Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel (37 page)

He must finally have realized that she was attempting to lighten the mood, for her
complaint won her the barest hint of a smile. “You break into my home and then take
me
to task?”

“I did not
break
in,” she pointed out genially. “You admitted me.”

“Much to my regret.

Just then the darkness in the corridor was broken by another lightning flash. When
he continued on his way, Skye followed in his footsteps.

Upon arriving at his study, he allowed her to precede him. To her relief, this room
at least looked habitable.
A fire was crackling in the hearth and a low-burning lamp rested on a massive desk.

“You may sit there by the fire,” he said, pointing to a leather wing chair that was
angled before the hearth.

His invitation seemed slightly grudging, but Skye did not take offense. “Do you mind
if I remove my cloak first? I am chilled to the bone.” Her discomfort was not a lie.
Her cloak was soaked through and her gown was damp at the bodice and sodden at the
hem.

Hawkhurst murmured something under his breath that sounded much like, “It serves you
right,” but he stepped closer to aid her.

When he reached out to lift the cloak from her shoulders, Skye’s own breath suddenly
turned ragged at his close proximity. Then, when she handed over the garment, revealing
an elegantly tailored traveling dress of forest green kerseymere beneath, his gaze
dropped to her breasts.

Instinctively she went still as his marvelous eyes traveled over her body in dispassionate
appraisal. She was well aware of her physical attributes and that her feminine countenance
and figure appealed to most men. Usually she had suitors falling at
her
feet, declaring themselves in love with her. Yet she had no clue what Hawkhurst was
thinking or feeling.

There was no question about her body’s reaction to
him
, however. She was not sexually experienced, but the intense fascination she felt
for him was most certainly sexual, her desire that of a grown woman, not merely the
love-struck awe of a young girl. But what he did to her insides was more remarkable.
His mere nearness filled her with fluttery excitement and sweet
yearning—a response she had never felt with any man but him.

She had no difficulty picturing Hawkhurst as her husband now, just as she’d done numerous
times in her romantic dreams these past few months. If he were her husband, though,
she could have removed her gown instead of standing here shivering in this clammy
one. If he were her husband, she could have undressed down to her shift and moved
into his arms. Indeed, she could have bared her entire chilled body to him and shared
his warmth.…

The alluring image dissolved when he took her dripping cloak and spread it near the
hearth to dry, then went to his desk without another word.

Hawkhurst was clearly displeased to have her in his home, Skye could tell as she removed
her wet gloves. She ought to be intimidated by his surly manner; any normal young
lady would be. But few gentlemen had the power to shake her, perhaps because she was
accustomed to handling the strong-willed men in her family.

She usually was able to bend them to her own will with sweet reason. She suspected
in this case, though, it would take a good deal more than reason to sway the earl.
Indeed, the sheer size of her task daunted her. But if Lord Hawkhurst was looking
for a wife, it might as well be her, Skye judged. At the very least, she wanted to
see if they were a compatible match. And regardless of her romantic hopes, she needed
a hero just now, and he was a genuine hero.

Skye drew a steadying breath to bolster her courage. She had contrived to land on
his doorstep, and
now she had to capitalize on the opportunity she had created for herself.

“Will you please read my aunt’s letter, my lord?” she asked.

Obligingly, he turned up the flame on the desk lamp, then held the letter nearer the
light. It was then that Skye really saw the burn scars marring the back of his hands.

A sudden lump formed in her throat. Hawkhurst was still the most beautiful man she
had ever seen, but also the most deeply scarred. Not just on the outside but on the
inside, if her information was correct. After all, he had crawled through fire to
save his wife and young son, futilely as it happened. With his life shattered, he’d
exiled himself to a distant Mediterranean island and spent the past decade engaged
in dangerous deeds, not caring whether he lived or died.

Skye’s heart went out to him. Perhaps that organ was too tender, but as the youngest
Wilde cousin of the current generation, she was known for being the sensitive one,
in addition to being the most mischievous.

Mentally chiding herself for staring at the earl’s scarred hands, she busied herself
spreading her gloves on the hearth. Then she settled into the wing chair and began
to remove the pins from her chignon, since her damp hair would dry more quickly if
down.

For a short while as he read, the silence in the study was broken only by rain spitting
against the window-panes and the occasional snap of a log in the hearth fire.

When Hawkhurst absently reached for a snifter that was almost empty, Skye noticed
the crystal decanter
half-filled with what appeared to be brandy. Evidently he had been drinking, which
partially explained his morose mood.

It was not surprising that he would be sitting alone here and brooding. She would
have brooded also if she’d had to face the ghosts of her dead family, as he doubtless
had upon his arrival at the castle after a decade of being absent.

In fact, it was his castle that had made Skye wonder if the earl might be her ideal
match. According to her cousin Kate’s matchmaking theory, the five Wilde cousins—Ashton,
Quinn, Jack, Katharine, and Skye—could possibly find true love by mirroring legendary
lovers in history and literature.

Skye hoped that her romance would follow a French fairy tale written nearly a century
ago, where a beautiful young lady had been delivered to a beast whose lair was a palace.

Of course, Lord Hawkhurst was not a beast in the literal sense, but a brooding, scarred
recluse somewhat fit the role. And this gloomy mansion could be a beast’s lair, Skye
thought with a shiver.

Just then Hawkhurst looked up from the letter. His gaze narrowed on her as she combed
her fingers through her tangled tresses. Then he said rather brusquely, “Lady Isabella’s
missive falls far short of the explanation you promised. She says only that you have
a request to make of me. So what do you want, Lady Skye?”

Skye hesitated, knowing she had to choose her words carefully. Naturally she could
not tell him her true reason for being here for fear he would think she was stalking
him. Her purpose had to remain her secret
for now. Therefore, she would employ an entirely different excuse to ensure her chance
to pursue the earl.

“I need you to find someone for me.”

“Who?”

“My uncle’s long lost love.”

Hawkhurst appeared dubious. “Why the devil do you think I could help?”

“Because you are an expert at solving puzzles and finding missing people. Some years
ago when Lady Isabella was abducted by a Berber sheik and carried off to the mountains
near Algiers, you found her and rescued her, to her immense gratitude.”

When the earl was silent, Skye offered absently, “I will pay very generously.”

That was obviously the wrong approach, for he shook his head. “My services are not
for hire.”

“Then do it as a favor for my aunt.”

That argument did not appear to sway him either.

At his reticence, Skye gave a soft huff of exasperation. “You are a hero, Lord Hawkhurst.
You should want to help me.”

Her claim brought a flash of genuine amusement to his features. “I am no hero.”

“You are indeed. And you belong to a secret league of heroes called the Guardians
of the Sword. In fact, you are the league’s most renowned member.”

His expression suddenly became enigmatic, but his tone revealed his displeasure that
so much had been revealed about him. “I expected more discretion from Bella.”

“You ought not blame her. I was quite persistent.”

That was certainly true. She had quizzed her aunt at great length about every facet
of the earl’s past.

“But don’t fear,” Skye added quickly. “She told me little more than the name of your
alliance of spies. I know, however, that you have a long list of commendable qualities.
You are honorable, supremely clever, and a leader of men. Before the tragedy struck,
you were a devoted husband and father. And since then, you have risked your life countless
times over and saved numerous lives.”

His answer was gruff, almost harsh. “That still does not make me suitable for your
task.”

Skye eyed Hawkhurst in frustration. She was not about to admit failure, not when she
felt such great urgency to act. His spy career might still be shrouded in secrecy,
but her aunt had been completely frank about his romantic affairs. Hawkhurst soon
intended to wed the great-niece of his superior and mentor—a marriage of convenience
strictly for political purposes.

He had not begun his courtship yet; he was merely readying his house to receive a
new bride. But given his plans, Skye had little time to discover if they were a match,
and if so, to somehow prevent his betrothal and marriage to another woman.

She was never one to turn away from a challenge, though.

Tamping down her frustration, she offered Hawkhurst her most winning smile. “Just
hear me out, my lord.
Please
. It is the least you can do, given your friendship with my aunt.”

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms over his chest. “Very well, you have
five minutes.”

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