“I’m afraid I cannot help you. I can’t spare the time.”
Skye did not seem distressed by his answer. “I thought that might be the case. I suppose you must effect repairs to your house in order to welcome a new bride and offer her a worthy home.”
Hawk’s gaze narrowed on her, but he shrugged. “I cannot bring a bride to a mausoleum.”
“No, certainly not.” She hesitated before saying softly, “Your return to Hawkhurst Castle cannot have been easy for you.”
No, indeed. Hawk took another long, burning swallow of brandy. Facing his desolate, long-shuttered house had been far harder than he’d anticipated. He’d thought time had dulled his pain, but since his arrival, there had been long spells when grief gripped him as fiercely as ever.
Even though he had avoided the family wing altogether, especially the nursery where the fire had started, he couldn’t escape the unbearable memories. In fact, that afternoon he’d been drinking to drown out his dark reflections.…
At his grim silence, Lady Skye reverted back to the topic of overseeing repairs. “What arrangements have you made for rebuilding the castle thus far?”
It was a benign subject, so Hawk was willing to reply. “I’ve engaged an architect who has commissioned workmen to demolish the burnt rooms and restore the damaged wing. Construction is to start at week’s end.”
“From the brief glimpse I had, there is a great deal of other work to be done as well. You will need to hire a full-time staff and clean away ten years of dirt, then inventory the contents of the house.… What of the rest of the estate?”
He couldn’t see the reason for her leading questions but saw no harm in answering. “The stables and tenant farms are in much better condition than the house. I have grooms to look after the horses and a steward who takes good care of the land.”
He would never jeopardize the countless lives and livelihoods that depended on his land. It was only the house he’d let go to ruin.
Lady Skye started to ask yet another question but Hawk interrupted her. “It isn’t just the house repairs that will occupy my time. I will soon be engaged in a courtship.”
“Of course, you must woo your bride. I have not met Miss Olwen yet as she is not out in society. I understand she lives a retired life in the country.”
Lady Skye was nothing if not persistent, Hawk acknowledged with more than a tinge of exasperation. But if she thought he would allow her to quiz him about his prospective bride, she could think again.
When his gaze narrowed on her in disapproval, she went back to drying her pale hair and seemed content to let silence fall between them again.
Watching her over his glass, he couldn’t help comparing her with Sir Gawain’s niece, Amelia Olwen. Lady Skye Wilde was most definitely not shy and retiring. Instead, she was a vibrantly sensual woman. Sitting there bathed in the soft glow of firelight, she was having a profound effect on his senses.
It had been a very long time since he had shared this room with a beautiful woman, Hawk was aware. But her entrancing loveliness was weaving a spell over him.
Or perhaps he was dreaming the entire unusual episode. If so, it was the most pleasant dream he’d had in a long while.
He wasn’t imagining the fierce attraction between them, though. When he met her gaze again, a charged silence suddenly enveloped them.
He wanted this woman, and she wanted him, too.
He could easily envision taking Lady Skye to his bed. Hell, he could imagine taking her right there in his study: Slowly removing her damp clothing. Easing her down on the carpet before the hearth fire. Spreading her silken hair around her face. Parting her thighs and slowly plunging inside her.… He had a suspicion her passion would match his own—Hawk grimaced, annoyed at himself for dwelling on forbidden images and increasing the already painful ache in his loins. He had d
efinitely been without a woman for too long.
On the other hand, making her the object of his sexual fantasies was a good way to divert his mind from the dark memories that haunted his house.…
Cutting off that line of thought, Hawk drained the last of his glass and gave his final, curt answer. “I understand your desire to help your uncle, Lady Skye, but, regretfully, I must decline.”
He expected a protest or more argument, but she merely smiled and said pleasantly, “We can discuss it further again in the morning, my lord.”
Skye was unsurprised when the earl’s eyes narrowed. “In the morning?” he repeated.
“Yes. I have hopes you will allow me to stay the night.”
“That isn’t possible.”
Skye pointedly glanced at the now-dark windows being pelted by rain. “There is a storm raging outside. You wouldn’t send me out in this dreadful weather, would you?”
He ignored her perfectly reasonable question. “You are not staying here tonight.”