Jane Smith came to an abrupt halt, the colour deepening in her cheeks as she obviously took in Hawk’s state of undress.
His first instinct was to pick up and quickly don the robe that lay waiting on a bedroom chair. His second instinct was to ask why should he? He was in the privacy of his bedchamber—a privacy Jane had rudely intruded upon—so why should he concern himself with her obvious embarrassment at his semi-nakedness?
He raised one disdainful brow. ‘I trust you have good reason for interrupting my ablutions in this abrupt manner?’
Jane stared at him. Did she have good reason? She couldn’t think—had no idea why she was even here. And Hawk—most definitely not the Duke of Stourbridge!—was standing there looking so—so—
His shoulders had appeared wide and powerful in those superbly tailored jackets, but the naked flesh was so much more immediate. His arms were muscled, a dark smattering of hair grew on his tanned chest, and down below the towel wrapped about his tapered waist…
Her startled gaze returned to his face, and just as instantly became aware of the disarray of his recently washed hair as it curled, as yet ungroomed, across his brow, taking away much of his austerity and giving him a youthfully rakish appearance.
Minutes ago it had seemed vitally important that Jane speak to the Duke before he left. Now she could not even remember what she had wanted to speak to him about!
That dark brow rose even higher. ‘Jane?’
She swallowed, frowning as she tried to remember.
‘I wish you to take me with you when you leave today, Your Grace!’ The words tumbled from Jane unchecked as she finally remembered her purpose for being here.
She had gone back to her bedroom after leaving Lady Sulby in order to read her mother’s letters. Not ‘disgusting and sinful’ letters at all, but those of a woman pouring out her heart to her lover as she told him of the child she carried—the child they had created in love—assuring him that she loved their child as she still loved him. Whoever he was. Because all four of the letters had begun simply, ‘My dearest love’, and ended with, ‘Ever yours, Janette’.
Jane had sat and cried after reading them. For Janette. For Joseph Smith, whom her mother had obviously felt a deep affection for but had never loved in the way she had her married lover. For the real father Jane had never known…
But once the tears had ceased Jane had remembered her vow to leave here today. And that there was someone else leaving Markham Park this morning who, if asked, might take her with him.
The Duke of Stourbridge.
Except this morning he did not look anything like the Duke of Stourbridge, with his hair still damp and dishevelled after bathing, and only a towel draped about those powerful thighs!
‘You wish me to take you with me when I leave…?’ He spoke softly, incredulously, those sharply etched features revealing nothing of his inner thoughts at her request.
Jane nodded. ‘If you would not mind, Your Grace.’
If he would not mind!
This girl burst into his bedchamber, unannounced and with complete disregard for his privacy, and then proceeded to ask if she could accompany him when he left here today!
With what purpose in mind?
Yes, Hawk accepted that he had behaved with reckless impulsiveness the previous evening, when he had taken Jane into his arms and attempted to kiss her. But that really did not give her the right to think he might possibly want to pursue a relationship with her. Certainly not to assume he would want to take her with him when he left today!
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Jane, can you be under the delusion that I wish to make you my mistress?’
‘No, of course not!’ She recoiled at the suggestion, her face paling, her eyes turning a deep, appealing green.
They had an appeal that, even in his wariness over her exact intentions, Hawk found he was not immune to. Irritatingly.
He lifted the towel from his shoulders to absently dry his hair. ‘Then what do you want from me, Jane?’
She blinked. ‘Merely to ride in your carriage with you when you leave here today. I have a small amount of money saved, if you require payment—’
‘No, I do not require payment, Jane! Not of any kind.’ Ice edged his voice. ‘Because you will not be coming with me.’ He threw the towel impatiently down on a chair before donning his robe after all, a dark scowl creasing his brow. ‘How old are you, Jane?’ he demanded as he tied the belt tightly about his waist.
She looked dazed by the question. ‘How—? I am two and twenty, Your Grace.’
‘Indeed?’ Hawk nodded abruptly. ‘Old enough by far to know that you do not burst unannounced into a gentleman’s bedchamber and then, finding him in a state of undress, proceed to ask him to take you away with him!’
Put like that, perhaps his assumption that she wished to become his mistress was understandable, Jane acknowledged ruefully. If completely wrong. She simply wanted to leave here as quietly and as speedily as possible.
She grimaced. ‘I do not wish you to take me away with you, Your Grace. I merely wish to share your coach with you when you leave.’ She also wished she’d had the forethought to wait until he had invited her to enter before bursting into his bedchamber in this way. She would certainly have saved them both embarrassment if she had done so.
Although the Duke didn’t exactly look embarrassed as he began to pace the room restlessly. Even dressed only in the black silk robe, he was still possessed of that supreme self-confidence that seemed such a natural part of him it surely had to be inborn.
Deservedly so, Jane acknowledged as she found herself remembering the lean strength of his body. Muscles rippled in those long legs even now as he walked, and the defined muscles in the chest she had viewed earlier were something she dared any woman to resist. And especially a woman who had already found herself dreaming about him quite shamelessly the night before.
Jane felt her nipples swell and harden against the softness of her drab-muslin gown, her breasts rising and falling beneath the bodice. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe, and that strange warmth was back between her thighs.
She did not believe the accusations Lady Sulby had made about her’s mother wantonness. Those letters she had read seemed to confirm that her mother had loved only one man: her married lover, Jane’s natural father. But as Jane looked at the Duke of Stourbridge—at Hawk—she could not help wondering if she might not herself be a wanton. She had dreamt of this man last night. Hot, erotic dreams. And she was so physically aware of him now that she once again felt an unaccustomed ache low in her stomach.
‘You have no idea what you are asking, Jane!’
She raised her eyes to meet the Duke’s glittering golden gaze as he glared at her. ‘I assure you I would try not to be any trouble—’
Hawk interrupted with a humourless laugh. ‘Believe me, Jane, you do not have to try!’ He could not spend hours, days, confined in his coach with a woman he had already physically responded to so uncharacteristically.
