Page 4 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 3

W as there anything more beautiful than Cowal in the summer?

Hawk tipped his head back to allow the sunshine to warm his face, and decided nay, there wasnae .

It was just as perfect as he’d remembered it.

As a lad, Grandda had shown him how to fall in love with the beauty of nature. He’d happily trotted after the older man, learning how to care for the tenants and farmers, seeing the projects others might call frivolous, but in actuality provided important work for the local stone masons and laborers.

Aye, Hawk had learned much from his grandfather about caring for the land and the people…and now he had to actually implement those learnings right where he had learned them.

With a cluck of his tongue, he nudged his horse back into motion.

Enough pleasure-rambling. There’s work to be done .

In the fortnight since his return, he’d been settling into the estate—and was pleasantly surprised at how many of the staff remembered him as a lad—so today’s plan was to gather up the accounts and ledgers and settle into Grandda’s study. Hell’s bells: his study. He suspected the taxes and tariffs had fallen into disarray in the last year, with all the…well, disruption and confusion.

Aye, four Baron Tostinhams in a little over a year meant that none of them had truly handled the books.

So it was up to Hawk to ameliorate that.

But he could admit that paperwork had always been his least-favorite task of running a business, and couldn’t imagine it would be easier for an estate. All those little numbers and fiddly columns that he could never seem to make line up…Marcia had been the first one to point out it was as if his attention just refused to cooperate when it came to paperwork.

He winced.

It had been ten years since she’d rejected him and he’d walked away…and in ten years, his memories hadn’t faded. But like grief, the guilt made him ache a little less with each passing month.

Then Lady Mistree’s ball, and that dance. That dance when he’d held her, tasted her scent on his tongue, remembered her laughter and daring…

Fooking hell. Focus on the paperwork.

Aye. Paperwork would be easier than the stab of pain in his chest, the scab being ripped from the wound of guilt…

He wasn’t looking forward to sitting in the study all afternoon, in a seat which still felt like another’s in a room he had always had to ask permission to enter. Perhaps I could read in the garden?

A rueful grin tugged at his lips as he considered Artrip’s reaction to such a request. The staid, starched old man would likely have a conniption at the suggestion…which was rather a mark in the idea’s favor.

But Allie would approve, and Hawk was coming to realize that he’d move heaven and earth to win his niece’s approval. In the weeks since their return to Tostinham, the two had become closer. He’d come to value her wit and irreverence, and she turned to him with questions about life and suggestions on how to handle the estate.

Aye, she was a bright lassie, and he was grateful to have her in his life.

And damned guilty for not fetching her sooner. Aye, her father—his older brother—had been a cold and distant ass, but Hawk had loved Allison from the moment he’d met her as a wee bairn. When Stephen had died, she should have come to live with him…

Ye lived in a tent at the logging camps. That was nae place for her.

Perhaps he could have made a place for them both.

Because the better he got to know her, the more she made him laugh and gape in amazement at her encyclopedic knowledge of so many topics…the more he understood what a disservice he’d done to both of them.

He would have been lucky to have her in his life these last years, for more than just the occasional visit or shopping trip. And she seemed so happy to finally have a place and a home…

Well, ye cannae undo the past, but ye can make certain the future is worth living for.

The horse had slowed to a walk once more, and Hawk couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t in any hurry to return to the stables, then to the house, then to the study. Each step would take him away from all this fresh air and into the stolid role of a baron. It was why he’d stolen away this morning to visit Pook’s Glen.

He’d left his mount tied beside the burn and begun the climb on foot hours ago. It had been invigorating to feel his kilt flapping about as he bounded up the stone steps two at a time, smell the breeze blowing through the pines, marvel at the bright purple rhododendron blooms, and be surrounded by the sound of the rushing water as it tumbled from on high.

Christ, he loved that place. His place.

Not even the tumble he’d taken—a bruised thigh and a scrape on his knee—could diminish that love. If anything, it had only reminded him of many childhood escapades. His feet had always been too big for his body.

But eventually his stomach had told him it was time to return to reality, and he’d marveled once more at Grandda’s improvements which made it so easy to trot down the mountain once more.

Why, the stream was so accessible, someone like Lady Mistree would be able to make the hike!

Don’t think of her. Then you’ll think of Marcia and what you lost and ? —

One of the fluffy clouds above floated in front of the sun, and Hawk impatiently pushed up the brim of his brown hat—the one that was too large—so he could see the road ahead. He was approaching the front drive to Tostinham, and it looked as if…

Aye . There was a carriage before the portico. Guests. Damnation .

Frowning, he nudged the horse into a trot, standing in the stirrups to get a better view, kilt fluttering around his thighs.

His first thought was that Allie had invited a friend for a visit, but she’d made no mention of it. For that matter, she’d made no mention of friends in general, and he wondered—not for the first time—how many she’d made at school. If she’d managed to make any.

Perhaps ye shouldnae have sent her away?

He snorted at his own guilt. Guilt, guilt, guilt . The theme of the day.

He’d made the right choice about Allie. Was he supposed to have raised her himself? ? By the time Stephen had died, their parents were gone and his brother’s wife’s family insisted the girl was Hawk’s responsibility. He couldn’t have dragged her up to Lairg and his forestry work, could he?

Nay. Nay, he could not .

Shaking his head, he pushed aside the nagging voice whispering that Allie might have preferred it, and focused on the carriage currently disgorging its occupants. A man in a proper hat and gloves, a woman dressed as a maid, and…

He would recognize those auburn tresses anywhere.

Hawk sucked in a breath and attempted to swing down from the horse before it had stopped moving, resulting in him hopping about with his boot stuck in the stirrup for a few embarrassing seconds.

“Marcia,” he whispered, stumbling toward the carriage like a man in shock. Which he was.

What was she doing here? And why wasn’t she wearing her hair bound up the way she normally did?

Normally? It’s been ten years. Her style had likely changed .

But she hadn’t felt any different, when he’d held her in his arms at the ball.

He cleared his throat. “M-Marcia? I mean, Lady Marcia, welcome.”

When she whirled about, the smile on her lips, the joy in her expression…well, it bloody near knocked his breath from his lungs.

“Hawk!” she cried, reaching for him. “We came, as invited!”

He was supposed to respond, he knew it. Likely this was the first rule of polite conversation: when someone says something to you, you respond. That was Conversation for Beginners, wasn’t it?

But she’d taken his hands in hers—Marcia, Marcia was here—and he could do nothing besides grip them like a man dangling from a cliff.

Because she wasn’t wearing gloves.

And neither was he.

As she beamed up at him and he stared down at her, his brain unable to hold onto a single thought, Marcia’s thumbs ran over his scarred knuckles, and it was all Hawk could do to tamp down his shudder.

Her touch…

Her touch wrecked him. Had always wrecked him.

It was why he’d pushed her away.

It was why he’d promised himself he’d never reach out for her again.

“Hullo,” he managed to croak past a dry throat.

Christ, she felt good .

He wanted to pull her to him, to wrap his arms around her again. Only this time he wouldn’t just dance; he would feel , he would taste . His mouth watered just thinking of kissing her again.

Nay, ye must no’. Bull is yer best friend. Ye cannae jeopardize that. If he ever found out what ye did with Marcia all those years ago…

A throat cleared, and Hawk’s gaze snapped sideways to the young man stepping up behind Marcia.

That was not Bull.

“Rupert Calderbank,” he announced, shoving his hand out stiffly. “It’s been years, Lord Tostinham.”

Oh yes, Marcia’s younger brother. Heir to their father’s dukedom. A proper lord.

With great difficulty, Hawk made himself drop her hand to accept the shake from Rupert. “Milord,” he greeted. “Welcome to Tostinham. I…I confess we werenae expecting guests quite so soon…”

But Rupert waved away the apology. “Nonsense. When Marcia told me of yer invitation, I insisted we depart immediately, before Da could saddle me with a valet to get in the way of my floral edification. We needed to reach Cowal immediately, before the rhododendron finish their bloom. Did ye ken that Rhododendron ponticum, or common rhododendron, were originally introduced in this area of Scotland as an ornamental variety, prized for their beautiful purple blooms? But they are prolific, and have covered the peninsula to the detriment of other, less beautiful native blooms. It’s the acid in the soil, their roots—are ye quite well? ”

Hawk blinked. “I…did no’ ken that, milord.”

“Please, call me Rupert. And I’ll call ye Hawk, the way my brother and Marcia do, and we’ll be jolly chums. Where are these rhododendrons?”

Hawk exchanged a glance with Marcia, who was looking quite amused. “Jolly chums, aye,” he managed, wondering how often, exactly, Rupert got away from his father’s duchy and interacted with normal humans. “I take it ye’re interested in flora?”

“Flora, fauna, firma, everything.” With hands on his hips, Rupert surveyed the front drive, the house, the distant woodlands...not bothering to explain what firma was. “I’ve never been to Cowal. I’m going to learn all the things .”

Hawk opened his mouth to respond, and couldn’t think of a single bloody thing to say except a weak, “Bravo.”

With a chuckle, Marcia slipped her arm through his and Hawk jolted at the delicious contact. When he glanced down at her, she was smiling.

In a seductive sort of way.

What? Nay. She’s smiling.

Just smiling. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like she was amused by an inside joke between them. Like she was thinking of how he tasted and wanted to repeat— Shut up shut up she’s no’ being seductive!

“We are sorry for descending upon you without notice, Hawk,” she announced sweetly.

Hawk , not my lord , the way she’d addressed him at the ball. When her smile had been much less seductive.

“But you remember how Rupert can be,” she continued, entirely unaware of his whirling thoughts. “Da could spare him for a few weeks, and he jumped at the opportunity to visit a corner of Scotland he’s heard so much about. And its, um, flora.”

Rupert hooked his thumbs through his lapels and settled back on his heels in the manner of a professor giving a lecture, eyes lit with excitement. “Cowal Peninsula is mainly metamorphic rocks formed from deposited sediment layers during the Precambrian period and shaped during the Caledonian Orogeny, the same mountain-building event that created the Highlands. During the Ice Ages glaciers sculpted the landscape, carving out features such as Loch Eck and Loch Fyne, moraines, and the distinctive glens.”

He’d said he’d heard about Cowal? Hell, he’d practically memorized Cowal.

And who would have told him about it? Bull, who had visited Tostinham twice with Hawk when they were in school? Or Marcia, who’d listened to Hawk wax poetic about it often enough?

The woman beside him took a deep breath—which did interesting things to her bosom which he tried not to notice—and glanced around. “I have to say, Cowal is just as beautiful as I always imagined.”

“I’ll show ye around.” It wasn’t until she beamed and gave his arm a squeeze that he realized what he’d offered.

Fook.

But now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to take it back.

Because aye , he was proud that he was now Baron, and that Tostinham was his . He was proud of this place, he wanted to share it with her.

He’d always wanted to share it with her, truth be told.

Oh hell and all its inhabitants.

Marcia dropped her chin just slightly and peered up at him through her lashes in a coy move he’d seen from debutantes before…but always aimed at a titled nincompoop and never him, and never from her . “I would like that very much,” she murmured, still holding onto his arm. “Perhaps after we get settled in?”

Hmm, the choice between sitting alone in his study with books or parading around Tostinham with Marcia holding onto him?

No choice at all.

His gaze dropped from her coy smirk, the pendant she wore catching his attention. He didn’t recall her wearing it before, but it was a lovely, sparkly sort of blue that caught the sun and matched her eyes.

It was only when she took a deep breath—her bosom did the whole interesting movement thing and moved the pendant—that he realized he was staring at her tits, and snapped his attention back up to her eyes.

“Certainly,” he croaked. “Let’s head inside before Artrip’s scowl freezes oil.” The butler was standing at the door waiting with some of the staff. “He can show ye both—and yer maid—to yer rooms.” Even if Hawk was the one who wanted to show Marcia to her room. His room.

Nay . Just because she is here doesnae mean she wants to pick up where ye left off. Doesnae mean ye could even if she wanted it.

But she’d startled at the mention of her maid. “Oh, yes!” She cleared her throat and gestured to the other woman, wearing a dull gray gown, hands clasped in front of her, head bowed. “This is my maid, Smith— Smythe, I mean!”

The woman bobbed a small curtsey. “Smith-Smythe, milord.” Was that the slighted twitch of her lips? It was difficult to tell, because her gaze was locked on Hawk’s boots. “At your service, milord.”

“Being a proper lady, I must travel with a maid.” Was it his imagination, or did Marcia sound a little…panicked? “And Smythe-Smith comes with me everywhere.”

Hawk glanced at the forgettable other woman. “I thought ye were Smith-Smythe?”

The maid curtseyed again, without raising her head. “Smythe-Smith-Smythe, milord. My mother married thrice. Terribly confusing.”

“Um…yes.” Hawk cleared his throat, returning his dazed attention to Marcia. “And a valet for Rupert?”

“I couldnae be bothered—” the younger man began, and was interrupted by a new voice.

“Och, well, we’ll take care of that, laddie!” exclaimed the wee housekeeper as she came bustling forward, bumping into Rupert, wrapping her arm around Smythe-Smith-Smythe’s elbow—the highest she could reach—and beaming at all of them. “I’m McGillicuddy, the housekeeper, and I’ll take bonnie good care of ye all, dinnae fash.”

The poor maid seemed dazed, but Rupert frowned down at the short, plump woman. “I dinnae want a valet, madam.”

“Ye cannae be expected to shine yer own boots, or pull on yer own drawers!” McGillicuddy cackled. “McMackinacker!”

Rupert, still holding his lapels, drew himself up. “I beg yer pardon, madam, what did ye call me?”

A mortified Hawk was surprised to see Marcia pressing her lips together, presumably to hold in laughter. She was so much more refined than he was, and he was afraid a Society lady like her would find Tostinham primitive…but at least she was amused by his housekeeper.

“This is McMackinacker!” McGillicuddy announced proudly as the gangliest of Tostinham’s footmen stumbled to a stop beside them. “McMackinacker, ye’ve shaved a man before, aye?”

The young man swallowed—his adam’s apple was as pimply as the rest of him—and bleated, “I’ve helped with the sheep shearing on my da’s farm, ma’am!”

“Good enough, eh?” the housekeeper declared, slapping a dazed Smythe-Smith-Smythe on the back. “Get the bags, McMackinacker, afore Artrip has a conniption over my puir manners. Welcome to Tostinham!” she announced, cheerfully shooing the maid and Rupert toward the house, where the butler glared down at them all.

Hawk glanced down in apprehension at the woman on his arm. Marcia’s blue eyes were full of amusement, sparkling brightly enough to match the strange glass pendant she wore around her neck.

Now she glanced up at him, her lips twisted into a smirk as if they shared a secret joke.

Did they? They shared many things, but most of them heartbreaking.

She was really here, after all these years. On his arm. At his home.

Hawk swallowed past a tight throat.

“Aye,” he murmured weakly. “Welcome to Tostinham.”

B y the time the dinner gong rang, Hawk wasn’t certain he understood what was going on…and didn’t know if he cared.

All he knew was that he’d spent the afternoon with Marcia on his arm, and it had been wonderful. Her smiles, her teasing…it had been just like old times, before she’d toyed with his heart, before he’d walked away from everything they shared. Everything he’d loved.

But…this Marcia was different, too.

Aye, of course she’s different, it’s been a decade !

But was that enough time to change so completely? Why hadn’t she married the man Bull had found for her? And had it changed her?

This new Marcia was flirtatious instead of direct, coy instead of daring, and she giggled dismissively whenever he tried to ask her opinion, as if she had none.

The Marcia he’d fallen in love with that very first Hogmanay Bull had introduced them was opinionated, bold, daring, and strong. She hadn’t needed to flirt, because her unschooled and unconsidered confidence had been an aphrodisiac to him.

So he could admit that this new Marcia was a conundrum to him.

And he was looking forward to finding out the truth about her, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

It was like a man finishing a buffet with an array of delicious-looking desserts. He knows he will regret eating each one of them, but can’t seem to stop shoving them in his mouth, and feeling horrible about not feeling horrible about it at all.

That made nae sense .

Aye, well, it had been a strange day.

Strange enough to compare her to pudding?

Apparently.

Yes, a delectable, frothy, creamy ? —

“Uncle Maxwell,” Allie called, lifting her skirts to hurry toward him across the hall. “Artrip tells me we have visitors!”

Where had his niece been all day? Frowning, Hawk offered his arm to lead her into the dining room. “Aye, auld friends—actually, ye met Lady Marcia at the ball last week.”

“Did she bring her brother?” Allie’s bright eyes had lit further.

So his scowl deepened. “Bull’s too auld for ye.”

“I told you I have no interest in marriage. I just thought he was a delightful conversationalist, and he made me laugh. He would not shy away from penises of the natural world.”

Aye, Bull was a charmer alright, but a good man. A better man than Hawk, at least. When Bull eventually settled down, he’d make a fine husband…to someone besides his niece.

“Well, he’s no’ here.” Hawk stepped into the dining room, where their guests awaited. “Allie, this is Marcia’s other brother, Rupert— damn , wait, that’s backwards, is it no’?” Rupert was an heir to a dukedom, although he didn’t hold a courtesy title currently. The entire Dukedom of Peasgoode was a little strange, truth be told.

Marcia laughed—a tittering, dismissive little laugh that didn’t sound at all right coming from her, and swept around the table, tugging her brother after her.

“Do not fret, dear Hawk, we do not stand on ceremony. Allison, if I may, how delightful to see you again,” she beamed. “Allow me to introduce my younger brother, Rupert Calderbank, heir to the Peasgoode duchy. Rupert, this is Hawk’s niece, Miss Allison Hawthorne.” She paused, her smile fixed. “Rupert, try to be polite.”

But Rupert wasn’t being polite.

Because Rupert was staring. At Allie.

Hawk’s confused gaze turned to his niece. Her cheeks had pinked and she dropped her gaze to Rupert’s chest, although he caught a hint of blue under her lashes as she risked a peek at the newcomer.

Good God, she was acting addled!

“It is so nice to meet you, my lord,” she whispered, offering a little curtsey.

“Rupe!” Rupert blurted, lurching forward to grasp her hand. “Call me Rupe—Rupert! Call me anything ye want!” He was speaking too loud, eyes too wide, as he pumped Allie’s hand up and down as though attempting to rekindle a fire with a bellows.

The young woman’s cheeks managed to turn even pinker…but still there was that smile.

Marcia, who’d released her brother and stepped away from him, now slid her arm through Hawk’s. “Oh dear,” she murmured under her breath.

Hawk wasn’t sure if he responded. He was too busy glorifying in the feel of her once more. Marcia. There was nothing like her. Not even the wind in his hair and the smell of the gorse could compare to?—

“Do ye like plants, Miss Hawthorne?” Rupert was asking, leading Allie to her place at the table. “I love plants! I love all flora. Did ye ken that the common rhododendron contains all the parts necessary for sexual reproduction, including a pistil, which includes an ovary?”

Hawk, who’d been in the middle of holding Marcia’s chair for her, swallowed his groan and turned a shocked gaze to the future Duke of Peasgoode, who he suspected was attempting to woo his niece through naughty plant facts.

Not a winning formula.

But instead of being shocked or titillated, Allie’s expression showed only genuine interest. “I did not know that, Lord— Rupert . However, I do know rather a lot about the male parts of flowers, such as the stamens, where the pollen is produced to fertilize the plant. I have a particular interest in male organs.”

Bloody hell, was she flirting back?

In a dazed sort of shock, Hawk realized that Marcia had been settled for some time, and half-stepped, half-stumbled to his own chair beside hers, watching the—the— courtship playing out across the table.

Had Allie finally met someone who rivaled her mental library of useless and inappropriate knowledge?

Rupert beamed as he almost fell onto his seat, his rapt gaze never leaving Allie. “Oh, brava ! I cannae wait for ye to show me the rhododendron, so we might dissect one together! Would you like to play with the stamens, as you are such an aficionado of the male sex mechanics?”

Apparently so.

As McMackinacker—apparently relieved of his valet-ing duties for the evening—stepped forward to serve, Hawk found himself exchanging an amused smile with Marcia, as if they were both in on a hidden joke. “How…unexpected,” he murmured.

“I am just pleased he will be distracted,” she murmured right back.

And Hawk didn’t have time to wonder what she meant, because in the next moment he felt her slippered foot press against his. The contact was slight, but he sucked in a breath, jaw tightening as he stared down at his soup.

“I have missed you,” Marcia breathed in a voice that could be barely heard.

But he heard her.

Of course he heard her.

Hawk swallowed his groan and reached for his spoon. “I’ve missed ye too,” he admitted in a voice low enough his niece wouldn’t hear, even if she had been paying attention.

I’ve missed ye more than ye’ll even ken. More than ye’d guess.

Marcia sipped at her own soup, but didn’t remove her foot. Nay, she began to move it, so the edge of her slipper slid toward his ankle in a strange caress he felt all the way up his thigh.

Christ. What was she—was this truly happening?

Had she really changed so much that she would try to—to what? Seduce him at dinner after a decade apart?

Inside his trousers, his cock hardened.

Well, it was working, apparently.

“Perhaps, with me here visiting, and my escort suitably distracted…” Marcia trailed off.

He closed his eyes, trying to rein in the impulse to shout Aye!

This was ridiculous; they had both closed the page on this…this sort of thing ten years ago. Closed the chapter. The book!

He’d hurt her, by God! Hadn’t he? When he’d walked away from what they shared? Lord knows he’d been devastated to realize it had all been a lie, and he was going to have to hide away in the fooking wilds of Scotland and was never going to see her again?

She must have forgotten, to be here, now, rubbing her foot up his leg.

In an attempt to distract himself, he shoveled too large a spoonful of the soup into his mouth. “Delicious,” he rasped, as if he hadn’t just burned his tongue. As if he could actually taste the flavors. “Pea soup, my favorite.”

“This is pumpkin,” she corrected him, laughter in her tone as her foot moved toward his calf. “Although asparagus would be better. Or oyster. Or fig.”

Dear God, she was naming the foods they used to share and joke about being aphrodisiacs. This couldn’t be happening. Had he fallen off his horse in the driveway and smacked his head—was this just a lust-filled dream?

“Do you remember, Hawk?”

Her foot slid back down and he jumped, nearly topping his soup and jolting the napkin from his lap. He reached to readjust it and brushed his unwilling palm against his throbbing cockstand. He was unable to hold in his groan this time.

Blessedly, Marcia moved her foot from his. He barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief, however, before she leaned her shoulder closer instead.

“Your butler placed me in the bedchamber beside yours,” she murmured.

When he glanced at her, half desperate, half horrified, her blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. Unable to help himself, his gaze dropped to the pendant she wore on a chain around her neck. The stone matched her eyes exactly—the same shine, the same hue, the same strange glow as if they were each hiding something important.

The fact it was nestled between her breasts didn’t hurt.

He curled his hand into a fist in his lap to keep from reaching for her. Or his cock. Neither was particularly appropriate at the table.

“Is…is that so?” he managed.

She winked.

What had happened in the last decade? This woman he hadn’t stopped loving had changed. She’d never married—he knew that much, and had often wondered at it—and hadn’t been involved with any man in the scandal rags. But she was acting as if their affair had never ended. As if the tears and the anger had never happened.

“I will leave my door unlocked tonight, Hawk,” she whispered. “I am sure you know the way. You always knew.”

A pit of dread opened in his stomach.

The reasons he’d broken it off with her all those years ago, the reasons he hadn’t asked for her hand, hadn’t ceased to exist. Her brother was still his best friend, the man he admired most in the world. He should never have touched her a decade ago, and he couldn’t touch her now.

But he wanted her.

Oh Christ in heaven, how he wanted her.

He dropped his chin in defeat.

Because if Marcia was planning on waiting for him in the room beside his, the door unlocked…he couldn’t be at Tostinham.

Tonight he’d sleep up in the cabin at the top of the burn, and pray he found strength to resist this new Marcia in the daylight.