Chapter Three
Miss Moore’s eyes snapped open when Hawk asked, “I say, Miss Moore, are you well? You’ve turned quite pale.”
It looked like the girl was suffering from some sort of a shock. She’d gone completely ashen, and her hand shook as she raised her wineglass to her lips. She took a sip of wine and shook her head. “No, I am fine. Thank you for asking.” The whispered words barely made it out of her mouth.
He continued to study her throughout the rest of the meal. She appeared distracted, jumpy. Sad, almost. He fought the urge to probe deeper but realized how out of place that would be. He found her fascinating, though she was an employee in his cousin’s home, and therefore, strictly off-limits.
What bothered him most was how he’d reacted with considerable skepticism and jocularity toward his close friend, Giles Templeton, when he’d claimed to have fallen in love with Miss Blake, now his wife, almost instantly. Hawk, Bedford, and Cam had spent a great deal of time poking fun at him.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have dismissed claims of love at first sight. Not that he felt anywhere near that for Miss Moore. He merely found her intriguing—nothing like he expected a governess to be.
That was all.
“Shall we retire to the drawing room? We shall have tea served there and then enjoy Miss Moore’s entertainment.” Leah rose, and Wycliff pulled out her chair. Hawk did the same for Miss Moore. He had not been mistaken. When she placed her hand on his arm, she was quivering, and when he covered her hand with his, it was ice cold. Something had upset the girl.
He tried to remember what they’d been discussing at the time, but it eluded him. Against his better judgment, he leaned in close to her, absorbing a whiff of something sweet and flowery. “Are you sure you are well, Miss Moore?”
“Yes, I am. Truly.” She smiled at him. “A cup of tea is just what I need.”
“Yes, perhaps. The answer to every Englishwoman’s disquiet.”
Hawk tried his best to ignore Miss Moore and concentrate on the story Leah was regaling them with, about one of the twins presenting her with some lovely little piece of artwork.
His mind drifted, hearing the love and pride in the mother’s voice. That was just what he needed, something to focus on other than his life, and what it had become.
The guilt he carried every day at his part in his sister’s death had only been relieved by the frantic pace he’d set for himself.
Two years ago, as a dutiful brother, he had encouraged his sister, Monica, to marry Baron Sheffield. The man had shown considerable interest in her during her fourth Season. She had sworn for years that no one appealed to her, and his mother, frantic at Monica not marrying at all, had prevailed upon Hawk to secure the match.
His investigation into the baron’s background had revealed some gambling debts that her dowry cleared up, but after speaking with the man about it, the baron had assured Hawk that sort of behavior was behind him. Sheffield had also been identified as having a fondness for drink, but that was another issue he assured Hawk he’d dealt with.
At both her mother’s and brother’s urging, Monica had agreed to the marriage and had gone to her husband’s home outside of London. Until she’d returned to Hawk’s London townhouse late one night in a severe thunderstorm, crying and shaking. The baron had been drinking a great deal and gambling, and she wanted to return home.
Aghast at such a request, he and Lady Hawkins spent several hours talking to her about her duties and the role of a wife. He had encouraged her to return to her husband, spouting some nonsense about all brides having a difficult time adjusting to marriage. If only he had listened to her. After all, as a bachelor, what did he know of marriage and bridal adjustments?
Two nights later at the Pomeroy ball, a drunken, angry Sheffield forced Monica into their carriage, dismissed the driver, and on the way home, crashed the vehicle into a tree, causing the carriage to roll down an embankment, killing them both.
Bringing back her broken, mud-covered body had been the worst experience of his life, despite having fought Napoleon and seen appalling sights on the battlefield. Hawk had returned to London after Monica’s funeral and had proceeded to drink to excess, gamble a small fortune, and take numerous beautiful women to bed.
But he remained numb and was tired of it.
“Miss Moore, since you have finished your tea, may we enjoy some of your delightful playing?”
Leah turned to Hawk, who had been lost in deep thought. “Miss Moore plays like an angel. I can’t imagine where she could have received such wonderful instruction.”
He glanced at the lady in question to find her again flustered. Surely, she was not anxious about playing for them? Leah had indicated this was something the governess did on a regular basis when they had guests. Perhaps he was making her nervous.
He hated the twinge of satisfaction that idea brought.
“I will be happy to turn the pages for you, Miss Moore.” He stood to accompany her to the pianoforte.
“Oh, Hawk, Miss Moore plays everything from memory. She doesn’t use music sheets.”
“Indeed?” He viewed her with surprise. When she nodded, he added, “It appears Lady Wycliff is correct. You have had spectacular training. Where did you learn to play?”
“My father enjoyed music in the evenings, so he hired a master to teach me.” She started toward the instrument, obviously not wishing to elaborate.
If Miss Moore had been nervous, once she began to play, her entire being was lost in the music. He studied her hands as her fingers glided over the keys, like they were two parts of one soul, joining together after a long separation.
Overcome by the music, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The notes drifted over him, the passion in the woman’s playing a living thing. The number went on and on, and he slowly lost himself, feeling things deep inside he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Peace. Serenity. Hope.
When had he lost hope? Somewhere along the line, it had vanished, along with self-respect and contentment. Slowly, he opened his eyes and was treated to the sight of Miss Moore bent over the pianoforte, her own eyes closed, a Mona Lisa smile on her face as she poured her heart and soul into the melody.
The notes slowed, then stopped. The silence was deafening as Miss Moore placed her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. She slowly raised her head and looked directly at him. He sucked in a breath.
His world tilted.
No, he was not in love, but something magical at an elemental level had just happened. His cold, withered heart experienced a frisson of warmth. This woman, her music, and her presence in his life at this point could prove momentous. Yes, perhaps he was being the romantic he’d always mocked, but he had never felt this way before.
Leah clapped and stood. “Excellent, Miss Moore. Just excellent. That is by far the best piece you have played for us.” She smirked in Hawk’s direction. “Maybe it is our guest who has inspired you so.”
Miss Moore flushed and rose from the pianoforte seat, glancing briefly in his direction. “If I may be excused, my lady, I feel a need to find my bed.”
“Of course, Miss Moore. Thank you again for your wonderful entertainment.”
Miss Moore offered a slight dip and hurried from the room. Hawk’s eyes followed her until she passed through the doorway. He turned back to see Wycliff regarding him with raised eyebrows.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just feel the need to remind you that Miss Moore is in our employ.”
Hawk stiffened. “I am fully aware of the woman’s place in your home. Despite my rakish reputation, I have never dishonored a woman under the protection of my host.”
Wycliff grinned. “Calm down, Cousin. I am sure you have no ill intentions toward Miss Moore.”
He settled back in. “You must agree she is an exceptional woman, however. Certainly not of the usual governess ilk.”
Leah glanced at the doorway where Miss Moore had just made her escape. “Yes. I have been flummoxed by her since her arrival.”
“How so?”
“She is an excellent governess, and the children love her. She claims to have been schooled by her father, but her education is miles beyond what one would expect from that sort of learning.”
“Who is her father?”
“He is deceased. When I did the initial interview, she told me he had been a vicar at a small church in Lincolnshire.”
Hawk shook his head. “I would not take her for a daughter of a vicar.”
“Well, in any event, we are quite pleased with her.” Leah stood and shook out her skirts. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will also seek my bed.”
“Good night, my dear. I will join you in a bit.”
Once Leah had left the room, Wycliff said, “Brandy?”
“Yes.” Hawk stared at the cold fireplace. The splash of liquor poured into glasses, and Wycliff padding across the room to hand him his glass, soothed him, reminded him of happy times spent here as a youth.
His host settled into the dark leather chair across from him, swirling the brown liquid in his glass. “What is troubling you?”
Hawk almost choked on the sip of brandy. “What?”
“I have asked you for more than two years to visit us here. While I am thrilled to have you, I sense something is not up to snuff.”
“I merely thought a few weeks away from London would be a good thing. Sometimes the Season can be a bit arduous.”
“For a young, titled, wealthy man-about-town? Very difficult having all the ladies falling at your feet, eh?”
“Hardly falling at my feet.” A bit of a lie there, since at his mother’s house party, Lady Spencer had purposely tripped in front of him to garner his attention. Never one to disappoint a lady, he had arranged to visit her bedchamber that evening since Lord Spencer had opted to stay in Town. Most likely in the bed of his current mistress.
It had not been the best of decisions, based on the screaming fit she’d subjected him to a month later when he’d told her he wished to end their liaison. Within days he had decided to visit Wycliff.
“You know, right before I met Leah, I had decided to offer for a lovely young lady whose parents, as well as mine, were very much in favor of a match between us. When I saw my wife for the first time across a ballroom, all thoughts of the other woman vanished.
“I realized later—after we were happily married—that my decision about that young lady had been made because I was so very tired of my mother pushing me toward the ‘perfect’ bride.”
“What is it you are trying to tell me, Cousin?”
Wycliff swirled the brandy in his glass, studying the movement intently. “I’m not quite sure, actually. Only that I see myself in you when I had spotted Leah across that ballroom.” He shook his head, then took a sip of the liquor and continued. “Maybe I’ve misread you, but I never thought you wanted the typical ton marriage. If that’s true, then don’t return to London and just grab the closest woman in the hope she will fix whatever it is that’s broken inside you.”
Hawk snorted. “There isn’t anything broken inside me.”
“No?” Wycliff laid his glass on the table in front of him and stood. “I will wish you a good night. I believe my wife awaits me.”
Once Wycliff left the room, Hawk continued to sit and stare at his empty glass, his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, his head tucked into his chest.
There isn’t anything broken inside me.