Some Like It Sinful (Hellion's Den)




“Thank goodness.” She breathed a deep sigh of relief. “I was worried you would take matters into your own hands.”

“It is what I desire.” He held her gaze steadily for a long moment. “But not at the cost of losing you.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Then without thought Clara threw herself forward to land heavily against his chest.

“Oh, Hawksley . . . I love you.”

His arms instinctively wrapped about her, but she felt him stiffen in shock.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

As she realized just what she had confessed, an embarrassed heat flooded Clara’s cheeks. Oh, Lord. That was not at all how she intended to reveal her feelings. In truth, she was not at all certain she intended to say the words at all. She did not know much of gentlemen, but she had overheard enough women bemoaning the fact that men tended to be oddly terrified by confessions of love.

“I . . .” She cleared her dry throat. “I believe you heard me quite well.”

She gave a squeak as his hands encircled her waist and he lifted her until they were nose to nose.

“Actually, I fear I must be dreaming,” he murmured. “Say the words again, my angel.”

Well, he hadn’t bolted, she assured herself. Nor had he swooned in horror.

In fact, his eyes held such an aching vulnerability that her fear was swiftly dissolving. Framing his face with her hands, she slowly smiled.

“I said that I love you, Hawksley.”

With a groan he jerked her against his tense body, burying his head in the curve of her neck.

“Bloody hell, you cannot know how sweet those words are to my ear, Clara,” he muttered in a rasping voice. “I have waited a lifetime for you.”

Although deeply pleased by his fervent response, Clara gently cleared her throat.

“Um . . . Hawksley?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmured.

“I fear I cannot quite manage to breathe when you hold me so tightly.”

He gave a choked laugh as he slowly lowered her to the ground, although his arms remained loosely wrapped about her.

“Forgive me, there are times when I forget just how tiny and fragile you truly are.”

She leaned against his chest, placing her ear over the rapid beat of his heart.

“Not so very fragile,” she assured him.

“Fragile and beautiful and utterly mine,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Or you will be mine as soon as I can acquire a special license.”

A surge of pleasure swept through Clara as she leaned back to meet his watchful gaze. “A special license?”

He tensed, as if bracing himself for an unwelcome blow. “Only if it meets with your approval. I did not think you would desire a large, traditional wedding. And to be honest, I am too selfish to wish to wait to make you my wife.”

She gave a slow shake of her head. Surely this must all be a dream? Aging spinsters simply did not have gorgeous pirates tumbling over themselves to make them their bride.

“Are you certain, Hawksley?” she demanded.

His eyes blazed with a sudden fire. “More certain than I have been of anything in my life.”

A whisper of warning that this was all too good to be true fluttered deep in her heart, but Clara sternly brushed it aside.

She wanted to marry Hawksley. She wanted to be his wife and to know that she would never be alone again.

Nothing else mattered.

“Then yes. I would very much like to be wed by special license.”

Pressing a swift, possessive kiss to her lips, Hawksley stepped back with an oddly shuttered expression.

“I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure you do not regret your decision, Clara.”

She gave a faint frown. “What could I possibly regret?”

“I . . .” He bit off his words with an absent shake of his head. “I must meet Biddles at the War Office. Will you wait up for my return?”

“Of course.” She reached out to gently touch his cheek. “Is there something troubling you?”

He conjured a strained smile. “Nothing more than the fear that Lord Doulton will somehow manage to escape justice. The sooner I have this turned over to the authorities, the better.”

Her vague sense of disquiet was not entirely banished, although she told herself she was being a fool.

Of course he was tense. He had waited months to revenge his brother’s death. Now he was forced to depend upon others to ensure Lord Doulton paid for his sins.

It must be a bitter pill for a man with Hawksley’s pride to swallow.

“I will be waiting here for your return,” she promised softly.

“Thank you.” He brushed his lips lightly over her forehead before turning and heading for the door.

On her own Clara sucked in a deep breath.

All would be well, she told herself sternly. Hawksley would see to Lord Doulton and they would soon be husband and wife.

Life was astonishingly perfect.

There was no reason to worry.

No reason at all.





Chapter Seventeen

Clara remained in the library even after she heard Hawksley leave the house. She felt ridiculously on edge, and there was an odd comfort in being surrounded by the scent and feel of Hawksley that lingered in the room.

Allowing her hands to trail over the leather-bound books that lined the shelves, Clara smiled wryly. It was rather astonishing just how important Hawksley had become to her happiness. After all, she had known him for such a short time. And in truth there was a great deal of him that remained shrouded in mystery. But she could not deny that it seemed impossible to imagine her future without him in it.

She had reached the marble fireplace when she became aware of the sound of raised voices in the foyer. Coming to a halt, she frowned as she attempted to discern the low rumble of words that echoed through the air.

“Out of my way, you scurrilous cur.”

“Sir, I really must insist that you await Hawksley’s return.”

She could detect Dillon’s familiar growl, but she was quite certain that she had never before heard the first male voice.

As she debated whether it would be wiser to keep her presence a secret or to go to the assistance of the growingly agitated servant, the decision was taken out of Clara’s hands when the door to the library was abruptly thrust open.

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Clara took an instinctive step back as her gaze swept over the large form.

The first thing she noted was the obvious elegance of the stranger. From the precisely styled gray hair that framed a powerful countenance to the dark coat and black breeches, he spoke of pampered, arrogant wealth. It was an image that was only emphasized by the cold expression upon his bold, male features and hint of disdain in the blue eyes.

Clara instinctively found her muscles tightening. She was all too familiar with such noblemen and their unbearable conceit. They had certainly managed to insult and mock her often enough over the years.

And it did not make matters better to have him regarding her with a curl of his lips that indicated quite clearly he considered her as something that should have been tossed out with the morning rubbish.

“Gads, I might have known Hawksley would have some bit of muslin tucked away,” he drawled in disdainful tones. “He has never possessed the slightest measure of decency.”

“Bit of muslin?” Clara stiffened her spine as her chin tilted to a fighting angle. She did not know who this gentleman might be, but she would be damned if she would meekly allow him to insult her in such a fashion. “Sir, you are offensive.”

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