Lover Be Mine A Legendary Lovers Novel - By Nicole Jordan Page 0,106
midst of a storm, Lady Skye?”
His abruptness was rather unmannerly, but given her unexpected arrival, she could forgive him.
“My aunt wrote me a letter of introduction and explained my purpose to you.…” Fishing in her reticule, Skye pulled out a folded letter that was a bit worse for wear and presented it to him. “Please will you read this?”
Hawkhurst broke the wax seal but barely glanced at the contents, perhaps because it was difficult to read in the scant light. When he made to move closer to the wall sconce, Skye spoke up. “Is there a fire where I may warm myself?”
He hesitated before finally replying. “There is one in my study. Follow me.”
When he strode off across the entrance hall, she hurried to keep up with him and found herself eyeing his tall, athletic form with admiration. He was dressed informally—white linen shirt, buff breeches, and riding boots—and the way his clothing clung to his broad shoulders, lean hips, well-formed buttocks, and muscular thighs emphasized his stark masculinity. It was brazen to admit, Skye knew, but the intense physical attraction she felt for Hawkhurst now was much less pure than when she was a mere girl.
She was also brazen to call at his nearly deserted country estate when no one suitable was present to act as chaperone. Yet to attain her heart’s desire, she needed to be bold and daring. She would not let the risk of scandal deter her. Courting scandal in their amorous affairs was a Wilde family legacy, and she was a Wilde, through and through.
When they entered a dark corridor, Skye glanced inside the rooms they passed. The fact that the elegant manor was damp and musty from disuse was no wonder, considering that it had been shut up for more than ten years. But the furniture was still shrouded in holland covers.
“I expected you to have servants to answer your front door,” she commented to the earl’s back.
“The elderly man who acts as caretaker is hard of hearing and didn’t heed your pounding.”
“But I understood you arrived here a full week ago. I thought by now you would have tried to set the castle to rights.”
Only after another pause did he answer her probing remark. “I haven’t yet arranged for a full-time staff. Some women from the village came today to begin cleaning, but with the storm approaching, I sent them home before it grew too dark.”
“That was kind of you.”
Hawkhurst made another low sound of dismissal in his throat and kept walking.
“I am grateful that you opened your door to me,” Skye pressed, “although you frightened me out of my wits, brandishing that knife.”
“You did not look particularly frightened.”
She had not been—but then she knew the extraordinary sort of man she was dealing with. “I suppose you have an excuse for your extreme reaction. You can’t help yourself. You were trained to be suspicious. You were a spy for the Foreign Office for the past dozen years and more, were you not?”
Hawkhurst halted in his tracks and glanced back at her. “Who told you that?”
“My aunt, of course. She also warned me that you were a determined recluse. But you could be a trifle more welcoming, for her sake if nothing else.”
His eyebrow shot up at her impertinence. Hawkhurst regarded her for several more heartbeats, obviously reassessing her.
He must finally have realized that she was attempting to lighten the mood, for her complaint won her the barest hint of a smile. “You break into my home and then take me to task?”
“I did not break in,” she pointed out genially. “You admitted me.”
“Much to my regret.
Just then the darkness in the corridor was broken by another lightning flash. When he continued on his way, Skye followed in his footsteps.
Upon arriving at his study, he allowed her to precede him. To her relief, this room at least looked habitable. A fire was crackling in the hearth and a low-burning lamp rested on a massive desk.
“You may sit there by the fire,” he said, pointing to a leather wing chair that was angled before the hearth.
His invitation seemed slightly grudging, but Skye did not take offense. “Do you mind if I remove my cloak first? I am chilled to the bone.” Her discomfort was not a lie. Her cloak was soaked through and her gown was damp at the bodice and sodden at the hem.
Hawkhurst murmured something under his breath that sounded much like, “It serves you right,” but he stepped closer to aid her.