Skye badly wanted Daphne to know about her parentage, but the truth could only hurt her. As the daughter of a baron, she might be able to weather a scandal involving her stepmother and stepbrother. But if it was discovered that she was the child of her mother’s illicit lover, she would be ruined in society, no matter her illustrious patrons or connections.
Even so, their reunion was a joyous occasion, and Skye was resolved to enjoy it. At dinner that evening, Daphne met Lady Isabella, who contributed to the congenial, lively atmosphere.
Hawk was also present, to Skye’s mixed relief and dismay. She hadn’t encountered him the entire day, whether because he was busy or purposely avoiding her, she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t read his expression, either, but the impact of seeing him again was just as powerful as always: Her heart lurched and warmed at the same time, while her body was jolted with sexual awareness.
She had no opportunity to speak to Hawk alone, a circumstance she was certain he had contrived. It was the following afternoon and nearly teatime when Aunt Bella found Skye to say that she was worried about Hawk after just witnessing a disturbing episode: A gardener had found a metal box of toys buried beneath a bush that likely had belonged to his lordship’s son. Upon opening it, Hawk had stiffened grimly, then stormed away.
Aunt Bella thought he might have taken refuge in his study. “I think you should go to him, Skye.”
“Yes, of course,” she answered, knowing the find would have brought up more agonizing memories for him.
Skye went directly to the study. The door was not locked, so she pushed it open slowly and peered inside the room. Hawk was seated at his desk, a sheaf of papers before him, but he was neither reading nor writing. Instead, he was staring down at a small, bronzed toy horse that stood on his desktop.
Quite obviously, he’d been raking his hands through his hair. And when he glanced up at the intrusion, the bleakness in his eyes was unmistakable.
Fierce compassion swamped Skye. She desperately wanted to go to Hawk. She longed to smooth back the disheveled locks falling over his forehead and ease away the lines of pain on his face. She yearned to wrap her arms around him and comfort him and drench him in tenderness and love.
But she did none of those things. Rather, she flashed him a bright smile and exclaimed cheerfully, “Good, I found you. Don’t go away, my lord. I shall return posthaste.”
With that, Skye closed the door softly and hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, all the while praying she could soon provide Hawk with at least a temporary balm for his despair.
Skye returned to the study with her notebook listing her planned renovations and refurbishments for Hawk’s castle. The toy horse was gone from his desk, as was his look of bleakness, but his desolate expression had been replaced by no emotion at all—which was almost worse, in Skye’s opinion. She couldn’t bear for him to shut her out.
“Please, will you come with me, Hawk?” she asked. “I want your opinion about what to do with the west tower.”
“Now?”
“Yes, this very moment. It cannot wait.”
His gaze narrowed on her, taking in her attire. The serviceable apron she wore over her gown was meant to reassure him of her businesslike focus. Skye hoped she looked more housekeeper or chatelaine of the manor than seductress.
Not giving him time to send her away, she confiscated his quill pen and returned it to the stand, then pulled Hawk to his feet and preceded him from the study. They passed several servants as they negotiated the corridors, but met no one else as they climbed a winding staircase to the circular west tower room. Upon reaching the landing, Skye led Hawk inside and closed the door for privacy.
From the high mullioned windows, one could see across the fields and meadows and woodlands of the vast Hawkhurst estate. The tower was chilly, although pale autumn sunlight gave the illusion of warmth and illuminated dust motes dancing in the air. Unlike the rest of the castle, which had been scoured and scrubbed within a proverbial inch, this particular room had been left untouched for a decade.
A set of armchairs and a side table, all swathed in holland covers, occupied one side of the floor—for reading or daydreaming or watching the sun set, she suspected. Otherwise, there was no other furniture.
Skye locked the door and turned to face Hawk, prepared to explain her ulterior motive. It distressed her to think his tragic loss might always come between them, but her own romantic dreams were nothing compared to his pain. Nothing would erase that terrible experience for him, but she could try to heal him and take the bleakness from his eyes.
Those eyes had filled with gathering suspicion as he studied her.
“I am worried that the beast has returned,” she confessed honestly. “And I hoped lovemaking would serve to lighten your mood.”
“You lured me up here to have sex?”
“Well, yes.”
She held her breath as Hawk stared at her.
His handsome features suddenly relaxed. Rather than showing anger or vexation, he looked amused. Apparently he had forced himself to shake off the grim remembrance of his son’s toy. Skye felt so relieved, her knees went weak—yet Hawk was not ready to capitulate, she realized at his next words.
“I’m not so fragile as you seem to think, angel. I don’t need you to comfort me every time I must face a difficult memory.”
“I know. But I am not thinking only of you. I want comfort, too. I have missed you dreadfully. Haven’t you missed me?”
“That is beside the point.”
He moved toward the door, eying the handle behind her, as if intending to leave.