Lover Be Mine A Legendary Lovers Novel - By Nicole Jordan Page 0,107

he reached out to lift the cloak from her shoulders, Skye’s own breath suddenly turned ragged at his close proximity. Then, when she handed over the garment, revealing an elegantly tailored traveling dress of forest green kerseymere beneath, his gaze dropped to her breasts.

Instinctively she went still as his marvelous eyes traveled over her body in dispassionate appraisal. She was well aware of her physical attributes and that her feminine countenance and figure appealed to most men. Usually she had suitors falling at her feet, declaring themselves in love with her. Yet she had no clue what Hawkhurst was thinking or feeling.

There was no question about her body’s reaction to him, however. She was not sexually experienced, but the intense fascination she felt for him was most certainly sexual, her desire that of a grown woman, not merely the love-struck awe of a young girl. But what he did to her insides was more remarkable. His mere nearness filled her with fluttery excitement and sweet yearning—a response she had never felt with any man but him.

She had no difficulty picturing Hawkhurst as her husband now, just as she’d done numerous times in her romantic dreams these past few months. If he were her husband, though, she could have removed her gown instead of standing here shivering in this clammy one. If he were her husband, she could have undressed down to her shift and moved into his arms. Indeed, she could have bared her entire chilled body to him and shared his warmth.…

The alluring image dissolved when he took her dripping cloak and spread it near the hearth to dry, then went to his desk without another word.

Hawkhurst was clearly displeased to have her in his home, Skye could tell as she removed her wet gloves. She ought to be intimidated by his surly manner; any normal young lady would be. But few gentlemen had the power to shake her, perhaps because she was accustomed to handling the strong-willed men in her family.

She usually was able to bend them to her own will with sweet reason. She suspected in this case, though, it would take a good deal more than reason to sway the earl. Indeed, the sheer size of her task daunted her. But if Lord Hawkhurst was looking for a wife, it might as well be her, Skye judged. At the very least, she wanted to see if they were a compatible match. And regardless of her romantic hopes, she needed a hero just now, and he was a genuine hero.

Skye drew a steadying breath to bolster her courage. She had contrived to land on his doorstep, and now she had to capitalize on the opportunity she had created for herself.

“Will you please read my aunt’s letter, my lord?” she asked.

Obligingly, he turned up the flame on the desk lamp, then held the letter nearer the light. It was then that Skye really saw the burn scars marring the back of his hands.

A sudden lump formed in her throat. Hawkhurst was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen, but also the most deeply scarred. Not just on the outside but on the inside, if her information was correct. After all, he had crawled through fire to save his wife and young son, futilely as it happened. With his life shattered, he’d exiled himself to a distant Mediterranean island and spent the past decade engaged in dangerous deeds, not caring whether he lived or died.

Skye’s heart went out to him. Perhaps that organ was too tender, but as the youngest Wilde cousin of the current generation, she was known for being the sensitive one, in addition to being the most mischievous.

Mentally chiding herself for staring at the earl’s scarred hands, she busied herself spreading her gloves on the hearth. Then she settled into the wing chair and began to remove the pins from her chignon, since her damp hair would dry more quickly if down.

For a short while as he read, the silence in the study was broken only by rain spitting against the window-panes and the occasional snap of a log in the hearth fire.

When Hawkhurst absently reached for a snifter that was almost empty, Skye noticed the crystal decanter half-filled with what appeared to be brandy. Evidently he had been drinking, which partially explained his morose mood.

It was not surprising that he would be sitting alone here and brooding. She would have brooded also if she’d had to face the ghosts of her dead family,