Turning, Hawksley slammed his fist onto the mantle. “This is not the revenge I sought.”
Biddles laid a hand upon his tense shoulder. “I understand, Hawk, truly I do. But now you have more to think of besides tasting Lord Doulton’s blood.”
Hawksley abruptly whirled about, his eyes narrowed. “If you say my damnable position—”
“I was thinking more of your fiancée,” Biddles interrupted. “As much as it might rub at a gentleman’s pride, you must now halt and consider what would happen to her if you were somehow harmed seeking out Lord Doulton, or worse, charged with his murder. Your first loyalty must be to her.”
Clara.
The seething fury slowly eased as Hawksley allowed the image of sweetly feminine features to rise in his mind. It was astonishing. For months, nothing had been allowed to interfere in his fierce campaign to punish the man responsible for Fredrick’s death. He had been ruthless and without mercy to any who stood in his way.
Now a tiny slip of a girl had reminded him that his life could be more than guilt and regret and anger.
She had reminded him that he had a future.
One he never thought to look forward to with such eager anticipation.
“I suppose you are right, damn you,” he muttered in resignation.
Biddles offered a smile of approval. “Justice will be served, that I promise you, Hawk. In fact, if you will give me a few hours, I will assemble the appropriate gentlemen and we will bring our evidence to them this evening.”
Hawksley heaved a wry sigh. “I never thought the day would come when you would advise caution, you sly ferret.”
“Like you, I now have a great deal to lose by rash pride,” he said simply.
Hawksley gave a slow nod. Something to lose. Yes. Biddles was right.
“Very well. We will do this your way.”
“You will not be sorry.”
Giving Hawksley a firm slap on his back, the slender nobleman turned to head back toward the window. In amazement, Hawksley watched as he slung his foot over the ledge and prepared to disappear.
“Biddles,” he called in amusement.
“Yes?”
“There is a perfectly good door just across the room.”
Biddles flashed a sly grin. “Anna would fear I was cheating upon her if I did not return home with a rip in my breeches and my boots marred by mud. Besides which, she enjoys lecturing me upon my disreputable habits. I cannot possibly disappoint her.” He gave a wave of his slender hand. “Until later.”
Clara studied the closed door to the library with an unfamiliar sense of indecision.
As a rule, she disliked the thought of intruding upon Hawksley. She knew intimately just how aggravating it could be to be in the midst of some deep thought or calculation and be interrupted. Which was precisely why she had always preferred to live on her own.
And she most certainly did not wish Hawksley to believe that he was about to tie himself to a woman who could not allow him so much as a few moments’ peace without demanding his attention.
Still, she sensed that something was troubling Hawksley. It was unlike him to remain closeted alone for so long. Or to ignore the scents wafting from the kitchen.
And while she wished to respect his privacy, she could not bear the thought of him sitting alone and brooding when she might possess the means to comfort him.
Pacing the hall for several long moments, Clara at last sucked in a deep breath. She was being a nitwit.
Reaching out, she pushed the door open and crossed to the center of the library. Even in the shadows she had no difficulty spotting Hawksley, who stood beside the window staring into the darkness.
“Hawksley?”
“Yes?” he murmured without turning.
“What has occurred?”
There was a moment’s pause before he shifted to regard her with a curious smile. “And why should you believe something has occurred?”
“You are never late to dinner when there is the scent of shepherd’s pie in the air.”
His expression abruptly lightened as a smile curved his lips. “Ah, you know me too well, kitten.”
Carefully searching the features that had become as familiar as her own, Clara did not miss the edge of strain about the full lips.
“Did Biddles bring you bad news?” she asked softly.
His eyes widened. “Good God, how . . .” he began, only to give a pleased laugh as she bent down to pluck a lace handkerchief from the floor. “Ah, how thoughtless of Biddles.”
Dropping it upon the desk, Clara offered him a teasing glance. “You are fortunate, sir, that it smells of brandy rather than perfume.”
His beautiful eyes darkened as he took a sudden step forward and wrapped his arms firmly about her waist.
“Would you be jealous, sweet Clara?”
Clara was startled by the sharp, near-blinding fury that flared through her at the mere thought of Hawksley with another woman. What the devil was the matter with her? Such an intense emotion was hardly reasonable. Or even desirable.
It was, however, undeniable.
Hoping that her expression did not reveal the force of her reaction to his simple teasing, Clara managed a small smile.
“I assure you that you would never taste of my shepherd’s pie again.”
He gave a dramatic shiver. “A fate that does not bear contemplating. And one that neither of us need ever fear.” He tugged her even closer, his gaze filled with tenderness. “I want no woman but you.”
Her ridiculous fears were instantly banished as a comforting warmth filled her heart.
“And I want no man but you.” She wrapped her arms about his waist as she smiled with open contentment. “A fortunate thing we are to be wed, is it not?”
“Not a fortunate thing,” he murmured, “a miracle.”
A miracle, indeed. She laid her head against his chest, delighting in the sound of his beating heart.
“Will you tell me what is wrong?”
He stiffened at her abrupt question, then just as she feared he might refuse to share what was troubling him, he heaved a deep sigh.
“Actually, everything is falling into place. Biddles has learned how Lord Doulton managed to get his hands upon the paintings.”
She pulled back to watch his shadowed expression as he succinctly revealed the role of Lord Doulton’s young cousin and the suspicion that two soldiers had been murdered in their sleep while he slipped away with the wagon of priceless treasure.
“Heavens . . . How could any man be so evil?” she breathed in disbelief.
“Greed is a powerful incentive,” he assured her. “It has led more than one man to crime.”
“But to kill with such ruthless disregard.” Clara shuddered. “It is sickening.”
“And at an end,” he said in rough tones. “At least as far as Lord Doulton is concerned.”
Clara stilled at his grim expression, a chill inching down her spine.
“What do you intend to do?”
“I intend to ensure that he pays for his sins.”
Oh no. She knew that tone. It always preceded a gentleman behaving as an utter dolt.
She licked her lips. “Hawksley, you will not . . . do anything foolish?”
A raven brow arched. “Foolish?”
“You know precisely what I mean.” She stepped back from his grasp with a frown. “Please tell me that you do not intend to confront Lord Doulton. I could not bear for you to take such a risk.”
A wry smile curved his lips. “I have already been lectured by Biddles, kitten. He has convinced me to allow the War Office to seek justice.”