Hawk glanced around the tower. In every room, there were haunting shadows that Skye was systematically vanquishing. The dark dreams that plagued his sleep were less frequent as well, and he no longer craved solitude. During her recent journey to London, he’d realized how cold and empty his house had felt without her lively presence … which raised a question. What would he do without her when she left for good? When he courted and wed Sir Gawain’s niece and brought her home to his bed?
A frown claimed Hawk’s mouth. He didn’t like contemplating the answers. On the other hand, he could easily become accustomed to having Skye in his bed, in his life, always.…
He froze as a jolting thought occurred to him: He wanted Skye as his bride.
After a startled moment, Hawk tested the theory in his mind by picturing her recent look, remembering the warmth that filled him as he’d gazed into her laughing eyes. He felt a peculiar lightness in his chest when he could swear he wasn’t capable of any light feelings at all. He was able to recognize the sensation as affection—
And perhaps something stronger?
It was too soon to tell, Hawk decided. But his insistence that Skye meant nothing to him was laughable, really. And his plan to resist her had failed dramatically.
He’d intended to show her that he no longer had a heart to give her, that tragedy had destroyed that particular organ. But like the seemingly dead rosebushes in his garden, he was beginning to think his heart might not be completely dead after all, just lying dormant.
And if there was life there beneath all the dead undergrowth, he might conceivably be able to love again.
Hawk shook his head in disbelief. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed he would come to that point. But for the first time in a decade he wondered if it might be possible.
At the thought, he waited for the expected guilt to strike him. How can you open yourself to happiness with another woman when Elizabeth is gone?
Yet ten years was a very long time to mourn his late wife. Skye was right when she’d said Elizabeth wouldn’t want him to die with her. And living half a life would not bring her back. Moreover, he was beginning to question whether he should let the fear of losing his loved ones keep him mired in emptiness forever.
So what if you were to give yourself permission to love again?
It was then that Hawk recalled his obligations once more. By now he should have been well along in courting Sir Gawain’s niece, a plan he’d delayed in order to aide Skye’s quixotic romantic cause with her uncle.
Hawk’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t put off his courtship much longer. Not when wedding Miss Olwen was the only way he could lead the Guardians.
No, your future is settled.
Unless …
Unless you elect against a marriage of convenience.
The notion held more appeal than it should have.
Trying to change his fate, however, would present a profound dilemma. He would be pitting honor and obligation against desire, professional fulfillment against personal happiness, loyalty to Sir Gawain against his own private longings.
But perhaps the choice was not so difficult after all, Hawk conceded. He might regret opening his heart further and letting Skye in, but he would likely regret more not pursuing the possibility of a future with her.
Once the notion to wed Skye took root in Hawk’s mind, he couldn’t shake it. He had never desired Miss Olwen for his bride, and by postponing his courtship these past few weeks, he knew he’d been seeking an escape from an unsuitable match. Yet only now did he acknowledge that their union might be an actual mistake.
Convincing a shy young lady more than a dozen years his junior to serve as a broodmare so he could sire an heir of Guardian lineage was the height of calculating cynicism, despite the virtue of his motives.
The more Hawk considered his course, the stronger his temptation became to devise a way out of his obligations. He would have to withdraw his candidacy for the league’s leadership, but the thought of heading the Guardians was not as fulfilling as it once was. Regardless, before contemplating such a drastic step, he needed to speak with Sir Gawain directly.
The baronet’s latest communiqué had declared Sir Gawain’s intentions of arriving in London the past week. Without a doubt, he would be keenly disappointed if Hawk suddenly made a drastic about-face in his nuptial plans—and disappointing his friend and mentor weighed heavily on Hawk’s conscience. But he needed to at least broach the possibility. Thus, Hawk wrote to the baronet and requested an interview in London for the following afternoon.
Instead of sending a written reply, however, Sir Gawain appeared in person late the next morning—unsurprising, since resolving the issue of leadership after his impending retirement was understandably his chief priority just now.
Upon gaining entrance to the castle, Sir Gawain was shown into Hawk’s study at once. By odd coincidence, the elderly baronet somewhat resembled Lord Cornelius. Both were tall, lean, elegant gentlemen with silver hair. But Sir Gawain’s features were lined with worry and fatigue—the consequence of three decades of commanding the Guardians—and his penetrating, pale blue eyes were always gravely serious. He was also fifteen years older than Cornelius and walked with a slight limp, the result of a still-painful injury inc
urred during a mission long ago.
After issuing warm greetings and settling on a couch, Sir Gawain adopted a pensive frown. He listened intently as Hawk explained his reservations, but looked dismayed as he responded.
“I feared you might be wavering when my great-niece heard no word from you since your arrival in England, Hawk. May I remind you of the stakes? The very future of our league is in jeopardy.”
“I need no reminder, sir.”