Mama pinched her brows together. “Who would call at this unfashionable hour?”
“The Earl of Hawksmoor, ma’am.”
Hawk had once been summoned to deactivate an explosive device. Another time, he’d had mere hours to crack an enemy code with the lives of fellow countrymen at stake. He’d also disguised himself and broken into a man’s home to retrieve a priceless stolen brooch. Yet he had never felt as ill at ease as he did at this moment sitting in the Garritys’ drawing room.
The longcase clock in the corner counted out the silence tick by tick. Hawk was seated adjacent to the settee occupied by Miss Garrity and her mama. Adam Garrity occupied a wingchair, his fingers drumming against the arm, his obsidian gaze hard and assessing. The tension in the room was thicker than the clotted cream that accompanied the scones on the pastry tray.
As Mrs. Garrity gamely started a conversation about the weather, Hawk knew that he’d committed a faux pas in calling at this early hour. Yet he’d been driven here by a burning question.
What the hell had happened last night?
This morning, he had awakened with a pounding megrim and equally pounding cockstand. While his memories of the previous evening were nebulous, he knew that Fiona Garrity had something to do with both conditions. The ill-concealed bruise on her cheek confirmed his worse suspicions and made his hands clench with protective rage.
Who had hurt her? Why had she been in that alleyway?
What in the devil happened between her and me?
What Hawk did remember was this: while on his mission, he’d been duped and drugged by a gang of ruffians. From there, his memories turned dark and fuzzy. Trying to recall what happened was like peering through a soot-covered window: he could only catch glimpses. He’d fought the brutes, and during the battle, Miss Garrity had somehow shown up and come to his aid.
But how had a debutante scared off a gang of brutes? Had she called for help? What in blazes had she been doing in that disreputable area in the first place?
The fact that she’d intervened on his behalf—that she’d stuck her swan-like neck out for him—filled him with wonder and rage. She was so feminine and delicate, and he wanted to tear whoever had hurt her from limb to limb. For the sake of his honor, he had to find out exactly what had happened, during the brawl…and after.
He’d come to in his own bed this morning, sweating and hard from an erotic dream. One in which Miss Garrity had played a starring role. Her red hair and celestial eyes had teased his mind’s eye, made his hand travel over the rigid furrows of his stomach to his raging erection. He hadn’t known if it was reality or fantasy he was reliving as he pressed her against a wall, plundering her mouth and making her ride his leg until she came. Feeling her hot, virginal pussy creaming against his thigh, he’d used a pillow to smother his groan as he spent with her taste on his tongue.
He could not have imagined her sweetness. The heat of her kiss. Somethinghadhappened between them…not that one would know by perusing the object of his fantasy.
Miss Garrity appeared utterly at ease. Her demure pink frock brought out the fire of her hair. Even her bruise highlighted her exquisiteness, the delicacy of her bone structure. She gave a dainty nibble on a cucumber sandwich as if she hadn’t a care in the world. When she licked a crumb from her lush bottom lip, his balls drew up taut.
“…this time of year, don’t you, my lord?”
Hawk swung his gaze at Mrs. Garrity, who regarded him with a quizzical expression. He had completely lost track of what she was saying.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” he inquired.
“I was asking if you had a preference for outdoor activities this time of year, my lord.”
After a stilted pause, he said, “I enjoy riding.”
“You and Fiona have that in common.” Mrs. Garrity’s smile was warm and unaffected. “She also has an excellent seat on a horse.”
“Miss Garrity excels at anything she does,” he murmured.
At the surprised pleasure that flashed through Miss Garrity’s eyes, he felt a jolt of satisfaction. It was akin to the feeling he had when watching a machine of his design come to life for the first time. When it came to females, he did not have the gift of charm, yet he was not unobservant. Miss Garrity had a dazzling array of accomplishments, from dancing to conversational skills to personal style. Everything she did was of the highest caliber.
He understood ambition and respected achievement.
“That is kind of you to say, my lord,” Miss Garrity said.
“It is the truth.”
“In addition to riding, sir, do you also enjoy flora and fauna?”
The communication in her gaze was more complex than the scheme for an analytic engine. While he knew she was a project beyond his scope of understanding, he was utterly and inexorably captivated. She was like an idea that he knew would require too much of him and yet could not relinquish.
“I do,” he said.
The mysteries of the universe rested in her smile, which he wanted to lick from her coral-pink lips.
