“Having a good evening, my lord?” she asked.
Kissing her hand, he murmured, “And I have hopes it will end even better.”
Her delicious blush, which matched the color of her gown, made him want to haul her over his shoulder and to the nearest bed.
“Hadleigh,” the duchess said to her husband, who stood with her by the fire. “Why don’t you and the gentlemen enjoy some smelly cigars in the study?”
Her hint, Hawk thought with a flicker of humor, was not remotely subtle.
The duke obviously thought the same thing.
“How can we resist when you put it that way, little queen?” Hadleigh chucked his petite wife beneath the chin. “What will you ladies do without us, hmm?”
“I am sure we will think of something,” Pippa said with a grin.
Cullen rolled his eyes. “That is what we are afraid of, sunshine.”
Given the connection between Hawk and Pippa’s families, Hawk had socialized with her new husband and liked the strapping, brown-haired fellow. Known in the streets as the “Prince of Larks,” Timothy Cullen was the leader of the mudlarks, a gang of urchins who specialized in obtaining information. The larks were said to have eyes and ears everywhere…a fact that Pippa had confirmed over supper.
“This morning, when I opened my wardrobe, one of the larks popped out and shouted, ‘Surprise!’”Chuckling, Pippa had clasped her hands to her bosom.“I was surprised, all right. My heart nearly flew from my chest.”
“The larks adore Pippa and follow her around like she’s the Pied Piper.”The scar on the right side of Cullen’s face had not diminished his fierce look of devotion.
As there probably weren’t that many women—or men, for that matter—who’d welcome the task of housing, feeding, and schooling hundreds of street urchins, Hawk thought the Cullens were a brilliant match. And the newlyweds were clearly very much in love.
“All right, gentlemen,” Hadleigh said easily. “Let us retreat to the study and give the ladies privacy to gossip about us to their hearts’ content.”
Lady Olivia wrinkled her nose. “What makes you think we don’t have better things to discuss?”
Hadleigh gave her a smug look. “Call it a gut feeling.”
“Well, I am sure our ears will be burning as well,” the duchess said.
She gave her husband a pointed look that Hawk couldn’t quite interpret. The duke, however, returned her stare with an amused one of his own and herded the men to his study.
Inside the bastion of male comfort, Hadleigh inquired, “What may I offer you to drink, old chaps?”
“I’ll take that whisky that is older than the hills,” Cullen said.
Hawk seconded the choice.
“Chen?”
“Tea for me.”
Hadleigh also stuck with tea. Hawk had observed that the duke had abstained from spirits during supper as well. A few years ago, Hadleigh’s reputation had been that of a hardened rake, but clearly marriage had changed him. Hawk understood the feeling. The men settled in the studded leather furnishings by the fire, a companionable silence blanketing the study.
Even though Hawk did not know the others well, he sensed a vein of similarity running through the group. Not necessarily in physical characteristics, backgrounds, or interests, but something that ran deeper. All were seasoned men upon whom experience had left a mark. That experience had likely made them better able to appreciate the uniqueness of the Angels.
As if reading his mind, Cullen raised his glass in a mock salute. “Welcome to the club, Hawksmoor.”
“I am glad to be a part of it,” Hawk replied.
“Spoken like a new bridegroom.” Hadleigh’s lips quirked above the rim of his teacup.
“You still talk that way,” Cullen pointed out. “And you’ve been married for two years and have a daughter to boot.”
“I have a strong constitution,” Hadleigh said mildly. “A useful quality when wed to an Angel. Moreover, Esme takes after her mama, which means I get double the spirit for the price of one.”
