Chapter Twenty
As it turned out, the world did seem a far different place for the next several mornings. Never having had a sister or even a close female friend, Clara had no notion just how enjoyable it could be to devote her mornings to sipping her hot chocolate and discussing anything from the genius of Plato to fussing over which ribbons she was to tie in her hair.
Not that Hawksley was ever far from her thoughts, she had to ruefully acknowledge.
Too often she found herself turning to share something amusing with the man whom she had become accustomed to being at her side. Or awakening during the night to reach for warm arms that were not there.
And too often she found herself brooding upon whether or not she had been overly hasty in presuming his intentions had been dishonorable.
Certainly he had hidden the truth of his past, but did she have any genuine proof that he was only hoping to use her as an affront to his father?
Anything beyond her own fear that no gentleman of sense could ever love her?
At last convinced that she was prepared to confront Hawksley and discover the truth for herself, Clara deliberately arranged herself in the back parlor after luncheon.
She knew that Hawksley would call. He had called every day, although she had always refused to meet with him.
Today, however, she made no move to hide herself in her chambers when she heard him announced. Instead she kept herself firmly seated upon the delicate rose sofa, even when a large, heartbreakingly familiar form filled the doorway.
“Clara?”
Slowly lifting her gaze, Clara was shocked by the unmistakable pallor of the handsome countenance and the shadows beneath his beautiful eyes.
Her heart clenched in swift concern. He did not look at all well.
“Hawksley.”
He paused awkwardly before clearing his throat. “May I join you?”
“I . . .” She gave a nod of her head. “If you wish.”
Still with that same odd hesitation, he crossed over the threshold and moved to stand before the fireplace.
“You appear to have recovered from your ordeal,” he at last broke the silence.
An unwitting smile touched her lips. “Yes, Anna has been very kind.”
“She is a very good sort.” His own smile was wry. “Far too good for the likes of Biddles.”
“They are very devoted to one another.”
“Indeed they are.” An aching loneliness that struck Clara like a blow darkened his eyes. “I envy Biddles for that.”
Abruptly rising to her feet, Clara barely kept herself from launching across the floor to hold him in her arms. Blast, but he seemed so . . . vulnerable. Almost as if he had been suffering as much as she had by being apart.
Instead she wrapped her arms about her waist and fought for a measure of sanity.
“Have Lord Doulton and Mr. Chesterfield been properly dealt with?”
His features abruptly hardened. “Both have decided they are quite anxious to seek the adventures offered by the distant colonies.”
Clara was startled that Hawksley had agreed to such a punishment. She had presumed he would not be satisfied until the two were facing the gallows.
“Are you disappointed?”
He lifted a shoulder. “There is still a part of me that thirsts for blood, and should I discover they have ever dared return to England, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through their hearts, but there is another part of me that only wishes Fredrick to rest in peace.” His expression abruptly softened. “He would not wish for scandal to touch our family.”
“Unlike you?”
He briefly stiffened before he visibly forced himself to loosen his muscles.
“I deserve that, I suppose,” he murmured. “I have certainly devoted a great deal of my life to playing the role of the wicked son.”
“To punish your father?”
“In part.” He took a moment, as if carefully considering his words. “But more than that, I think that I had simply accepted my father’s assurances that I would never be of any worth. Why even make an effort when I was doomed to fail?”
She stilled at the stark words, her eyes darkening with pain. “Hawksley, you should not say such a horrid thing.”
“Why? It is the truth,” he retorted, his gaze easily capturing and holding hers. “Or it was until I plucked you from that carriage. Since then I have begun to hope that I could be more. That I could become the sort of gentleman who was worthy of earning your love.”
Clara abruptly turned away. Oh . . . damn. He was always so bloody good at this.
“I would believe you more easily if you had not lied to me.”
She heard him move to stand behind her, although he was wise enough not to try to touch her.
“I know I made a mistake, Clara,” he admitted in a voice raw with emotion. “I was a fool, but I swear if you will give me the opportunity I will never disappoint you again.”
She bit her lip as a sharp ache flared through her heart.
She had thought it would be difficult to forgive him for deceiving her. And even more difficult for him to restore her trust.
In truth, the only difficult thing seemed to be keeping herself from tossing herself into his arms and never letting go.
“I need to know why,” she forced herself to demand. “Why did you hide the truth of who you are?”
He heaved a ragged sigh. “It is . . . complicated.”
Slowly turning, she met his gaze squarely. “Most of life is complicated.”
“Yes.” Lifting his hands, he scrubbed them over his pale countenance before at last continuing. “At first I did not tell you simply because I had refused to take on the title. I told myself that I would not do so until my brother’s murderer was hanging from the gibbet.” His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I now realize that I did not want the title because then I would have to accept that Fredrick was truly gone. And of course, there was the horror of knowing that I had no choice but return to my family and the duties awaiting me. Even in my own mind it seemed far preferable to remain Hawksley.”
She blinked, caught off guard by his stark realization of his own motives. In her experience, men rarely bothered to try and comprehend what led them to behave as they did.
Just being a man was enough to excuse any stupidity.
It was something.
“And when you asked me to be your wife?” she ruthlessly prodded. “Surely you did not believe you could keep such a thing hidden?”
“I . . .” He heaved a deep sigh.
“What?”
“It is all rather a muddle now,” he confessed with a grimace. “But I suppose it all comes down to fear.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “You afraid? I do not believe it.”
“You should. I have never been so frightened in my life.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
She gave a short laugh of disbelief. “You are not making any sense.”
“No?” He stepped closer, his gaze smoldering with suppressed emotion. “For God’s sake, Clara, I could barely convince you to marry me when you thought I was a penniless gamester living in the stews. I knew you would balk when you discovered I was a viscount.”
A faint hint of color touched her cheeks at the truth of his accusation. Had she known who he was from the beginning, she never would have allowed him to worm his way into her heart. No matter how tempting.
“You could not have kept it hidden forever,” she at last pointed out in stiff tones.
He smiled wryly. “As I said, it was all a muddle. I cannot claim to possess your powerful logic or ability to think in a rational manner.”
He was very convincing, of course. Or perhaps she just desperately wished to believe him. But still he had not yet banished her greatest fear.
Gathering her courage, she at last decided to confront him directly. That was always the most logical approach, was it not?
Unfortunately, it was not always the easiest.
She unconsciously squared her shoulders. “Hawksley?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Did . . . did it occur to you that by wedding me, you would have a lasting revenge upon your father?”
He briefly closed his eyes as his lips twisted. “Of course I considered the notion my father would not approve, and I would not be human not to take some small pleasure in aggravating the pompous fool.” He held up his hand as her lips parted in anger. “But if you think I would tie myself to a woman for eternity for the simple pleasure of annoying my father, you must be daft. Besides which, if I truly wished to punish my father, I would simply refuse to wed at all.” He held her wary gaze with the sheer force of his will. “There could be nothing more cruel to such a proud gentleman than to realize that his ancient title was destined to be handed over to a distant cousin he considers the worst sort of mushroom. That would be a true revenge.”
Oh . . . rats, rats, rats.
He was not supposed to undermine her with such ease. Not when it left her with no excuses left to deny her feelings for him.
Not when it left her vulnerable to the possibility of becoming his wife.
“No,” she whispered in a husky voice. “I cannot.”
Not surprisingly, his brows snapped together with a gathering impatience.
“Why?”
“Because I shall only make a fool of myself and you as well,” she burst out. “I am not at all suitable to be a viscountess or a let alone a countess.”
“According to my father, there is no one less suitable to be a viscount, let alone an earl, than myself, so we shall be perfect for one another,” he dryly retorted.
Her lips trembled as she battled the threatening tears. “Please do not jest, Hawksley.”
Without warning, he was moving forward to grasp her hands in a tight grip.
“Clara, my love, I do not understand what absurdity has made you believe that you are unsuitable, but I can assure you that my desire to wed you has nothing to do with making you my viscountess and everything to do with the fact that without you my life is empty.” His eyes darkened to indigo. “I love you. And in truth, I do not believe that I can bear a future without you.”
Her heart jolted painfully against her chest at his fierce words. He loved her. Loved her, Miss Clara Dawson. If only . . .
No, she sternly warned herself.
There was never any point in wishing for what could not be.
“Hawksley, you know that society will never accept me, nor will your family,” she said in tones that defied argument.
He blinked, as if caught off guard by her words. “Miss Dawson, for being so terribly clever you can be remarkably dense.”
Dense? Her?
That was certainly not an insult that had ever been hurled at her head before.
Strange, eccentric, and outright daft. But never dense.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that the moment Anna took you into this house, you were accepted by society. Indeed, they will now be flocking to gain your approval.”
Her gaze narrowed in confusion. Good heavens, Egyptian hieroglyphs were less baffling than the inner workings of polite society.
“I do not understand.”
“Lady Bidwell, along with her good friend, Mrs. Caulfield, is the undoubted leader of the ton. Their friendship will ensure that no one, no matter how petty or vindictive, will dare to utter a word against you,” he said firmly. “In truth, we will be besieged from dawn to dusk with invitations and pesky visitors the moment we announce our betrothal.”
Betrothal.
Her heart skipped a vital beat.
“And your family?”
He grimaced as he gave a shake of his head. “Do you truly believe that my father would ever consider any female good enough to become Countess of Chadwick? Good lord, I could bring home Princess Charlotte and he would stick his nose in the air and condemn her for possessing a whore for a mother.”
“But—”
His grip upon her fingers abruptly tightened. “Listen to me, Clara. I do not care if we live in my decrepit house or your cottage or flee to the Continent, which now that I think about it is not a bad notion, and I certainly do not care if we never spend a damn minute in society.” His voice lowered to a husky plea. “All that matters is that we can be together.”
“I . . .” As she met his pleading gaze, her voice trailed away. What the devil was she doing? She had been lost the moment this man had halted her carriage. Oh, she could return to her cottage and spend the next fifty years attempting to convince herself that she had done the only logical thing. It would certainly be more prudent. There would be no opportunity for disappointment. No uncertainty. No risk of having her heart crushed. Just an aching loneliness that would haunt her until the end of her days.
She was familiar enough with loneliness to know that it was not something she wished to endure for an eternity.
Perhaps it was time to take a chance.
Perhaps this dangerous, handsome pirate was just what a logical spinster needed to be happy.
“Yes,” she at last breathed.
There was a shocked silence as Hawksley frantically searched her countenance, as if seeking to discover if she was vindictive enough to tease him at such a time.
“Did you say . . . yes?”
A tremulous smile touched her lips. “Yes.”
Still he hesitated, his expression wary. “Precisely what did you say yes to?”
Reaching up her hand, she lightly stroked his cheek. “All that matters is that we can be together.”
“Clara?”
She gave a soft chuckle. Gads, it seemed that she would have to be far more direct. She framed his face with her hands.
“I love you, Hawksley.”
She felt him stiffen as his eyes flared with hope.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Hawksley.”
His arms wrapped about her as he hauled her roughly against his chest.
“Again.”
“I love—”
Her words were abruptly cut off as his mouth impatiently swooped down to claim her lips in a kiss she felt all the way to her toes.
In response she wrapped her arms about his neck and returned his kiss with a burst of joy.
She had no notion when she left her quiet home in Kent that she had set out on a dangerous, sinfully delicious adventure that would alter her future.
An adventure that included kidnapping, stolen artwork, smugglers, and madmen.
And that was not even to mention falling in love, which was perhaps the most sinfully delicious adventure of all.
Thank God for blue-eyed pirates . . .