Secrets of Seduction (32 page)

He was a
changed man, Hawk acknowledged as his coach neared home that evening. Because of Skye, the emotion he’d never wanted to feel again had sunk its claws deep in his heart.

Not even the imminent storm could dim the anticipation of seeing Skye soon. There was no rain yet, but thunder rolled and lightning flickered outside his carriage windows, much like the night of their first encounter. Shortly later the wind picked up, buffeting the vehicle as it swept through the pillared entrance gates of Hawkhurst Castle. Despite the jarring ride, a wry smile curved Hawk’s mouth at the thought of surprising Skye with a proposal of marriage.

Just before they reached the curve leading to the castle entrance, his pleasant reflections were splintered by a muffled shout of alarm from his coachman. The jarvey’s panel slid open and there was panic in the servant’s voice when he exclaimed, “
Fire
, my lord!”

From his vantage point inside the coach, Hawk couldn’t see a damned thing. Hastily fumbling for the
latch, he lowered the glass and thrust his head outside the window. Wind shrieked in his face as he searched the black night. Moments later a jagged white bolt crackled across the night sky, framing the front of the castle in searing light—followed instantly by a shuddering crash of thunder that shook the ground under the carriage wheels. Yet it wasn’t the threat of lightning that made dread curl inside Hawk.

It was his nightmare come to life.

Bright flames lit up a front window of his home on the ground floor, although he couldn’t tell which room was burning.

“Faster!”
he commanded over the roar of the wind.

“Aye, my lord!” The coachman whipped up the horses and sent the team galloping along the gravel avenue.

Terrible images tore through Hawk’s memory. The coach careened around the curve, then slowed fractionally, but he had the door open before it came to a halt.

He heard his coachman exclaim, “God help you, my lord.” Voicing the same prayer, Hawk leaped down and raced toward the front steps. His gaze was fixed on the windows above his head—was that the drawing room? Definitely the ground floor, but the massive castle foundations raised the level nearly twenty feet above the drive—

The fire had spread to a
second
window, Hawk saw.

Panic churned in his gut, spurring his frantic thoughts. The height meant no access from outside, and there was no rain yet to help fight the flames—

The heavens suddenly opened up as he bounded up the entrance steps. Freezing pellets of rain lashed at his
face and drenched his greatcoat, but Hawk scarcely noticed as he slammed open the front door.

His heart thundering, he ran through the great hall. Upon reaching the corridor, though, time slowed to a crawl and his nightmare took over. His legs felt like leaden weights as he struggled onward toward the drawing room, his body swimming through a thick sludge, his mind bombarded by searing memories. He could barely move—couldn’t breathe at all as he relived the sheer terror of the first tragedy.

An eternity passed before he skidded to a halt outside the drawing room door. Choking smoke obscured his vision as Hawk took stock. The floor was burning at one end, while flames licked the far walls. If Skye was in there, he couldn’t see her. Dear God, if he lost her … The devastation he would feel would rival any pain he’d felt the first time.

Bone-deep dread gripping him, Hawk roared her name. What bloody irony to have realized his love too late. How blind he’d been. He couldn’t live without Skye, couldn’t live without her love.…

Icy calm replaced fear; grim determination regained control. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let her die. Sucking in a lungful of air, Hawk covered his mouth and nose with his arm and plunged into the smoke-filled room. In the glow from the flames, he saw figures moving. Then he saw
her
 … Skye, her pale hair faintly visible through the murk.

She was fighting the fire with every ounce of strength, trying to tear down the burning, floor-length draperies while others struggled to beat out the carpet flames with cushions and pieces of clothing.

When Hawk shouted at Skye again, she responded
with a hoarse cry, “Here, Hawk!” before a coughing fit robbed her of further speech.

Dragging off his greatcoat, he fought his way toward her. Heat singed his skin and acrid smoke stung his eyes as he joined her effort to bring down the draperies, but together they managed it. The velvet fell into a heap much like funeral pyre. Hawk used his greatcoat to smother the worst of the flames while Skye picked up a small cherrywood table and threw it straight at the window, smashing the glass in a loud crash. Comprehending her purpose, Hawk grabbed the table before it could tumble over the jagged rim.

The sudden gust of outside air sent the flames whooshing, but pelting rain instantly followed, blowing into the room in cooling bursts to dampen the fiery pile.

Hoisting the table, Hawk moved to the second window to deal with the slower burning draperies there, duplicating Skye’s feat of shattering the glass and letting in the life-saving rain and fresh air. He was stamping on burning cinders when he saw her double over, her body jolted by raw, hacking coughs.

Urgently sweeping away shards of glass with his coat sleeve, Hawk grabbed Skye by the waist and made her kneel by the second window, then pressed her head through the opening. Although she was instantly soaked, she drew great gasping breaths that eventually slowed her spasms.

Behind him Hawk heard more racking coughs as well as sounds of splashing water and the sizzle of dying embers. A quick glance showed scores of servants filing into the drawing room, carrying cans and buckets of water. They formed a line and began passing full
buckets to the points of the remaining fire and empty buckets back out again, with Lady Isabella calling out orders. Evidently she had taken charge of the water brigade, aided by the castle caretaker, Thomas Gilpin.

As the smoke cleared, Hawk saw Rachel and Daphne and Lord Cornelius all battling the remnants of the fire. He was more taken aback to see Baron Farnwell among their numbers, limping heavily but striving just as furiously as the others to save the room from incineration.

Just then Skye drew her head inside the window and tried to stand. Hawk carefully helped her up, then held her away so he could assess her. Her face was wet and soot-streaked and her hair was singed, but she had never looked more beautiful.

“Are you injured?” he demanded, his own eyes tearing from the smoke. “Were you burned?”

“Not badly. I wrapped strips of petticoat around my hands to protect them—”

With a shudder of relief, Hawk reached out and hauled her close, embracing her with crushing tightness. Remembering the heat from the fire, the leaping flames, he buried his face in her hair.

“Dear God, I thought I had lost you,” he rasped, hearing the haunted note in his voice. “You could have died.”

“We
all
could have died,” Skye muttered hoarsely against his shoulder between coughs. “Thank God you … came when you did. I remembered hearing … that you broke … the windows to let in the rain during the nursery fire, but the … draperies were burning and wouldn’t come down.…” Cutting off her fearful commentary, she tried to peer over her shoulder. “What of my uncle? Aunt Bella and the others?”

Hawk drew back far enough to assess their condition. The final flames had been extinguished, and Lord Cornelius seemed unharmed, as did the ladies, although they were all coughing intermittently. “They appear uninjured, but we all need fresher air.”

The acrid smoke was clearing, due to the rain and wind gusting in through the shattered windows, but a haze still lingered. With an arm clamped possessively around Skye’s waist, Hawk urged her away from the elements.

As she took in the smoldering ruins of his formerly elegant drawing room, though, she halted in dismay. “I am so sorry, Hawk. I am to blame.”

“
You
started the fire?”

“No, but I allowed Farnwell into the castle after you expressly ordered him to keep away. He hit Uncle Cornelius and assaulted Daphne and caused a lamp to break, which started the blaze.”

Skye shot the baron a scathing look where he stood near the others. “At least Farnwell helped fight the flames instead of running away like a coward, but his brutality is inexcusable.”

Farnwell must have realized his violence had gone too far, for he started apologizing for his role in the devastation in an imploring voice, “I am sorry, so very sorry, please forgive me.…”

Hawk intended to deal with the nobleman shortly, but for now his concern was for Skye and the others. She, however, seemed more fixated on the destruction, for her expression was full of remorse. “Your beautiful house. All those weeks of work gone to waste.”

“I don’t give a damn about the house. I only care about you. Are you certain you weren’t hurt?”

“My hands sting a bit.”

“Let me see.”

He carefully unwrapped the blackened linen of her makeshift mittens and saw the red welts on her fingers. His jaw hardened. “We need to take care of these burns.”

“There are medical supplies in the housekeeper’s pantry.”

“There should be an ample supply of burn salve among them,” he added grimly, steering Skye toward the door, “although how effective it will be after ten years, I don’t know.”

Before she would leave, however, she had to embrace her uncle and aunt, and then Rachel and Daphne, and make certain they weren’t too badly injured.

Only then was Hawk able to usher the ladies and Lord Cornelius from the drawing room, leaving Gilpin to assume command of the cleanup efforts. Farnwell trailed meekly after them but kept his distance, as if bracing himself for some sort of punishment.

When they reached the kitchens, Isabella took charge again, having dealt with many an injury in her long career as a friend and staunch supporter of the Guardians, but Hawk unearthed the burn ointment that had once been kept in ample supply at the castle.

Listening with half an ear as Isabella grimly related the details of how Lord Farnwell had nearly burned down the castle, Hawk personally saw to Skye’s injuries, being well versed in burn care after his own excruciating experience.

Skye seemed to realize the significance of his nursing skills, for the sadness on her face spoke volumes each time she glanced down at his hands.

She grew quieter as he completed his task of bandaging her burns and seemed reticent to accept his ministrations. And when he finished, she thanked him in a low voice and edged away, clearly trying to avoid touching him any further.

As he replaced the lid on the jar of salve, Skye finally grit out a question, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Why did you return home, Hawk? You are supposed to be in London, courting Miss Olwen.”

“I called off my marriage plans,” he replied rather casually.

She lifted her head abruptly, searching his face in disbelief. “It would be beyond cruel to jest about such a thing.”

“I agree—and I promise you, I am not jesting. One dance with Miss Olwen made me realize that I couldn’t bear to be bound to her. And seeing you tonight, surrounded by fire, made me realize that I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“I d-don’t understand,” she stammered. “What are you saying?”

Reaching up, Hawk curved his palm against her soot-smudged cheek. “You look like a chimney sweep, did you know that?”

The rough sound that came from her throat was somewhere between a cough and a growl. “I don’t give a fig what I look like! What do you mean—you couldn’t bear to lose me?”

“Exactly that. I was terrified that I had recognized my love too late.” At her speechlessness, Hawk knew he had to declare himself more plainly. “The truth is that I love you, my darling, lovely Skye.”

Disbelieving her own
ears, Skye stared at Hawk. So many emotions whirled through her—fear, anger, relief, despair, pain … not so much from her burns, which truly were minor, but from knowing she didn’t have the right to embrace him or even touch him. She had been prepared to break her heart to act nobly and give him up, but simply being this close again was a physical ache in her chest.

However, when Skye saw from Hawk’s expression that he was serious, shock flooded her.

Scarcely daring to hope, she pulled him out into the corridor, past several servants who were carrying buckets back to the kitchens. She waited anxiously until they were alone before getting to the crux of the matter.

“But what about the Guardians?” she demanded in a hoarse voice.

“I am free of any obligation to lead the league.”

“Free?”

“Yes. I found a replacement for Sir Gawain’s role as leader and persuaded him to approve.”

Skye scrutinized Hawk’s face intently, but all she could see was blatant honesty. His revelation was no cruel hoax, no dream. Ecstatic relief swamping her, she sagged against the wall and brought her bandaged hands up to cover her face.

“I thought I had lost you,” she said weakly, repeating his same words.

“You didn’t lose me. In fact, you can have me for life if you choose. Will you give me your hand in marriage, my precious Skye?”