She shot him her sweetest smile and turned her mount toward the castle. As Aunt Bella had advised, she would have to be patient and bide her time, but it would not be easy.
It would be even harder to reach through to the warm, human man buried beneath Hawk’s enigmatic, unyielding façade, but she was not giving up, no matter how many times he sent her away.
Hawk was primarily irritated at himself for his reaction to Skye. Her smile had shot straight to his loins—and worse, made him want to smile in return. She did that to men—dazzling them with her infectious, enchanting smiles, bewitching and befuddling her unwitting victims.
Fortunately he was no longer unwitting now. Clearly Skye was still intent on pursuing him as her ideal mate, and now that she’d accomplished her chief goal with her uncle, she was free to turn her full attention to him. But he was just as determined to hold on to his resolve.
Hawk resumed schooling the stallion, hoping work would serve to take his mind off Skye. Over the course of the next few days, however, the battle lines between them became more apparent. Often to his exasperation, Skye never wasted an opportunity to poke and prod him and prevent him from returning to his life as a recluse.
Her efforts in beautifying his house also continued. “A magnificent home such as this one deserves to shine again,” Skye said. “Moreover, I owe you a great debt for helping my uncle. This is my way of repaying you.”
When large numbers of servant staff started to arrive—the result of Lady Katharine’s employment efforts—they were set to work applying beeswax and turpentine to the furnishings, polishing the lamps and chandeliers until they glistened, washing and dusting every nook and cranny, and painstakingly cleaning the lavish gilt and plaster and flocked paper of the walls and ceilings.
Skye insisted on consulting Hawk about the redecorating—her way of keeping him involved, even though he cared little for such matters. She even convinced him to accompany her around the estate grounds to solicit his opinion and preferences for changes. “You must make the major decisions about your estate, my lord, since your future bride is not present to do it.”
Once the interior was progressing, she turned her focus to restoring the overgrown gardens to their former glory, saying, “It is a veritable jungle out there.” The new chief gardener brought in crews of laborers to tackle the tangled vegetation, cutting back the haphazard growth, pruning dead limbs, and planting bulbs for the spring, but Skye enlisted Rachel to supervise the rejuvenation of the rose garden. “She knows much more about roses than I. Besides, she and Uncle Cornelius need a place to court other than your stuffy library.”
By now Hawk had no trouble detecting Skye’s fine hand at work, along with her sweet manner of manipulation. She did everything possible to promote her uncle’s courtship and relished every tender moment the lovers shared—and freely admitted it with an edge of self-deprecating humor.
“I know I am a hopelessly incurable romantic. My cousin Kate is even worse.”
“I shudder to think,” Hawk drawled.
His reply sparked laughter in her eyes. “I need my attempts at matchmaking to be successful. I am obviously not a very good seductress, or I would have made more progress with you.”
Hawk froze, his attention caught up in her blue eyes—so expressive, so lovely, so captivating. It was all he could do to look away.
He couldn’t escape her frequent company, though. She and Isabella both greatly enjoyed riding. Intent on leaving Cornelius and Rachel alone, they regularly asked Hawk to act as their guide on excursions around the countryside.
If the days were difficult, the nights were worse, with his sexual fantasies of Skye as erotic as ever. Hawk spent many an early morning hour lying awake, his body on fire for hers.
Fortunately with all the guests living in his house, they were seldom alone. And then their numbers increased with the arrival of Skye’s cousin Katharine.
“Kate wants to be part of our uncle’s romantic adventure,” Skye explained. “And we need to put our heads together and decide what to do about Rachel’s daughter.”
Lady Katharine Wilde was a striking beauty herself, with a taller, riper figure than Skye’s and different coloring—auburn hair and stunning green eyes. But like Skye, Katharine possessed a sharp wit, a lively sense of humor, and the celebrated Wilde charm.
The penetrating look she gave Hawk upon meeting him s
eemed thoughtful and measuring, as if she were withholding judgment about him until knowing him better.
She was also unmistakably protective of Skye, and they clearly adored each other. More often than not, they could be seen laughing together. Skye seemed more content and serene with her cousin there—which she later explained in a quiet moment of candidness to Hawk. “Kate is only my distant cousin but is closer than any sister could be. We faced our parents’ deaths together and afterward grew up in the same household and attended boarding school together.”
Overtly, Lady Katharine had the more spirited personality, and Hawk sensed that like Skye, she preferred to rule her own fate. He could see how the two beauties together would hold sway over the ton and command the devotion of numerous suitors, which made it all the more puzzling that they were both of an age to be considered spinsters—until one recalled that their quest for true love was modeled after the world’s greatest lovers.
By week’s end, Hawkhurst Castle and its grounds were filled with people—guests, servants, merchants, laborers—and rang with the turmoil and noise of renovating as well as laughter and music, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere he had faced at his arrival. His house was much warmer and livelier with the gaggle of Wildes living there, but it was Skye herself who made everything seem brighter with her energy and her appealing joie de vivre.
Hawk found himself watching her quite against his will. She found pleasure in small things, the sort of pleasure he’d deliberately shut out of his life: the freshness after rain, a romantic poem, the beauty in a golden sunset, the tang of hot cider, the scent of autumn leaves.…
That last revelation came about when she dumped a pile of leaves on his head on purpose, exhibiting her mischievous tendencies. She had dragged him out to the edge of the park to inspect the gardeners’ progress, when, bending, she had scooped up an armful of leaves and shoved them under his nose.
“Just smell these. Isn’t this scent divine?”
“Behold me in raptures.”
His dry response brought a spurt of laughter from her. Before Hawk knew it, Skye threw up her arms and flung the whole lot into the air above him, raining leaves down upon them both.
“Oh, please forgive me, my lord,” she apologized effusively for her impertinence, but her eyes fairly sparkled, and she was smiling like the devil, or a wicked angel.