It was becoming more and more a regret that Clara had not met the woman herself, had not been permitted the chance to converse with her and share thoughts, ideas, and memories. That they had not become friends. That she could not now know what the person she was portraying would have done.
When all this was over, she would ask her cousin to take her there and meet Miss Moore herself. After all she had been through, and the truth she had known, Martin would owe her that much.
Her life had been miserable for so long, and he, her only living relative, had been gone for most of it. She knew now, of course, why that had been, and her painful feelings had faded, but the time that had been lost, the memories they could have shared…
She would go to France after this, and perhaps let herself cry upon his shoulder for all of it.
And all that was to come.
She was still living a lie, of sorts, after all. And if Hawk could ever come to love her, as she was coming to love him, he would not take her betrayal well. He was a gentleman of honor and respect to his core, all that was worthy and good in a man. Her being anything less than truthful would have been unacceptable.
She could not bear that.
Perhaps this all should end now. Her mission and assignment could not, she knew that well, but this connection she felt with him, these feelings he had roused, could not be anything worth indulging if she wished to vouchsafe herself from the agony that would surely come. It would be cruel to let herself go on too long in this, to indulge in a fantasy that could not, and would not, ever come to the blessed fruition she yearned for.
Why, then, did she yet linger in it?
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Her eyes closed on what would have been tears, had she let them form. Of all voices in the world, this was one she constantly craved, yet found wholly inconvenient at this particular moment.
Still, her heart burned at it.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, letting her eyes open once more, rising to the slowly approaching figure in the dark.
He still wore his dark breeches, his linen shirt looser than she had seen and open at the collar. No coat, no cravat, no jacket, and his hair was disheveled in a way that tempted her fingers to toy with the locks. He was everything approachable, easy, and devilishly tempting like this, and she felt all of it with a fervor that numbed her whole.
His smile was slight, once he neared enough that the light illuminated it, and she loved the sight of it. “Anything the matter?”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, simply too much in my mind.”
Hawk nodded slowly at the words. “I suffer from the same tonight. Wandering in the dark helps.”
“I know.” She allowed herself to smile in return. “I’ve done so quite a lot in my time here.”
“Have you?” His voice rang with amusement, warming the pit of her stomach. “I wonder we’ve never bumped into each other before, as I do it often.”
Clara swallowed hard, tightening her arms in their still-folded position against her. “We’ve not been together often at night.”
Something about those words seemed inappropriate somehow, or forward. Something intimate that she ought to have hastily corrected.
And yet…
“We’ve not been together often anywhere,” he reminded her, his voice that delicious, low rumbling she so adored. “Nor at any time. Our recent acquaintance has been limited at best, if we’re speaking only of being in each other’s presence. Hasn’t stopped us from anything yet.”
“No,” she said again, her voice barely holding weight. “No, it hasn’t.”
He cocked his head very slowly and came closer, her pulse skipping and igniting various points of her body. “Clara…”
“We shouldn’t be alone.”
Her whispered admission stopped him, the edge of them ringing not with disapproval, but with fear.
And panic.
And reluctance.
And…
“I think we’d be hard pressed to find a suitable chaperone at this hour,” Hawk told her with complete patience and sincerity. “You’re quite safe from me. Here.” He gestured to the window beside hers. “I’ll sit here. I’ll keep to my window, and you keep to yours.” He smiled at the window ruefully. “We are in perfect sight of anyone wandering to the east of the house, so that should suffice for observation.”
Clara snickered to herself softly. “Who would be out in the night at this hour?”
Hawk shrugged as he took up the position he’d indicated, half-sitting on the ledge of his window as she was hers. “Poachers, night-fishers, watchmen… The possibilities are endless.”
She gave him a derisive look. “Limited, at best.”
His smile spread, his arms folding loosely across him as though in direct contrast to the tension in hers. “Nevertheless, there may be someone.”
Good sense would have had her reply that it wasn’t enough to take a chance on it, that the truth of the matter was clear and one of them needed to leave. Good sense would have her be mortified to be in this situation and to scurry off to bed like some proper miss.
Good sense had not accompanied her on this walk tonight.
“I’ve missed you, Hawk,” Clara admitted roughly, looking out of the window at the night, watching the moon reflect off of far distant water. “It was strange to be at Kirkleigh with only Aunt Fern, and to not have a friend about for company.”
“I’d have come sooner, if you’d asked.”
The roughness of his voice sent shivers along her spine, raised bumps upon her skin, and she bit back a sigh of delight. “How could I have asked that?” she wondered more than inquired. “We barely know each other, and to be so frank wouldn’t… It couldn’t…”
“I’d do anything you asked me,” Hawk told her quietly, ending her struggles to find the answer she sought. “That’s the madness of this, isn’t it? You could ask. Frankly and directly, you could ask me anything, and it wouldn’t be anything but perfect.”
Perfect. Such a word of power, yet so apt for their plight.
Everything felt perfect.
Yet it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Would not be.
Clara leaned her head against the cool pane of the window and finally allowed herself to look at him, loving the open expression he wore and the comfort in this moment. “Perfect is a dreadful word,” she whispered, her voice catching. “It only leads to heartache and disappointment.”
“Have you been disappointed, Clara?” Hawk asked gently, not seeming in the least put off by her statement.
She allowed herself to nod, the confession rolling within her as on a wave. “I was to be married once. Years ago now. He met with the approval of everyone, and I loved him. I thought I was so fortunate to have found someone well situated that I felt so much for. He wasn’t rich, but there would have been no complaints. It was perfect.”
“What happened?”
Clara lowered her eyes, looking at the nails of her left hand as it rested upon her arm. “Scandal broke out. He was found amid efforts to compromise a local girl to such a degree that they were forced to marry in haste. And then word went around about a number of others who had been seduced by him, some compromised to the same degree, though he could not also marry them. I was surrounded by women who knew the man better than I did, and I had been the one he’d vowed to marry.” She blinked and shifted her gaze back out to the night. “As you can imagine, rumors abounded about me as well, since it seemed he never treated a woman with respect. My virtue became a subject for gossip, even among… those I trusted most.”
She’d caught herself before admitting her family had believed the rumors, as her identity now did not give her family to do so. One falsehood amid a confession of truth.
“Why did you not write us?” Hawk asked her, his voice filled with pain that ate at her. “You were my uncle’s ward, we could have helped you.”
She looked at him sadly. “I cannot rely on the goodness a
nd influence of others all my life. I knew the truth, and that was enough. My aunt came to me shortly after to take me away, and I’ve never been back there since. It has not followed me, and I am as you see. No lasting harm done.”
Hawk shook his head slowly. “I think you are a masterful woman, Clara. More than I ever imagined or knew.” His lips curved in a fetching way. “And suddenly, I’m regretting my vow to stay in my window.”
Blushing, Clara ducked her chin, but managed to keep her eyes on him as she smiled back. “So am I.” Before anything could change, she rose and stepped away, adjusting a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Good night, Hawk.”
He rose as well, and, for a moment, she feared he might swoop in and take her in his arms, rendering her powerless and unwilling to resist. But he only stepped close enough to take her hand and bring it to his lips. Fire raced down her arm as the delicious sensation danced across her knuckles, somehow reaching deep into her core with it.
“Good night, Clara,” he murmured, his eyes staying on hers.
Her breath caught at the dip in his voice, and she very much feared the words he conveyed were far different from the words he spoke.
Chapter Eighteen
There had never been much interest in attending a ball for Hawk. He’d done it, of course, and repeatedly so. But there was never much amusement or entertainment for him, and the forced enclosure with eager people to either make a match or forge a connection meant he had to endure all efforts at sociable encounters.
Such things were not enjoyable.
Usually.
Tonight, however, he could barely stand still as White put the finishing touches on his appearance for the evening. A point which his trusted valet was growing less than pleased with.
“Steady, Your Grace,” White insisted with veiled impatience for what had to be the fifth time this evening. “I’ve no wish to strangle you as I style your cravat.”
Hawk raised a brow at him. “Was that a subtle threat, White?”
“Nothing subtle about it, Your Grace,” came the easy response. “If you keep shifting while I work this, it is very possible that you will become strangled, though it will not be my fault.”
“Then I wonder at your taste, man,” Hawk mused, lifting his chin with the assistance of his valet’s palm. “What will anyone say if they should believe my cravat has the appearance of a noose?”
White hummed once. “None shall mistake this work for a noose, nor will they find slack to hang you by. Say collar, by all means, but rope was never worked so finely as this. You wouldn’t want Miss Moore to find you lacking, would you?”
Hawk’s attention snapped down to his impertinent valet with swift censure. “That’ll do, White,” he muttered.
The valet met his eyes with all innocence. “Pardon me, Your Grace. Are you not accompanying her and Mrs. Daniels to the assembly? It is the duty of a gentleman to be as much of a match as humanly possible for the elegant ladies he escorts, and with such fine ladies as these, I do have my work cut out for me, Your Grace.”
Hawk narrowed his eyes in speculation at the man, not entirely believing his defense on his words, though he could not find anything erring in them, either. “Very true. I do wonder about your ulterior motive, though.”
“That I shall be admired for my work and stolen away to tend to a man who appreciates my abilities?” White replied without pausing a jot. “Yes, I make no bones about that one, Your Grace.”
This was getting nowhere, and quickly at that. It was clear his valet had no intention of addressing his speculation on Hawk’s intentions, and it would be pointless to attempt to prod him further. But as he himself had been so neatly nettled without much effort, there was a great deal of curiosity about what was being noticed and said, and whether or not Hawk was lacking in discretion at the present.
None of these were questions for his valet, of course, but had Nat been present, he most certainly would have asked him.
The irony of it all was that, had Clara and her aunt not been at Kirkleigh, Hawk would not have dreamed of going to the assembly ball this evening. He had nothing against Gadsden and its good people, it just seemed a trifle simple. All attendees of fortune would be wise to render themselves a little less resplendent in appearance than they might have done for a ball on a fine estate, unless they were tactless enough to parade their wealth for all the world. White had not been pleased initially to be so limited, but he had gotten over it soon enough and taken up the challenge with enthusiasm.
Why in the world that should be was beyond Hawk, but fashion held very little interest or concern for him. It was quite simply the clothing upon his back and nothing more.
His own brother would have groaned at such a statement.
“Did you have flowers sent to Miss Moore and Mrs. Daniels, White?” Hawk asked as the valet finally smoothed the ends of the cravat and tucked them into his waistcoat.
“I did, Your Grace,” he confirmed with a nod. “Mr. Brick had some very pretty blossoms in the greenhouses that he had cut for each and sent up. I believe they were received well.”
A jolt of pleasure shot from Hawk’s right hip into his left shoulder, neatly lancing his heart in the process. “Good,” he murmured, nodding to himself. “Excellent.”
“I should say so. Never underestimate the value of flowers in the eyes of God’s females.” He held out Hawk’s jacket for him to shrug into, then brushed at the shoulders when Hawk did so.
“Is that so?” Hawk asked with mild surprise. “I had no idea. I thought it was simply a polite gesture.”
White made a disapproving noise behind him. “Not at all, Your Grace. There’s a full language of flowers, if you can believe that.”
“What?” Hawk laughed, turning about and examining himself in the looking glass. “That is ridiculous.”
“But true, Your Grace,” White insisted. “I’ll find the book for you and have it sent in. You appreciate accomplishment in language, do you not?”
Hawk gave his valet a sardonic look. “I hardly think this counts.”
White only shrugged. “As you will, Your Grace. Will that be all?”
Returning his attention to his appearance, and, settling that it was as good as anything, Hawk nodded. “Yes, thank you, White.” He tugged on his jacket sleeves, then turned from the room feeling far more prepared for the night ahead than he had only moments ago.
He felt the odd desire to whistle some jaunty tune when he looked further down the corridor, on the other side of the stairs into the additional bedchambers and saw two ladies in near-perfect synchrony floating across the floor towards him.
Well, towards the stairs, really, but he was also in that direction.
He’d pretend Clara moved his way until the end of time.
She was nothing less than a vision, and his breath was impossible to find as she neared, and the details of her appearance became clearer.
A vision of lavender with a lace robe of white over the lot of it, bound by a lavender ribbon beneath her bodice, gathered and cascading from the left side of her skirts, leaving the hem of her dress visible, dotted there with the same delicate rosettes of lavender he could see scattered about the entire garment. The sleeves were small, and, thankfully, without the excessive billowing he had seen on garments of late. They captured her shoulders perfectly, echoing the white and lavender aspects of the gown in their folds.
Everywhere he looked, there was beauty, from the lace and lavender folds across the bodice to the string of pearls elegantly arraying her throat. Her golden hair had been curled to drape exquisitely at her temples and to frame her face, then piled back to flow in ringlets behind. Lavender gauze of sorts ornamented her tresses, and, as she reached him, he caught sight of a small bouquet of fresh flowers in one gloved hand.
He’d have gone to his knees for her had he felt them.
“I fear I am very far from my depth this evening,” he managed when the ladies reached him.
Clara’s cheeks, alread
y tinged with a lovely shade of pink, deepened. “I do not think so, Your Grace.”
Gads, was there a dearer creature in all the world?
He shook his head and reached for her free hand, bringing the surface of the glove to his lips. “I assure you, Clara, that I am,” he murmured, wondering at the gravel he heard in his voice.
Her brilliantly full lips parted in a sweet smile, her fingers fluttering briefly in his hold. “We must disagree, Your Grace. Mustn’t we, Aunt Fern?”
“Utterly, Your Grace,” Mrs. Daniels agreed in her crisp way.
Hawk wrenched his eyes from Clara to smile at her, noting with all due deference that, had he not seen Clara, he’d have considered Mrs. Daniels at present to be the most beautiful lady in the world. Her choice of a bright blue made her eyes almost impossible to meet, so echoing in shade were they.
Suddenly, he wished White had put a greater level of finery on his own person.
Hawk sighed heavily and moved between them, offering an arm to both ladies with a shake of his head. “I shan’t be comfortable all night, thinking of what the pair of you will suffer in excessive attention. How am I to protect my guests against the masses?”
Mrs. Daniels swatted him lightly with a fan. “Don’t flatter so ridiculously, Kirklin, it doesn’t suit us, does it, Clara? I must have you droll and sarcastic, or I shall think less of you.”
He stifled a laugh and glanced down at the woman as they descended the stairs. “God forbid I should fall in your estimation, Mrs. Daniels. Should I call you agreeable, then? Fair enough for company? Tolerable?”
She laughed throatily, the sound pleasant, though lacking in the magic of her niece’s. “Any and all will do, Your Grace, and in return, I shall consider you especially reliable company for the evening.”
“Reliable?” he repeated. He looked at Clara in bemused disbelief. “Have you ever heard a more unappealing compliment in your life?”
Clara giggled, the sound dismantling four of his ribs in ecstasy. “I don’t know, it seems rather akin to sturdy in my mind, and are they not both encouraging?”
Fortune Favors the Sparrow Page 22
