He could feel her heart racing. “It is?”
“Most certainly.”
“What of the servants?”
He pulled back to regard her with a lift of his brow. “If you imagine I am about to kiss Dillon or his sister like this, you have lost your wits.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement and a passion that warmed him to his very heart.
“I meant what if they happen upon us?”
“Then I shall send them away. Or better yet, we could return to my chambers where we will be certain of privacy.” Hawksley stole a lingering kiss. “Why did you leave me?”
“Oh.” Pressing her hands to his chest, she leaned back to regard him with a sudden expression of excitement. “When I wakened I recalled Mr. Chesterfield’s letter.”
Hawksley froze in disbelief. After spending the most incredible night of his life in the arms of this woman, the last thing he desired to hear was the name of another gentleman upon her lips.
“You awoke in my bed thinking of another man?” he demanded in dangerous tones.
Gloriously indifferent to the prickles of danger in the air, she offered a charming smile.
“I wished to discover what he had written.”
His teeth clenched. By the fires of hell. There was something gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Something that he did not care for the least bit.
“It seems that I am not giving you the proper attention if you are able to consider anything but me when you are in my arms,” he growled.
At last sensing his stiff annoyance, Clara regarded him with a faint frown.
“Hawksley, is something the matter?”
“Beyond your fascination with that damnable Mr. Chesterfield?”
Her eyes widened. “Good Lord, are you . . . jealous?”
“Yes, I damn well am.”
She appeared stunned by his blunt confession. He did not know why, he grumpily told himself. He had already physically threatened his two best friends for simply kissing her hand.
“But that is absurd. You know very well I have never even met Mr. Chesterfield.”
He gave a restless shrug. “What does that have to say to anything? You were one to claim to have some mystical, intellectual connection with the man. You were even willing to endure being physically ill so that you could rush to London and be at his side.”
“I was naturally concerned.”
“Now you leave my bed to come and moon over his letter.”
She gave a slow shake of her head as her hand lifted to gently touch his tight jaw.
“Hawksley, I wanted to assist you in your search for your brother’s murderer. I thought the letter might hold a clue.”
“And Mr. Chesterfield?”
“I am worried for him and certainly hope that he is well,” she confessed, her gaze holding his. “But you were right when you said I did not know him as a woman should know a man.”
The tightness in his chest began to ease. “As you know me?”
“Yes.”
With a low moan he kissed her with stark relief. The sooner this woman belonged to him, the better.
“Hawksley?”
Busily nuzzling the curve of her neck, Hawksley silently cursed the prim neckline of the dowdy gray gown. Once they were wed he would ensure that she possessed the sort of elegant wardrobe suitable for a lady of Quality, he assured himself. The sort of gowns that every woman desired.
“Mmm?”
“Do you not wish to know what I have discovered?”
Battling the urge to sweep her in his arms and haul her back upstairs, Hawksley reluctantly dropped his arms and stepped back. The next occasion he had her in his bed, it would be as his fiancée.
“First I believe we should discuss something of rather more importance.”
She did not bother to hide her surprise. “What could be more important than your brother?”
A fortnight ago nothing would have been more important than Fredrick and discovering his murderer. Now, however, Hawksley realized that the beautiful woman had reminded him that he possessed a life of his own. And a future that suddenly seemed worth looking forward to.
“You.”
“Me?”
“More precisely . . . us.”
“I do not understand,” she began, and then strangely her face seemed to pale and something that might have been panic flared through her eyes. “Oh no. No, Hawksley. Do not even think it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She poked him in the chest with her finger. “You are not going to do something wretchedly noble such as ask me to marry you because of last night. I will not allow it.”
Well.
Hawksley swallowed a rueful laugh.
He had not precisely expected her to flutter or swoon at the thought of becoming his wife. That would be far too predictable. But he certainly had not anticipated the irritation that smoldered about her slender form.
Not about to be put off, he gave a lift of his brows. “Fortunately, I do not take orders from you, Miss Dawson. At least not yet,” he said in firm tones. “As for asking you to marry me . . . well, there is no question that we will wed. I would never have taken your innocence if that was not what I intended.”
If anything her annoyance only deepened. “You did not take my innocence, Hawksley, I gave it to you. And it was not with the notion of manipulating you into marriage.”
His expression softened. “I am well aware of that, Clara. You are incapable of such treachery.”
Her hands landed on her hips, pulling the gray material tantalizingly over the swell of her breasts. Breasts that had fit perfectly in his hands and tasted of...
“Then why?”
His mouth became dry. No, Hawksley, he sternly chastised himself. Not now. Later. Definitely later.
“Why what?” he muttered.
“Why do you wish to marry me?”
His lips twisted; she had only to glance down to know at least one reason that he desired to haul her to the nearest vicar.
“Well, there is the rather obvious fact that I desire you to the point of madness.”
A delicate color touched her cheeks. “Marriage is more than desire.”
“You also fascinate me.” He stepped forward to tuck a curl behind her ear, allowing his fingers to trail along the line of her jaw. “I have never before met a woman like you.”
“That I can well believe,” she breathed.
He gazed deep into her eyes. “And you have given me a reason to live again.”
Her breath caught as she gazed helplessly into his countenance. At last he had touched her vulnerability. She might not wed to ease her own lonely existence or to ensure the security of her future, but she could not ignore her instinctive yearning to be needed by another.
“Hawksley . . .” she husked, her hand touching his cheek before she was sucking in a deep breath and stepping backward. “No.”
He blinked at her abrupt withdrawal. “What?”
“It is not possible.”
“What is not possible?”
“I cannot be your wife.”
Hawksley studied her set expression. What the devil was going through that peculiar brain now?
“Why? I will admit that it does not appear that I have much to offer a bride, but I assure you that you will not want for anything.”
She gave a sudden snort. “Good heavens, it is not that. As if I would care for such a thing. I have no desire for wealth or position. Indeed, I should not accept them if they were offered.”
A faint twinge of unease touched his heart at her disdainful tone. Surely she would not be disappointed when she discovered that her soon-to-be husband was not the penniless gambler she believed but rather a viscount of enormous wealth?