Never.
The taste of him still lingered, warm and wet on her lips. Her blood still rushed wild through her veins. She ought to berate herself for being weak, but his confession had been a small victory. A rare crack in a man who ruled with iron restraint.
It wouldn’t happen again.
She saw the heat in his gaze chill, the resolve harden his jaw as his hands slipped from her waist and he stepped back.
She should have turned away the moment he touched her. Nothing good came from wanting a man like Dominic Hawke. But the glimpse of vulnerability fed her addiction.
“Mrs Flavell.” He faced her. “Searching for stowaways?”
“You know the rules, Mr Hawke. What if I came to Shadowmere and went romping in the garden without first seeking you out?”
“We weren’t romping,” he snapped.
“Of course not. I suppose Miss Harland had a fly in her eye. A bit of chicken stuck in her teeth. Thank heavens she hadn’t dropped a grape down her bodice. Even chivalry has its limits.”
Mr Hawke rolled his shoulders and straightened his cuffs.
“I meant no slight.” He inclined his head a fraction. “Miss Harland fell. I was overcome with a need to tend her wounds. Nothing to warrant your attention.”
He didn’t sound like the man who’d asked her to dance.
That man had been composed, yes, but warm beneath it.
This man sounded like a stranger, his voice flat and dismissive, as if she were already his greatest regret.
Mrs Flavell’s gaze shifted to Daphne, and she clicked her tongue. “Red, my darling? He’s not even buried. Even I would wear black for a month, and I haven’t an ounce of decorum.”
“I’m trying to avoid sombre colours, ma’am.” Daphne stepped out from Mr Hawke’s shadow. “There’ll be time for mourning if I end up in Newgate. Or the workhouse.”
Mrs Flavell’s bright eyes drank her in, as if she were a curious antiquity in a shop window. “With Hawke as your protector? Highly unlikely. Poor Lord Templeton has been on the pot since you left the drawing room.”
Mr Hawke gave a mocking snort. “He’s lucky I didn’t put him through the window. I should tell his father-in-law what he’s been up to. Let the fool sue me for breach of contract.”
“As much as I enjoy a bit of rivalry, Mr Hawke, no one spoils a good party. At least not while I’m the hostess.”
“Is that our cue to leave?” he countered.
“No, it’s an invitation to stay the night.” Mrs Flavell put the lantern on the ground as though laying down her sword. She reached into her bodice and removed a brass key. “The Egyptian room is empty. I keep it for certain guests.”
“We’re leaving London within the hour.”
Mrs Flavell smiled. “I think you’ll want to stay.”
“Like hell we will.”
Daphne was quick to intercede. “We’re grateful for your hospitality, ma’am, but half the constables in town are out looking for me.”
And by the sound of it, Mrs Flavell expected her to play Cleopatra to Hawke’s Mark Antony. History’s great lovers died for passion. Dominic Hawke found it a terrible inconvenience.
“Peel’s bobbies won’t dare look for you here,” Mrs Flavell said before playing her trump card. “Might a golden nugget of information tempt you to reconsider?”
Mr Hawke’s shoulders tensed. “You’ll not bribe us to participate in your nighttime games. I keep to a strict set of rules, and you damn well know it.”
Rules?The word hung in the air.
Had he just broken one with her?
