On top of it all, Tamara glowed with happiness from an adoring husband and a pregnancy that was starting to show.
Pia wasn’t sure if, given the chance, she’d fare so well. Not that she’d have that chance. Hawk had protested that he wasn’t ready to marry Michelene yet, but he’d said nothing about having any serious interest in Pia.
She’d longed for a happy ending for herself since she was a little girl. Could she settle for less? Perhaps she was deluding herself into thinking a dead-end affair with Hawk was for the best.
Tamara reached across the table and touched her hand. “I don’t want to hear more talk about not being qualified to be a duchess. You’re more qualified than I am to be a countess, frankly, if qualifications even enter into it. You know how to throw brilliant parties and entertain impeccably.”
Pia swallowed hard.
“And you are a pro at two of the most important aristocratic pastimes—fishing and riding,” Tamara continued. “I find fishing deadly dull, and as for riding, I only ever do it occasionally.”
Pia gave a tremulous smile, even as she flushed with embarrassment. She didn’t dare tell Tamara and Belinda that Hawk was interested in different types of fishing and riding with her—ones that had nothing to do with fishes and horses and everything to do with a bed and a lazy afternoon or evening, or morning, for that matter.
Belinda looked at her too knowingly. “My advice is not to be Hawk’s plaything, even if I do think an arrangement without a legally binding contract is easier. I know you, Pia, and this isn’t you.”
Pia looked down and fiddled with her napkin. The rational part of her knew Belinda was right. The other part didn’t want to think about tomorrow and consequences. She just wanted Hawk.
She’d been young, naive and romantic once, but perhaps she was always destined to act emotionally as far as Hawk was concerned.
Michelene. Oh, God.
Pia swallowed and looked up.
Belinda and Tamara were looking at her with worried but expectant expressions.
Pia bit her lip and punted. “Mr. Darcy is waiting for me at home.”
Belinda relaxed a little, obviously taking her comment as a reassuring sign. “Good girl. Learn who the good guys are.”
If only, Pia thought, she wasn’t still so tempted by a certain wicked duke that her stubborn heart kept insisting was her Prince Charming.
Fourteen
Hawk looked up from his desk, and then automatically rose. “What a surprise to see you on this side of the Atlantic, Mother.”
It seemed as if everyone was destined to pay a visit to his office these days. Everyone, that was, except Pia.
Undoubtedly, his mother must have told his secretary not to bother announcing her arrival after obviously having taken her coat and handbag.
The dowager duchess gave him a fixed look. “I thought it would be nice if we had lunch.”
Hawk’s lips twisted. His mother had shown up unannounced—a clear sign that something important was weighing on her.
“What is this I hear about you and Lucy’s wedding planner, Pia Lumley?” his mother asked, not disappointing by going straight to the point. “Some dreadful woman has been writing—”
“Mrs. Hollings.”
His mother stopped abruptly. “Pardon?”
“The Pink Pages of Mrs. Jane Hollings. It’s a column that appears in the Earl of Melton’s newspapers. Specifically, The New York Intelligencer.”
“I don’t know why Melton hasn’t put a stop to it then,” the dowager duchess huffed. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“Sawyer believes in freedom of the press,” Hawk responded dryly, coming around his desk.
“Nonsense. This terrible woman is assailing your reputation. Something must be done.”
“And what, precisely, is it you suggest I do, Mother?” Hawk queried.