“You told me you ’ated Christmas,” he said gruffly. “Now I understand why.”
“You know some of it.”
He drew his brows together. “There’s more?”
“That is for another time.” She cupped his jaw, her expression earnest. “I’ve told you more of my past than I’ve told anyone. I didn’t think I could trust a man again…until you. We’re colleagues, and if we’re to be lovers too—”
“Wearelovers,” he stated firmly. “There’s no changing that fact, and more to the point, I don’t want it to change. I ain’t aiming to spook, but the only future I want is one with you in it.”
“If we’re to consider a future, we have to be honest with one another,” she said tremulously. “I’m no lady and have no pretensions of being one. Money, titles—I don’t want any of that. What I do want is a lover who accepts me as I am. Not some delicate flower, but a woman from the streets who has fought to survive and who continues to fight, not just because it is her livelihood but because she is blooming good at it.”
He could give her everything she wanted…if not for his bloody legacy.
With twisting guilt, he realized that lying by omission was still lying. Yet how he could tell Pearl, a woman who’d sworn off aristocratic lovers, that he was a bleedingduke? Frustration clawed at him: a title he’d never wanted now threatened his chance at true happiness.
Clarity and determination filled him. Before he could court Pearl in earnest, he had to stop running and deal with the past. First, he had to contend with Claude: capture him and hand him over to the authorities. Then, if one of Hawker’s two remaining cousins wanted to be the Duke of Ryedale, they could have at it. They could fight like hyenas over a ripe carcass for all he cared. He wanted to be rid of the cursed dukedom, and there had to be some way of making that happen—some fancy legal maneuvering, perhaps. Or he could fake his own death.
Whatever it took, Hawker would do it so that he could finally build a life. Settle down. Marry…and maybe start a family.
“I accept you, Pearl,” he said steadily. “And I ’ope you can do the same for me.”
Her smile was like the sun peeping through rainclouds, so bright and dazzling that his breath lodged in his throat.
“I can. But there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”
He angled a brow. “Yes?”
“Do you have a first name? Or any name other than Hawker?”
The Duke of Ryedale. But not for long,he vowed.
He released a breath. “Hawker’s a moniker. Given to me on account o’ my booming voice, and it stuck. But I was born Grant Reid.”
“Grant Reid,” she repeated softly. “I like it.”
Oddly enough, he didn’t mind his name when she said it. Come to think of it, Pearl Reid had a ring to it as well...but he kept that thought to himself for now. He didn’t want to spook her the way he had last Christmas. He would take things slowly and let her dictate the pace.
“I likeyou,” he said.
Her answer was to kiss him with a tenderness that made his heart thump. He pressed her back onto the mattress, their mouths fused and bodies catching fire. As desire consumed him, he knew the future he wanted and the woman he wanted it with. And he would do everything in his power to make his dreams a reality.
Seven
“We settled this last night.” Pearl faced her lover, her hands balled at her sides. “We are completing the mission together.”
“Aye, that’s the plan. All I’m asking is that you give me a couple o’ days to take care o’ some business. Wait for me ’ere, and I’ll be back before you know it.” Hawker’s expression was placating, his hair damp from the bath they’d shared. “Then we’ll deliver the parcel to Northfield together.”
I should have seen this coming,Pearl thought grimly.Things were too good to be true.
Although she knew that Hawker wasn’t like her previous lovers, she hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that the shoe was about to drop. Because it always had. Thus, as idyllic as the morning had been—Hawker had turned her into a puddle of bliss with his mouth and cock, and they’d enjoyed breakfast in bed afterward—a part of her had remained on guard.
Braced for bad news…which Hawker had delivered as they were getting dressed.
“You’re going after them, aren’t you?” She confined her hair, securing the mass with silver hair sticks that doubled as deadly projectiles. “The men who shot at us.”
“The bastards shot atme.” Hawker’s countenance darkened. “I don’t want you mixed up in this situation, which is why I’ll take care o’ it.”
She scowled at him, shoving her dagger into the secret holster in her boot. “I thought you liked the idea of me being by your side.”
