Page 10 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 9

H awk ignored the sounds coming from the stable at his back and focused on the piece of ash clamped in the workpiece of the shaving horse. His boots pressed against the treadle to hold the wood in place, as he bent forward to draw the spokeshave down it.

It was an ancient, comforting sort of motion, one he had done a thousand times before, and one he could do another thousand times.

It helped him ignore the knot in his chest. A knot he knew was caused by the uncertainty of not being able to see Marcia last night, since she’d eaten with Bull in his room. He wanted to hold her. He wanted answers —not just to How is Bull , but also Do we have a chance at forever now ?—and he was too cowardly to insist upon them.

So instead of storming into the blue suite, he was in the tool shed.

This morning he was making an ax handle, as his had broken.

Of course, as the Baron Tostinham, he shouldn’t be doing this. The stablehands had frowned in confusion the first time he’d shown up in the little workshop, interested in chopping wood for the kitchen fires.

They’d told him not to be ridiculous; there were servants employed to chop wood.

And if the lord of the manor insisted on chopping his own firewood, then the least he could do was use one of the half dozen axes stacked around the woodshop, rather than the battered old tool Hawk’s grandfather had used.

And if the lord of the manor insisted on using the bloody thing, then when it broke, he should have a servant make a new handle.

And if the lord of the manor insisted on working with his hands and doing something so pedestrian as shaving a piece of ash down into the proper shape for an ax handle…then he shouldn’t complain when the draw knife caught the meaty part of his thumb.

Cursing, Hawk straightened and shook his hand as though he could shake the pain free, then held up his thumb to check for blood.

Not the first time he’d scarred himself with a blade, and it wouldn’t be the last. Really, it was a wonder anyone allowed him near an ax at all.

But the physical labor helped him think.

Or, if necessary, not think.

This morning it had been the latter.

After a sleepless night—spent pacing his room, wondering if he ought to go check on his childhood friend, dreading what Marcia would say to Bull, uncertain what to say to either of them—he’d padded down to the kitchens before sunrise to slip a few buns from the cook who still remembered him fondly.

And then he’d come out to the woodshed to chop wood.

The familiar rhythm, the strain on his arms and shoulders, the sweat on his neck and back…all of it allowed him to focus. Focus on something besides Marcia and what heights they’d shared yesterday.

On something besides the realization that Bull didn’t trust Hawk with his sister; he would never give his blessing. Perhaps Marcia had been right, and ten years ago Bull had been delighted to welcome Hawk into his family. But they had been different people then. Bull’s reaction yesterday, upon learning that Hawk and Marcia were alone together, simply proved that wasn’t the case anymore.

Frowning down at the red welt along his thumb, Hawk realized he was doing a shite job of not thinking about it .

Perhaps he should focus instead on what had happened in the cottage. The way her skin had felt against his. The way she’d moaned his name as she’d clawed at his back. The way she’d quivered under his thrusts.

His Marcia had always been open and free with her passion, and yesterday…yesterday had been a miracle. As if ten years apart hadn’t happened. As if they were two young people in love who had the world of possibilities at their feet.

Focus, ye idiot.

Shaking his head, Hawk bent over the ash again, trying to keep the motion of the spokeshave smooth as he drew it along the wood. Three more strokes, then he eased the pressure on the treadle so he could turn the ash and clamp it back into place, continuing to shave the wood into the shape he needed.

Once this ax handle was done, he’d reattach his grandfather’s ax head and attack the logs out back. The kitchen ovens would be well-supplied, thanks to him. And if he spent the rest of Marcia and Bull’s visit out here in the woodshed, hiding, well then…he might be able to chop enough fuel to last Tostinham all winter.

Coward .

Aye, that he was. No change there.

“Hawk?”

At first he thought he imagined Marcia’s voice, and he frowned, determined to ignore what was clearly his brain’s auditory hallucinations. Likely brought on by blood poisoning or something. Who knew when this spokeshave had last been cleaned?

“ Hawk .”

His mind couldn’t manufacture that perfect blend of amusement and exasperation. He lifted his head, and aye…there was Marcia, one hip propped against the doorframe, holding his hat.

His hat?

The spokeshave dropped from Hawk’s hand as he stared.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Forcing himself from his surprise, he blinked, then glanced down at his project. “Making a new ax handle. I was chopping wood and this one broke.”

He watched her gaze flicker over his shoulders and down his arms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. There was admiration in her eyes, and despite his promise that he would avoid her and her brothers, her admiration heated his blood. His cock stirred in his trousers.

So it was with frustration that he snapped, “Dinnae tell me I have servants for such things.”

“I would never dream of such a thing,” she murmured. Then Marcia straightened from the doorway and moved toward him, her hips swaying sensuously so her skirt brushed the tops of her boots. It wasn’t until she reached him and bent to take his hand in one of hers that he realized she was still holding his gray hat in the other.

“But you should be more careful,” she admonished quietly, running the pad of her thumb over the welt on his. “Tostinham does not need to lose yet another baron.”

“I’m clumsy, no’ suicidal.” Frowning, he tried to pull his hand from hers, but couldn’t. Her hold wasn’t tight; the fault lay with his traitorous limb and its apparent inability to break contact with her.

Coward again. But for a better reason this time.

To his surprise, his words caused her to flush and drop his hand. “I did not mean… I thought…” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I was just worried for you, Hawk.”

This didn’t sound like Marcia. Not the Marcia he’d fallen in love with, not the Marcia who’d shown up at Tostinham pretending to be someone she wasn’t, not the Marcia who confessed she was trying to win him back, not the Marcia who made love to him yesterday with abandon.

Marcia—worried?

“There’s nae need to worry about me,” Hawk announced before thrusting himself to his feet. Now he stood, straddling the shaving horse, unable to go farther because she still stood there, far too close. “Why do ye have my hat?”

Judging from her reaction, Marcia had forgotten she was holding it. Her brows dipped in as she glanced down, then her expression cleared. “This is not yours. It belongs to my brother.” As she said this, she turned away, both hands cupping the hat. “He was wearing it yesterday when someone…someone tried to kill him.”

“Kill him?” Hawk blurted, lunging toward her with no thought other than to comfort her. Unfortunately he forgot he was still straddling the woodworking device, and his boot caught on the treadle, spilling him onto the sawdust-covered floor with an unpleasantly sore thump.

As she reached to help him Hawk waved her away, scrambling to his feet, his attention focused on her face. “Is Bull well? I spoke with the doctor yesterday after he saw Bull, and the man—and Rupert—said he was recovering, just unable to remember anything.”

Nodding, Marcia moved to one of the workbenches. “He has a headache and a lump, and cannot remember exactly what happened after he went rushing off to Pook’s Glen, but he is recovering.”

“Thank fook,” Hawk muttered, sinking back down atop the horse, this time using it as a bench. “But…ye dinnae think his injury was an accident?” He searched her melancholy expression. “Was it because of one of his cases? I ken he is involved in dangerous shenanigans.”

“Aye.” Her lips twitched before she looked down at the hat—and the bloodstains he could see—and she sobered once more. “But this time, I dinnae believe he was hurt by one of his enemies, but one of yours .”

Cocking his head to one side, Hawk frowned. “I dinnae have enemies.” All he had was confusion. He was torn between wanting to go to her, to touch her…and the need to stay far away.

When Marcia inhaled, her breasts pressed against the cotton of her blouse, and he had to look away.

“You do have enemies, Hawk. I believe you have a very dangerous enemy, one who wants your title.” When he glanced back sharply, she shrugged. “If not your title, then perhaps Tostinham. It…it is why so many of your family have died.”

“Explain,” he barked, thrusting to his feet once more, pulse now pounding for quite a different reason. “My cousins and uncle died of natural causes.”

Something like pity flashed in her eyes. “Did they? So many Baron Tostinhams, dead? One after the other, leaving the place…to you.”

Hawk sucked in a gasp. “What are ye saying? Ye think…?” His eyes widened. “Dear God, Marcia, ye dinnae think I had anything to do with their deaths?”

Was it naivety then, that he hadn’t realized the way things could look?

For fook’s sake, who else believed him capable of such a thing?

“At one point, I had considered the possibility,” she confessed, her attention on the hat she held. “But now…” Shaking her head, Marcia lifted her gaze. “Bull was wearing this yesterday when he was injured. See?” She held up the hat, twisting it so the blood on the band was visible. “I do not think it was an accident.”

Drawn by those bloodstains—at least, that was the convenient lie he told himself—Hawk slowly crossed the workshop. When he was standing before Marcia, he lifted his hands to the hat.

Since she did not remove her hands, it left him cradling both her fingers and the hat.

“This does look like mine,” he murmured, turning it this way and that. “No’ identical, but close. I wore mine yesterday.”

“Yes, well…” Marcia tipped her head slightly to indicate the hat they both held, without dropping his gaze. “Bull was wearing this yesterday. It looks very much like the one you should have been wearing.”

“And you think someone hurt Bull, thinking…he was me?” Hawk asked with a frown. He wanted to blurt preposterous !...but Marcia was a brilliant woman, all deduction and cleverness, and if she thought this a valid theory…

“Bull still does not recall what happened,” she admitted, “but after the doctor came and left yesterday, I sat with him and Gab —uh, my maid, Smike-Smack-Smick. And Rupert, a bit. We tried to deduce what had caused his injury. See?” Flustered now, she dropped her attention to the hat. “If Bull had been wearing it, then looked upward, the blood would line up with his injury.”

Hawk tried to recreate the movement mentally. “If he was hit from above? Artrip found him lying beneath the cliff, a little south from the spot where we had left our horses.”

She pulled her hands away from the hat, leaving him holding it…and bereft that he couldn’t touch her. “We considered a falling object or rock, something that startled him, made him look up—I would like to return to the Glen and see if we can find blood on any of the rocks.”

“But he wouldnae have looked up—wouldnae be in the correct position—if he had been taken by surprise by an attacker.”

She was nodding along. “We believe he saw whoever did this.”

Hawk’s eyes narrowed. If that was the truth, it was certainly in Bull’s best interest to pretend to have amnesia. A tired trope, indeed, but one which would protect him.

He would go along with it, to protect his best friend.

“Why would ye think the attack was meant for me, though?” he asked, tossing the hat to the workbench behind Marcia and planting his hands on his hips. “Aside from the hats looking similar. Nae one has any reason to hurt me.”

“They do,” she said quietly. Her gaze was locked on his left shoulder. “The same reason both your cousins and your uncle died. Perhaps…perhaps even your grandfather. Someone wants Tostinham.”

He swallowed down sudden sourness.

Even when she’d said that earlier, he hadn’t believed her. It was hard to accept now. “Explain,” he demanded again in a rasp.

This time, when she took a deep breath, he didn’t stop himself from swaying closer.

“Your grandfather died of old age—at least, we think. His oldest son was already dead by then. His oldest son became baron, but only for a short time.”

“Cousin Franklin, aye.” Hawk barely recognized his own voice. “He ate bad eels.”

“Did he?” Finally Marcia’s gaze flicked to his, and instead of pity in her blue depths, he saw anger. “His younger brother held the title for only a few months, but was killed in a riding accident.”

It wasn’t until Hawk felt her arms tense beneath his palms that he realized he’d lifted his hands to hold her. “Roger always was shite with horses,” he managed. “I told ye that.”

“Your uncle, your mother’s second brother, inherited next, making you his heir, because your own older brother died ten years ago.”

“And Uncle William died in his sleep, surprising us all. He was a jolly fellow, but did no’ live healthy.” Hawk shook his head, but couldn’t force himself to release her. “Without me, his daughter would have inherited—my cousin Marianne protested the will, since she would inherit if there were nae more males. Nae more me.”

“Could she be the one trying to kill you?” Marcia’s gaze was serious. Could they seriously be talking about…murder? “Could she be the one who wants Tostinham for herself?”

Hawk shook his head again, disbelieving. Nay, it couldnae be. “Ye think my cousins, my uncle—my grandda? Ye think they were murdered? Why? Why would ye think that?”

“Because it is too coincidental.” Her hands rose to his chest. “Hawk, think . So many barons, dying in succession, so swiftly— It is suspicious.”

“There were reasons for them all. Old age, bad seafood, a fall, his heart giving out?—”

“Or smothering, poisoning, tampering with a saddle, and poison again,” Marcia shot right back, color now in her cheeks. “And your brother, Stephen. You said he drowned in Pook’s Glen. Accidentally? Or was he…helped along, to remove him from the line of inheritance early? And your Uncle William’s son, who died as a child. Innocent? Or unlucky?”

Hawk reared back in surprise, pulling her toward him unintentionally. She’d…considered this already? She’d thought through the methods of death for his loved ones?

No’ that ye loved yer brother Stephen all that much .

“I…” he began, but then stopped and tried again, his voice hoarse. “If ye believe this, then ye must think that I…”

Marcia nodded almost reluctantly, her fingers curling around the cotton of his shirt, since he’d long ago removed his jacket with the sweat of the work. Her warmth, so close to his skin, would be enough to drive him mad…were they not speaking of something horrific.

“Ye were the obvious suspect, Hawk,” she admitted, “until yesterday. Until someone tried to kill you, and mistakenly hurt Bull instead. That could not have been you, you were…with me.”

Aye, with her, in every sense of the word.

Marcia continued, “If whoever killed the previous barons is determined to continue until the property is in his hands, then he…or she will realize their mistake and try again.”

Impossible. “But I am the last male of my line. When I die, Tostinham will no’ revert back to William’s daughter, my cousin Marianne. My heir is…”

Horror settled in his chest and he bit down on the words. Nay.

“Your heir is your brother’s child,” Marcia finished in a whisper. “Allison. Tostinham will go to her if you die.”

Disbelief made his voice higher when he blurted, “Ye cannae believe her guilty of such revulsion? Allie is an innocent girl!”

To his shock, Marcia didn’t agree immediately, but seemed to be considering the notion. Finally, she sighed and dropped her forehead, until it rested a mere inch from his mouth, and the breath from her lips teased his throat.

“She is innocent,” Marcia agreed quietly. “I cannot believe otherwise. But if she indeed is innocent, that only means…”

“Dear God,” Hawk whispered, his fingers flexing around her arms. “She’s in danger too.”

Marcia nodded.

“Your grandfather had two sons, five grandsons and two granddaughters. Besides you and your female cousins, all of them have died mysteriously.”

“They…died of natural causes.” Even he didn’t believe that any longer, but he tried to force some certainty in his tone.

He heard her small smile when she murmured an agreement. “ Mysterious natural causes. Poison is natural. Dying from a head injury after a fall from a horse is natural. Hawk, we need to investigate.”

“Aye.” He pulled her against him, his lips falling to her hairline. “Nay.”

“Nay?” Her mouth fluttered against his throat. “Why?”

“We need to investigate. But first…”

He felt her breathing change.

Knew the moment she guessed what he was thinking. Knew, because his cock had been probing her stomach since she’d pressed against him, something he had been trying desperately not to notice.

And Christ Almighty, but he wanted that. Needed her.

But… He cleared his throat. “But first, we have to find Allie. If someone hurt Bull because they thought he was me…if someone is going to try to hurt me again, then it makes sense that Allie, as my heir, would be next.” Or possibly first, if they wanted him to suffer.

The thought was unconscionable. Who could be doing such a thing?

He felt Marcia’s reluctance as she straightened. “We need to figure out who stands to gain. If it is not you, then who?”

He had no idea. It couldn’t be Allie, and although Marianne had always struck him as ruthless, it was impossible to imagine her dirtying her hands with murder . Besides, she was in England…wasn’t she? “Will ye help me?”

Marcia tipped her head back to blink up at him, confusion in her blue eyes.

This time, he didn’t bother resisting. He dropped a quick kiss to her lips. “Ye are brilliant, Marcia, and I confess I am a mite blindsided— murder , it never occurred to me! But I’ll do anything to protect Allie. Will ye help me figure out who is behind this? Help me figure out how to keep her safe?”

As she studied him, Hawk realized he was holding his breath.

An hour ago, he was talking himself into ignoring her, avoiding her, hiding from her until she and her brothers left Tostinham. A day ago, he was balls deep within her. A week ago, he’d promised himself to stay away from her. Now he’d not only begged her for help, he couldn’t imagine releasing her.

Finally, she nodded once. “Aye, Hawk,” she whispered. “Of course I will help you.”

And he exhaled in relief.

“Together?”

Her lips curled sadly. “I will help you. For as long as you want me.”

Forever .

Because once he determined Allie was safe, he was going to do everything he could to ensure he had a future with Marcia. Even if that meant facing his guilt and mistakes.