Page 2 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 1

“ U ncle, did you know that the blue whale has the largest penis of any mammal on this earth?”

Maxwell “Hawk” Hawthorne, newly minted Baron Tostinham and unwilling listener of marine biology facts, managed not to drop his champagne flute at his niece’s casual question, though it was a close thing. He’d already tripped on the stairs as he was admiring the fine woodwork of the balustrade, almost knocked over a very delicate vase on a very precarious plinth, and heard a few snickers about his unsuitability to the title as they stood to the side in the unbearably hot ballroom.

He didn’t need to add broken crystal to the list of inappropriate attributes Society would be whispering about tomorrow.

But while he kept his grip on the flute, he whirled to gape at the young woman standing next to him…and in doing so, splashed her gown with some of the sparkling beverage.

“Oh, look what you have done,” she tsked, patting at her skirt. “Such a shame. We will have to go home now. How utterly devastating. Lawks.”

Since this was delivered in her typical deadpan, Hawk merely scowled. “ Nay , we cannae leave until ye’ve had yer first dance. And for the love of God, Allie, watch what ye say.”

His niece, Allison, merely shrugged, her silk ballgown rustling. “I was tired of you ignoring me. I thought an interesting fact might?—”

“That wasnae interesting ,” Hawk sputtered, his gaze sweeping the gathered crowd from under lowered brows, hoping no one had heard her. “That was deliberately lewd .”

“Yes,” she chirped with a grin. “But it worked. You are speaking to me, are you not?”

“Fook,” he muttered, and lifted his flute to swallow his champagne in one gulp.

Likely something else for Society to judge him poorly on.

Being here was torture. This ballroom, this crowd, this city . Why the hell did the London season have to be in London ? Why did they have to attend the season at all?

And the worst part was, he knew the answer; he just didn’t like it.

Allie tsked again as she spoke in a loud, clear voice. “If I cannot speak of whale penises, then you should not be allowed to say words like fook .”

Hawk snatched the champagne flute from her hand. “For shite’s sake, Allie, try to behave! What was the point of all that expensive schooling, if not to teach ye how to be a lady?”

His niece shrugged unrepentantly, eyeing her drink as he raised the glass. “Why should I want to be a lady? You do not have to act like a gentleman.”

“That’s because I’m not used to playing a gentleman!” he sputtered, shifting again so he could glare at the crowd instead of his niece, and downing her champagne. “I dinnae like it.”

Since this last part was said in a mutter, he hadn’t expected her to respond.

He should be used to her doing the unexpected by now.

“Well, I do not like it either. When can we leave?”

Sighing, Hawk did his best not to crush the crystal in his ungainly fists, knowing there were plenty of eyes on him…likely wondering why he was gripping two flutes as if they were lifelines.

No’ soon enough would have been his answer to his niece, but in the last month since Allie’s return from finishing school, he’d learned to watch his words around her. The nineteen-year-old was a suffragist in the making, and had no qualms about speaking her mind.

Should’ve sent her to clown school instead. Would’ve done as much good .

Still, he tried to hold onto his patience. “We cannae leave until we’ve spent a respectable amount of time hobnobbing. Society needs to accept us.” Me as a baron who is trying his damnedest to pretend he finds value in the niceties and gossip instead of a woodsman who’d rather be out hitting something with an ax…and ye as a debutante .

“I have hobnobbed left and right at the other events you have dragged me to, Uncle Maxwell.” The lassie didn’t look at him, but rather swept her disinterested gaze around the room. “You said this was the last ball, and tomorrow we can leave for Tostinham.”

Aye, and Hawk’s soul was ready for the balm of the estate. Still, he managed not to sigh wistfully. “Bright and early tomorrow morning, lassie,” he said gruffly. “I swear it. But tonight, we must pretend to be cultured and refined. For both of our sakes. And it wouldnae hurt ye to dance a few more times.”

Allie snorted.

Actually snorted .

“I will dance if you dance, Uncle Maxwell. Let us dance together, then we can be gone.”

Her general disregard for Society functions made Hawk’s lips twitch, but he hid the almost smile with another scowl. “Ye ken that willnae work.” Still, at least she was thinking of escape routes. Giving into her prompts, he craned his head over the crowd. “Perhaps we could find our hostess, make our apologies, then quietly sneak out?”

“ Yes ,” Allie blurted gratefully, latching onto his arm. “Let us do that . Please?”

He was taller than most of the men here, but even he couldn’t spot Lady Mistree. He knew she was elderly, but her annual ball had been a Society hallmark in London for…oh, generations at this point. It was usually held in the winter, but she’d moved it without explanation this year. It wasn’t Hawk’s first time attending, since he was the grandson of a baron…but it was his first time attending as more than a Mister . More than a younger son of a younger daughter of a minor Scottish baron.

First time attending as a titled lord, and all that entailed.

First time attending since the death of the latest Baron Tostinham.

“You know, these places are a perfect opportunity to look for a spouse.”

Not really paying attention to Allie’s words, Hawk muttered, “Aye, that’s the point. See anyone ye like the look of? Perhaps they can gift wrap him for ye.”

She pinched him. Hard. “I was speaking of you , Uncle. I am far too young to marry.”

His jaw dropped for the second time as he swung to her. Good thing both flutes were empty, or he’d ruin her gown completely. “Ye are the perfect age for marriage, Allie, and it would do ye good.”

The girl was ignoring him, wearing a false smile as she surveyed the crowd. “It would do me good?” Her tone had gone all icy, and Hawk winced as he realized his mistake. “You mean, to be under a man’s thumb? A man who has no interest in me as a human with a thinking mind? No intention of allowing me to continue my education? A man like you , Uncle?’”

A blow.

Hawk took the time to consider his words. “I have…interest in ye as a human with a thinking mind, Allie.”

“Really?” She still wasn’t looking at him, cheeks pinking. “Is that why you sent me off as a young child and made no effort to visit me at school or enquire after my well-being or bring me home for holidays or even respond to my letters?”

Shite .

“I visited ye!” He rushed to defend himself. And we traveled to London a few times together, remember?”

“Yes, to shop. How fulfilling,” she deadpanned.

Any young girl would be thrilled for a shopping trip to the bustling-est city in the world…would they not?

“Allie…” He blew out a breath, then gestured to a passing servant to take the glasses from his hands so he could turn to her. He gathered her hands in his. “Allison, lassie, were ye unhappy at school? It was the best I could afford, the Lord kens I’ve sent ye everything I could?—”

“Money?” She pulled her hands from his and clasped them in front of her as she surveyed the dancers. “Yes, school was quite lovely, thank you, I learned ever so much about the natural world and politics and art history and ancient architecture and everything I could get my hands on.”

Not for the first time, Hawk wished for a manual on women, nieces in particular. Maybe a translation dictionary. “There’s a but in there, I can tell.”

“A buttock, I should think,” she sniffed, “and I am standing beside him.”

This time his wince was tinged in admiration. Another hit! “Allie…”

“Books are wonderful, Uncle Maxwell, truly. But I was lonely.”

There. It was said.

After a month of dancing around the subject, she was finally telling him why she harbored so much anger…and she chose now? In the middle of a ballroom? In the view of the people he was trying to impress with his aptitude for his new role, and her…her debutanteyness?

“Ye ken my life was no’ the proper place for ye,” he muttered, curling his callused hands into fists within the gloves, then uncurling them again, uncertain what to do with them—uncertain what to do with himself . “Living in a tent half the year? Freezing or boiling, always hunting for an encyclopedia with soft pages for when you visited the—ye were better off at school.”

A pause, in which he saw something like sorrow flicker across her expression, although it was still turned from him. Then she smiled, a bright, cheerful smile that was one-hundred-percent false.

“Yes, Uncle, you are undoubtedly correct. Being hundreds of miles from any family and never hearing from you was most preferential to a tent. But I am still not looking for a husband.” She exhaled, and he watched some of the tension leave her shoulders beneath the perfectly respectable pale frock she wore, as she sent him a teasing smile. “But an old man like you needs a wife.”

Scowling at her change in moods, Hawk crossed his arms over his chest, not caring if the watchers thought him rude. “Like I need another hole in my head.”

“Fine, you need an heir .” At his sharp glance, she shrugged. “With your uncle and cousins dropping dead so quickly after one another, you would think this would be foremost on your mind.”

“I have ye,” he grunted. He knew what she was going to say. He didn’t like it.

“Tostinham can only come to me—or one of your female cousins—if there are no male heirs left. And guess what, Uncle?”

“I am the last male heir,” he bit out. Deciding it was easier not to look at her when discussing serious topics, Hawk scanned the crowd, searching for their hostess. Searching for an escape. “Which means ye are my heir. I have nae need for a wife who is only marrying me for my title, because there’s nae other reason for her to look twice at a man like me.” A man who was happier in the woods than a ballroom, who didn’t understand the games Society played with changeable rules and no prizes. “I have ye.”

After a moment, he felt her small hand on his arm. “I am flattered, Uncle Maxwell. Thank you. But I have my own goals. Goals that do not necessarily involve Tostinham.”

He shot her a glance. “And dinnae involve husbands?”

To his surprise, she burst into laughter. “I have nothing against husbands—or men in general. In fact, I have every intention of enjoying myself, now I am finally out of school. I just do not see any need for that enjoyment to include marriage so soon.”

Ruefully, Hawk shook his head. He’d tried so hard to stay out of Allie’s life as she was growing, so she’d have proper influences. Influences of people who weren’t like him, people who understood Society and what was acceptable.

So how in the hell had she turned out exactly like him?

Thank fook she’s far prettier.

“Neither of us belong here, do we?” he muttered.

“ That is what I have been trying to tell you!” Her tone was exasperated…with a hint of fondness underlying it.

Cursing under his breath, Hawk slung his arm around Allie’s shoulders and pulled her into a half-hug, even knowing how improper it was. “I do love ye, lassie. I hope ye ken that.”

She harumphed and smoothed her skirts…but didn’t push him away. “At the risk of becoming maudlin, I am rather fond of you, Uncle Maxwell, when you are not abandoning me for years.”

“Abandoning—? I did what was right.” Dammit, it had been the right choice—the only choice!

His niece—his feisty, over-educated and under-cherished niece—took a deep breath, and Hawk braced himself for the tirade which was coming. Which he deserved.

But instead, Allie’s chin snapped up. “Oh, look, here comes Lady Mistree, and she’s bringing…is that not your friend? He met us here in London when we visited two summers ago. He also has an animal name. Hedgehog? Vole? Hamster?”

Hawk was already grinning as he straightened away from her, gaze sweeping the room. “Bull,” he announced in satisfaction, spying his long-time friend escorting the hobbling elderly lady toward them. “He’s no’ named after a rodent.”

“Oh, yes, silly me. A Hawk could eat a vole, but not a Bull. And who is that with him?”

And just like that, his heart stopped.

Oh, fook .

“That…She is his sister, the Lady Marcia.”

The woman he’d lost ten years ago; his best friend’s younger sister.

M arcia could hear her own heartbeat, which shouldn’t be possible. Should it? Was it broken? She made a mental note to ask Gabby next time she saw her pseudo-cousin. Gabby had studied zoology and biology at Bedford here in London, and even traveled to America to study veterinary sciences there for a year, but surely she’d know enough about the mammalian nervous system to know?—

Breathe, you idiot !

Ah. Yes, that would be helpful. Lungs. Air.

Straightening her spine, Marcia sucked in several deep breaths and kept her focus on the back of her brother’s head…and not where he was leading them.

Focus, focus. Lady Mistree asked for this escort for a reason!

“You have always been my favorite, young Bull,” Lady Mistree was saying as she shuffled along, clinging to Marcia’s brother’s arm. Her white hair was pulled into an elaborate style at the base of her neck, popular decades before, with diamond pins studded throughout. Her gown, on the other hand, was surprisingly fashionable for a woman nearing her tenth decade. “If I were twenty years younger…”

Bull, being Bull, flirted right back. “If ye were twenty years younger, milady, ye’d be a mere eighty years auld, and married to the love of yer life, remember?”

“Oh, Reggie,” sighed the elderly lady, smiling wistfully at Marcia’s brother. “You remind me ever so much of him. Of course, that was when we were young and his knees had not gone all flabby and he could still wear a kilt with nothing on underneath it.”

Marcia was only a little surprised to see a hint of longing in her brother’s eyes as he lifted Lady Mistree’s hand to press a kiss on the back of it. He was the most incredible actor, but the kindness in his expression was not false. “Yer Reggie must’ve been a remarkable man, to hold yer heart for so long. I only wish I were worthy?—”

“Pish,” the old woman scolded, linking her arm through Bull’s once more. “You will find your love, and you will live a long and happy life, just as I have. And when it is your time to leave, you will make beautiful connections with beautiful people, to leave all your drips and drabs.” She pretended surprise. “Speaking of which, you will bring your sister to visit me later this week.”

Bull glanced back at Marcia and twitched his brow. She gave the slightest of head-shakes and stepped up to stroll beside him. No, she didn’t know why his friend wanted to see her .

Giving his equivalent of a facial shrug, Bull patted Lady Mistree’s hand. “I would be delighted to escort Marcia for a nice visit. I’ve told her all about ye, ye ken, and she’s eager to spend time with ye.”

Since the old lady glanced her way and there was nothing for it, Marcia schooled her features into passable enthusiasm and nodded. “I would be delighted, milady. But you do not need to leave Bull any drips or drabs. He has enough.”

“Oh, goodness, yes he does!” Lady Mistree chuckled. “His waistcoat collection could blind an unwary person! But I was speaking of gifting you something, my dear. Oh look, here we are.”

Marcia had been so distracted by the lady’s strange announcement that she hadn’t realized how close they were to their destination. She looked up…and there he was.

Oh drat . She’d stopped breathing again.

Bull, bless him, was a much better actor than she was, at least in this instance. “Hawk!” he announced, dropping Lady Mistree’s hand to reach for his friend’s. “How are ye? I heard congratulations are in order? What brings ye to London? And who, may I be so bold, is this enchanting young lady?”

Hawk, for his part, accepted Bull’s embrace, although his grin had turned a little sickly. “Good to see ye, my friend. I hadnae realized ye’d be here tonight.”

It was Lady Mistree who interrupted. “Of course Bull is here, I insisted. Baron Tostinham, so good of you to accept my invitation.”

Marcia knew that her mind could only do three things at this moment, so she concentrated on breathing, standing upright without her knees completely giving way, and listening.

She’d only have to hope that no one would actually require her to speak…

Hawk still seemed a little pale when he bent over the older lady’s hand, low enough to prove that he didn’t truly understand Society’s rules of what was proper. “We were honored to receive it. May I introduce my niece to ye? Miss Allison Hawthorne. Allie, this is our gracious hostess, the Lady Mistree.”

The pretty young woman at Hawk’s side gave a beautiful curtsey, the very picture of demure British womanhood. But then she ruined it by straightening and giving an impish grin. “Delighted to meet you, my lady. Uncle Maxwell said we could not leave until we greeted you. As soon as the carriage can be ordered?—”

As Hawk groaned and dropped his head, Lady Mistree chuckled. “Then it is even more fortuitous that I insisted Bull bring me over. But you have not danced yet, have you, my dear?”

Miss Hawthorne rolled her eyes slightly. “No, because all the potential suitors are scared away by Uncle Maxwell’s scowls.”

This time, Bull joined in the laughter, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Ye cannae act so protective if ye expect to marry her off, Hawk!”

Miss Hawthorne stomped her foot in a pretty display of mock pettiness. “I have no intention of being married off, sir! But that does not mean I cannot enjoy myself a bit.”

Hawk groaned again, Bull laughed, and while Marcia concentrated on breathing— in, out, in, out —Lady Mistree clapped slightly. “Oh, brava , my dear! Allow me to present Bull Lindsay—his brother is the Duke of Exingham, you know. And this is his sister, Lady Marcia Calderbank, daughter of the Duke of Peasgoode.”

Oh shite, it was her turn? They actually expected her to speak?

Marcia managed a shaky curtsey in response to Miss Hawthorne’s, then turned to Hawk, who was giving a little bow, not taking his eyes from hers.

“Lady Marcia,” he murmured.

She opened her mouth to acknowledge him, but the words stuck in her dry throat.

He was just as handsome as she remembered; tall and dark-haired, with that little scar on his chin he’d claimed had come from a wood-chopping incident. There were more lines around his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as long and wavy as it used to be…but she supposed a man might change his hairstyle in a decade.

Ten years ago he’d stolen her heart with his strength, his crooked smile and good humor, the way he didn’t care about Societal rules. She’d loved how passionate he was about—well, passion , but also nature and conservationism and a million things they’d spoken about on long summer afternoons.

Yes, she’d loved him…and when Bull had suggested she marry him, Hawk had walked out of her life, breaking her heart. For that one moment, she’d been thrilled, thinking her brother had figured out their clandestine relationship, and rather than disapproving, had found a beautiful solution.

But Bull must have been mistaken, because Hawk had never contacted her again, despite what they’d shared, and his friendship with her brother had continued. He’d chosen Bull over Marcia.

Loving him had been a mistake.

A delicious mistake.

It was likely for the best. How decidedly awkward, to be married today to a man whom you thought you knew…but who in reality has murdered at least four men.

The tension that tightened between them, taut as a bowstring, was apparently invisible to all others. Lady Mistree certainly didn’t seem to notice.

“Since you two are old friends, I see a way out of this conundrum. Bull, you dance with Miss Hawthorne. Baron, you invite Lady Marcia to the floor. I shall wander over there and examine those ferns. Then you can all go home.”

The orchestra was finishing up a waltz, but Marcia’s eyes had gone wide at the suggestion.

Bull had noticed. “I dinnae ken—” he began, and Marcia knew he was objecting for her sake.

But she also knew this was the opportunity they’d been waiting for. Blast it all to hell.

“What a splendid idea!” she managed to rasp, as if she were delighted by the opportunity. “Brilliant.”

With her eyes, she pleaded with her brother to let it go .

Yes, this would be difficult for her, and no, he didn’t know why. Some secrets were never shared, not even with brothers. Perhaps, especially not with brothers about their best friends.

But in the last fortnight, their investigations into the habit of dying that the Barons of Tostinham had unfortunately fallen into had turned up no evidence. In order to fulfill this contract and solve this murder, they—one or both—needed to get closer to the Hawthornes.

This was a prime opportunity, no matter how painful it might be.

She could tell that Bull still wasn’t certain of her response or her sudden agreement, but he nodded slightly. By the time he turned back to Hawk, his affable mask was back in place.

“Miss Hawthorne, I would be honored to escort ye onto the dance floor. That is…” He sent Hawk a good-natured smirk. “If yer uncle will allow it.”

Hawk’s expression was surprisingly somber as he nodded. “I would trust ye with my life, Bull. I ken ye’ll take good care of Allie.”

Bull blinked, and Allison smacked her uncle on his arm. “It is a single dance , Uncle Maxwell. Nothing is going to happen, and then we can go home.”

“I live to serve, mademoiselle,” Bull declared, offering his arm. He shot a quick glance toward Marcia, as if making certain she was still alright, before turning up his charm. “And may I say, Miss Hawthorne, how splendid ye look this evening?”

“You may say it, sir, but I shall ignore the compliment, because it is clear from your sense of dress that you have no real understanding of fashion.”

Bull’s laughter was loud and genuine.

It was obvious the two of them remembered one another, and felt comfortable teasing. Unlike…

“Lady Marcia,” Hawk said stiffly, offering his hand. “Would you do me the great honor of a dance?”

Yes.

Yes no yes.

The fantasy of a dance with Hawk, in front of everyone, was what had kept her warm in those first few years after Bull had brought him home at Hogmanay. Then the third Hogmanay when he’d returned and they’d begun their acquaintance, she’d learned there were things better than dancing.

More horizontal things.

A mistake.

Because he’d abandoned her—and yes, become a murderer.

Realizing she was hesitating too long, Marcia forced a smile—which likely looked sickly enough to be put in quarantine—and nodded her agreement.

“Oh good,” announced Lady Mistree with a satisfied huff. “I will look forward to seeing you later this week, Marcia. Baron, do be a good boy.” She waved lightly, her attention already on the far wall. “Oh look, ferns. How exciting.”

She bustled off, her tone deadpan enough that Marcia couldn’t tell how serious she was being. Wasn’t this her ball—her ferns?

It was only then that Marcia realized Hawk was still waiting for her, standing there with his hand held out for her.

Oh yes. The dread of the dratted dance hadn’t actually prevented the thing from happening.

Straightening her shoulders, she placed her hand in his.

And sucked in a breath, suddenly light-headed as the memories swarmed her.

That spark, the laughter they’d shared, the flirtatious glances, the kisses , the heat…

Back when he’d looked at her and seen a woman worthy of love.

Back when she’d been good enough for him.

“Marcia?” he murmured, and she realized in her distraction, he’d led her to the dancefloor. Marcia . He’d dropped the honorific.

I cannot do this .

She had to.

“I am ready,” she announced, lifting her hand to his shoulder.

As the music began, he pulled her closer…and launched into the waltz.

As the daughter of a duke—albeit a reclusive one who preferred his Scotland estate to bigger cities—she’d done her share of dancing in the last ten years. She hadn’t enjoyed it—the small talk, the niceties—but she’d done it.

But in that moment, she couldn’t recall a single waltz, a single partner.

She could recall, however, with stunning clarity, how it had felt to dance with Hawk. It felt so familiar, to be here in his arms, his strength surrounding her.

So very right .

She shuddered. Part sadness, part remembered joy, part desperate yearning.

“Marsh—Lady Marcia, are you feeling well? We dinnae have to dance.”

And now he was being solicitous? After the cold way he’d broken her heart?

The man is guilty of murder. Of course he can appear solicitous!

Lifting her chin, Marcia smiled brightly at the man she had thought she’d known. “I would not dream of it, my lord.” Was it her imagination, or did he wince when she used such a formal tone of address? She pressed on. “Bull and I were surprised to see your name in the papers as the Tostinham heir. I had no idea you were so close to greatness.”

“Greatness?” He snorted softly as he spun her through a turn. “The Barony of Tostinham is a minor holding in Cowal. My mother’s father’s family held it for years, but with so many uncles and cousins, I never expected it to come to me…”

Was it really going to be so easy to direct the questioning? “I am sorry for your recent losses. So many deaths…”

“Aye.” His somber expression gave nothing away. “I didnae ken either of my cousins well, but Uncle William was a jolly fellow, he didnae deserve to die so early.”

“But still, now you have Tostinham, which I suppose is a blessing,” she prompted.

Something in his face softened, and although his gaze was directed over her shoulder, she doubted he was really seeing . “It is a lovely part of Scotland, one which has always held my heart. The rhododendrons are— och ,” he broke off, shaking his head. “Ye dinnae care to hear such blather.”

“I do,” she whispered, and realized she meant it. It had been too long since a man—besides Bull--had spoken to her as an equal, someone who cared . Someone whose opinion mattered. “It sounds just lovely. Cowal sounds like an area worth seeing.”

“It is.” He actually brightened. “Once Allison and I are settled in, I was hoping Bull might like to see it. Perhaps…perhaps you might come as well?”

Excellent.

Marcia tried for a pleased smile. Was this it? The invitation to investigate him more closely?

After abandoning her ten years ago, he would just invite her to his home now, merely because she was his best friend’s little sister?

Keep him talking! “And the rhododendrons?”

“They will be blooming for a few more weeks. Big purple flowers ye need to see to believe.”

She opened her mouth to respond, and suddenly a peal of laughter cut through the babble of voices around them. As Hawk swung her about, his gaze sought out the source, and when his gaze rested on his niece, Marcia was surprised to see his expression soften.

It was clear he loved his niece.

But then…his gaze flicked to the couple dancing beside Bull and Allison, his eyes lingering on the woman before flicking back to his niece, a little line appearing between his brows.

Was he…concerned about Allison? Or comparing her to the other ladies in the room? She was bold and confident, and in the few moments they’d spoken, reminded Marcia very much of herself. But it appeared that Hawk found her lacking, when compared to the refined ladies in the room.

He now prefers the more typical Society debutante. Sophisticated, flirtatious, disingenuous? Well, that was good to know. Perhaps Marcia could use that.

As Hawk swept her around the ballroom, her mind whirled. She and Bull needed a way to prove Hawk guilty of murder, yes? Perhaps she was the one who could get closer—closer than Bull could, even.

She could use what she once shared with Hawk to insinuate herself into his life once more. It would be difficult to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, but if that was what was necessary to convince Hawk she was the sort of woman he might love, then it would be worth it.

After all, she hadn’t been the sort he would love ten years ago, so if she wanted to get close to him now, in order to prove him guilty, she would have to become someone else.

So that was that. She would seduce the murderer who had broken her heart, and ensure justice was done.

Justice for the murders, at least. Because there could be no justice for her grief.