It was not surprising that he would be sitting alone here and brooding. She would have brooded also if she’d had to face the ghosts of her dead family, as he doubtless had upon his arrival at the castle after a decade of being absent.
In fact, it was his castle that had made Skye wonder if the earl might be her ideal match. According to her cousin Kate’s matchmaking theory, the five Wilde cousins—Ashton, Quinn, Jack, Katharine, and Skye—could find true love by mirroring legendary lovers in history and literature.
Skye hoped that her romance would follow a French fairy tale written nearly a century ago, where a beautiful young lady had been delivered to a beast whose lair was a palace.
Of course, Lord Hawkhurst was not a beast in the literal sense, but a scarred recluse somewhat fit the role. And this gloomy mansion could be a beast’s lair, Skye thought with a shiver.
Just then Hawkhurst looked up from the letter. His gaze narrowed on her as she combed her fingers through her tangled tresses. Then he said rather brusquely, “Lady Isabella’s missive falls far short of the explanation you promised. She says only that you have a request to make of me. So what do you want, Lady Skye?”
Skye hesitated, knowing she had to choose her words carefully. Naturally she could not tell him her true reason for being there for fear he would think she was stalking him. Her purpose had to remain her secret for now. Therefore, she would employ an entirely different excuse to ensure her chance to pursue the earl.
“I need you to find someone for me.”
“Who?”
“My uncle’s long lost love.”
Hawkhurst appeared dubious. “Why the devil do you think I could help?”
“Because you are an expert at solving puzzles and finding missing people. Two years ago when Lady Isabella was abducted by a Berber sheikh and carried off to the mountains near Algiers, you found her and rescued her, to her immense gratitude.”
When the earl was silent, Skye offered absently, “I will pay very generously.”
That was obviously the wrong approach, for he shook his head. “My services are not for hire.”
“Then do it as a favor for my aunt.”
That argument did not appear to sway him, either.
At his reticence, Skye gave a soft huff of exasperation. “You are a hero, Lord Hawkhurst. You should want to help me.”
Her claim brought a flash of genuine amusement to his features. “I am no hero.”
“You are indeed. And you belong to a secret league of heroes called the Guardians of the Sword. In fact, you are the league’s most renowned member.”
His expression suddenly became enigmatic, but his tone revealed his displeasure that so much had been disclosed about him. “I expected more discretion from Bella.”
“You ought not blame her. I was quite persistent.”
That was certainly true. She had quizzed her aunt at great length about every facet of the earl’s past. Isabella had a long relationship with the Guardians, having first encountered them many years ago through her first husband, a Spanish nobleman. And after knowing Hawkhurst for the past ten years, she thought of herself much as an older sister to him and yearned for his happiness.
“But don’t fear,” Skye added quickly. “She told me little more than the name of your alliance of spies and that it exists as a clandestine branch of the British Foreign Office. I know, however, that you have a long list of commendable qualities. You are honorable, supremely clever, and a leader of men. Before the tragedy struck, you were a devoted husband and father. And since then, you have risked your life countless times over and saved numerous lives.”
His answer was gruff, almost harsh. “That still does not make me suitable for your task.”
Skye eyed Hawkhurst in frustration. She was not about to admit failure, not when she felt such great urgency to act. His spy career might still be shrouded in secrecy, but her aunt had been completely frank about his unromantic affairs. Hawkhurst soon intended to wed the great-niece of his superior and mentor—a cold marriage of convenience strictly for political purposes.
He had not begun his courtship yet; he was merely readying his house to receive a new bride. But given his plans, Skye had little time to discover if she and Hawkhurst were a match and, if so, to somehow prevent his betrothal and marriage to another woman.
She was never one to turn away from a challenge, though.
Tamping down her frustration, she offered the earl her most winning smile. “Just hear me out, my lord. Please. It is the least you can do, given your friendship with my aunt.”
Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms over his chest. “Very well. You have five minutes.”
Waiting for her response, Hawk watched Lady Skye, unwillingly entranced. Even wet and bedraggled, she was lovely. Her face was fine-boned and classical; her hair a shade of champagne silk; her wide eyes the vivid blue of a cloudless summer’s day, a reflection of her uncommon name.
Contrarily, she didn’t reply to his decree at once, merely leaned closer to the hea