Secrets of Seduction

by Nicole Jordan

  His heart sat in his chest like stone at the thought of cutting her out of his life, never touching, never laughing with her, never seeing her radiant smile.…

  Hawk muffled an annoyed oath at himself. He bloody well had only himself to blame for letting Skye’s captivating charm work an enchantment on him. Besides, he was resigned to his unpalatable future. Eventually, in time, his life would be restored to the same place it was before she came into it … cold, gray, empty, joyless.

  Shaking off his grim thoughts, Hawk instead focused on watching his future bride dance with her current partner. When the orchestra music came to a close, Miss Olwen cast him a timid glance, as if reluctant to return to his side.

  At the sight of her timidity, an unwanted image of Skye slipped into his mind again. She was so alive and vibrant and fearless—so vastly different from the insipid girl he was supposed to wed.

  Also unlike Skye, Miss Olwen seemed noticeably reluctant to marry him or even to entertain his courtship, a stance that only added to his internal conflict. For Hawk, their first dance tonight had confirmed that their union would be a grave mistake. But the untenable problem still remained of how to extricate himself from his obligations—

  Just then, he felt a light slap on his back and heard an amused drawl commenting on the irony of seeing a confirmed recluse at a crowded ball.

  Turning, Hawk welcomed the unexpected appearance of one of his closest friends and fellow Guardians, Sir Alex Ryder. Ryder was tall and dark-haired like Hawk, but his build was more lean and muscular and his face more darkly tanned by the Mediterranean sun. Ryder had begun his career as a hired mercenary and was an expert in arms and munitions.

  He must have just arrived in England from Cyrene, Hawk thought as they shook hands. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Ryder. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your wedding trip?”

  “You know one doesn’t ignore a summons from Sir Gawain, even for nuptial bliss. He bade me return for your wedding—but it seems your courtship has not progressed so far.”

  Hawk sidestepped the issue. “Did your new wife accompany you here?”

  “Yes. Eve didn’t relish us being apart for so long, and she wanted to see Claire.”

  Ryder had recently wed the love of his life, the widowed Countess of Hayden, whose younger sister Claire had surprisingly married Macky and settled in London with the former actor.

  In fact, there had been a rash of happy marriages among their colleagues in recent years and some births as well. Ryder and Eve were anticipating their first child next spring. Of all their members, though, Ryder was one of the few who originally hailed from the island.

  “You plan to settle on Cyrene, don’t you, Ryder?”

  “Eventually, yes. Why do you ask?”

  Because he couldn’t conquer the desire to ward off his current fate.

  “Because I would need to find a replacement if I were to withdraw as candidate for leader.”

  Ryder’s gaze narrowed in surprise. “The Olwen chit is that bad, is she?”

  “She is not repulsive, if that is what you mean.”

  “But you are having second thoughts.”

  “You might say so.” And fourth and fifth thoughts as well.

  A measure of guilt and regret accompanied Hawk’s subversive admission. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint and betray Sir Gawain’s hopes for him. Even so …

  Ryder chuckled. “I confess I am not surprised. I never thought you two were suited in the least.”

  “I am beginning to agree,” Hawk said with a grimace.

  He had also concluded that he would need Ryder’s support to find an answer to his dilemma—or perhaps Ryder in conjunction with another of the elite Guardians.

  “Where are the rest of our cadre at the moment?”

  “I left Caro and Max on Cyrene, enjoying their newborn son. Thorne and Diana are here in England visiting his father, the duke. And Deverill and Antonia are planning a voyage to America to see his cousin Brandon.”

  Hawk was about to reply when a flash of color above his head caught his eye. Both he and Ryder tensed as they looked up, automatically reaching for weapons they weren’t carrying, given their formal attire.

  But there was no need to defend themselves from the lad up in the gallery sitting astride the railing. The boy was garbed as a pirate with eye patch and sash, but the short sword he carried was painted wood, and he looked to be perhaps twelve or thirteen.

  “Isn’t that Sir Gawain’s great-nephew?” Hawk asked curiously.

  “Yes, Timothy is his name.”

  The boy didn’t seem related to his shy older sister, Amelia. Even as they watched, Timothy carefully got to his feet and balanced on the railing with his arms held out—playing at walking the plank of a pirate ship, Hawk surmised.

  The incident brought to mind another scene from years earlier, of Skye when she was a young girl, almost falling headfirst over a gallery railing to his feet.

  Timothy didn’t look to be in danger of falling. In fact, seeing he had an audience, he winked down at Hawk and grinned broadly.

  Precocious, bold, and adventurous was Hawk’s instinctive assessment: the very qualities that might make a good member of their league.

  “I’ll be damned,” Hawk murmured. A lad like that could be groomed for the Guardians with a good chance of success.

  Which meant he could be free to follow his own path.

  You may have found your way out. You could call off the courtship and still ensure the future of the Guardians.

  Hawk waited for fresh regret to strike, but in truth, this possible solution felt wholly right. The one thing he was not capable of doing was losing Skye.

  “I won’t be marrying Miss Olwen,” he said aloud, as if testing his decision. And with his declaration, he felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his chest.

  Ryder slapped his back again. “Very glad you’ve come to your senses, old fellow. An arranged marriage is a high price to pay for the privilege of commanding the Guardians.”

  Hawk’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “Sir Gawain will need to be persuaded.”

  “I will be happy to help you try.”

  “No, this is something I must do myself. I shall call on him in the morning and present my idea. Meanwhile, I have a proposition for you to consider regarding young Timothy.…”

  Sir Gawain’s face fell the moment he saw Hawk the next morning. “I can guess why you have come,” the baronet said with a heavy sigh. “I realized that Amelia was not the right wife for you when I observed you together last evening. Your union was clearly wishful thinking on my part.”

  “A laudable wish, sir,” Hawk replied sincerely. “Your desire to secure the league’s future is supremely admirable. But it would not be fair to your niece to wed only for political reasons, no matter how admirable. Furthermore,” he added, venturing to honestly explain his motives, “I have my own personal reasons for wishing to withdraw from my commitment to you. I want to be free to marry for love, and I could never love your niece.”

  Sir Gawain’s gaze turned searching. “If so, it would be unfair to you as well. In my own defense, I never expected you would love again.”

  “Nor did I.”

  The simple fact was, he couldn’t marry elsewhere when his heart belonged to Skye. She had carved a place in his heart against his will. “I am truly sorry, Sir Gawain, but I must ask you to release me from our plan.”

  Recognizing Hawk’s resolve, the baronet nodded slowly before sighing again. “I suppose it might be possible to amend the charter so that the league needn’t be controlled by a descendant.”

  “There is another alternative we haven’t considered,” Hawk replied. “Miss Olwen’s younger brother Timothy has the same Guardian blood she does. I met your great-nephew last night, and I believe he has the makings of a Guardian.”

  Sir Gawain’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Tim is only a lad, barely out of shortcoats, and yet … You are proposing that he join
the order now?”

  “Yes. Granted, it may take years to determine if he has the character and skills to qualify as one of us and perhaps even become commander. In the meantime, Ryder could take charge of the league after your retirement. He and Deverill and Thorne can certainly teach Timothy whatever he needs to know.”

  Trey Deverill and Christopher, Viscount Thorne, were also elite Guardians and two more of Hawk’s closest friends along with Ryder. “With proper training, Timothy might eventually become your successor. And if not, Ryder can still act in his place for an indefinite period.”

  Sir Gawain’s mouth curved in a faint smile. “This is a prime reason you were my first choice, Hawk. Because you are able to see the larger picture and contrive creative solutions. Very well, then. I release you with my blessing.”

  Sir Gawain’s response went a long way toward easing the remaining tension in Hawk’s chest. “I greatly regret disappointing you, sir.”

  The baronet’s expression softened further. “No, no, you could never disappoint me. Time and again you have exceeded my wildest expectations. You have given a decade of your life to the order and served faithfully, Hawk. I cannot ask for more. It is time you were allowed to pursue your own life. I took advantage of your grief all those years ago so that you would join us.”

  “But I was complicit.” He had gladly followed the path he’d been offered, Hawk knew. Skye was right. He’d been punishing himself for continuing to live when his family had perished. In the early years he had cheated death frequently, searching for an honorable way to die. And later, he’d filled his days with danger because his life was so empty.

  But he had punished himself long enough and no longer needed to continue making himself suffer. It was time to return to the world of the living.

  “Do you mean to give up the Guardians altogether?” Sir Gawain asked with concern.

  Hawk hesitated. “I haven’t decided yet. I believe I want to return to England to live. It depends on other factors.”

  “Your future bride? Is that the young lady I saw briefly at Hawkhurst Castle? She must be remarkable to have affected you so profoundly.”

  Hawk smiled wryly, recalling the stormy evening he’d first met Skye. He hadn’t realized then that she could be his salvation. She had come into his dark house and dragged him into the light, coercing him to open his heart again. “She is quite remarkable. I mean to wed her if she will have me.”

  “Then I wish you much happiness.”

  “Thank you, Sir Gawain. I plan to apply for a special license today and return home tonight—after I make my apologies to your niece and her parents.”

  “There is no need. I will handle my relations. I pushed you into this quandary, and I will make it right for you.”

  Making it right with Skye was chief on Hawk’s mind as he took his leave of the baronet. But he had no misgivings about his decision.

  Nothing would be right without Skye. He’d made himself believe he could get through the empty days without her, but he didn’t want to face the long lonely years ahead with no one to prod and provoke him to feel.

  He didn’t want a life without Skye in it. He wanted the peace of sleeping with her in his arms. He wanted the joy of being beside her each day, facing whatever the future held together. He wanted laughter to echo in his house again. He wanted children with Skye.

  And given the choice between leading the Guardians or marrying her and allowing himself happiness, he chose Skye.

  Given the choice between wallowing in her pain and putting on a brave face for her Uncle Cornelius, Skye chose to hide her tears. She didn’t want to spoil her beloved uncle’s happiness, so she threw herself into preparations for his nuptials.

  Rather than traveling to Beauvoir or Tallis Court in Kent, Cornelius and Rachel planned a quiet ceremony at Hawkhurst Castle with only family present, not wanting to undermine her hard-won anonymity or wave a red flag under Edgar Farnwell’s nose and needlessly antagonize him by advertising her existence. There would be no public calling of the banns in church for three weeks beforehand either; instead they would be married by special license in a fortnight. If all went as hoped, the delay would allow time to gather the Wilde clan.

  The most pressing task for Skye was hunting down her brother. Despite Quinn’s cynical views on love and marriage, he would want to be present for the wedding, and his man of business would likely know his location. Ash and Jack had already sent their congratulations and agreed to bring their wives. Katharine had responded with delight, saying she intended to return to the castle at week’s end.

  It was Hawk’s plans that most concerned Skye, however. In truth, she thought of him every waking minute of every day, dreamed of him at night, and dreaded that any moment she might hear the news that he was engaged or—worse—had already married.

  Four days after their dismal parting, she was finding it harder and harder to control her dread and maintain a cheerful appearance. The frigid weather didn’t help her mood, either. The day had been cold and bleak, just the way she felt. And with a storm brewing as a harbinger of winter, the evening promised to be blustery.

  After dinner, the company gathered in the drawing room, where a roaring fire burned in the hearth and extra lamps had been lit to ward off the gloom. The mantel clock had just struck eight o’clock when the new Hawkhurst butler delivered a letter for Miss Farnwell. As Daphne read the message, her apparent puzzlement turned hopeful.

  “This note is from my brother,” she announced. “He wishes to apologize to Mrs. Donnelly for his deplorable behavior the other day and requests an audience.”

  “Lord Farnwell has called here at the castle?” Skye asked the butler.

  “Yes, my lady. Additionally, he asks for shelter from the approaching storm. But we were instructed by his lordship to deny him entrance. How should we proceed?”

  Skye was inclined to reject the baron’s request for an interview, although it would be heartless to refuse him shelter, especially for his servants and horses.

  Rachel looked discomfited, but Daphne evidently believed her brother’s contrition for she pleaded in his favor. “Please, Skye, this could be our best chance to mend fences.”

  Just then Skye heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm decided it for her. She could hardly turn him away when she had faced the same circumstances upon her first visit here. And they had the advantage of numbers—herself, her uncle Cornelius and aunt Bella, and a castle full of servants to protect Daphne and Rachel if necessary.

  “Very well,” Skye murmured. “Show Lord Farnwell here to the drawing room.”

  They all rose to their feet when the baron entered. He bowed politely to the ladies and Lord Cornelius but waited to speak until the butler had withdrawn and shut the door behind him.

  Farnwell’s manner seemed much calmer this time. Indeed, he offered a charming smile. “I would rather speak to Mrs. Donnelly alone, but I can see why you would prefer differently.”

  “You may speak to all of us, Edgar,” Daphne interjected.

  “Very well.” He inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant task. “It was unforgivable of me to have threatened you, Mrs. Donnelly,” he said then, his tone amazingly repentant. “Pray understand that I was angry and shocked to have my very legitimacy called into question. Now that I have had time to consider, however, I am prepared to make you a lucrative bargain. I will pay you the bulk of my fortune if you will leave the country and disappear again.”

  Daphne stared at her brother before shaking her head with an expression somewhere between amusement and indignation. “You believe you can bribe her with money?”

  Rachel held up a hand. “I must decline, my lord. I hid myself away in near seclusion for a quarter of a century, and before that I was your father’s wife and therefore his property, no better than chattel, completely at his mercy. I will never live like that again.”

  A look of frustration crossed the baron’s features, but he visibly struggled to tamp
down his anger.

  Cornelius stepped forward. “She has suffered more than enough, Farnwell.”

  “I have no desire to make her suffer further, but consider my position. As long as she is alive, I run the risk of being exposed.”

  “You will just have to trust her to keep your secret,” Cornelius insisted.

  “That I cannot do,” Farnwell snapped. “She could cause my disinheritance at any moment.”

  “I told you, my lord,” Rachel reassured him, “you have nothing to fear.”

  He gritted his teeth. “That is not an acceptable answer. You will leave England at once, do you hear me?”

  His face was flushed red, like a child about to throw a tantrum, but in his eyes there was a lethal rage of a full-grown brute.

  Skye felt a twinge of alarm when his hands curled into fists, and profoundly regretted that she had ever permitted him inside the castle, especially when he had been specifically barred.

  Her chin raised, Rachel stood her ground, which only angered her nemesis more.

  “You will rue defying me,” he hissed, raising his fist as if prepared to strike, evidently believing he could physically force her agreement.

  For Cornelius, seeing his beloved threatened was too much. With a low growl, he lunged at Farnwell and let loose a blow to his chin, which sent the baron staggering backward.

  He recovered quickly, though. With a snarl, Farnwell sprang at Cornelius and threw a powerful punch to his stomach, felling him to the carpet, where he lay curled and gasping for breath. Farnwell then gave a vicious kick to his ribs for good measure.

  For an instant, Skye’s own shock held her immobile as Rachel cried out and rushed forward to kneel beside Cornelius, followed less swiftly by Isabella.

  After that, everything was a blur of motion. Shaking off her paralysis, Skye leaped at her uncle’s attacker, but Daphne beat her to him, evidently not as caught off guard by her brother’s actions. She charged at Edgar, arms akimbo, trying to tackle him to the floor. In response, he hunched over and, far more agile than his portly bulk would suggest, threw Daphne off like a rag doll and tossed her onto a side table. The collision was followed by the dull sound of shattering glass as a lamp upended.