rth to dry her damp tresses. The firelight behind her rimmed her ivory profile and shimmered through the curtain of her hair as she used her fingers like a comb.
Her movements were unconsciously sensual and made Hawk swear an oath under his breath. Granted, he’d gone too long without female companionship to satisfy his carnal needs, but why this particular female roused such a powerful ache in him, he couldn’t say.
The impact had begun the moment he opened his front door to her. Lady Skye caught him completely off guard, a feat even his worst foes rarely managed. And when she’d fallen into his arms, his baser instincts had taken control, instantly hardening his loins.
It was his body’s unwanted reaction, in addition to learning her identity, that had made his tone gruffer than normal.
She was still affecting him painfully now. If he were to conjure up a sexual fantasy, Lady Skye Wilde would fit the role exquisitely: lithe figure, ripe breasts, feminine grace, enticing warmth. Not overly tall, she looked somewhat delicate, like fine crystal, but he suspected her fragility was an illusion.
She was definitely a novelty, though, intruding into his bleak, nearly deserted house at this late hour and insisting he give her a hearing. Bold, yet charming as the devil … or a siren. For a brief moment he’d even wondered if she was part of an enemy scheme. In his profession, it wasn’t unusual to employ beautiful sirens to gain vital secrets.
Yet he did recall encountering Lady Skye a decade before. The enchanting girl was clearly a grown woman now, with her damp gown molding her elegant curves. She smelled of fresh rain and roses, a scent that wreaked havoc on his senses. And that smile of hers … That smile could slay dragons—or render a man witless.
Doubtless he was suffering the effects of too much brandy, but this was still the most aroused he’d been in years.
Hawk stirred uncomfortably in his desk chair, knowing he damn well needed to hold his lust in check. For one thing, Lady Skye was Isabella’s niece by marriage. For another, she was an unaccompanied female in his household. No honorable man would take advantage of her vulnerability, even if she had willfully orchestrated this compromising situation herself.
He had best be rid of her, just as soon as he heard the cursory details of her proposition—which admittedly had surprised him as much as her unexpected arrival.
Hawk shook his head to reduce the alcoholic haze and repeated his warning of a time limit, prodding her to get on with her explanation.
“I am not certain five minutes will be enough,” she replied easily. “It is a long story.”
“Then you had best begin.”
She did not seem at all intimidated by his abrupt manner. Indeed, just the opposite; her blue gaze seemed understanding and sympathetic as she launched into her tale.
“You may know that Isabella’s late third husband, Lord Henry Wilde, was the younger brother of my uncle Lord Cornelius.”
Hawk nodded, aware that the vivacious, half-Spanish widow had wed three times, the last to a British nobleman’s son. Bella was now in her midforties, but her beauty and charm were still turning male heads. “Go on.”
“Well, Lord Cornelius is only a distant relation to my branch of the Wilde family, but my brother Quinn and I think of him as our true uncle. He took over our legal guardianship when I was ten, along with that of my three Wilde cousins after all our parents perished when their ship sank at sea.”
Somewhat surprisingly to Hawk, she quickly glossed over her loss to focus on her uncle.
“At the time, Uncle Cornelius was a literary scholar of some note but gave up his bookish life to devote himself to raising five unruly children. He is over sixty now and a dedicated bachelor. Even though he is the dearest man imaginable, I have always thought him rather dull and a Wilde only by name. For generations our family earned a reputation for our passionate romances, but Uncle never followed suit—or so I thought until last spring, when I was helping to organize his library. I found a packet of letters hidden there. They were written some twenty-five years ago—his correspondence with a young lady from a nearby district. Imagine my surprise to discover that my staid, elderly uncle had experienced a tragic love affair when he was a young man.”
Lady Skye glanced at Hawk expectantly. No doubt she was counting on his natural curiosity to win her more time. When he gave her no encouragement, she went on doggedly.
“When I questioned Uncle about his thwarted romance, he admitted that his true love had died. Apparently, she’d been forced into an unhappy marriage to a baron, and after giving birth to a daughter, she became so despondent, she flung herself into a river and drowned. Her death left Uncle Cornelius heartbroken and is the reason he never married. Except that … only recently I learned she didn’t die after all. In fact, I was able to obtain proof that her drowning was a ruse.”
“I suppose you mean to tell me what happened to her,” Hawk said without enthusiasm.
Lady Skye smiled a bit triumphantly for dragging a response from him. “I admit I was so intrigued by the letters that I decided to investigate my uncle’s secret past further. His correspondence held several clues. The midwife who delivered the baby daughter also served as the go-between for Uncle Cornelius and the lady, and her name was mentioned frequently when arranging their rendezvous. The letters were franked from a village near Beauvoir, the family seat of the Marquises of Beaufort, where Uncle Cornelius grew up—and where he raised the five of us Wilde cousins. Beauvoir is not far from my home, Tallis Court. Two months ago, I went to the village to question the midwife. She is very old now and quite forgetful, but I managed to coax the story from her.”
Hawk hid a wry smile. Even on so short an acquaintance with Lady Skye, he could well imagine her ability to cajole secrets from her unwitting targets.
“I was shocked by the tale she told me,” Skye confessed. “The lady’s noble husband was beating her so badly, she feared for her life. To escape the abuse, she thought she had no choice but to stage her death with the midwife’s help. Once her daughter was born, she secretly fled to Ireland to live with sympathetic kin.”
“It is not so easy to fake a drowning,” Hawk remarked. “Her body would have been easily identified.”
“But it was not immediately found and was presumed to have washed away. Months later, when coincidentally a corpse was uncovered many miles downstream, it was thought to be the lady’s. So there was no further reason to search for her.” Lady Skye pursed her lips. “I don’t know for certain, but I think she may still be alive, living in Ireland.”
“And you wish to find her.”
“Yes. If it is at all possible, I would dearly love to reunite my uncle and his true love. But, actually, my goal is more complicated than that.”
Hawk raised an eyebrow. “How so?”