Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“I have no intention of going back there.” But he did, he simply hadn’t realized it until Lyonel had pointed out the obvious. No, dammit! “There is no reason for me to, there is nothing there, I—”

“You’re a miserably unhappy bastard,” Lyonel said, interrupting him smoothly.

“I wasn’t until quite recently. I’ll thank you to keep your tongue in your mouth, Saint Leven!”

“Friends should be good for something,” Lyonel said, brushing a fleck of nonexistent dirt from his elegant sleeve. “You do have a wife now, you know.”

“Why the devil is everyone so concerned about Frances? You saw her, Lyon. Christ, would you return to that?”

“Yes,” Lyonel said very quietly, “I saw her. Quite clearly, as a matter of fact.”

“Just what does that cryptic bit of wit mean?”

Lyonel shrugged. “Go home, Hawk, that’s all I meant.”

He expected his friend to rage at him, perhaps plant his fist in his face, but Hawk did nothing. They strolled through Piccadilly in silence.

“It is going to rain soon,” Lyonel remarked, glancing up at the darkening sky.

Hawk grunted. He kicked a stone out of his path.

“Have you heard anything from your father?”

r />

“Not a blessed word,” Hawk said, then frowned. That in itself was odd, most odd. His father should be urging him to return, piling recriminations on his head, but there had been no word from that wily old autocrat.

The marquess was playing a deep game, Lyonel thought.

“All right,” Hawk said finally, and there was a measure of relief in his voice.

“All right what?” asked Lyonel.

“I shall leave in the morning.” And I will court my damned ugly wife and take off her glasses and her ugly cap and her clothes. I’ll kiss her and see her breasts and ... He shook himself.

“She doesn’t like me, you know,” he said more to himself than to Lyonel.

“No, probably not,” Lyonel agreed. “But, my friend—”

Hawk threw up his hands. “No, don’t say it. Amalie says I can charm even the fat person known as the Regent.”

“All right, I won’t say another word,” Lyonel said agreeably. “However, this person is a trifle different from the Regent. I trust she is still at Desborough Hall.”

“Where else would she be?”

Lyonel shrugged. “Who knows? Back in Scotland?”

“No, if she had shuttled the pike, my father would have sent me a message so quickly your head would twirl on your shoulders. I have much to do, Lyon, and it looks about ready to rain.”

“Does it really?” Lyonel asked, seemingly startled by this bit of information. “Go easy, Hawk,” he added, shook his friend’s hand, and strolled off, a slight smile on his lips.

Go easy, Hawk thought with some disgust. What did Lyonel expect him to do? Fling his wife onto the ground and ravish her?

What an odd thought, he realized later as he absently watched Smallpiece pack his valises. Seducing one’s wife. Wooing a wife.

15

All hell broke loose.