She smiled wryly. “Surprisingly, no.”
“Good.” He stepped onto a small, square balcony with a wrought-iron railing before tugging her out to join him. “What do you think?”
Clara’s lips parted in pleased surprise as she glanced over the bustling docks and the Thames that glittered in the distance. From such a height the unpleasant smells and raucous noise of the waterfront were undetectable, allowing Clara to thoroughly enjoy watching as the ships were loaded and unloaded with lively chaos.
“It is a beautiful view,” she murmured, her gaze shifting to the shallow boats and barges that drifted down the river.
“Quite beautiful,” he agreed, his voice oddly husky.
Turning her head, she caught him regarding her with a smoldering gaze. A dangerous excitement slithered down her spine. Dear heavens. He was so absurdly handsome with his raven hair ruffled by the breeze and his perfect features silhouetted by the late-morning sunlight. And then there was that hard, muscular body. A body she knew more than lived up to the promise offered by the tailored black coat and breeches.
He was quite simply delectable.
Who could blame her for the sharp desire to tackle him to the ground and have her way with him?
Giving a choked cough at her outrageous imaginings, Clara hastily attempted to distract herself.
“I still do not understand why you insisted we bring a basket of apples and oranges to enjoy the view.”
With a shake of his head, as if he had been as lost in his own thoughts, he leaned against the iron railing and pointed toward a dirt yard just beyond the hedge.
“Look there.”
Much to Clara’s amusement, she noted a dozen young urchins who were racing about the hard dirt, all of them scrambling to kick at a leather ball.
“What are they playing?” she demanded, her lips curving as they all suddenly piled upon one another with a loud whoop.
“Actually, I have come to the conclusion that it is a game they have invented all on their own. It seems to involve a great deal of rolling about in the dirt, shouting, and scraped knees.”
The mob untangled from one another and Clara noted several lads who could not be more than five or six. Even at a distance it was obvious they were filthy, with ragged clothing and no shoes.
“Where do they all come from?”
Hawksley shrugged. “The East End is crawling with such imps. Most of them abandoned or simply forgotten by their families.”
Her heart gave a twinge of sympathy. Having lived her life in the country where neighbors cared for one another, she was unaccustomed to such callous disregard.
“How sad.”
“Yes, their lives will be a constant struggle for survival,” he murmured, an odd expression upon his countenance. “But not for now. At the moment they are utterly happy.”
Startled at his words, Clara turned to study his profile as he watched the children play.
“You sound almost envious.”
“Listen.”
“To what?”
“Their laughter,” he murmured. “Have you ever visited an aristocratic estate and heard children enjoying themselves with such unabashed joy?”
“I have hardly spent a great deal of time upon any estate, aristocratic or not,” she retorted dryly. “My invitations always seem to become misplaced.”
“Consider yourself fortunate.” Without warning, he turned to regard her with a glittering gaze. “There is nothing more stifling than a load of pompous fools all prancing about in an effort to prove that they are more important than one another.”
About to agree with his sharp disdain for the upper orders, Clara felt a whisper of unease in her heart.
“You sound as if you have spent a great amount of time among the aristocracy. I did not presume your family would be so well connected.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hawksley stiffened as he realized his unwitting revelation. Damn, damn, damn. When the devil would he learn that he need consider every word he uttered in the presence of this woman?
There was no such thing as casual conversation when it came to Miss Clara Dawson.
“My father possessed a highly developed sense of his own self-worth. One he was constantly determined to share with his sons,” he hedged, not willing to outright lie to the woman he intended to wed. “Neither Fredrick nor I was allowed to associate with anyone that he considered beneath us. I was whipped more than once for having dared to join in games with the village children.”
Thankfully, beyond her shrewd intelligence his angel also possessed a soft heart, and she was swiftly distracted at the thought of his father with a whip in his hand.
“That is horrid.”
Hawksley smiled wryly. “He thought that he was saving me from myself.”
“And instead he only drove you away,” she said softly.
He made the mistake of glancing into her eyes and promptly found himself lost in the tender depths.
Hellfire, a man could spend an eternity gazing into those eyes.
“Yes,” he murmured, his hand reaching to lightly touch her face.
In silence they stood close upon the sun-drenched balcony, each savoring the perfect moment as they simply appreciated being together.
And then, as with all perfect moments, they were rudely interrupted by a sudden chorus of whistles and calls.
“Oy, guv. Over here, guv.”
Reluctantly returning to reality, Hawksley shifted his gaze to the herd of lads who had forgotten their game as they waved their arms in his direction.
“They seem to desire your attention,” Clara murmured.
Hawksley smiled ruefully even as he silently damned their rotten timing.
“No, they desire these.” Reaching down, he retrieved the forgotten basket and with practiced ease he began to toss the apples and oranges down to the boys below. The sound of excited whoops filled the air as the lads darted to catch the rare treats. Leaning against the railing, Clara chuckled at their antics and Hawksley handed her one of the oranges. “Would you care to join me?”
Taking the fruit, she carefully judged the distance to the barren yard.
“I am not certain I can toss an orange that far.”
“You managed to toss that rock a goodly distance last eve,” he reminded her with a wicked grin. “Just try not to drop them on your toes.”
Astonishingly she stuck out her tongue in a teasing manner. “Beast.”
Hawksley tilted his head back to laugh as she reared back her arm and tossed the orange to the impatient imps, managing to skim it just beyond the hedge.
“There, I told you you could do it,” he encouraged her, handing her an apple.
Together they swiftly dispensed the last of the fruit, and dropping the basket, Hawksley watched in pleasure as the older children carefully doled out the prizes, taking care to ensure that even the youngest of the lads received their bounty.
Their obvious concern for one another never failed to astound him. Despite the fact that many of them no doubt went to bed with empty stomachs, they possessed a natural instinct to protect what they considered their family.
Slowly becoming aware of Clara’s steady gaze upon him, he turned to catch an odd expression upon her countenance.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“You.”
He lifted his brow in puzzlement. “What about me?”
“You genuinely enjoy those children.”
He pretended a nonchalance, but as usual she had read him with precise ease. He did enjoy coming to the balcony and watching their play. They reminded him of the child he had once been. The child that his father had never appreciated and always attempted to change.