“Your services are needed, Hawk. As my successor you will do a vast deal of good. Saving lives and meting out justice are supremely worthy causes.”
“I agree.” His original desire to assume the reins from Sir Gawain had never been a lust for power, but a conviction that he could make a difference. Additionally, Hawk felt an ardent personal obligation to the baronet. “But our work is not as crucial now that Boney has been defeated.”
“It is still critical, however. And we cannot afford to be without a strong leader.”
Sir Gawain was right, certainly. And Hawk couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave the Guardians without a leader. But perhaps the criteria for leadership could be revised.…
“What if we could amend the charter to reflect how greatly our circumstances have changed over the years? What would that require? A vote of the entire membership?”
The baronet frowned thoughtfully. “I fail to see how an amendment is possible. And even if it were, you are best prepared to shoulder the mantle of leadership.” His expression turned imploring. “You and I are different from normal men, Hawk. You have never flinched from making sacrifices. What has caused this hesitancy now? For the past year or more, you have wholly supported my plan for the succession.”
I returned home to terrible memories, he thought. Aloud, he said, “The closer I came to making a marriage of convenience with your great-niece, the more I disliked using her as a pawn.”
“Amelia is a dutiful girl who accepts her historic obligations. There will be no objection from her or her family.”
At Hawk’s hesitation, Sir Gawain went on pressing his case, his tone revealing his growing anxiety. “It is only natural for you to have second thoughts about entering into another marriage, Hawk, but I am certain you see this opportunity as your duty.”
“I do.” Until now he’d never before questioned his devotion or commitment to the Guardians or his loyalty to their leader.
And duty was paramount to Sir Gawain. The baronet had long fostered his agents’ sense of honor and obligation to a cause greater than their own. His determination to put the league first was one of the traits that made his leadership so admirable and effective.
It was then that Sir Gawain returned to his personal plea. “Please, I beg of you, Hawk, do not withdraw now. You are like a son to me. I promise, this will be my last significant request of you.”
At those simple words, reality returned with a vengeance for Hawk. He’d let himself forget how important the succession was to Sir Gawain.
How could he forsake the man who had been like a father to him, the man who had saved his sanity? Furthermore, did he have a right to put his personal happiness above his sworn oath to the Guardians?
Hawk slowly nodded, reluctantly accepting the inevitable. His life was dedicated to the Guardians. And he had given his word to Sir Gawain. It was too late now to renege.
“Very well. I won’t withdraw.”
The relief on Sir Gawain’s face was palpable. “Thank you, Hawk.” He exhaled quietly, then moved on to another matter. “I fear I must return to London directly since there is an urgent situation requiring my attention. I would be much obliged if you could accompany me there this afternoon. We have much to discuss about the situation in Calais, and you could renew your acquaintance with my niece while you are in town. She has been expecting your attentions for weeks now.”
Hawk managed to hide his grimace. “Yes, I will accompany you to London. But I have several affairs I must attend to first. I will need an hour or so.”
“Of course, but I hope to leave as soon as you are able.”
“Yes, sir,” Hawk replied politely, his thoughts leaping ahead.
He needed to speak to Skye and put an end to any romantic aspirations she had of being his ideal match. He couldn’t lead her on when he wasn’t free. The simple fact was, he couldn’t both wed her and command the Guardians, and the league had to come first for him.
He wanted to let her down gently, though, before she became more deeply involved. Before he became more deeply involved. He was loath to hurt Skye, but he wasn’t the right mate for her. She had brought passion and pleasure into his life again, even happiness, yet pleasure was a far cry from love. She’d been a refuge, a haven, but a temporary one. And her continued presence in his life would only be a torture.
The trouble was, Hawk realized as he left Sir Gawain and went in search of Skye, he kept recalling recent images of her. Most particularly, his mind kept flashing back to the previous day’s encounter in the tower room … the tenderness in her voice, her beautiful smile, her sweet laughter.
But with a new grimace, Hawk girded his loins, so to speak. Until recently he’d been content with the cold, gray emptiness of his life, and he could be so again.
It would be kinder to Skye to terminate their affair now before he gave her any more pain—and kinder to himself before she became any more vital to him.
Upon finding Skye conferring with the staff in the kitchens, he asked for a moment of her time and drew her into the nearest private room, which happened to be the housekeeper’s office. When she gave a small laugh at his choice of a meeting place, Hawk realized how much he would miss that sound.
His silence must have puzzled Skye for her expectant smile dimmed as she gazed up at him. “Why are you wearing such a grim look? Has something happened?”
In the end, Hawk chose the cleanest method of breaking his news: swiftly and dispassionately. “I wanted to inform you that I am leaving this afternoon. Sir Gawain Olwen called a short while ago, and I mean to return to London with him. It is long past time that I begin courting his great-niece.”
Skye’s smile faded altogether. “Do you truly wish to marry her, Hawk?”
“Yes,” he said after only the slightest hesitation.
Her skepticism showed. “I cannot believe it.”
Hawk purposely kept his reply clipped. “You’ve known from the first that I have obligations and what my plan was.”
“Yes, but I hoped … expected that I could change your mind.”
“That isn’t possible. In order to lead the Guardians, I must wed Miss Olwen.”
“And you mean to accept such a cold fate?” Skye’s blue eyes were suddenly hot and bright with unshed tears. “If you don’t wish to marry her, why would you torture yourself that way?”
Hawk’s own chest grew tight. Pushing Skye away was the right step, the honorable step, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to haul her close and tangle his fingers in her hair while kissing her to offer her comfort.
His silence was damning, however.
“Hawk, please … consider what you are doing.” There was real despair in her tone now.
He hated the hurt in her voice. Wanting to ease it, he stepped closer and reached up to trace a fingertip over her cheekbone.
A mistake, he realized when she closed her hand over his with an almost desperate tightness. “Hawk … I know you want to please your mentor, but isn’t it time that you think of yourself? That you live your own life instead of a life dedicated to others? Haven’t you punished yourself enough for failing to save your family?”
“I don’t intend to argue with you, sweetheart,” he said gently.
“Then don’t argue, just listen. I can understand if you don’t want to marry me … if you could never love me—”
“My decision has nothing to do with love.”
“But shouldn’t it? Love should be an important consideration when you marry.”
“Not in this case.”
She took a deep breath, obviously struggling for composure. “I realize how difficult it would be to let yourself love again. I felt the same fear after my parents died. But how much worse is it to deny yourself the chance for love? Look at my uncle and Rachel, how much time and happiness they lost. What happened to them was a tragedy.”
The parallels were unmistakable but made no difference to his future. Carefully but firmly, he withdrew his hand from her grasp.
>
Her eyes were filled with despairing futility, but in typical Skye fashion, she was unwilling to give up. “We both know that life is too short and precious to waste, Hawk. I wish I could make you see that—”
A soft rap on the door interrupted her passionate argument. Skye look startled for a moment, then clamped her lips together to hold back what might have been a scream of frustration.
When Hawk curtly bid entrance, the door opened and the housekeeper thrust her head inside the room.
“Begging you pardon, m’lord, but you said you wished to know if Lord Farnwell ever called. He has, and he insists on speaking to Miss Farnwell.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was shown into the drawing room, m’lord.”
“You did well to tell me, Mrs. Yeats. I shall be along shortly.”
When the door shut softly after the housekeeper, Hawk glanced at Skye, whose look had changed from frustration to worry. “Why ever would Farnwell call here?” she asked.
“I intend to find out.”
“Whatever he means to say to Daphne, I want to be present.”
“As you wish.”
Skye’s brows grew together. “What do you mean to say to him?”
“That depends on what he wants,” Hawk replied as he escorted Skye from the room, feeling a similar frustration but also relief.
By no means were they finished with their argument over his marriage plans, but for the moment they had to postpone their discussion while they dealt with Daphne’s brother, Edgar.
To Skye’s mind, the timing of Baron Farnwell’s interruption could not have been worse. She made a valiant effort, however, to swallow her despair and frustration. Most certainly she wasn’t done trying to persuade Hawk of his folly in deciding to wed Miss Olwen, but she pushed her feelings aside since she wanted to be present in case Daphne needed defending.
Skye and Hawk reached the drawing room in time to overhear a grating male voice uttering an accusatory expletive. Upon entering, they found Daphne standing her ground against a young gentleman of medium height and rather portly build who was dressed like a tulip of fashion. His coat was rose-colored satin, his waistcoat made of gold brocade, and his shirt points so high they reached above his ears. Yet his pugnacious demeanor belied his effeminate attire.
“Lord Farnwell, I presume,” Hawk said in a chilly tone.
Breaking off in vexation, the resplendent visitor snapped as he turned, “Yes, what is it to you?”
“I am Hawkhurst. You dare to swear at a lady in my home?”
Farnwell swallowed, looking somewhat intimidated by Hawk’s tall, imposing form. “Beg your pardon, Hawkhurst,” he said grudgingly.
“Pray state your business,” Hawk ordered.
“I have a personal matter to discuss with my sister.”
Although lavishly garbed, Baron Farnwell boasted nondescript features with dull brown hair and eyes. He was certainly no match for the aristocratic aura of power emanating from Hawk. Indeed, despite his peacock feathers, Farnwell seemed like a wren opposing a fierce bird of prey.
When Hawk repeated his command, the baron grimaced. “I wish to speak to Daphne alone.”
Daphne replied calmly, “But I don’t wish to be alone with you, Edgar. Lord Hawkhurst may hear whatever you have to say, as may Lady Skye. I have no secrets to hide from them.”
Disconcerted and annoyed, Farnwell moderated his belligerent manner only somewhat when he spoke. “I have no intention of airing our intimate affairs, Daphne.”
“Then you may take yourself off.”
He gritted his teeth at his sister. “You know more than you are letting on, I am sure of it.”
“Why would you think so?”
“Because you have always been thick as thieves with Nibbs. As I was saying before we were interrupted”—he shot a derisive glance at Hawk and Skye—“all the fancy carriages at her cottage aroused my suspicions. I wondered why so many noble ladies were visiting Nibbs when she is naught more than an old peasant.”
Daphne pursed her lips in distaste at his description. “Mrs. Nibbs is a very skilled midwife who brought you into the world, Edgar. There is no need to disparage her.”
Skye had been concerned for Daphne, but she was holding her own quite well with her domineering younger brother and resisting his bullying tactics. But his frustration was obviously growing.
“Nibbs claimed your mother did not drown all those years ago.”
Daphne hesitated, as if deciding how to reply. “Did she?”
“Yes, but she refused to say more, no matter how strongly I urged.”
“You mean how much you threatened her.”
It surprised Skye that the midwife would divulge the baroness’s secret, but perhaps she’d been driven to blurting it out by Lord Farnwell’s aggressive manner. He seemed perfectly capable of frightening an old woman. Or perhaps Mrs. Nibbs had let it slip in a moment of confusion or forgetfulness.
Regardless, Farnwell was intent on putting the tale to rest. “Such a scurrilous lie cannot be allowed to stand. Naturally I demanded that Nibbs recant, and when she refused, I immediately traveled to London to find you and discover what you know—but your servants said you were a guest here at Hawkhurst Castle. I thought it exceedingly odd. I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with the earl,” Farnwell added with another glance at Hawk.
“We only recently became acquaintances,” Daphne explained.
“Well, that is neither here nor there. I wish you to return home with me and speak to Nibbs directly. You must insist that she retract her outrageous nonsense.”
“If you believe it to be nonsense, why would you give it any credence?”
He sucked in a ragged breath, clearly struggling for control. “Blast you, Daphne! You are trying my patience.”
“I am sorry, Edgar,” she replied congenially, “but you must admit, your patience is easily tried.”
“Just tell me if there is any truth to her allegation!”
“Very well, if you wish to know … Yes, there is.”
Farnwell stared, his expression one of consternation. “That cannot be.”
“I regret that it is. The ugly truth is that our father was so abusive that he drove my mother to falsify her own death in order to escape his brutality.”
His anxiety shifted to cold fury. “You are now the one disparaging our father.”
“Am I? You cannot deny that Father was a brute to our servants. Why would you think him incapable of cruelty toward my mother?”
His gaze bored into hers, but clearly his thoughts were racing. “When did you learn of this?”
“Only this past week.”
“How could you have kept this from me?” he demanded, his voice rising again but this time with an edge of panic.
“In part because I knew you would be upset and feared you would react exactly this way.” Daphne was trying to soothe him now. She must have had experience placating his contentious manner. “But mostly because I wished to meet my mother for the first time in private.”
Farnwell now looked both shocked and fearful. “Dear God,” he rasped. “She is still alive?”
“Yes, quite alive.”
“She is here? In this very house?”
“Yes.”
“Dear God,” he repeated, the words no more than a hoarse whisper.
Skye could understand his alarm, for he had realized the possible consequences. Rachel Farnwell’s existence not only put his nobility in question but his very legitimacy. The impact to his birthright would dwarf any scandal from his father’s bigamy and abuse, which was doubtless why he’d felt the urgency to make Nibbs retract the story of Lady Farnwell’s drowning.
The baron looked so thunderstruck that Skye almost felt sorry for him, except that she knew Daphne didn’t consider her brother overly deserving of sympathy. Edgar was a selfish prig, with a streak of meanness he had likely inherited from his father.
As if on cue, his combativeness rallied in short order.
“No, I shan’t believe it,” Farnwell declared. “You have been utterly deceived, Daphne. Someone is impersonating your late mother and spinning lies.”
“You are entitled to your opinion, Edgar, but you are wrong.”
“How could you possibly know? You were but an infant at the time of her death. What proof do you have that she is your mother?”
“I need no proof. It is a feeling.”
Farnwell seemed to gain confidence the more he thought about it. His panicked air receding, he squared his shoulders in a more belligerent frame. “I demand to see this imposter for myself.”
“You needn’t be concerned, Edgar. She has no intention of making our father’s sordid history known or resuming her former life.”
He might have replied, but just then Rachel entered the drawing room, accompanied by Cornelius and Isabella. Reaching back, Rachel shut the door carefully behind her, no doubt to keep their conversation from the servants.
“We heard shouting,” she murmured with concern. “Are you all right, my dear?” she asked Daphne.
“I am quite well, thank you, Mrs. Donnelly,” Daphne assured her.
Edgar had frozen and was scrutinizing Rachel as if she were some sort of strange mythical creature.
“Allow me to introduce myself, Lord Farnwell,” Rachel said with composure. “I was wed to your father in another lifetime.”
He responded with an angry sneer. “You cannot deceive me, madam.”
Rachel moved toward him. “Why would I even attempt a deception?”
“Because you covet my fortune for yourself and your daughter.”
“You are mistaken, my lord—”
Farnwell cut her off with a scoffing sound. “I warn you, if you dare try to claim my inheritance, I will bring criminal charges against you.”
Rachel tilted her head serenely. “On what grounds? Lord Hawkhurst’s solicitor has advised us on the law regarding deceased spouses. My case against you would be good. I would first have to prove that I am Lady Farnwell, but that could be achieved by finding reputable witnesses who once knew me.”
Her assertion made Farnwell clamp his lips shut in outrage.
Secrets of Seduction Page 21
