With
effort, Skye pulled off his close-fitting boots, then worked off his coat. When she swung his legs up onto the bed, he rolled onto his side facing her and buried his face in the pillow.
Moving around to the other side of the bed, Skye stretched out beside Hawkhurst and drew the covers up over them both, giving barely a thought to the impropriety. She had already been completely intimate with him. Compared to that, spending the night in his bedchamber was scarcely an infraction. She couldn’t let him be alone.
For that matter, she didn’t want to be alone, either.
Easing closer, she slid an arm over his waist and pressed her front to his back.
Surprisingly, he was sober and awake enough to notice. “Are y’ sleeping with me tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You planning t’ give me your body again?”
“No.”
Regrettably. The taste of desire he had given her was sinfully hot, and she wanted more. But now was not the time. Now she simply wanted to ease his hurt, to warm him, to help him sleep.
When her warmth started to seep into him, he sighed again. It was not long before his body relaxed and his breathing grew more even.
Sleep was significantly more elusive for Skye. She kept seeing Hawkhurst’s eyes, so lost and bleak. He didn’t deserve such pain, she reflected, not for the first time, and she intended to do everything in her power to diminish it.
Pressing her nose into his hair, Skye breathed in his masculine scent and found her thoughts drifting back to her own dilemma.
Embracing this man felt so natural. She had wondered if he was her life’s mate, and she was becoming more convinced by the day that he was.
She could fall in love with Hawkhurst so easily. In merely a day, her girlish infatuation had forged into something far stronger.
Whether she could make him love her was another question entirely. But even if she couldn’t, she would do her best to set fate right for him. She would make it her mission to save him from a dark future, wedded to a missish young chit he couldn’t possibly love.
And as Skye forced herself to close her own eyes, she made herself another solemn promise: She intended to erase those haunted shadows from his eyes if it was the last thing she ever did.
Hawk was awakened early the next morning by a rapping on his bedchamber door. Groggy, his head pounding, he carefully sat up and glanced around the room to find Skye gone. When the rapping sounded again, he bid entrance in a raspy voice.
Thomas Gilpin stepped inside, carrying a large mug. Silver bearded and small of frame, he resembled a gnome. Gilpin had served on the estate for decades, and after the fire, had asked to stay on at Hawkhurst Castle as caretaker rather than seeing the manor shut up completely. He was a man of little conversation, with a surly disposition, which normally suited Hawk.
“Her ladyship bade me bring ye this, m’lord,” Gilpin said with remarkable good cheer as he crossed to the bedside.
“What is it?” Hawk asked warily.
“Some concoction that will do yer aching head good, she says. ’Tis a secret recipe, so I canna say the ingredients. I’m to stay until ye drink it down.”
Hawk stared at his servant, who unexpectedly grinned, showing several gaping holes where he’d lost teeth.
“When yer feeling more the thing, m’lord, yer to come down to breakfast. M’lady’s orders.”
“Indeed.”
“Aye. She thought to spare me carrying a heavy tray up the stairs with m’ weak wrists. She’s a kind one, that she is.”
It sounded as if Skye had bewitched the old man, but Hawk was determined to resist her enchantment himself.
When he pointed warningly at the door and barked “Out!” in dismissal, Gilpin chuckled and set the mug down on the beside table. “Ver’ well, m’lord, I’ll leave. But her ladyship will not be pleased.”
The servant retreated from the room and shut the door gingerly. Alone once more, Hawk rubbed his whiskered face and took stock of his current state. He felt emotionally drained, yet his outburst last evening had blessedly numbed some of the pain. He had also slept soundly again, in part because Skye had shared his bed. Annoyingly, he missed her warmth this morning.
Regardless of his feelings for his troublesome houseguest, though, it was time he roused himself from his stupor. He’d had enough of self-pity.