Page 6 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 5

B y the fifth day Marcia had been at Tostinham, Hawk was certain he was in hell. Purgatory at the very least.

He was well and truly fooked.

On the one hand, he was enjoying his time with Allie, and even young Rupert. Their mutual knowledge could be overwhelming, but they were both quick-witted and amusing to be around.

On the other hand… Marcia.

Ten years of avoiding the most tempting temptation to ever tempt, and he blurts out an invitation to fooking visit him, just because he’d been distracted by a waltz? And then, despite the fact that she could be forgiven for holding a grudge for ten years, she accepts and drops right in his lap?

Repeatedly?

Fooked alright.

It was bad enough that she was here, tempting him again, but at least he could resist her when she was pretending to be everything he’d hated about Society women. But after that kiss, after she went back to being herself, she was…

Well, she was everything he’d remembered, and more.

The Marcia he’d fallen in love with all those years ago had been young and idealistic and full of plans and ideas for the coming century. There’d been a bit of naiveite there, but he’d been impressed by her resilience, her enthusiasm, and her boldness.

But now?

Now that she’d spent a decade dealing with the harsh realities of the world, and heartache, and loss? Now that the naiveite had worn off and she’d realized she could grab the world in both hands?

Now she was positively addicting. She was the sun, and he was…he was a sapling, reaching—stretching for her.

Fooked, definitely. Ye’re spouting poetry.

In the last days, they’d fallen into a sort of camaraderie. Not exactly the same… friendship they’d had all those years ago, because he was still desperately fighting this inappropriate attraction, but a friendship nonetheless.

And as she’d promised, Marcia was good with paperwork. She could make sense of it, and more importantly, explain it easily enough that he could grasp it quickly. Even rooting out embezzlement had been easy for her, while it had taken him ages to find. Although it had been a struggle that first day to contain his throbbing cockstand, they’d settled in the gazebo and pretended sternly that the kiss had never happened.

Oh God, that kiss.

That kiss.

The kiss that was like coming home. The kiss that reminded him of everything . The kiss that had reached into his chest, and lower, and made him fooking complete .

The kiss that he’d ended when Hawk remembered she was his best friend’s little sister.

The reminder hadn’t helped, though, when he’d taken himself in hand that night in his bed. Knowing she was right next door , with her door unlocked. Had she been hoping he’d come to her?

Well, he’d damn well come in another way at least.

He’d stroked himself, remembering the feel of her body beneath his hands, remembering those arousing little noises she’d made as she clutched at him. And aye, he imagined it to be her hands, her mouth on him.

He’d wondered—nay, he’d hoped that she was doing much the same thing mere feet away.

He’d pictured her, lying there in that large guest bed, her feet planted, knees up, thighs spread. Her nightgown pulled up around her waist, her fingers buried in her cunny, stroking and plunging. Her other hand squeezing her tit, her thumb teasing the bud of pleasure he remembered she liked so much.

He’d imagined her coming, gasping, thinking of him …and he’d spilled across his hand with a low groan, feeling like a cad.

An utter cad, who frigged himself while thinking of a woman he couldn’t— shouldn’t —have.

But that didn’t stop Hawk from doing it each night since that soul destroying kiss.

God forgive him.

Another reason to feel like a guilty coward.

A knock at the door had Marcia turning from where she struggled with her gown. “Yes?” she called.

“Do you need any help getting dressed, milady?” came Gabby’s question, her tone laced with knowing laughter.

The minx knew Marcia was used to going without a maid, and her clothing usually reflected that. Scowling down at the gown Bull had chosen, she called out, “Oh, get in here.”

Gabby made a show of curtseying low in the doorway, then kicked the door shut behind her incongruously. “Smythe-Smith-Smythe is here to serve you, milady . I wish we had chosen an easier name, milady . Even I am getting confused, milady .”

“Oh, stop it,” Marcia grumbled, turning around to offer her back to Gabby. “And get me out of this thing, please. I hate it.”

Humming, Gabby stepped up and began to undo the tiny buttons. “That is because this is an evening gown. Totally inappropriate for a morning of—what are you planning on doing today?”

As Marcia held her cousin’s shoulder carefully and stepped out of the dratted gown, she grumbled, “More paperwork, I assume. I have been pouring over the ledgers and paperwork for five days now, but found nothing. The blue skirt, I think.”

This last was suggested as Gabby finished hanging the gown and hesitated over which clothing to pull down. “Oh, yes, madam, a fine choice,” the younger woman intoned, keeping up her loyal retainer act. “And the matching jacket, does madam believe would suit?”

Sticking out her tongue, Marcia snatched the clothing from her cousin and began to wriggle into the shirt. “Look, Smith-Smythe-Smooth, if you did not want the job, you did not need to take it.”

“And miss the opportunity to embed myself in one of yours and Bull’s outlandish schemes?” Gabby pretended shock, placing a hand on her cheek in mild surprise. “I would never . Besides…” She shrugged. “You needed someone to chaperone you and cozy up to the servants—I have perfected my downtrodden masses monologue, if you want to hear it sometime. I almost received a round of applause at the last declaration.”

As her cousin plopped onto the bed, her weight supported by her palms and her feet kicking idly, Marcia buttoned the front of the blouse. “And have you heard anything we could use as evidence? At this point, I would be happy with a whispered rumor—Hawk’s irritation at being passed over, resentment toward his cousins, delight at inheriting anything . I mean, a receipt for a bottle of poison would be handy, though, or a note scrawled in blood saying ‘ Hahahaha! Mad, they called me, mad !’ Surely the kitchens have something?”

Gabby shrugged. “Nothing, I am afraid. Oh, there are some fascinating tales belowstairs, and Mrs. McGillicuddy will tell them all if you give her a wee sherry…”

“Anything about the steward, Michaelson?” Pulling the skirt over her head muffled Marcia’s words a bit, but she struggled free. “Hawk and I found some evidence that he’s been doing… well, it is either modest embezzlement, or the man has a strange fondness for animal food.”

“Oh, yes!” Her cousin’s eyes brightened, and she shifted her elbows to her knees, leaning forward to impart the gossip. “McGillicuddy told me that late yesterday afternoon, the baron called Michaelson in and gave him a severe scolding—those were her words, not mine, and the steward stalked out, grumbling.”

Marcia paused in the middle of buttoning her skirt. “Did she say what he was grumbling? Any possibility he was Hawk’s ally in some sort of scheme, and could be turned against him?”

With a reluctant shake of her head, the other woman admitted, “I have heard nothing remotely suspicious. Except possibly for Michaelson, the servants here think the world of ‘Master Hawk.’ They are glad he has brought Allison here to live as well. McGillicuddy said it has been too long since they had young blood around here.”

Hmm. Unconsciously, Marcia tapped her finger against her lips as she began to pace. It was easier to think when she moved. “And does McGillicuddy—any of them—have insight into why Allison is living here? I mean, why is Hawk her guardian?”

“Her father was his older brother—they were not close, but he died here a decade ago. She became Hawk’s ward, and he sent her off to school because he did not have a real home.”

Was that why? Or was it because he didn’t want anyone close to him as he began to plot his nefarious schemes? Had Marcia in some way influenced him?

Damn ! It was impossible to know. “I had the impression they were not…close. Hawk and Allison,” she amended.

Gabby straightened, shrugging. “From what I have heard, they barely knew one another before he brought her to live here when he gained the title. McGillicuddy makes her childhood sound sad and lonely, but Allison does not seem like she has suffered much.”

“And if anything, the two of them have been closer in the last week,” Marcia mused. She’d seen the tentative trust and love blooming between guardian and ward in only a few days, and to her surprise, had enjoyed being a part of that, and getting to know the girl. “It seems likely that he left the lass at school for some reason, and now that he has a home, he is growing to know and respect her as a person.”

Was it possible the murder scheme had been concocted originally as some way to benefit Allison? Some kind of reward for the girl, or a way to give her a home?

But Gabby shrugged. “I cannot help with that, since I have not seen them interact. What with me being stuck belowstairs, milady . Being a maid, milady .”

With a snort, Marcia swung back toward the jacket Gabby had chosen. “Well, what is the general consensus among the servants about Hawk, Smith-Smythe-Smack?”

The reply was immediate. “They respect him because he listens and values their opinions. They call him fair, and they trust him to do the best for Tostinham.”

Marcia’s eyes fluttered closed in defeat. Yes, that sounded like Hawk. Fair-minded, strong, and cared deeply for Tostinham. How dare he be so…so honorable . “But did he kill to get here?” she whispered.

It wasn’t until Gabby responded that she realized she’d said it out loud.

“I do not know,” her cousin admitted with a wince in her tone. “Are you certain he did?”

With a sigh, Marcia opened her eyes and began to tuck in various articles of clothing into various other articles of clothing, her moves efficient and practiced after years of doing for herself.

“I was certain, because Bull was certain.” She hesitated. “He was certain because Prin—I mean, because his Crown contact was certain.” She trusted Gabby, but there were some things that weren’t necessary for her to know. “But now…?” She shook her head and scooped up the little shrug jacket that matched her blue skirt. “None of us can find any evidence.”

“Well, to be fair, Rupert is hardly investigating.”

“Yesterday they found a book about the folklore of the western isles, and he told her all about the supposed sprite living in my necklace.” Marcia twitched a brow in amusement. “He claims he’s lulling Allison into a false sense of security so she will let her guard down.”

“I bet he is.”

“He means that she will let something slip.” Marcia winked. “I suspect he is trying to woo her with the library.”

“Yes, well from what I have heard, it is working.” Gabby plopped back on her elbows with a sigh. “Hawk just does not seem like a murderer, does he?”

Marcia clasped the blue glass amulet on as she considered her cousin’s question. She often wore it under her blouse, against her skin, warm and comforting…but it had also become a comfort to hold—and besides, would match the blue of her skirt.

She stared at herself in the mirror as she clasped it. “He is doing a fine job of pretending, that is for certain,” she muttered. “He is acting as though he has not changed at all.”

“Changed?” Gabby’s reflection pushed herself upright. “What do you mean, changed?”

Marcia waved away the question vaguely. “You know. He is still kind and strong and caring and straightforward and just. Or at least, he appears to be. The same as how he was ten years ago when…”

When she trailed off, Gabby slowly stood, eying her curiously. “When what?”

“When—when we met him, remember?” Marcia pretended to straighten her appearance. Bother. “That first Hogmanay when Bull brought him home?”

“I remember you being quite taken with him.”

Yes, she had been. Marcia’s cheeks burned. “That was a long time ago.”

In the mirror, Gabby stepped closer. “But there was something there, was there not? I am right,” she whispered. “Did you…care for him?”

Sighing, Marcia turned and admitted the truth. Well, it was a miracle she had kept it a secret this long. “I loved him. I thought…I thought he loved me.”

Her cousin’s expression crumpled. “Oh, Marcia,” she whispered, and opened her arms for a hug. “I am sorry.”

Marcia allowed herself the embrace because Gabby was empathetic and caring and gave truly fabulous hugs. Not because she needed a hug. Not at all. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Gabby rubbed her back. “Was it?”

Bull told me Hawk would make a fine husband. I thought that meant they had come to an arrangement. I agreed wholeheartedly…and then waited. And waited. And waited for Hawk to propose, but I never saw him again .

Was it a mistake?

Marcia huffed. “Of course it was. The bastard turned out to be a murderer, did he not?”

Gabby didn’t respond for a bit, but finally hummed, her eyes wide as she came to the realization. “You are here because you thought you could use what you once had to get close to him again, correct? That would explain that ridiculous act you did when we got here?—”

Scowling, Marcia pulled away. “It was a valid plan, which I reevaluated when I realized he was more interested in the way I used to be.”

“Because he loved you the way you were, not the way you were trying to be?”

Marcia planted her hands on her hips. “I said it was a mistake. I should never have allowed myself to be fooled by him all those years ago!”

“Fooled?” Gabby shook her head. “Love is never a mistake.”

Spoken like a woman who had never been hurt. “It is as if the man turns out to have been murdering people behind my back.”

“Has he?” With a shrug, Gabby scooped up a piece of discarded clothing and began to fold it, like the maid she was pretending to be. “How certain are you?”

Not at all. Not anymore.

“I have to be certain,” Marcia said, her fingers closing around the pendant, which seemed to give her strength. “Bull is certain, so I must be. His last letter made it perfectly clear that in the Crown’s eyes, Hawk is the murderer. It is a case of how, not who. My loyalty is to my brother, to the Crown , not to some mistake I made years ago.”

Gabby nodded sadly. “Well then. Good luck. Hawk is waiting for you in the study.”

Taking a deep breath, Marcia nodded, steeling herself for another day of manipulation and lies.

And whatever Hawk was willing to give her.

“ A re you ready for another exciting day of ledgers and maths?”

Hawk’s gaze—and attention—jerked away from the window to see Marcia smiling at him from the doorway. She had every reason to hate him, and yet here she was, smiling.

Why?

Why was he worth such smiles?

In his trousers, his cock throbbed in memory of last night’s particularly delicious hand-frigging, reminding him of how unworthy he was.

He’d hurt her, and he was still using her memory for pleasure.

She’s waiting for an answer . “Actually…” He cleared his throat and turned away from the beautiful view of Beinn Mhòr in the distance. “I think we’re mostly caught up. My Grandda’s secretary left when he died, and I dinnae think this study has been so organized since he was alive.”

Stepping into the room, Marcia looked around, brow raised. “Organized? I think not.”

Oh. Well, it was true the room was in a bit of disarray. “I meant the paperwork.” He crossed to the desk and began stacking the ledgers they’d worked on yesterday, half-distracted and not paying attention to the piles. Just dinnae look at her, that’s the trick . “It was remarkably helpful, to transfer the records from all the receipts and the little flittery bits of paper lying around to the books.”

There was a teasing in her tone when Marcia scooped up one of the piles of those papers and said, “Yes, but perhaps we ought to have cleaned up as we went? Or do you think Artrip should handle this?”

“Och, nay.” Hawk lifted a set of books hastily and crossed to the shelf, only dropping one as he turned. “I’d prefer to organize them myself. After all, I’m going to need to find them again.”

“Ah, true.” She was quiet for a moment, then hazarded, “Did your grandfather have a particular organizational system?”

“I’m…no’ certain.” Hawk frowned up at the shelves as he found places for the books he hadn’t yet dropped. “This seems to be the agricultural records, but the daft auld fool didn’t keep them in chronological order.” A memory caused him to snort, a smile tugging at his lips. “Grandda always said an ordered mind meant ye didnae need to order yer surroundings. As long as he could recall where everything was, he didnae need to put it back in the same place each time.”

“He sounds like an interesting person. I am sorry you lost him.” Marcia stooped to pick up the book he’d dropped.

Hawk shrugged, pulling down one record book and moving it three places to the left as he most definitely did not glance down at Marcia’s bosom. It was just that eye-catching pendant she wore, really. That was the only reason to look there, not the memory of the kiss in the gazebo…

Stop it. He swallowed.

“Thank ye. He always seemed so strong to me, so vigorous, it was hard watching him grow auld. Still, his death was sudden, his heart just stopped one night. I visited him the month afore he died, and we shared our memories and kind words then. I kenned he was proud of what I’d accomplished, and he kenned I loved him.”

“We should all be so lucky,” she whispered.

“Aye.” Why the hell was the Spring 1887 ledger among the early 1890s? Shaking his head, Hawk pulled it down and slotted it into its correct spot. “And he died kenning his legacy was in good hands, so he was at peace.”

“Your hands, you mean?”

It was the sharpness in her tone that caught Hawk’s attention. He turned to see her standing with her hip propped against the desk, turning the book over her in her hands, eying him with a slight frown. When she noticed him watching, she glanced away.

“No’ my hands, Marcia,” he gently corrected. “My cousin Franklin was Grandda’s auldest son’s auldest son. His father had died years before, but my cousin had trained his whole life to run Tostinham. He was ready.”

A hint of blue peeked from beneath her lashes, and Marcia’s free hand rose to fiddle with the blue pendant she seemed to always wear nowadays. “He did not last long though, did he?”

What a…crude way to speak of such grief. A little hurt by her coolness, he reached out to pull the ledger from her hand. “No,” he said abruptly, turning back to the shelves. “He died late last year, succumbing suddenly to a stomach ailment. Eating bad eels, the doctors said.”

“And then his brother became the Baron?”

She certainly had been paying attention, hadn’t she? Hawk slid the book into place before answering, his heart heavy. “Aye, my cousin Roger inherited, but barely had time to settle in afore he was killed in a fall while riding. The saddle straps snapped.”

“Tragic.”

Hawk twisted in surprise at her bland tone. Marcia wasn’t looking at him, instead focused on stacking the loose papers on the desk. Why did she sound so cold? “Aye,” he managed to croak. “Tragic.”

“Perhaps Roger was not the best horseman?”

With a small snort, Hawk picked up another stack of ledgers and turned back to his shelving. “Everything I heard said he was a shite horseman. He’d never liked horses when we were lads.”

“He had no sons to inherit, I presume?”

“Neither did. They were my age.” Franklin had been making plans to woo a wealthy debutante in the spring. Hawk hadn’t known Roger as well, but assumed he had similar plans. Land needed heirs.

“And so your next uncle inherited? Your grandfather’s younger son?”

Hawk frowned as he slid the last ledger into place. “I hadnae realized the gossip rags had paid so much attention to the Tostinham tragedies.” She was remarkably well informed.

“Oh, well, Bull kept me appraised on your adventures.”

But…Hawk hadn’t been publicly named as the new Baron Tostinham until recently. Had the papers really focused on him so much?

When his Uncle William inherited, Hawk had been informed he would become the heir unless one of his female cousins—William’s daughters—produced a son. Since Anna was already married, that happy occasion was expected to occur long before Uncle William’s death.

But a month ago he went to sleep and just…didn’t wake up. Hawk’s cousin Marianne—Anna’s older sister—protested, but the will was firm and now…

It was only then that Hawk’s name—as the oldest of the grandsons from Grandda’s daughters—was announced as the new Tostinham.

So how had Bull known to keep watch on the Tostinham tragedies? Was it just because his old friend had remembered Hawk’s mother’s lineage?

Hmm.

His hand on the spine of the last ledger, Hawk paused.

“Bull has…kept watch on my fortunes?”

“Oh, Bull is very proud of you!” Her tone was too cheerful to be believed, and he turned back to see her smiling blandly at him. “Speaks of you often. Kept up with all your adventures.”

“Really?” Hawk shifted to one side and crossed his arms over his chest in what he realized was a defensive manner. “We are no’ as close as we used to be.” Before my guilt caused me to pull away. “It’s flattering to know he’s kept up with my life, even if we havenae spoken much.”

She waved dismissively. “Oh, he has been…busy.”

“With his detective business, aye?”

Was it his imagination, or did she just wince?

“Bull is always collecting information, you know how it is.” She seemed to be stacking and re-stacking the same papers again and again. “Allison strikes me as that kind of person.”

Nay, Allie was more like Rupert in that the information she collected wasn’t modern events, but everything . Still, the mention of Hawk’s niece distracted him onto a pleasanter conversational path. “Aye, she’s a bright lass.”

Marcia’s expression slid into something more natural as she offered him a peek of a smaller smile. “She and my brother are well-matched in that regard.”

He snorted and slowly uncrossed his arms, this topic a sort of peace offering between them. “I havenae seen them in the last few days, but that they werenae sitting with foreheads practically touching, peering at the same book and taking turns to flip the page.”

“I know!” She straightened, her sparkling blue eyes matching the pendant she wore. “He seems quite enamored. It is…” Her gaze dropped shyly. “It is good to see him making friends.”

Friends? Aye. “I have to warn ye. Allie says she isnae planning to marry any time soon.”

Marcia’s grin turned impish and she shrugged, going back to her sorting—truly sorting this time. “Then I suppose Rupert has his work cut out for him if that is his goal.”

“That had better be his goal, I willnae have him trifling…” As Hawk realized what he was about to say, he bit down on the words.

But Marcia knew—of course she knew. They both knew. They had both shared in a trifling. She snorted. “A bit hypocritical, Hawk. You said you trusted Bull, and he’s a brigand and a rogue and a thief, as well as a sartorial expert. Could you not trust Rupert as well?”

Fook . Blowing out a breath, he moved around the desk to fall into one of the chairs near the window. “Aye, I’m sorry. Yer brother is a good man, I ken. Both of them are.”

Outside the glass, birds swooped, diving down to snatch at the insects in the gardens. Hawk wished he was out there with them, breathing in the warm summer air.

The silence behind him was broken by the sound of her skirts swishing. “Rupert will not dishonor her,” she murmured, walking toward him. “Not…”

His eyes closed on a silent curse he would not utter. “No’ like I did ye,” he finished in a whisper.

Her hand closed around his shoulder, and he wasn’t certain if the touch was intended to be a comfort or a censure. “I was not going to say that,” she murmured.

“Ye should say it. That kiss, Marcia…” He shook his head, too cowardly to open his eyes. “What we shared. We shouldnae…”

Her fingers squeezed slightly. “It might have been a mistake, but I have not regretted what we shared, Hawk.”

Christ.

Christ Almighty .

She never regretted what they’d shared? Well, he’d spent every day of the last ten years regretting his cowardice, his cruelty, the way he hadn’t been brave enough to approach Bull and explain…

He’d never had the bollocks to tell his best friend he was fooking his sister.

It had been wrong . Their entire relationship had been too wrong to be public, and the longer they kept it hidden, the more devious it had felt.

And then he’d learned the truth of how fickle Marcia’s feelings for him had been. Hawk had had to choose between finally coming clean to Bull…or ending it altogether.

He’d taken the easier route, and it had haunted him for a decade. Curse his cowardice!

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It was all he could offer her.

Another woman might have accepted that apology, might have pretended all was well. But not his Marcia. She held his gaze, lifted a brow, and demanded, “For what?”

A challenge.

“For…” He took a deep breath. “For the mistakes of my past.”

Except…

Loving Marcia hadn’t been a mistake. Or rather, it had , because she was his best friend’s little sister and Bull didn’t deserve that kind of betrayal. But while that mistake had brought him pain, it had brought him joy as well. So much joy.

And over the years, he’d forced himself to forget that joy, hadn’t he? Amid the guilt and the pain, he hadn’t deserved to remember the joy.

But now she was here with him, and all he could think about was the joy— that joy, the joy they’d shared.

And the fact that he’d never stopped loving her, curse him.

He heard her inhale, wondered what she would say…and the door clicked open.

“My lord,” intoned Artrip in that familiar dry voice. “Cook begs me to discover if you will be taking luncheon in the dining room or in a picnic basket?” The sneer in his tone made it clear he thought picnics were a waste of time.

Hawk had jumped at his entrance and Marcia’s hand fell away. Now they both turned to face the butler.

“A picnic sounds lovely, Artrip,” she said, a smile in her voice as she offered a wink. “Perhaps with some toast and ham, in honor of my host?”

“I am afraid I do not understand, my lady.”

“Toast and ham?” Marcia waggled her brows. “ Tostinham ?”

Artrip’s neutral expression didn’t change. “If you wish to eat your ham on toast…”

As Hawk pressed his lips together to hold in a snort of laughter, Marcia blew out a breath and muttered, “You must be a delight at parties, Artrip.” Then in a louder voice, she repeated, “A picnic sounds lovely. Would that be too much trouble?”

“No trouble, my lady,” he droned with a small bow, possible only because he refused to allow gravity to affect his combover. “If you prefer to eat your civilized meal out of doors like a heathen, that is of course your prerogative.”

The sound which escaped Hawk’s lips as he pushed himself to his feet wasn’t necessarily a laugh, but more of a bark. Anything to rid his body of this tension. “Artrip has firm opinions about the great outdoors.”

“Yes,” Marcia agreed with a curious glance between the two men. “I thought he was rather fond of nature.”

“Oh I am, my lady,” the butler agreed without looking at Hawk. “But it is to be revered. Worshiped, even. There are unknowable forces and spirits we cannot tame, and it is our responsibility to respect and care for them.”

Marcia’s brows had risen. “Them? The spirits?”

“Nature, my lady,” he corrected almost gently.

Hawk was watching with his mouth agape, his mind still focused on the warmth on his shoulder where her hand had touched him. “I had no idea you felt so strongly, Artrip. Would ye like to accompany me up to Pook’s Glen sometime?”

The butler’s nose curled as he turned his attention back to his master. “I would rather perform dental surgery upon myself, my lord. With a pickaxe. Is that where you are picnicking this afternoon?”

“Oh yes!” Clasping her hands in excitement, Marcia spun to Hawk. “I have heard so much about the Glen, would it be possible to see it in person?”

In that moment, Hawk realized the truth.

He wanted to show her this special place. The place that meant so much to him and his history; the place where he felt most at home in the whole world. He wanted to share that with her…because he loved her. He still loved her.

He loved her certainty in her own talents and the world around her. He loved that her certainty would bend the world around her, making it a better place. Even ten years ago, when he’d met her for the first time, he’d known she would change the world.

She’d changed his world.

Marcia was caring and bold and able to look past the mask everyone wore to see the goodness within. She was strong and capable and aye , he loved her.

And suspected he always would.

Blast it all to hell.

“Aye,” he managed to rasp. “Aye, we’ll head up to the burn.”

“Very well, my lord.” Another small bow from Artrip. “You will be back late, I presume?”

Hawk did the calculations in his head, and with a glance out the window at the sun, nodded. “In time for dinner, I suppose. Could ye send the boy to the stable to have them ready my bay mare and a horse for Lady Marcia? Oh, and ask my valet to find my gray hat with the smaller brim—that brown one I wore last time I climbed the burn is too big, and I…I kept knocking it off.”

Shut up, ye dobber. Ye sound like a clumsy fool.

“As you wish.” The butler backed toward the door. “The picnic will be ready for you anon.”

A picnic on a summer afternoon in his favorite place? A treat. But to share it with someone like Marcia? Even better.

He was turning to her when he felt her hand slide into his. Her eyes shone with excitement he hadn’t seen in a long time, except in his dreams.

“I cannot wait, Hawk,” she declared, squeezing his hand. “I finally get to see Pook’s Glen! Do you think we will find a wild spirit?”

Hawk swallowed. “I’m almost certain.”