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Bricks. He’d laid warmed bricks down on the stable floor, then covered them with the flannel blanket. And there was Hecate, lounging in the middle of this heated nest for all the world as if she were luxuriating in a warm bath!
She fell back onto her heels, shaking her head. Warmed bricks, of all things. She’d gone to great pains to see to it that Hecate was comfortable during her lying-in, but it had never even occurred to her to supply the cat with warmed bricks.
How in the world, then, had iteveroccurred to Lord Hawke? And once it had, what had possessed him to see it through? It was no small effort to warm half a dozen bricks and then drag them from the castle all the way to the stables.
But here was the proof that he’d done just that, right here in front of her.
Not more than a week ago, she would have sworn he wasn’t at all the sort to trouble himself much about another’s creature’s comfort, whether human or feline. She would have described him as a cross, curmudgeonly sort of man, a spoiled London rake, and a father of two lovely boys he didn’t seem to care a whit about.
But with every day that passed, she saw how wrong she was, and how arrogant to imagine she could know him from a singleweek’s acquaintance. What did she really know about Lord Hawke, when it came down to it?
Not much, even now, but one thing was certain. A man who trulydidn’tcare about his sons wouldn’t dream of going to such lengths to spoil the pet they adored.
“Enjoy your bath, Hecate.” She gave the sleek ginger fur another stroke, snatched up one of the warm bricks—quite a tangible piece of evidence, that—then gathered up her skirts, struggled to her feet and slipped from the stables back across the stable yard, up the kitchen staircase and down the corridor to Lord Hawke’s study.
The door was still closed. She pressed her ear to it, but there was nothing but silence from the other side. She raised her hand, but paused before her knuckles struck the wood.
Was it wise to question Lord Hawke? Or was she making a mistake, interfering in his private business? Really, it was nothing to do with her if he wanted to stuff Hecate full of salmon cutlets.
But of course, this wasn’t truly about Hecate.
No, it was about the boys. Surely, theywereher business?
For all his sneaking about and spoiling Hecate, nothing had changed between Ryan and Etienne and their father. Lord Hawke had kept well away from his sons this past week. She hadn’t devoted much study to the impulses of the human mind, but it didn’t take an expert in psychology to see Hecate was merely a proxy for Ryan and Etienne—that Lord Hawke was lavishing all the care and affection he didn’t dare lavish on his sons on the cat.
The trouble was, it wasn’t her place to analyze Lord Hawke. He was the earl, for pity’s sake. He might do as he pleased without a word of explanation to anyone, least of all his sons’ governess.
Yet even as that thought drifted through her mind her hand lifted, and this time her knuckles met the wood in a sharp rap.
Alas, she’d never been much good at minding her own affairs.
There was a brief pause, then Lord Hawke’s surly voice. “What is it?”
Oh, dear. He sounded as if he was in a foul humor, and she hadn’t even entered the study yet. She braced herself, and opened the door. “Lord Hawke? Might I have a word with you?”
There was a low fire burning in the grate, but he hadn’t lit a lamp. His face was cast in shadows, but there was no mistaking the exasperation in his tone. “It’s still dark out, Miss Templeton. What could possibly have happened this early in the morning that requires my attention?”
Perhaps she should have waited until after he’d had his coffee? But she was no coward, and she’d come this far. She wouldn’t back out now. “I wish to have a word with you about Hecate, my lord.”
“Hecate? You mean that wild cat who’s sitting in as livestock for your animal husbandry lessons? Whatever the problem is, I don’t know why you’re troublingmewith it. I don’t have anything to do with Hecate.”
My, hewasa convincing liar, wasn’t he? “That’s not quite true, is it, Lord Hawke?”
“I have no idea what you mean, Miss Templeton.”
“I think you do.” She stepped further into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. “Cream, Lord Hawke. Salmon cutlets, and pigeon pie.” She counted the items off on her fingers, one by one. “French beans—I own I don’t quite understand that one—and this morning…” She held up the brick she’d taken from Hecate. “Warmed bricks and a soft flannel.”
He stared at her for a moment without speaking, but just when she was certain he was about to toss her out of his study, he rose from behind his desk and stalked across the room untilhe was looming over her. “Have you been spying on me, Miss Templeton?”
Dear God, but he was tall, wasn’t he? Had he always been this tall? And his eyes…they were such a piercing green it felt as if he could see down to the depths of her soul. A shiver darted down her spine, but she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “No, I…I came across it quite by accident, I assure you. My bedchamber window looks onto the stable yard, my lord. I’ve seen you going into the stables myself.”
“And followed after me, from the sounds of it. My, you are a sneaky one, aren’t you?” He took another step closer, close enough so the damp sleeve of his coat brushed her arm, and the scent of frost and clean hay surrounded her. “In fact, youhavebeen spying on me.”
“N-not with any ill-intent. I thought…” Oh,whathad she thought? She hardly knew anymore. Every rational argument had scattered in the wake of his nearness. She couldn’t think at all, couldn’t breathe, and she turned her head away, desperate to escape those searching green eyes.
“Yes?” He caught her chin between his fingers and turned her face back to his. “What did you think?”
His fingertips were warm and slightly rough against her skin, and the way he was looking at her, the timbre of his voice, husky and deeper than usual…