“Godspeed on your journey, Hawk,” she whispered.
Then, before her voice could break entirely, she turned and ran from the room.
Scalding tears filled her eyes, blinding her, but she didn’t stop until she reached her own bedchamber and shut herself inside. Squeezing her eyes shut, Skye stood with her back pressed against the door, tears spilling helplessly down her cheeks.
All her hopes for happiness had gone up in flames. Yet she was crying not only for herself but for the man who would go on living without love.
London was as cold and gray as Hawk felt. Inside Sir Gawain’s overcrowded town house, however, the heat from numerous chandeliers and perfumed bodies masked the chill.
Hawk gazed out over a sea of colorful gowns and elegant coiffures, fighting a cloying sense of oppression. This was the second major event of his courtship—a dinner and ball hosted by the baronet. Sir Gawain’s great-niece and her parents had stayed at his London home for several weeks now and seemed anxious for Hawk’s appearance.
Their initial meeting had gone awkwardly, though. Miss Amelia Olwen was pretty and gentle and sweet in nature, but utterly, mind-numbingly bland.
She also looked as if she might swoon at the first hint of danger. She clearly found Hawk intimidating, and she was appalled by his scars.
Unlike Skye, who sees your scars as a badge of courage.
For an instant, Hawk let himself dwell on his last memory of Skye when she’d kissed him farewell at Hawkhurst. Her eyes had been luminous with sadness, and when she smiled that tremulous heartbreaking smile, he wanted to call off his entire plan.
He’d spent the three nights since arriving in London alternately suffering a restless, dream-tossed sleep or lying awake with a hole in his gut. Not because of the ghosts of his dead family—those he had managed to conquer with Skye’s help—but from haunting regrets at being forced to leave her.
His heart sat in his chest like stone at the thought of cutting her out of his life, never touching, never laughing with her, never seeing her radiant smile.…
Hawk muffled an annoyed oath at himself. He bloody well had only himself to blame for letting Skye’s captivating charm work an enchantment on him. Besides, he was resigned to his unpalatable future. Eventually, in time, his life would be restored to the same place it was before she came into it … cold, gray, empty, joyless.
Shaking off his grim thoughts, Hawk instead focused on watching his future bride dance with her current partner. When the orchestra music came to a close, Miss Olwen cast him a timid glance, as if reluctant to return to his side.
At the sight of her timidity, an unwanted image of Skye slipped into his mind again. She was so alive and vibrant and fearless—so vastly different from the insipid girl he was supposed to wed.
Also unlike Skye, Miss Olwen seemed noticeably reluctant to marry him or even to entertain his courtship, a stance that only added to his internal conflict. For Hawk, their first dance tonight had confirmed that their union would be a grave mistake. But the untenable problem still remained of how to extricate himself from his obligations—
Just then, he felt a light slap on his back and heard an amused drawl commenting on the irony of seeing a confirmed recluse at a crowded ball.
Turning, Hawk welcomed the unexpected appearance of one of his closest friends and fellow Guardians, Sir Alex Ryder. Ryder was tall and dark-haired like Hawk, but his build was more lean and muscular and his face more darkly tanned by the Mediterranean sun. Ryder had begun his career as a hired mercenary and was an expert in arms and munitions.
He must have just arrived in England from Cyrene, Hawk thought as they shook hands. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Ryder. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your wedding trip?”
“You know one doesn’t ignore a summons from Sir Gawain, even for nuptial bliss. He bade me return for your wedding—but it seems your courtship has not progressed so far.”
Hawk sidestepped the issue. “Did your new wife accompany you here?”
“Yes. Eve didn’t relish us being apart for so long, and she wanted to see Claire.”
Ryder had recently wed the love of his life, the widowed Countess of Hayden, whose younger sister Claire had surprisingly married Macky and settled in London with the former actor.
In fact, there had been a rash of happy marriages among their colleagues in recent years and some births as well. Ryder and Eve were anticipating their first child next spring. Of all their members, though, Ryder was one of the few who originally hailed from the island.
“You plan to settle on Cyrene, don’t you, Ryder?”
“Eventually, yes. Why do you ask?”
Because he couldn’t conquer the desire to ward off his current fate.
“Because I would need to find a replacement if I were to withdraw as candidate for leader.”
Ryder’s gaze narrowed in surprise. “The Olwen chit is that bad, is she?”
“She is not repulsive, if that is what you mean.”