wait.”

  His gaze narrowed on her, taking in her attire. The serviceable apron she wore over her gown was meant to reassure him of her businesslike focus. Skye hoped she looked more housekeeper or chatelaine of the manor than seductress.

  Not giving him time to send her away, she confiscated his quill pen and returned it to the stand, then pulled Hawk to his feet and preceded him from the study. They passed several servants as they negotiated the corridors, but met no one else as they climbed a winding staircase to the circular west tower room. Upon reaching the landing, Skye led Hawk inside and closed the door for privacy.

  From the high mullioned windows, one could see across the fields and meadows and woodlands of the vast Hawkhurst estate. The tower was chilly, although pale autumn sunlight gave the illusion of warmth and illuminated dust motes dancing in the air. Unlike the rest of the castle, which had been scoured and scrubbed within a proverbial inch, this particular room had been left untouched for a decade.

  A set of armchairs and a side table, all swathed in holland covers, occupied one side of the floor—for reading or daydreaming or watching the sun set, she suspected. Otherwise, there was no other furniture.

  Skye locked the door and turned to face Hawk, prepared to explain her ulterior motive. It distressed her to think his tragic loss might always come between them, but her own romantic dreams were nothing compared to his pain. Nothing would erase that terrible experience for him, but she could try to heal him and take the bleakness from his eyes.

  Those eyes had filled with gathering suspicion as he studied her.

  “I am worried that the beast has returned,” she confessed honestly. “And I hoped lovemaking would serve to lighten your mood.”

  “You lured me up here to have sex?”

  “Well, yes.”

  She held her breath as Hawk stared at her.

  His handsome features suddenly relaxed. Rather than showing anger or vexation, he looked amused. Apparently he had forced himself to shake off the grim remembrance of his son’s toy. Skye felt so relieved, her knees went weak—yet Hawk was not ready to capitulate, she realized at his next words.

  “I’m not so fragile as you seem to think, angel. I don’t need you to comfort me every time I must face a difficult memory.”

  “I know. But I am not thinking only of you. I want comfort, too. I have missed you dreadfully. Haven’t you missed me?”

  “That is beside the point.”

  He moved toward the door, eying the handle behind her, as if intending to leave.

  Skye quickly slipped the key into her apron pocket, along with her notebook. Pressing her back against the door, she spread her arms wide, creating a barricade with her body.

  “Skye …” he said warningly.

  “Please don’t go, Hawk.”

 
“You know making love is foolhardy.”

  “Yes, I do. You are concerned you will get me with child. But you know the sponges have been effective in preventing pregnancy. I am wearing a sponge, Hawk.”

  “Now?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising.

  “I inserted one when I went to my rooms a moment ago.”

  His chuckle of disbelief was followed by a penetrating scrutiny. “Do you know your trouble? You are too damn manipulating.”

  “Usually that is true, but not in this case, I swear. I truly need your opinion on restoring this room. And my notebook and apron were not a ruse to fool you but the servants. I needed a legitimate reason for us to be here, and I could think of no other way we could be together, or any other place in the house where we could have privacy, and I was afraid you wouldn’t come with me if I simply invited you.… You are stubbornly unyielding, Hawk, and it is infuriating, really—”

  “Be quiet, sweeting. You are babbling.”

  Skye obeyed, in part because she was running out of breath. When he hesitated, she peered up at him through her lashes. “Kissing me would be an excellent way to silence me.”

  He still looked unconvinced.

  “I won’t let you go,” she declared.

  “How do you plan to stop me?”

  “Physically. You will have to wrestle the key from me. I dare you to try.”

  She felt giddy with the dawning laughter in his eyes.

  “I cannot believe such a big, strong hero is afraid to make love to me,” she prodded.

  At the exasperation written on his face, a bubble of laughter rose in her throat and escaped her. “I want you, Hawk. Don’t you want me the least little bit?”

  When she was unable to elicit an answer from him, she left off teasing him. “Please stay with me,” she pleaded.

  He took a step closer, glancing down at her bosom that was covered by her apron and gown bodice. She felt the look as if he’d touched her, her nipples peaking against her chemise.