His gray gaze found hers across the table. “You won’t have time. You will be leaving early in the morning.”
“You know, I don’t have to leave. If you are concerned about propriety, I could ask Aunt Isabella to come here to act as my chaperone.”
Hawkhurst shot down her suggestion with a curt word. “No.”
“There could be some major advantages to having us both here for a time,” Skye continued, still hoping to convince him to let her stay. “A great deal more work needs to be done on your house beyond construction and repairs. If you want to impress your new bride, you could use a woman’s touch.”
Silence was his only reply, although he did swallow a slice of apple.
Skye pressed on. “You said you have only an aging caretaker and some women from the village to cook and clean for you. At the very least, I could aid you in hiring a full-time housekeeper and other household servants. For that matter, I could ask my cousin Katharine to hire staff from an employment agency in London.”
Hawkhurst drained his teacup. “Has anyone ever told you that you are excessively meddlesome?”
“Oh, yes. It is one of my many failings.” She offered him a self-deprecating smile as she poured him another cup. “But I truly wish to offer my help. It is only fair if I can repay you in some small measure for aiding me in my search.”
His gaze turned thoughtful. “There is no need for my involvement in your search. I know someone in London who may be able to help you locate your uncle’s former lover.”
Skye felt a twinge of unease. She didn’t want help from anyone else. “But I want you, my lord. I prefer to keep Uncle Cornelius’s story as private as possible. By all reports, Lady Isabella is almost like an older sister to you. She will be terribly disappointed to learn you are not the gentleman she believes you to be. Will you honestly let her down so cruelly?”
His mouth curved at her question. “What are you about? Playing on my guilt?”
“But of course.” She was prepared to use whatever leverage she had to persuade him. “How else am I to convince you?”
He chuckled, a low, reluctant sound. His laughter sounded rusty from disuse, as if he was long out of practice, which no doubt he was. “There is no way you will ever convince me, Lady Skye.”
“I know you feel that way now. My unexpected arrival surprised you. But I believe—at least I sincerely hope—that when you’ve had time to consider, you may change your mind. I assure you, I am not giving up.”
Hawkhurst shook his head in evident disbelief at her persistence.
“Just think on it, my lord,” Skye added. “It will be far more discreet if I stay here at the castle. I inquired thoroughly. The village of Hawkhurst has no inn, and the nearest
posting house where I could find lodgings is on the London–Hastings Road in Robertsbridge, over a half dozen miles away. It will cause less gossip if I remain here rather than travel back and forth all that distance each day in order to see you. There you go again, making that growling sound,” she pointed out, although she smiled sweetly to take the sting from her observation.
Skye was not as sanguine as she tried to appear, however, and Lord Hawkhurst remained stubbornly unyielding as they finished their meal in relative silence. When they carried the remainders to the kitchen, his orders were curt.
“Leave the dishes for the day servants to wash. I will show you to your room now.”
He was clearly impatient to be rid of her, but Skye bit her tongue. Although it was far too early to retire to bed, she could hardly complain. At least she had brought a novel with her to read and could entertain herself until she was sleepy. Remaining awake would be better anyway, since she would have less chance to dream unsettling dreams.
Hawkhurst turned out all but one of the lamps and carried it with him as he left the kitchens. Once again Skye hurried to keep up with him.
He picked up her valise by the back servants’ staircase, then escorted her up two flights of stairs, explaining as he showed her to her room: “The family wing was damaged and is boarded up now, so I sleep in the guest wing. My bedchamber is down the hall from this one.”
Opening the door, he preceded her inside the dark room, where he set down her valise. “You can see that we are unprepared for guests.” Dusty holland covers swathed the furniture, and the air was cold and damp.
“If you will light a lamp, I will build a fire.”
“I can make do without a fire,” Skye offered. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“We are long past that point,” he said dryly. “Give me a moment and I will fetch some logs for you from my rooms. There should be clean linens and blankets in that cupboard there if you care to make up the bed. And at the end of the corridor is a housekeeper’s pantry, where you will find towels and fresh water so you can fill a pitcher for washing.”
“Thank you. I am certain I can manage.”
The moment he left, Skye found herself wishing he could have stayed. A flash of lightning lit up the bedchamber with a bright glare, and was soon followed by another clap of thunder. The storm seemed just as ferocious as before. It would not be easy, sleeping there in the strange bedchamber in the eerie house. At least Lord Hawkhurst would be nearby if her dreams grew too terrifying.
Chiding herself for her missishness, Skye distracted herself by pulling the holland covers off the bed and folding them neatly, then sorting through the linens and pillows in the cupboard. She was glad when Lord Hawkhurst returned, however, with an armful of logs.
Depositing his burden beside the hearth, he knelt to begin building a fire. It still astounded her that a nobleman of his caliber was willing to perform such menial tasks for her sake. Most aristocrats wouldn’t deign to dirty their hands with servants’ work.