“Lady Stratheclyde,” he said stiffly, and he bowed as he took her hand. But his lips did not even come close to kissing it.
Juliet pulled her hand away, trembling. “Sir John. I…I have heard about Katherine,” she cried. “Please tell me it is not true.”
He took her elbow. “Let us walk in the gardens.”
Juliet was acutely aware of his touch. She did not want to be so affected by him. As it was so raw outside, they were completely alone. She glanced up at him when he finally paused by a bench in a deserted arbor. “Did Katherine attack the queen?”
John’s gaze pierced hers. “Yes.”
“Oh God!” Juliet cried.
John’s expression was anguished. “’Twas not her fault. She was maddened by her grief. Thank God Her Majesty was unharmed—and that Katherine escaped.”
“Thank God,” Juliet echoed. “Sir John, is Katherine now all right?”
His jaw flexed. “I do not know, Juliet. I do not know where she is.”
Juliet bit off a sound of despair.
“But I would not worry too much if I were you,” Hawke said, taking her hand in his. Juliet knew he only meant to comfort her, but she stiffened perceptibly, and he flushed and dropped her palm. “I beg your pardon.”
Juliet wished she had a small share of Katherine’s experience where men were concerned, so she might be more coy and adept. Then she reminded herself that Hawke was Katherine’s husband, that she herself would marry Simon Hunt in another month, and her despair grew. She forced her feelings aside. “How can I not worry about her? She is alone out there somewhere, alone and, perhaps, mad.”
“I do not think she is alone.”
Juliet looked up at him. Hawke knew something he was not telling her. Relief swept through her.
He turned his gaze away from her, toward the large, faded bowling green just visible on the other side of the gardens. “O’Neill escaped shortly before Katherine came to London.”
Juliet wondered if they were together. And suddenly she realized that they belonged together, and if they were not yet together, knowing the pirate, they soon would be. And instantly she was glad, so glad, that Katherine was not alone in this dire time, that she had someone to take care of her, to love her. Then, too late, she recalled the man she stood beside. Oh, God! Juliet’s gaze shot to Hawke’s. But she could see no terrible reaction in him to the possibility that Katherine, his wife, had returned to the other man. “John, I am sorry.”
His gaze moved across her face, lingering on every single one of her features. “Are you? I think not. Katherine loves him. I believe he loves her. It was wrong of me to try to keep her as my wife.”
Juliet began to feel choked up inside. “The last time we met,” she whispered, her cheeks warm, “I accused you of being selfish and dishonorable. I am so sorry. How wrong I was. You are selfless, and entirely noble. Forgive me, Sir John.”
His regard held hers. “I did a terrible thing,” he said, and his anguish was both stark and visible. It shimmered in his eyes, strained his features. “I took the newborn babe from her arms. I can never forget it. I will never forget it. Not her screams, not her sobs.” His voice was thick. “I dream of it at night. Every night.”
Juliet cried out. “You were obeying the queen!”
John faced her, and she saw tears in his eyes. “But it was wrong, and I knew it was wrong. And now Katherine is wanted for treason, her child in the care of another.” He was hoarse. “That Katherine attacked the queen, it was not her fault.”
“It was the queen’s,” Juliet cried, furious. “For being so cruel!”
“It was also mine,” John said. He sucked in his breath, his expression ravaged, and looked away from her.
Juliet felt his anguish as if it were her own. “John,” she whispered, stepping closer and touching his arms.
He turned back to her, startled.
Juliet realized that she was embracing him. But she did not care. He was hurting so. She loved him, and she had no choice but to comfort him. She smiled at him through her own tears, and then slowly she laid her head upon his chest. She slid her palms around his back, gently hugging him to her, as if he were no great, big man, but a fragile thing.
John Hawke did not move. Not at first.
And Juliet thought,This is heaven. To hold such a man. And she could not help but add a selfish wish—if only he loved her, as she loved him.
Hawke suddenly groaned and his powerful arms crushed her to his chest. Juliet cried out, stunned, looking up. She cried out again. His blue eyes were ablaze, the anguish gone. And for the first time in her life, Juliet both saw and understood male desire. And she froze.
“Juliet,” John said thickly. One of his hands, shaking, slipped up into her coiled tresses. Pearl-headed pins scattered. A fall of her thick dark hair cascaded over his hand.
