“Yes, but I can sleep in my shift if need be.”
For a moment his gray gaze drifted lower over her body, as if he were imagining her in her shift. “There is no need. I will fetch your valise.”
“I don’t want to put you to so much trouble. If you have some extra dry clothing for me to wear, I could make do.”
Hawkhurst hesitated, then shook his head and stood abruptly. “No, I have nothing for you to wear.”
The gruff note had returned to roughen his voice. He took up the lamp on the desk and moved toward the door.
“Do you mind if I find something to eat in the kitchens?” Skye asked.
“I have no cook to prepare a meal for you.”
“That is no matter. I’m sure I can manage on my own.”
He looked skeptical but shrugged. “I will show you to the kitchens.”
Quickly gathering the rest of her things, Skye followed him from the study and attempted to fall into step beside him. She had to hurry to match his long stride as he moved along the corridor.
He was at least a head taller than she, with a commanding demeanor that shouted nobility and a powerful, athletic build that made her feel intensely feminine and protected. His authoritative presence was rather comforting when the lamplight cast dancing shadows all around them. Hawkhurst Castle was more elegant manor than keep or fortress, but so dark and gloomy, she could easily believe it haunted by the ghosts of his late family.
Because the estate was entailed, it could not have been sold, but with his wealth, Hawkhurst had the means to purchase another home for his new bride—which made it all the more admirable that he had returned to face his past.
A shiver ran down Skye’s spine at the thought of ghosts, and she moved a little closer to Hawkhurst. When her arm accidently brushed his, she felt that fiery jolt of awareness again. Her startled glance upward at his strong profile caught a muscle flexing in his jaw, as if he, too, had felt the heat.
He led her down a flight of stairs, deep into the bowels of the castle. When they finally reached the kitchens, which comprised several large rooms, Skye was relieved to see a fire going in both the hearth and the cookstove.
Hawkhurst indicated the door to the pantry and spoke tersely. “I will leave the lamp with you.” Then he flung a cloak around his broad shoulders and left by way of a rear entrance.
Before the door shut behind him, Skye could hear the rain drumming against the pavement outside. She regretted making him brave the storm for her sake, but she hoped to repay him by preparing some hot tea and a meal for him.
; Skye rummaged in the pantry awhile, then busied herself putting a kettle on the stove and slicing some bread and cheese to toast over the fire, then paring apples.
She also lit two more lamps to chase away the shadows. It was a bit unnerving to think of staying at the castle overnight. She did not like sleeping in unfamiliar places, for strange beds usually brought on disturbing dreams about the deaths in her own family—her parents’ and those of her cousins in the same tragic shipwreck. But she was determined to make her own destiny and not let her future be tossed around like a rag doll by fickle fate.
Thus far her plan was on course, Skye reflected as she speared a thick piece of bread on a knife to hold over the fire. Indeed, her first encounter with Hawkhurst had left her feeling absurdly hopeful and that she could move on to her next step—rapidly improve their acquaintance. Regardless of whether their relationship could be based on a fairy tale, in order to decide if they would make a good match, she had to know Lord Hawkhurst much better.
Yet he had countless secrets he was unwilling or unable to share. And even though she much preferred honesty to subterfuge, she had to keep her legendary lovers theory secret for now. She would constantly have to pretend disinterest and hide the yearning inside her, for Hawkhurst would surely evict her if he knew of her romantic interest in him.
It would be odd playing the aggressor, Skye knew. She had been pursued by countless gentlemen but had never been the pursuer herself. Thankfully, she had priceless advice to rely upon. Aunt Bella had wed three husbands and knew how to win a man if it came to that.
Skye was melting a wedge of cheese when a soft footfall sounded behind her. The earl’s sudden appearance from out of nowhere made her jump, and she barely managed to bite back a cry.
“I did not hear you come in,” she murmured weakly, raising her hand to her throat.
“I returned through another entrance. Your servants are settled in,” he said as he hung his drenched cloak on a wall peg, “and I set your valise by the rear stairway.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said earnestly.
“I see you have made yourself at home,” he added, glancing around at her preparations. She had laden a tray with china and cutlery and set tea steeping in a pot.
She flashed him a rueful smile. “I might seem like a damsel in distress at the moment, but I detest being helpless.”
His expression turned wry. “I would guess that you are rarely helpless. But it is unusual for a lady to know her way around a kitchen.”
“My cousin Jack is frequently hungry. Growing up, I often kept him company in the kitchens in the middle of the night, so it seemed wise to learn to cook at least simple things.” Skye gestured at the teapot and plates of toasted bread and cheese. “I wasn’t certain if anyone would prepare your supper, so I made enough for both of us. Will you join me?”