French aristocrat but managed to escape the worst of the Revolution by marrying my father, an English earl.”
Hawk raised a quelling eyebrow. “Are you already arguing with me, Lady Skye?”
“No, not at all, Lord Hawkhurst. I would never dare such a thing.”
Her false meekness brought the hint of a smile to his mouth.
Skye eyed him in approval. “I am glad you have stopped being such an ogre. You are much more pleasant when you are not snapping and growling.”
He chuckled unwillingly. “Don’t expect my good mood to last.”
“You call
this
a good mood?” she teased.
Curbing his urge to return her banter, Hawk handed her back the packet of letters and gestured toward the door. “You had best leave the kitchens, my lady. I intend to bathe in the storeroom so Gilpin won’t have to carry cans of hot water upstairs.”
“Yes, of course. I will go change into my traveling gown so I can be ready to leave as soon as you command.”
When she dallied, he pulled the tails of his shirt from his breeches in preparation of removing it. To his amusement, Skye quickly gathered her lists and beat a hasty retreat to avoid seeing him undress. But while Hawk thought he might have won this skirmish, he was certain the next ones would not be so easy.
Skye was perfectly willing to let Hawkhurst take the lead in the midwife’s inquisition, but she was also glad for the opportunity to drag the beast from his lair. She didn’t want him dwelling on his pain, and giving him a purpose was the best way to distract him.
As promised, she was ready to depart within the hour and met him in the stable yard, where his carriage and team awaited. If she’d thought him ruggedly attractive with his jaw stubble and country gentleman’s attire, he was breathtakingly handsome with his face clean shaven, his ebony hair washed and shining, and his tanned, chiseled features set off by a sparkling white cravat. His clothes fit his noble station also, his superbly tailored coat molding his broad shoulders to perfection and a caped greatcoat flung over his arm. Skye felt the familiar riotous fluttering in her stomach as he handed her inside and settled next to her.
The journey to Kent went by rather quickly. Hawkhurst spoke little, but Skye found herself telling him all about her family and their history with Isabella. It was only when they reached the small village of Brackstone that she realized how skillfully he had drawn her out with his subtle probing, while she had learned practically nothing more about him.
He was the most enigmatic man she had ever met, she decided, marveling at how his gray eyes cloakedwith heavy black lashes hid his every emotion. She suspected the previous evening’s heartrending revelations were the last she would get for quite some time.
The ivy-covered stone cottage where midwife Peggy Nibbs lived was pretty and well kept but common enough that the earl looked out of place with his aura of elegance and power. When Skye made the introductions, the elderly dame seemed intimidated at first, but over cups of steaming tea, which Mrs. Nibbs shyly offered, Lord Hawkhurst successfully put her at ease with gentle questions designed to enhance her memories and unearth clues about Lady Farnwell’s trail more than two decades ago. Skye listened to their conversation with growing fascination.
Mrs. Nibbs knew the general area of Ireland where the fugitive had intended to seek refuge but not the specific county, although she thought the name began with “Kil.”
She did recall that it was not a large town like Dublin, but a small village. When asked about weather and key geographical markings such as lakes or seaside or mountains, the only detail that came to mind was a castle.
As for pseudonyms Lady Farnwell might be using, she had hoped to find shelter with a distant female relative whose surname sounded a bit Spanish … something that brought to mind the celebrated lover Don Juan. When Hawkhurst suggested
Hawk raised a quelling eyebrow. “Are you already arguing with me, Lady Skye?”
“No, not at all, Lord Hawkhurst. I would never dare such a thing.”
Her false meekness brought the hint of a smile to his mouth.
Skye eyed him in approval. “I am glad you have stopped being such an ogre. You are much more pleasant when you are not snapping and growling.”
He chuckled unwillingly. “Don’t expect my good mood to last.”
“You call
this
a good mood?” she teased.
Curbing his urge to return her banter, Hawk handed her back the packet of letters and gestured toward the door. “You had best leave the kitchens, my lady. I intend to bathe in the storeroom so Gilpin won’t have to carry cans of hot water upstairs.”
“Yes, of course. I will go change into my traveling gown so I can be ready to leave as soon as you command.”
When she dallied, he pulled the tails of his shirt from his breeches in preparation of removing it. To his amusement, Skye quickly gathered her lists and beat a hasty retreat to avoid seeing him undress. But while Hawk thought he might have won this skirmish, he was certain the next ones would not be so easy.
Skye was perfectly willing to let Hawkhurst take the lead in the midwife’s inquisition, but she was also glad for the opportunity to drag the beast from his lair. She didn’t want him dwelling on his pain, and giving him a purpose was the best way to distract him.
As promised, she was ready to depart within the hour and met him in the stable yard, where his carriage and team awaited. If she’d thought him ruggedly attractive with his jaw stubble and country gentleman’s attire, he was breathtakingly handsome with his face clean shaven, his ebony hair washed and shining, and his tanned, chiseled features set off by a sparkling white cravat. His clothes fit his noble station also, his superbly tailored coat molding his broad shoulders to perfection and a caped greatcoat flung over his arm. Skye felt the familiar riotous fluttering in her stomach as he handed her inside and settled next to her.
The journey to Kent went by rather quickly. Hawkhurst spoke little, but Skye found herself telling him all about her family and their history with Isabella. It was only when they reached the small village of Brackstone that she realized how skillfully he had drawn her out with his subtle probing, while she had learned practically nothing more about him.
He was the most enigmatic man she had ever met, she decided, marveling at how his gray eyes cloakedwith heavy black lashes hid his every emotion. She suspected the previous evening’s heartrending revelations were the last she would get for quite some time.
The ivy-covered stone cottage where midwife Peggy Nibbs lived was pretty and well kept but common enough that the earl looked out of place with his aura of elegance and power. When Skye made the introductions, the elderly dame seemed intimidated at first, but over cups of steaming tea, which Mrs. Nibbs shyly offered, Lord Hawkhurst successfully put her at ease with gentle questions designed to enhance her memories and unearth clues about Lady Farnwell’s trail more than two decades ago. Skye listened to their conversation with growing fascination.
Mrs. Nibbs knew the general area of Ireland where the fugitive had intended to seek refuge but not the specific county, although she thought the name began with “Kil.”
She did recall that it was not a large town like Dublin, but a small village. When asked about weather and key geographical markings such as lakes or seaside or mountains, the only detail that came to mind was a castle.
As for pseudonyms Lady Farnwell might be using, she had hoped to find shelter with a distant female relative whose surname sounded a bit Spanish … something that brought to mind the celebrated lover Don Juan. When Hawkhurst suggested
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