“Here will do.”
They ate again at the servants’ dining table, as they had the previous evening. Hawkhurst seemed preoccupied, though, and barely touched his food, preferring instead to drink his ale.
Disliking the heavy silence between them, Skye searched for something to lighten the mood. She finally settled on ribbing him.
“I confess you are a sore disappointment, my lord. A hero should not frighten innocent women and children.”
“You are hardly an innocent—and you continue to overestimate my heroic qualities.”
“I don’t believe so. You are an extraordinary man.”
Hawkhurst grimaced. “If you are trying to butter me up with false flattery, your attempts will fail.”
Her admiration was not false flattery. Even though she had built Hawkhurst up in her mind to heroic proportions, he deserved the appellation of hero.
“You are a Guardian. That alone makes you a hero.”
His frown deepened. “You know nothing about them.”
“True, but I would like to know more.”
“Isabella has revealed too much already.”
“Only because she wanted me to understand the difficulty I would face in persuading you to put your courtship on hold in order to help my uncle. Your duty to the Guardians comes before all else.”
“I don’t wish to talk about them.”
“If not, then what shall we talk about?”
He downed another large swallow of ale. “Nothing. Some peace and quiet would be very welcome. Have you never heard that silence can be a virtue?”
“Yes, but so can making polite conversation, my lord grouch.”
His gaze swung back up to her. “You are set on intentionally provoking me, aren’t you?”
“I hoped to prod you out of your stupor, yes.”
When he scowled, Skye intuitively knew she had struck the wrong note. He seemed in no mood to be teased just now, so she ceased her efforts.
“I can be silent if I try very hard,” she murmured contritely before applying herself to her food.
Occasionally when she cast a surreptitious glance at the earl, she found him staring down into his ale but without seeing much. Sorrow seemed
permanently etched into the handsome lines of his face and his thoughts focused deep inside himself.
Skye wished she could do something to break his dark mood, but she bit her tongue. He did eventually begin to eat, more out of habit than hunger, she suspected.
When their meal was finished, he rose without speaking and turned away from the table.
“If you would like some company in your study,” Skye said hurriedly, “I would be happy to oblige. I swear I won’t pester you about helping my uncle. I happen to believe that we could make a good bargain—but I won’t mention it again.”
She did not get the expected rise out of him. Hawkhurst merely responded with that soft growl she was coming to know too well. “I would prefer you leave me in peace.”
Skye watched him walk away. When she was alone once more, a worried frown turned down her mouth. She hated feeling helpless, but even more, she hated that Hawkhurst seemed so burdened by his thoughts. He was only getting more morose by the hour. At this rate, he would resemble a beast in truth. And there appeared to be nothing at all she could do about it.
In actuality, Hawk was contemplating a visit to the damaged wing of his house. He had to credit Lady Skye for inspiring the fortitude he’d been missing since his arrival at the castle. He ought not be intimidated by a mere building.
Even so, he detoured to his study to fetch a fresh bottle of brandy, knowing he might need a dose of liquid courage in order to face the charred remains of his son’s nursery. He had to face the past at some point, and this was as good a time as any.