Page 5 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 4

D amn.

Another morning, and Hawk was missing again.

Marcia assumed she’d done something to scare him off, but wasn’t certain what. In the first few hours after their arrival at Tostinham, she’d done her best to act like a shameless Society lady, one who would encourage a liaison with a scarred forester-turned-murderer-turned-Baron like Hawk.

She had simpered. She had flirted. She’d even done the weird toes under the table thing, which had turned out far more titillating than she had expected.

But he’d seemed uninterested.

Or possibly even scared ?

The Hawk she’d fallen in love with—enthusiastically principled, and rather adorably awkward—would have had the same reaction. But… surely he’d changed in the last decade? After all, any man who could heartlessly murder at least three members of his own family in order to gain a title must be depraved enough to enjoy flirting with willing bed partners?

Perhaps he is not depraved enough to take you up on your offer.

Damn. That was an insulting thought.

On the other hand, perhaps throwing herself into a murderer’s bed had been a foolish plan. She’d decided to seduce Hawk in order to get the information she needed, certain in the knowledge that he wouldn’t really hurt her.

But…would he? A man who’d murdered at least four others for his title wouldn’t hesitate to do so again to keep it, right? Did she need to be scared of him? Or would the self-defense skills she’d learned over the years—the skills she’d learned from her father and taught to others—keep her safe?

Frowning, Marcia ghosted along the corridors of Tostinham, hoping to surprise Hawk. Once she found him, perhaps she could surprise him into confessing to a murder or three as well—because the longer she stayed here, and the longer he avoided her, the more humiliated she became at his rejections.

Rupert was no help in the investigation, even though he had all the details. His intention had been to spend time in Tostinham’s library and discover what he could about the estate’s finances, while Marcia distracted Hawk.

Unfortunately, her idiot brother had spent the last two days far more interested in Hawk’s niece, and the “veritable wealth of information in her beautiful brain, Marsh!” than anything else. Marcia had to forgive him, because it had been a while since she’d seen him so enamored with something that didn’t come sandwiched between two covers, or pinned beneath a microscope.

He had been able to share that his “new” valet, McMackinacker, was completely useless. Apparently, the young man knew little about a gentleman’s ablutions and less about clothing, and Rupert had taken to waking up early to dress himself. But the footman was fond of gambling, Rupert whispered, and deeply in debt.

Deep enough in debt to help his master with a murderous scheme? Rupert vowed to pump the young man for information…in between his mooning over Allison.

Gabby, on the other hand, had been quite helpful in investigating the case; casually interviewing servants, digging into the estate history, that sort of thing.

Marcia had grown up calling Gabby a cousin, although their relationship was a little harder to define. Gabby and her twin brother Hunter had been fathered—illegitimately—by one of Bull’s older legitimate brothers. His brother Rourke raised them with all the benefits of his own children. While Gabby still sometimes teasingly called Bull “uncle,” they were all close enough in age to have built strong friendships.

And Marcia knew Gabby was one of the smartest women in her acquaintance, possibly even as smart as her own stepmother, renowned inventor Felicity Montrose-Calderbank. Gabby was clever, and educated, and well-informed.

If she was coming up empty-handed in her investigation among Tostinham’s staff, then Hawk had covered his tracks well.

What Marcia needed was some insider information. Someone who could help her figure out where to look next… Especially with Hawk avoiding her.

I cannot write to Bull and tell him I have failed.

Gaze locked on the carpet as she mulled over her possibilities, Marcia turned the corner and almost ran into, or over, a pair of ridiculously shined shoes.

“Oh!” she blurted, jerking her gaze upward to land on the butler’s carefully blank expression. “Forgive me, Artrip! I was…deep in thought.”

His expression didn’t change. “Of course, my lady,” he intoned, stepping around her. His hair, which revealed he’d once been a ginger before starting to gray, was combed over a gleaming bald spot in the middle of his head and held in place with so much pomade it didn’t move as he twisted.

I wonder if he is as stiff and unknowable?

Thinking fast, Marcia blocked his path. “Sometimes I become so entranced I…I lose track of my surroundings!” The butler could be the source she needed, couldn’t he? “Do you ever find that to be the case?”

The older man’s nose wrinkled just once, as much response as she’d ever received from him. “No, my lady.”

Damn .

“Oh, it is common for me.” It really wasn’t. Think think think. “You know, pondering the divine, that sort of thing.”

Since she was clearly inviting a response, Artrip blinked once, slowly. “I shall be obliged to take your word on it, my lady.”

He wasn’t a religious person then? What else? “Or my schedule for the week!” she blurted desperately. “Or the shape of dewdrop on a rose petal!”

Finally his expression eased just slightly, the skin around his eyes softening. “I have become entranced by the sound of a stream, I suppose.”

Oh, so he liked nature? Marcia could work with that. She’d been practically raised on that. She slid around to stand at his side, to invite further conversation as they walked. “Oh, yes, I have heard the burns in Cowal are just stunning.” I would not know for sure, of course, because I have not been invited to see any .

“They used to be, true.” The butler cleared his throat. “Has my lady had the chance to see Beinn Mhòr? It used to be truly stunning.”

At last! A chink in his armor! Beaming at finally finding an in with the staid old butler, Marcia clasped her hands in a passable imitation of excitement. “Oh, how I would love to see that! You must be a true lover of the natural world!”

They reached the end of the corridor and Artrip stopped, clearly intending to turn toward the servants’ stairway. “I have often thought that the infinite beauties of the nature around us are the most important thing in this short life.” He gave a shallow bow. “Can I help you with anything else, my lady?”

Ah, the interview was at an end then? But she’d made headway, she knew it! Huzzah to progress! Huzzah to achievement! Huzzah to…well, it was a small victory, but it was not as though she were inundated with them. “Could you, perhaps, point me toward the baron? I should like to ask him to make time to escort me to see the mountain.”

His expression blank, Artrip nodded once. “Certainly. He is currently sitting in the rose garden.” Was that a note of distaste in his voice? “ Reading .”

Was the butler disapproving of the reading, or the doing it out of doors? It didn’t matter: it was progress. Marcia offered a bright smile. “Thank you ever so much, Artrip. From one nature lover to another, have a beautiful day!”

The old man wore the vaguest hint of a smile as he turned away, and she patted herself on the back—metaphorically of course, she wasn’t that flexible—for finding a connection with him. Perhaps there were benefits to being as charming as Bull at times?

You can only be yourself .

When Marcia reached the gardens, she slowed. Tostinham truly was a beautiful estate, and although she could never understand why he would kill for it, she could understand why Hawk loved it so much.

Wished to possess it.

Her feet crunched on the gravel and she winced, knowing if he heard her, he’d find an excuse to disappear. At the end of the row Marcia hopped to the grass and sidled toward the gazebo. As she approached, she heard mutterings.

“ How much for feed? Good God, do the cows no’ eat grass? Is that no’ why we have grass? Or hay?” The sound of papers being flipped. “Ha! Last year’s expense was half… Fook , we bought cattle feed twice? Am I understanding this right?”

Marcia stopped, partially hidden by a large topiary of a peacock, to study Hawk as he shuffled papers about.

“Christ Almighty, we did .” He huffed and slapped the papers down to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Either we bought the feed twice, or Michaelson is pulling something shady.” With a sigh, he picked up another pile of paper to rifle through as he muttered, “Where’s the page with the blue smudge on top? The world’s truly gone to shite when a man cannae trust his own steward.”

Marcia eased herself further into the shadows of the peacock’s tail, her stomach suddenly knotted in anticipation.

Hawk was seated at a table in the middle of a gazebo, clearly brought out for just this purpose, with ledgers and folios and piles of paper before him. He had a pencil in one hand, another behind his right ear, and he muttered to himself as he jotted notes and flipped between the pages. There was a smear of ink on his cheek.

And her traitorous heart gave a little flip each time his hand crossed the shaft of sunlight which lit the gazebo.

She’d always loved his hands, scarred and callused as they were. They weren’t a gentleman’s hand, but the hands of a man who loved the outdoors, who reveled in the chance to pit himself against nature. In the last ten years, his hands had gained more scars—across the knuckles, across the palms, possibly from a slip of an ax or a poorly-held knife?—but she could still remember the way they felt.

On her skin. Against her lips. Deep within her.

Perhaps she made a noise—Heaven knew she was trying to rein in her unbridled arousal—because he suddenly looked up. Hawk’s expression went from surprise to pleasure to wariness in a blink.

“Marcia? What are ye doing here?”

Remember, you are flirting with him . Flirting with a murderer. “La, looking for you, of course,” she answered playfully, sashaying up the steps to the gazebo.

At least, she thought she was sashaying. Having never actually seen someone sashay, it was difficult to mimic. So she compromised on a sort of hip-wriggling stumble. It was fortunate indeed that there were only three steps.

Hawk tossed his pencil down. “Are ye aright? Why are ye limping?”

So much for that. Marcia rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. “I am not limping, you blind idiot, I am sashaying.”

“I beg yer?—”

“Sashaying—have you never seen a woman sashay before?”

“Sashaying? Why?”

“To make myself look more attractive, you dolt!”

It wasn’t until Hawk’s expression slowly shifted from confusion to anger that she realized what she’d said.

Ah. So much for subtlety, Marcia. So much for coy-mindless-debutante mimicry.

When he placed his palms on the table, she backed up.

“To make yerself what ?”

Cover your blunder ! Marcia burst into high-pitched giggles. “Oh, Hawk, I am just teasing!”

“Nay, ye’re no’,” he growled, pushing himself to his feet, knocking a ledger off the table as he did so and completely ignoring the noise it made as it hit the ground. “Ye said ye were trying to make yerself look more attractive. Ye’re—ye’re manipulating me.” Scowling, he waved angrily, encompassing her whole body. “Ye’re sashaying and giggling and…and…”

You can only be yourself .

Well, hell, hadn’t she just been saying this?

Her shoulders slumped and her gaze dropped to the papers on the table. “Perhaps I have changed in the last ten years.”

As you have, murderer.

“No’ this much.” Hawk blew out a breath then dragged his fingers through his hair, disheveling it in a way that made her want to climb into his lap and set it right again. Or muss it more. “Ye pretend like ye dinnae have a real thought in yer head, at a time when I could use a friend. Ye wear yer hair down all the time?—”

Confused, Marcia touched one of her curls. “I thought—you said once that you liked my hair?” she whispered.

Liked it…loved it, spread out over his pillow as he worshiped her?—

“I do, but ye used to braid it and pin it and be done. Clearly ye’ve spent time making yerself attractive ,” Hawk bit out as he waved bad temperedly at her torso—or perhaps her bosom. “Wearing bright colors and a tight corset and that necklace that draws my eyes right where they shouldnae be.”

Without thinking, Marcia’s hand dropped to the glass pendant Lady Mistree had given her, but she was focused on Hawk’s words.

He’d noticed her figure? She was ten years older, and of course her body had changed since the last time they’d been together.

But he’d noticed, and he’d liked what he’d seen?

Has that not been the goal, with all this flirtation ?

Yes, certainly but… It was still flattering. Marcia felt her cheeks heating.

“Bull is responsible for the bright colors,” she finally admitted. “I am happy with my nondescript gowns, but he loathes brown. He insists I have something worth looking at .”

Hawk sighed again, his lips twitching. “Aye, that sounds like him.” He leaned on his knuckles on the table, his gaze intent on her. “But Marcia, why…?”

He didn’t finish the question, and she wasn’t sure she even understood. So she answered the question she wanted to answer.

Murder investigation be damned.

“Because I wanted to appeal to you.”

He blinked in surprise and straightened. “Ye think…this… falseness is appealing to me?”

Without thinking, Marcia responded to the disbelief in his tone with a thrown challenge of her own. “Why not? Who I am was not appealing enough, so I might as well be someone I am not.”

She realized her mistake as soon as his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. He slid from behind the table—knocking a folio to the ground this time—and reminded her a bit of a predator as he stalked toward her. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Swallowing, Marcia backed up until her arse hit the gazebo railing. Entranced by the look in his dark eyes, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Even if she’d wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

Hawk stopped in front of her, close enough she could feel his exhalations on her cheeks, close enough she could press her palm against his heart if she wanted to. Needed to.

Without releasing her gaze, he lifted one hand and gripped the pillar behind her, bracketing her on one side.

“What is that supposed to mean, Marcia?” he asked again in that same low growl, dipping his head toward her. “That who ye are is no’ appealing enough?”

Oh.

Oh my .

Hawk had always been so kind and gentle that this side of him—this take-charge, demanding side—was really quite appealing.

Well, never let it be said she was a coward. She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I was myself ten years ago, and you rejected me.” Losing her bravado, her gaze dropped to the stubble on his chin and her voice dropped to a whisper. “That was a mistake—you made a mistake. So now I am trying to be someone else, so you might like me more than you did…before.”

“A mistake? Ye think I dinnae like ye?”

Do not answer that. You are only trying to seduce him to gain his trust and learn his secrets, remember. Loving Hawk was a mistake, because he has clearly hidden his own bloodthirsty character for years.

His fingers went to her chin, tipping it upward to meet his gaze. “I liked ye plenty, Marcia.”

He shifted closer and her breath stuttered. Because now they were close enough that when she inhaled her sensitive nipples brushed against the front of his jacket. She could feel his hardness probing against his trousers.

He is a murderer a murderer a murderer do not trust him ? —

Marcia whimpered slightly as Hawk dipped his head closer.

“I still like ye,” he confessed in a harsh whisper. “ Marcia . Who ye truly are. No’ the prattering debutante ye’re trying to be.”

Oh.

Her eyes fluttered closed, not sure she could contain all the warring emotions deep within her.

Need.

Fear.

Yearning.

Love .

She was here to do a job. A job for the Crown; an honorable occupation. Hawk confessing he still liked her—and clearly had found something in her arousing—should be her chance to crow and preen; she was one step closer to winning his confidence and proving his guilt.

But in that moment, she wasn’t thinking of the job at all.

She was thinking of his breath, his lips, his body, his heat.

And Marcia Calderbank—the real and true Marcia Calderbank—did the unthinkable; she slid her arms around a murderer’s waist in the same moment he lowered his mouth to capture her lips in a kiss.

Yes.

Yes .

Oh God, yes.

Hawk’s lips were just as she’d remembered them, just as she’d fantasized in the last ten years; skin rough, but flesh soft. He didn’t have to coax, because Marcia met him joyfully.

As his tongue slid between her lips, his fingers moved to cup first her cheek, then the back of her neck, as the hand which had bracketed her dropped to her lower back pulling her closer, closer, closer, until his hardness pressed against her softness and she made a desperate little mewling sound as she gyrated her hips against him.

Marcia tugged at his waist as if trying to climb him, and he—perhaps understanding—pressed a knee between her thighs, forcing them open until she was straddling him, riding him.

Yes .

All thought was gone, leaving nothing behind but the pleasure of sensation. The pressure, the heat which had laid dormant for so long, now threatened to consume Marcia. Whimpering, she thrust herself closer, catching his lower lip between her teeth and gently tugging until he groaned and wrapped her in an embrace she’d yearned for all these years.

It was a good kiss, was the point.

His lips moved to her jaw, and she tipped her head back to thunk against the gazebo support. She felt him smile, heard his little hum of approval, as his kisses moved along her jaw to her throat. His stubble scratched at her sensitive skin and she shuddered, digging her fingers into his sides to hold herself to him, lest she drift away in a haze of bliss.

“Yes, Hawk,” she gasped, arching against him. “Yes!”

He froze.

For five heartbeats he froze, his lips against her skin, his thigh rubbing her core.

Marcia knew, because she could count each of his heartbeats against her own.

Then, abruptly, the murderer she had come all this way to investigate straightened.

He straightened and pulled away, moving his hands to her shoulders, yanking away the thigh she’d been grinding against.

Marcia swayed, gaping, dazed and baffled, blinking up at him in the cold of his absence.

“I shouldnae have done that,” he muttered, turning his head as if he couldn’t even stand to look at her.

And her heart broke all over again.

Well? What do you expect? You two are not in love, are not a couple. You have not been for over a decade. This is a job. He is a job. Do not fool yourself into thinking this kiss was anything but a mistake.

Right.

Right. She could do this. She had to do this. She would do this.

She couldn’t afford to lose her head—or her heart—to a murderer.

“Well,” Marcia said as brightly as she could manage, as if her chest wasn’t aching from holding in tears. “What was that you said earlier about needing a friend?”

Hawk’s hands dropped away from her shoulders. “Ye remember that, do ye?” he muttered, turning away.

“Of course.” She should probably touch him, follow him, but there were limits to her acting ability. Right now she needed to just stand here and allow this pillar to hold her upright as it held the gazebo roof. “And I…I have always been your friend, Hawk.”

Up until now, when I am lying to you . Up until that moment, when you broke my heart. Up until the time you decided to kill to get what you want.

He twisted to peer at her, uncertainty in his eyes, and she hid her crossed fingers in the folds of her skirt.

“I…am struggling with the paperwork,” he finally admitted.

Her gaze darted to the table. “The paperwork?”

“Of the estate.” He blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand down his face. “It’s never been my forte—Nay, that’s an understatement. It’s always been a bloody mystery to me, all those columns of numbers and scratchy handwriting. But I need to make sense of it if I am to build Tostinham back into the success it was under my Grandda.”

Well, Marcia knew paperwork. She was good at paperwork. Paperwork didn’t lie or murder or kiss her.

And paperwork was very, very good at revealing secrets.

So she plastered on a cheerful smile she didn’t feel and forced herself toward the table. “Let me help, Hawk.”