All she had to do was beherself.
Feeling comfortable in her own skin allowed her to let down her guard and relax. She played, laughed, and enjoyed being alive. Of all the gifts Hawk had given her—and he’d developed a delightful habit of showering her with jewelry—the best one was the knowledge that she wasn’t an impostor.
She was Fiona Garrity Morgan, the Countess of Hawksmoor, and she was the genuine article.
Fi aimed a flirty smile at her earl. “Is it terribly rude for me to say that I cannot wait for our guests to leave?”
“Greedy chit.” Lines fanned around his warm grey eyes. “You had your way with me before the ball and now you’re ready for another round.”
“You like that about me,” she said confidently.
“I adore everything about you and your insatiability especially. Shall I kick the guests out?”
“Don’t tempt me.” She leaned closer. “By the by, I saw you talking to Lord Devlin.”
Devlin had confessed that he’d been behind Hawk’s beating at the Royal Arms. Admitting that he’d acted out of immature spite—out of envy that Hawk was outshining him as a spy, the only role he took any pride in—he had asked for forgiveness. Hawk, being Hawk, had shaken the other’s hand. Devlin had resigned from the Quorum and, from the looks of it, was giving up some of his rakehell ways as well. He looked unusually sober this evening.
“Devlin apologized. Again,” Hawk muttered. “As if I would hold anything against a man who took a bullet on my behalf.”
“We do owe him,” Fi said thoughtfully. “Which is why I promised him a dance.”
“We don’t owe him that much. And that dance had better not be a waltz.”
Fi chuckled. “And you’re callingmegreedy?”
“Speaking of which.” Hawk held out his arm as the opening bars of the waltz they’d first danced to floated into the room. “They are playing our song, my lady. Will you do me the honor?”
“You remembered, my lord.” Placing her hand on his sleeve, Fi teased, “And you claim you are not a romantic.”
“As it turns out, I am a selective romantic.” Hawk’s smile made her heart flutter. “Exclusively when it comes to you, my love.”
Epilogue
With practiced stealth, Hawk entered the study.
He locked the door behind him. Through his mask, he took note of the room. By the blazing hearth sat a small table setà deux.Upon it, a vase of hothouse roses perfumed the air. There was a cart piled with silver-domed dishes; champagne rested in a bucket of ice, the bottle beaded with condensation.
Signs of a celebration yet to come.
His heart thudding with anticipation, he prowled toward his target. The desk was large, the blotter strangely devoid of clutter. Crouching, he looked beneath it.
“What have we here?” he murmured.
Framed by a golden demi-mask, blue eyes stared playfully back at him.
“Oh, sir! You gave me a fright,” the trollop said in a breathy voice.
He helped her up, his throat going dry as he got his first full look at her.
Devil and damn.
The woman dazzled in everything from ballgowns to negligees, but she had managed to outdo herself with the present ensemble. The naughty black satin corset cinched her waist and pushed up her delectable breasts. Her berry-ripe nipples played peek-a-boo through the black lace trim. Below the corset, she wore black silk stockings and garters…and nothing else. The triangle between her thighs was as bright and bold as the tresses flowing over her shoulders.
Beneath his dressing gown, he went instantly hard. Yet this game was too much fun to be rushed.
Firming his voice, he gave her a stern look. “You ought to be frightened. I have caught you in the act of stealing, haven’t I?”
“I wasn’t stealing, sir.” Her eyes widened with feigned innocence. “I was, um, looking for this.”
