A life-long scholar, Hawk had studied topics ranging from mathematics to physics to ancient languages. The pursuit of knowledge was his passion and sanctuary. During his darkest hours, he’d immersed himself in the creation of a calculation engine that, while not as elaborate in scope as Babbage’s, proved more practical to build. While Babbage’s government-funded project remained unfinished, Hawk had completed and patented his machine. He’d sold several models for tidy sums.
Moreover, Hawk’s work had drawn interest from a secret organization. The group, known to a select few as the Quorum, had recruited Hawk, putting his analytical skills to use protecting country and Crown. Given Hawk’s expertise in logic and recognizing patterns, he hadn’t missed Melinda’s habit of trying to alter their agreed-upon terms.
Buttoning his waistcoat, he said, “I told you from the start that I prefer to sleep alone.”
“People change.” She made a moue. “Why can’t you?”
Because I have no wish to change. Or to encourage emotional attachment.
“I have an early appointment,” he said.
With a coy smile, she circled her nipple with a fingertip. “I’ll get youupearly.”
“Thank you, no.” He tied his cravat in an efficient knot.
“Is there something wrong, Hawk?”
Since the scene at the ball, he had known that things were coming to a natural conclusion. He hadn’t banked on cutting ties tonight, however. It would be wiser to have that conversation when they were both rested. And perhaps not immediately after he’d tupped her…which, he acknowledged again, had been a monumentally bad decision on his part.
“I think this is a conversation best had another time,” he said.
“I wish to have itnow.” Jerking on a robe, she faced him, her hands planted on her hips. “What about how I feel, Hawk? What I need?”
At times like these, Hawk cursed his animal needs. His wife Caroline had been his first lover. When her illness had struck and their intimate life had dried up, he’d become a master of sublimating his urges. After Caroline’s death and his mourning period, he’d gone on his equivalent of a sexual spree…and what, to a rake, was likely an average weekend. Over the space of two years, he’d slept with three women, and the arrangements had all started and ended in the same fashion.
He'd been clear that all he wanted was an exclusive sexual relationship; his partners had said they wanted the same thing. Yet every bloody time, things went south. As a man who valued logic and rationality, he was frustrated by an apparent female inability to stick to the damned plan. He was even more frustrated at himself for repeating the same mistake and expecting a different result. Lust was proving annoyingly illogical.
“When we began our affair, we agreed to a physical relationship with no strings,” he said evenly. “Does our arrangement no longer suit you?”
Melinda blinked, her throat rippling. “How could you think that? I care for you, Hawk.”
Before he could stop her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, crushing his cravat in a way that was certain to aggravate his valet.
“Don’t you care for me too?” she cooed.
When he did not answer, her gaze slitted. She dropped her arms.
“I am not asking for the moon and stars,” she said petulantly. “Just simple courtesy from the fellow whose bed I’m sharing.”
“I have no wish to hurt you. Nor do I wish to lie.” He spoke with care. “We play a specific role in each other’s lives, and I am content with that.”
“You think of me as your whore,” she accused.
“That is untrue. I see us as partners in a situation of mutual benefit.”
“Partners,” she scoffed. “You don’t even trust me. I’ve told you I cannot conceive, yet you insist on using that blasted French letter.”
“Contraception is not the reason I use the letter.”
The instant he spoke the words, he regretted them. Not because they were inaccurate but because of the hassle that was about to follow.
She, predictably, pounced. “Why, then?”
Quelling a sigh, he said, “Townsend.”
Melinda’s pupils widened, yet she clung to the shield of her bravado.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, tossing back her hair.
