“Not as much as losing my wife and son.”
“I can only imagine.”
Raising her head slightly, she looked up at him and searched his face. Her eyes were full of sadness and sympathy. She’d been lying there reflecting on his tragedy, Hawk realized. She was softhearted enough that she couldn’t bear to think of him in pain.
“I hope I can make the hurt feel better,” she murmured, reaching up to touch his lips with her fingertips.
Deliberately, Hawk shifted his gaze to the bedside table. Reaching out, he snuffed the lamp so he wouldn’t have to see those deep, soft eyes of hers, and then turned back to claim her mouth. He had planned to let her rest before taking her again, but her obvious invitation convinced him otherwise.
He would have to clearly show Skye that he couldn’t love her, of course; that nothing could fill up all the dark and empty places in his soul. The key would be to shut her out emotionally. Their carnal relations would simply serve to relieve his sexual pain and hers, just as she’d suggested earlier.
As she’d also said, in all likelihood this would be the last time they would be intimate together. And Hawk calculated that there was no harm in comforting each other in the few hours they had left.
Upon arriving in London late the next morning, they delayed only long enough to change carriage horses and to visit a milliner’s shop, where Skye purchased two fashionable turbans for Rachel to wear in public until she was able to dye her hair.
In London, they parted ways with Macky. Hawk had ordered a detailed investigation into Rachel’s past, so Bow Stre
et Runner Horace Linch had already been dispatched to Brackstone in Kent, to find out all he could from the locals about the late Baron Farnwell, William. Macky would focus on the current Baron Farnwell, Edgar, since Hawk wanted to know exactly the sort of man they would be dealing with. Edgar had not even been born until three years after Lady Farnwell had fled England, so whatever knowledge she had of him was hearsay from a long distance away.
Understanding his temperament would allow them to judge how he might react to her “return from the dead”—whether he could be reasoned with or if they could expect a battle royal.
Additionally, Macky was to deliver Skye’s message to her uncle at Beauvoir, the family seat of the Marquises of Beaufort, also in Kent. Lord Cornelius had made his primary home there since assuming guardianship of the five orphaned Wilde children.
Learning of Rachel’s survival would likely be a huge shock, and Skye wanted to prepare her uncle in person, rather than baldly springing the news on him in a letter. Thus, she said she had great need of him and begged him to come to Hawkhurst Castle in East Sussex to aid in restoring the earl’s library to its former glory. She was certain Cornelius would comply with alacrity, since he had always put the youngsters’ welfare above his own, and a library in desperate need of restoration would be an irresistible lure.
As they traveled closer to Hawk’s home, however, she grew more concerned about both Rachel and Hawk. Rachel’s doubts were once again rearing up, so Skye spent the remainder of the journey trying to ease her fears and giving her a wide-ranging account of how British society had changed in her long absence. Skye herself was highly sociable, with the innate ability to put others at ease, but she was looking forward to getting assistance from her Aunt Isabella, who was a champion at raising spirits.
Hawk, on the other hand, was more worrisome. Skye observed him as they drove through the iron-pillared gateway of the castle. His features were shuttered, and when the looming edifice came into view, all hint of emotion disappeared from his expression, leaving only a cold, impassive mask.
Skye searched for something to say, to distract him from the pain he must have felt each time he returned to his empty home, and wound up chattering about the nearby village of Hawkhurst, what sort of market and shops it offered. She hoped Bella would be able to help coax Hawk out of his self-imposed isolation and chip away at the granite wall of defenses he’d erected to avoid more excruciating pain.
Lady Isabella must have been watching for them, for when the coach swept up the rutted gravel drive and came to a halt in front of the castle, she ran lightly down the steps, exclaiming in delight at their arrival.
True to expectations, her warmth and easygoing nature were on display for them all. The lively half-Spanish widow was nearing middle age, but she seemed much younger than her forty-six years as she embraced Skye first. “I am so pleased to see you, my dear.”
“Thank you for coming to our rescue, Aunt Bella.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Her treatment of Skye had always been motherly but in a way that fostered independence, since she ardently believed that women should not be at the mercy of men, as she had been during her first marriage to a Spanish nobleman.
Isabella turned to Hawk next and pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek. When Skye spied the silent look they exchanged, she interpreted Hawk’s piercing glance to mean something like, I intend to throttle you, Bella, for sharing so much of my past with your niece.
Aloud, he said only, “I will speak to you later, my lady.”
The moment of reckoning had to be postponed while Isabella welcomed Rachel to the castle. She caught the baroness’s hands in her own, and for the sake of the servants in earshot, greeted her as Mrs. Donnelly. But once they were all inside and had handed over their outer garments, Isabella didn’t delay in arranging more privacy.
After ordering tea to be brought in, she led the way to the drawing room, where a fire burned cheerily in the hearth. Immediately, she was more effusive toward Rachel and more sympathetic as well as they sat side by side on a sofa. “Please let me say that I am all admiration, my dear. After the trials you endured … to maintain such strength and presence of mind as to fool your tormenter and begin your life over entirely in another country … well, I don’t know that I could ever have been as brave. I know we shall become fast friends.”
Rachel flushed in gratitude and seemed well on the way to being won over.
Skye was glad her aunt would take Rachel under her wing. Not only were the two nearer in age, Bella had far more worldly experience and would be better at making a lady with such a traumatic past feel safe and cared for.
Then Hawk explained what he needed in the way of a disguise for Rachel, starting with henna dye for her hair. Isabella’s dark eyes lit with mischievousness and she promptly launched into a tale about her time in the Kingdom of Algiers in northern Africa, when she’d been held captive in the harem of a Berber sheikh and learned about exotic cosmetics and beautifying agents such as henna. “Leave everything to me. I promise I can make Mrs. Donnelly look like an Irishwoman born and bred.”
While her aunt was reminiscing, Skye noticed that the drawing room had already been restored to a semblance of its former elegance. The ghostly holland covers had been banished, every wood surface gleamed with beeswax, and the air no longer smelled musty and damp.
When Skye remarked on it, Isabella beamed with pride. “I must admit, I have accomplished a great deal since my arrival last week. Wet tea leaves sprinkled on the carpets before sweeping cuts down on the dust, while incense burned daily helps drive away odors.”