An Unforgettable Rogue by Annette Blair Page A

believe him.
    “I never saw it again,” he admitted. “I lay delirious for weeks, in and out of my mind, despondent for months. Once I returned to London, I looked for your letter among the few meager belongings left to me, but it had disappeared.”
    “I am sorry,” she said. “I would have liked to receive it, even half written. I wish someone had sent it. I would have been comforted to know that you thought of me at all, especially after the way we parted.” Her sorrow broke in a sob for their dreadful parting, for his unfinished letter, and for his hurtful words of that morning.
    Hawk put his arms around her from behind, placing a hand flat against her abdomen, feeling a need to mark her intimately as his, and pulled her close.
    Her head rested against his coat-front, his cheek against her hair. He must give her this much, at least, he thought. She deserved some truth. “If not for thinking of you, Lexy, I do not believe I would have survived.”
    She turned in his arms then, her wide eyes bright. “That is perhaps the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”
    “In that case, I should be horsewhipped.” The temptation to kiss her was strong, stronger than Hawk could resist.
    “Your grace.”
    They pulled apart.
    “Your pardon,” Myerson said, red-faced, when he saw what he had interrupted. He held forth a silver salver with a visitor’s card upon it.
    “Thank you.” Hawk took the card, read it, cursed inwardly, firmed his lips, and handed it to his wife. “Myerson, is the, ah, gentleman in question still waiting?”
    “Viscount Chesterfield is in the drawing room, your grace, but he is not asking to see you. He wishes to see her grace. He was very specific about that.”
    “I am certain he was. Thank you. You may go. Alexandra,” Hawk said, after the retainer had shut the door. “I shall leave you to greet your lover in private.”
    “No,” Alex said.
    Hawk stopped and turned, releasing his breath, clutching at hope. “Am I to understand that you do not wish to see Chesterfield?”
    “No. Yes. I wish—I must speak with him.” She bit her lip.
    Hawk shuttered his eyes and closed his expression; he knew he was doing it, but he could not seem to stop.
    “I owe Judson a great deal,” Alex said, her explanation more accurate than she would wish.
    “Then see him, you shall.” Hawk bowed. “Good morning to you, Madam.”
    Chesterfield appeared astonished when Alex entered the drawing room, though he did not take a step toward her, for which she was grateful. “I did not think he would let you see me,” he said.
    Alex remained by the door. “I am so very sorry about our wedding.”
    Judson firmed his lips, much as Bryce had just done. “What happened was not your fault.”
    “I deserve your anger and more,” Alex said. “Five thousand pounds you gave me in exchange for my promise to wed you, but I failed to fulfill my part of our bargain, and I cannot repay you. Not yet, at any rate.”
    “Why do you not let Hawksworth worry about repayment?”
    “I do not want him to know about the money, Judson, please. He would be angry that I took it. Let me repay you, myself, in time?”
    “For once in his charmed life, let Hawksworth face his responsibilities. Everything has always come so bloody easy to the rogue. Looks, money, a title, women, all handed to him on a gilded platter.”
    “You are not being fair. Hawksworth fought for his country and suffered mightily for its cause. His looks are altered irreparably; his title and wealth have gone to another.”
    “But as for women, he ended with the best.” Chesterfield bit off a curse. “You understand do you not, Alexandra, that he set off to play at war and left you to carry his burdens? That is why he was shocked out of countenance and damned near broken. He discovered that war was not a devilishly entertaining sport or particularly glorious, either.”
    Chesterfield’s words resembled her own often-uncharitable thoughts after Hawksworth