Twice, he’d glanced at the hem brushing her leather half-boots. Now she caught him studying the buttons on her coat. His attention shifted to the curl that had slipped from her bonnet, grazing her jaw.
“Do you have an interest in ladies’ fashions, Mr Hawke? Have I torn a seam or left a button undone?”
He stared down his nose, his gaze never faltering. “I was deciding whether a shirt and breeches might suit you better. As for fashion, I suspect you’ve owned that coat since your first season.”
She smoothed her hand over the fine wool. “I only removed old clothes from the armoire when I packed.” She’d not wanted her father to think she’d left town. Shadowmere would have been the first place he looked. “And since you’re so used to seeing ladies naked, I didn’t think it mattered.”
His gaze drifted over her again, slower this time.
She hoped to heaven he wasn’t picturing her naked.
Silence settled between them.
She’d counted ten cows, a dozen sheep, and four horse-chestnut trees before he finally spoke. “We should turn back. They’ll be looking to pin your father’s murder on someone, and we both had motive.”
“Then we’ll move through London like wraiths in the night.”
“It’s almost noon.” From his tone, his patience was a band stretched thin. “We’ll be in London in two hours. We don’t have a plan, mostly because you still haven’t told me what you know.”
She stalled. If he deemed the snippets useless, he might dump her on the side of the road. “Did you bring the coroner’s report as agreed?” Her gaze slid to the leather portfolio on the seat.
“Must we barter for everything, Miss Harland?” Hisexpression was carved from stone, but his voice carried a whisky-rich edge.
He enjoyed this game. If he didn’t, she’d be sweeping the cottage path, not sitting close enough to catch the scent of his bergamot shaving soap.
Her mother’s warning had never felt more apt:
Trust a man’s actions more than his words.
“Bartering makes things more interesting.” As he placed a large hand on the portfolio, she gave him a crumb. “What my father said won’t please you. But I’m only repeating his words.”
“Just tell me, woman.”
“Call me angel and ask nicely.”
He gritted his teeth. “Tell me what you know, angel.”
The warm flutter in her belly confirmed what she already suspected. She’d barter with blood just to hear him utter the endearment. Seeing him on his knees might work just as well, too.
She took a fortifying breath. “My father said he wasn’t the only man courting your mother.”
As predicted, he looked feral when he growled, “The bastard wasn’t courting her. He used her for his own gain.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m merely the messenger. The one person you can trust to dig until the truth is uncovered. May I see the report now?”
“That’s not all he said?”
“No. He said he wasn’t the only villain, and if he’d known you bore a grudge, he would have dealt with it years ago.”
What had her father done?
It amounted to more than a love affair. If only Mr Hawke would tell her. But he guarded the truth as fiercely as he did his own heart.
Mr Hawke cursed at the window. “A grudge? Is that what you think this is? Some schoolboy resentment? That I’d have those degenerates in my home because I’m aggrieved?”
“I don’t know what it is. You won’t tell me.”
He barely looked at her as he handed over the portfolio. The anger had drained from him, replaced by a sadness so heavy she feared she might drown in it too.
