He blinked, as if caught off guard by her words. “Miss Dawson, for being so terribly clever you can be remarkably dense.”
Dense? Her?
That was certainly not an insult that had ever been hurled at her head before.
Strange, eccentric, and outright daft. But never dense.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that the moment Anna took you into this house, you were accepted by society. Indeed, they will now be flocking to gain your approval.”
Her gaze narrowed in confusion. Good heavens, Egyptian hieroglyphs were less baffling than the inner workings of polite society.
“I do not understand.”
“Lady Bidwell, along with her good friend, Mrs. Caulfield, is the undoubted leader of the ton. Their friendship will ensure that no one, no matter how petty or vindictive, will dare to utter a word against you,” he said firmly. “In truth, we will be besieged from dawn to dusk with invitations and pesky visitors the moment we announce our betrothal.”
Betrothal.
Her heart skipped a vital beat.
“And your family?”
He grimaced as he gave a shake of his head. “Do you truly believe that my father would ever consider any female good enough to become Countess of Chadwick? Good lord, I could bring home Princess Charlotte and he would stick his nose in the air and condemn her for possessing a whore for a mother.”
“But—”
His grip upon her fingers abruptly tightened. “Listen to me, Clara. I do not care if we live in my decrepit house or your cottage or flee to the Continent, which now that I think about it is not a bad notion, and I certainly do not care if we never spend a damn minute in society.” His voice lowered to a husky plea. “All that matters is that we can be together.”
“I . . .” As she met his pleading gaze, her voice trailed away. What the devil was she doing? She had been lost the moment this man had halted her carriage. Oh, she could return to her cottage and spend the next fifty years attempting to convince herself that she had done the only logical thing. It would certainly be more prudent. There would be no opportunity for disappointment. No uncertainty. No risk of having her heart crushed. Just an aching loneliness that would haunt her until the end of her days.
She was familiar enough with loneliness to know that it was not something she wished to endure for an eternity.
Perhaps it was time to take a chance.
Perhaps this dangerous, handsome pirate was just what a logical spinster needed to be happy.
“Yes,” she at last breathed.
There was a shocked silence as Hawksley frantically searched her countenance, as if seeking to discover if she was vindictive enough to tease him at such a time.
“Did you say . . . yes?”
A tremulous smile touched her lips. “Yes.”
Still he hesitated, his expression wary. “Precisely what did you say yes to?”
Reaching up her hand, she lightly stroked his cheek. “All that matters is that we can be together.”
“Clara?”
She gave a soft chuckle. Gads, it seemed that she would have to be far more direct. She framed his face with her hands.
“I love you, Hawksley.”
She felt him stiffen as his eyes flared with hope.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Hawksley.”
His arms wrapped about her as he hauled her roughly against his chest.
“Again.”
“I love—”
Her words were abruptly cut off as his mouth impatiently swooped down to claim her lips in a kiss she felt all the way to her toes.
In response she wrapped her arms about his neck and returned his kiss with a burst of joy.
She had no notion when she left her quiet home in Kent that she had set out on a dangerous, sinfully delicious adventure that would alter her future.
An adventure that included kidnapping, stolen artwork, smugglers, and madmen.
And that was not even to mention falling in love, which was perhaps the most sinfully delicious adventure of all.
Thank God for blue-eyed pirates . . .
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Chapter One
“For God’s sake, Edward, halt your fidgeting before I have you tied to the bedpost,” Lord Bidwell groused.
Edward Sinclair, Fifth Earl of Harrington, smiled with rueful amusement. He was a large gentleman with the thick muscles of a person accustomed to hard labor and chestnut curls that were brushed toward a countenance too bronzed for fashion and features too forceful for beauty. He was, however, blessed with warm hazel eyes and an unexpected pair of charming dimples.
Thankfully, he was also blessed with a rare good humor and patient nature. A stroke of fortune, considering most would have bolted after a fortnight of enduring Biddles’s wretched notions of how to mold a proper gentleman.
“I defy any gentleman not to do a measure of fidgeting after three tedious hours of being brutally bathed, brushed, and bedeviled. I can assure you that I have been more kindly handled during taproom brawls.”
“Halt your complaining. You are fortunate that your form is such that I had no need to order a corset. They are damnably uncomfortable, according to most,” Biddles retorted with a supreme lack of sympathy. “Of course, they are all the rage since the prince has taken to wearing them. Perhaps we may yet consider one.”
Edward lifted one warning brow. “You would not dare.”
The slender, flamboyantly attired dandy with a narrow countenance and piercing eyes smiled with a bland superiority.
“Not only would I dare, my dear Edward, but I would twist, tuck, and squeeze you into it myself if I thought it necessary.” With a flourish the gentleman produced a lacy fan to wave before his pointed nose. “I have warned you that all of society will be anxious to cast their judgment upon the new Earl of Harrington. Especially since they are already titillated by your elevation from farmer to earl in one fell stroke. Do not doubt that every eye will be searching for some exposure of your rustic manners and lack of worldly experience.”
“Meaning that they will expect me to arrive at their soirées complete with mud on my boots and a cow in tow?”
“That is precisely what they will expect.”
Edward smiled wryly. “It is not that I doubt your judgment, Biddles, which is always quite beyond question,” he murmured. “But I must admit that I have yet to comprehend how being scrubbed until I am raw and then strangled by my valet, who by the way is taking inordinate pleasure in my torture, is to assure the ton that I do not reek of the country.”
The ebony fan was abruptly snapped shut as Biddies advanced across the hideous paisley carpet. During his rigorous training in manners, deportment, and dancing since arriving in London, Edward had not yet had the opportunity to do more than make a cursory inspection of the enormous townhouse. Certainly there had been no time to renovate the opulent grandeur to a more simple style suitable to a bachelor of modest taste.
“Egads, Edward, how often must I remind you? A gentleman can always be distinguished by his attire, and most importantly by the tie of his cravat. It is what sets apart a true nobleman from those of lesser Quality.”
Edward could not help but chuckle at the absurdity of his friend’s words. It was precisely the sort of logic he would never comprehend, regardless of the number of titles that were dumped upon his unwilling shoulders.
“Do you mean to tell me, my dear Biddles, that among a nation with the greatest minds, the most progressive scientists, highly respected philosophers, poets, and warriors, all we have to set us above the savages is the perfection of a knot in a length of linen?”