by Anna DePalo
She sat on one of the couches flanking the fireplace and contemplated her surroundings, taking several deep breaths to calm her nerves. She’d never needed an account more.
She hoped she would sufficiently impress Lucy Montgomery. She’d dressed with care, donning a chic and timeless short-sleeved peach dress and beige pumps, and keeping her jewelry to a minimum. She’d chosen wedding colors, even on an overcast day, because they were cheery and they resonated with brides.
At that moment, the parlor door opened, and with surprising promptness, Lucy appeared, a smile on her face.
Her hostess was a slim, attractive blonde of medium height with hazel eyes. She looked crisp in a salmon-colored shirt and knee-length tan skirt cinched by a wide black belt. Her legs stretched down to strappy sandals and showed off a tan that was courtesy, no doubt, of time spent at one of the sand-dusted retreats favored by the rich or famous or both.
Pia guessed that Lucy was around her own age or younger.
She rose from her seat in time to shake her hostess’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you for scheduling this appointment on such short notice,” Lucy exclaimed, her inflection British. “I was just about to come down the stairs when Ned told me you were here.”
“It was no inconvenience, Ms. Montgomery,” Pia responded with a smile of her own. “Client service is what my business is all about.”
“It’s Lucy, please.”
“Pia, then.”
“Good,” Lucy responded happily, and then glanced at the clock. “I’ll have tea brought in, if that meets with your approval.” She smiled. “We British consider late afternoon to be teatime, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, please. Tea would be wonderful.”
After Lucy had gone to the door and spoken in low tones with a member of the household staff, she returned to sit on the sofa with Pia.
“Now then,” she said. “I’m rather in desperate need of help, I’m afraid.”
Pia tilted her head and smiled. “Many brides come to that conclusion at some point during their engagements. May I offer my congratulations, by the way?”
Lucy lit up. “Thank you, yes. My fiancé is American. I met him while working on an off-Broadway play.”
Pia’s eyebrows rose. “You’re an actress?”
“Shakespearean trained, yes,” Lucy replied without a hint of boast, and then leaned forward conspiratorially and winked. “He was one of the producers.”
Money married money, Pia thought, if only because the people involved tended to move in the same social circles. She’d seen it many times before. And yet, it was clear from the way Lucy lit up that she was in love with her fiancé.
“You see,” Lucy explained, “Derek and I were planning to marry next summer, but I’ve just landed a new role and we need to move up the wedding. Suddenly, everything seems upon us at once. Since I’m currently working in another production—” Lucy spread out her hands helplessly “—I have no time to organize things myself.”
“How quickly would you like to wed?”
Lucy gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m hoping for a New Year’s Eve wedding.”
Pia kept her expression steady. “Three months. Perfect.”
“I should say that the church has been booked and that, quite astonishingly, the Puck Building is available for a reception.”
Pia’s shoulders relaxed. The most important details had been taken care of. Since the church and the reception hall were set for the new date, she wouldn’t have to scout locations.
She and Lucy discussed some other details for a few minutes, until Lucy glanced at the door.
“Ah, tea. Perfect,” Lucy said as a middle-aged woman, obviously one of the household help, appeared with a tray of tea.
Pia felt she was going to like Lucy. Her hostess had a sunny disposition, and there was already a lot to suggest that she would be easy to work with.
Lucy leaned forward as the tray was set down on a table in front of them. “Thank you, Celia.”
“How do you take your tea?” Lucy inquired as Celia departed, and then shot Pia a teasing, self-deprecating look. “No matter how long I’ve been in New York, this is teatime for me. You can imagine the problems it causes when I’m giving a matinee performance!”
Before Pia could respond, Lucy glanced toward the door again. “Hawk,” Lucy acknowledged with a smile. “How nice of you to join us.”
Pia followed the direction that Lucy was looking, and froze.
Hawk. Him.
It wasn’t possible.
What was he doing here?
Pia felt a sensation like emotional vertigo.
Hawk looked relaxed and at home in a green T-shirt and khakis, as casual as she’d ever seen him. He looked, in fact, as if he might have sauntered in after watching some television or grabbing a bite to eat in another part of the house.
Pia glanced at Lucy, bewildered.
“Have you met my brother, James Carsdale?” Lucy said with an inviting smile, seemingly unaware of anything untoward happening.
Lucy cast her brother an impish grin. “Do I need to recite all your titles, or will it suffice to enlighten Pia that you’re also known as His Grace, the Duke of Hawkshire?”
“Carsdale?” Pia repeated, still forcing herself to focus on Lucy. “I thought your surname was Montgomery.”
“Pia knows I have a title,” Hawk said at the same time.
It was Lucy’s turn to look perplexed. She glanced between her brother and Pia. “I feel as if I’ve walked in during the middle of the second act. Is there something I should know?”
Pia swung to look at Lucy. “Your brother and I are—” she spared Hawk a withering look “—acquainted.”
Hawk arched a brow. “Well-acquainted.”
“Past tense,” Pia retorted.
“Obviously—on all counts,” Lucy put in before turning to look at her brother. “You didn’t tell me that you knew Pia. You suggested only that, on good authority, you had the name of an excellent wedding planner whom you wanted to recommend to me.”
“The truth,” Hawk responded.
Lucy arched a brow. “I take it the good authority was none other than yourself?”
Hawk inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, a mocking look in his eyes as they met Pia’s.
“Yes,” Pia put in acidly, “your brother is practiced in making the artful omission.”
Lucy looked with interest from her brother to Pia and back. “On the stage, this would be called a moment of high drama,” she quipped. “And here I thought, Hawk, that I had a lock on the thespian skills in the family.”
Pia stood and reached for her handbag. “Thank you for the offer of tea, Lucy, but I won’t be staying.”
As Pia tried to step by Hawk on the way to the door, he took hold of her elbow, and she froze.
It was the first time he had touched her in three years—since the night they had first met. And despite herself, she couldn’t help feeling Hawk’s casual touch on her elbow to the tips of her toes. Her skin prickled at his nearness.
Why, oh why, did she have to remain so responsive to him?
Pia forced herself to look up. It was at a moment such as this that she rued her lack of stature. And Hawk bested her on all counts…physical height, bearing and consequence in the world.
“I see you have the knack of anticipating requests,” he said smoothly. “It’s a useful skill in a wedding planner. And, as it happens, I was going to ask for a private word.”
Fortunately, she regained some of her combativeness at his words, and she fumed silently even as she let Hawk guide her out the door to the parlor without protest. She was headed in that direction anyway and there was no use making a scene in front of his sister.
Once in the hall, however, she pulled away from Hawk’s loose hold. “If you would summon your butler or majordomo, or whatever you call him, for my coat, I’ll be on my way and we’ll put an end to this charade of an interview.”
“No,” Hawk
responded, pulling shut the parlor door.
“No?” The gall…the utter nerve.
Hawk smiled grimly. “Why pass up the chance to tell me, again, what you think of me? Or better yet, say it with finger food?” He nodded toward the room they’d just exited. “I noticed at least a few good scones in there.”
“I’ll permit Lucy to enjoy them.”
“What a relief.”
Her gaze clashed with his.
“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Hawk said dryly. “I refuse to let you leave with your coat until we’ve spoken, and you’re—” he looked at a nearby window and the steady drizzle coming down “—determined to get wet.”
“You’re all wet,” she retorted. “And for your information, I have a compact umbrella with me in my handbag.”
Hawk sighed. “We can do this the hard way, and perhaps make a scene that Lucy will overhear, or we can retire to somewhere with a bit more privacy.”
“You leave me little choice,” Pia tossed back, her chin set at a mutinous angle.
Without waiting for a further invitation, Hawk steered her into a room across the hall.
As Hawk shut the door behind them, Pia noted that this room was unmistakably a library or study. It had built-in bookshelves, a marble mantel as impressive as the one in the parlor, and a large desk set in front of high windows. With plenty of dark, leather-upholstered furniture, the room was clearly Hawk’s domain.
Pia turned back to confront Hawk. “I had no idea Lucy was related to you. She gave her name as Lucy Montgomery. Otherwise—”
“—you’d never have come?” he finished for her, his tone sardonic.
“Naturally.”
“Montgomery is the stage name that Lucy adopted. It is, however, also a surname that appears in our family tree.”
Pia raised her eyebrows. “Do all you Carsdales operate under a variety of names?”
“When it suits.”
“And I suppose it suits when you’re intent on seduction?”
She’d intended the comment as a sharp riposte, but he had the audacity to give her a slow, sensuous smile.
“Is that what it was—seduction?” he murmured. “To which you fell victim?”
“Through foul means.”
“But still you were seduced by the man…not the title.”
Pia detected a note of naked honesty in Hawk’s banter, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. She didn’t let herself dwell on anything—including the fact that they were in his library alone together—except holding on to her outrage.
“You masterminded this,” she accused, looking around them. “You arranged to have me come here when you knew I was not suspecting…not ex-expecting…”
Words deserted her.
“It’s not a charade, however,” Hawk countered. “How could it be? My sister needs to move up her wedding date, and you’re a wedding consultant, last I heard.”
“You know what I mean!”
“Does it matter if you can use the business?” Hawk replied.
Pia’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you mean. In any case, I’m not that desperate.”
“Aren’t you?” Hawk said. “You’ve dropped hints that you’ve been less than busy lately.”
Pia’s eyes widened further.
“Never play poker.”
“Seeking to make amends?”
“In a sense.”
Pia placed her hands on her hips, contemplating him and his vague response. It couldn’t be that he was feeling guilty about his behavior toward her in the past. He was a seasoned player who had forgotten her easily. That much was clear from the three years it had taken for their paths to cross again.
There was only one other possibility, then, for his motivation in linking her to Lucy.
“I suppose you feel some sense of responsibility since it was your friend who torpedoed my professional standing by ruining Belinda’s wedding?” she asked.
Hawk hesitated, and then inclined his head. “I suppose responsibility is as good a term as any.”
Pia eyed him. He was holding out a lifeline to her business, and it was hard not to grasp hold of the opportunity that he was offering. What better way to signal to society that all was well than to be hired to organize the wedding of the sister of the man whom she’d bearded with baba ghanoush?
She was being foolhardy.
“Lucy isn’t part of New York society, but her future husband’s family is,” Hawk cajoled, as if sensing her weakness. “This wedding could help establish you. And Lucy has many ties to the theater world. I’m betting you’ve never planned a wedding for an actress before?”
Pia shook her head.
“Then Lucy’s wedding will let you tap into a whole new market for your services.”
“Wh-who would be employing me?”
She hated herself for asking—and hated herself more for stammering—but the question came out of its own volition. Rather than appear satisfied, however, Hawk’s expression turned into a study of harmlessness.
“I’d be employing you, but only as a minor, technical detail.”
“Minor to you.”
“I’m the head of the family, and Lucy is young—only twenty-four.” Hawk’s lips twitched. “It seems only fair that I support her bid to remove herself from under the imposing family umbrella. Lucy was an unexpected bonus for my parents more than a decade after my mother delivered the heir and the spare.”
Pia noted that Hawk had deftly turned an act that might be viewed as generous and loving on his part into a statement of sardonic self-deprecation.
She started to waver. She had liked Hawk’s sister even on the basis of a very brief acquaintance. She felt a natural affinity for Lucy. It had deepened on learning that Hawk’s sister was only three years younger than she was. Lucy was, in fact, the same age that Pia had been when she’d first met Hawk.
If her own tale with Hawk wasn’t destined to have a happy ending, then at least she could see to it that one Carsdale…
No, she wouldn’t let herself think of matters in that vein.
“You’ll be dealing with Lucy mostly, obviously,” Hawk continued, his expression open and unmasked. “I’ll try to make myself as unobtrusive as possible.”
“H-how?” Pia asked. “Are you planning to sequester yourself at your country estate in England?”
“Nothing so drastic,” Hawk replied with amusement, “but, rest assured, I have no interest in weddings.”
“Obviously—judging from your past behavior.”
“Ouch.” He had the grace to look abashed. “I stepped right into that comment, and I suppose I deserved it.”
She raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
“The town house belongs to me,” Hawk went on unperturbed, “but Lucy has had the run of it since I haven’t been in regular residence until recently. And though I’m based in New York, rather than London, for business at the moment, I expect that my corporate dealings will still mean I’m not much at home.”
Pia knew all about Hawk’s hedge fund, of course. She’d read about it online. The success of his company over the past three years had raised his reputation to that of a first-class financier.
Darn. He must have women throwing themselves at him.
Not that she was interested, of course.
Pia wondered why Hawk was at home now, actually. The thought had occurred to her earlier, too—the minute he’d walked into the parlor. It could only be that he’d chosen to come into her meeting with Lucy, possibly betting that once she said yes to his sister, it would be best to reveal his connection to Lucy sooner rather than later.
Hawk arched an eyebrow. “And so…?”
Pia regarded him.
“I make you nervous, don’t I?”
“N-naturally. I have a fear of snakes.”
He grinned, unabashed.
“The endearing hiccup in your speech tells me everything I need to know about how much I affect you,” he said, his voice smooth as silk and
doubly seductive.
Pia felt a shiver of awareness chase down her spine for a moment, but then Hawk’s face changed to one as innocuous as a Boy Scout’s.
“Of course,” he went on solemnly, “we’ll say no more on that topic. I plan to be on my best behavior from now on.”
“Promise? Really?” she parried.
Before Hawk could reply, the library door opened. Lucy stuck her head inside, and then walked in when it was clear that she’d found them.
“Ah, there you are,” Lucy said. “I was wondering if you’d run off, Pia.”
“Nothing so drastic,” Hawk responded mildly. “Pia and I were just discussing the terms of her employment.”
Lucy looked at Pia with some surprise, and then clasped her hands together in delight. “You’ve agreed? Splendid!”
“I—”
“The hot water has gotten cold, but I’ll order another pot for tea,” Lucy said. “Shall we all return to the parlor?”
“Yes, let’s,” Hawk responded, his lips twitching.
As Pia followed Lucy from the room, and Hawk fell into step behind her, she was left to wonder if all the Carsdales had the gift of polite and subtle railroading.
For despite everything, she was finding herself agreeing to be Lucy’s bridal consultant.
When Hawk emerged from the elevator, he had no trouble locating Pia’s place. She’d opened her front door and was standing in the entrance to her apartment.
She looked fresh as a daisy in a yellow-print knit dress that displayed her lithe, compact body to perfection. The cleavage visible at the V-neck was just enough to give a man interesting thoughts.
He wondered whether he would always experience a quick jolt of sexual awareness when he saw her.
“How did you find me?” she asked without preamble.
He gave a careless shrug. “A little digging on Pia Lumley Wedding Productions. It wasn’t hard.”
Pia, he’d discovered, now lived on the fifth floor of a modest white-brick doorman building. The older man downstairs—more guard than doorman—had glanced up from his small television set long enough to ring Pia and announce Hawk’s arrival. Even though Hawk had been privy only to a brief one-sided conversation—and from the guard’s end at that—he’d sensed Pia’s hesitancy when she’d been informed of his unexpected arrival. Still, moments later, he’d been directed to the elevator, and then the guard had gone back to viewing his talk show.
