Page 27 of The Earl That Got Away (Sirens in Silk #2)

“Thank you, my lord.” The girl’s face had thinned due to some weight loss during her convalescence, but she looked well enough to him. Hind smiled in the direction of her aunt. “The doctor says I am on the mend. Auntie Majida saw to that.”

“I am most relieved to hear it.” He greeted the scowling older woman. “Mrs. Kassab, I trust you were comfortable at Briar Hall.”

“Your house, very big,” she told him.

“Yes, it is.”

“Very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” They seemed to have reached a sort of rapprochement, a cessation of hostilities, but they were far from friends. While the women chatted, Hawk and Strick ended up taking their tea near the windows overlooking the street.

“What keeps you in town?” Strick asked, knowing that Hawk spent most of his time visiting his various estates.

“I am overseeing a renovation of the mews at Trevelyn House,” he answered, referring to his London townhome. “I need to be in residence to make certain it is done to my specifications.”

“I see. I thought it might be a certain young lady who was keeping you here.”

Hawk shot him a surprised look. “You do know that while I find Miss Hind to be charming, I am not interested in her for marriage.” He spoke in hushed tones so that the others in the room would not overhear. “She is too young for my tastes.”

“I wasn’t speaking of Hind,” Strick murmured back.

Movement outside the window caught Hawk’s attention.

It was Naila, accompanied by Kareem, approaching the entrance to Carey House.

Her high-necked, close-fitting gown barely contained her curvaceous form.

Its vibrant shade of violet suggested that she continued to eschew muted colors.

His heart sped up a little. He hadn’t seen Naila in weeks.

He shouldn’t be eager to be in her company, but he was.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said to the duke while straining to hear the pair’s muffled voices sounding from the foyer. How much time was Naila spending with Kareem?

He hated the anticipation, the pleasure, that rushed through his blood at the thought of seeing her again.

Suddenly, he was thrust back in time, once again the excited pup who fell so hard he could think of nothing and no one else.

He tried not to stare at the door, to pretend he wasn’t waiting for her to walk through it.

“Do you think?” Strick asked.

Hawk blinked. “I beg your pardon.” What question had he missed?

“You are awfully distracted all of the sudden.” Strick glanced toward the door. “One cannot help but wonder why.”

Hawk ignored the comment. What was taking Naila so long to make her appearance?

Then it hit him. Maybe she and Kareem preferred to be alone together.

He shot a look at Auntie Majida, who’d watched him with an eagle eye whenever he’d been with Naila in Philadelphia.

But, at the moment, she was perched complacently on the sofa chatting with the others.

Hawk dropped all pretense. “She’s avoiding me.”

“Who? Naila? No, she isn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“She is working on a new project that is taking all her time and attention.”

“Is that so?” he replied skeptically. “And is this project named Kareem?”

Strick chuckled. “No, but Kareem is helping her. I believe she’s titled her project An American Heiress’s Guide to Landing a Lord .”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“She’s writing a guide for American heiresses who want to attract aristocrats.”

“What?” he burst out. “That’s ludicrous.”

“I think it will sell quite well.”

“A guide to landing a lord?” he scoffed. “She’s hardly an expert on the matter.”

“I beg to differ.” The duke’s eyes glittered. “She certainly knows how to get you all worked up.”

“You really are tiresome. How had I not noticed that before?” Hawk stood and addressed the ladies. “Thank you for your hospitality but I must go.”

“So soon?” Raya asked.

“I have a building project underway at Trevelyn House that I must oversee.”

“Everyone seems to have a project these days,” the duke said.

Feeling excited and energized, Naila left the library to retrieve some notes from her bedchamber. She was spending all her time on the first draft of her guide, which was coming along nicely.

Kareem, who’d arrived in London the previous day, was committed to identifying the historic structures most in need saving, and Strick’s sister, Lady Claire, was proving very helpful in sorting out who was who in London society.

Naila spent several afternoons with Guy’s sister, Frances, learning etiquette, some of which confounded her.

How guests were expected to remove their gloves as soon as they sat down to dinner.

And that small talk should never include topics of substance that might lead to genuine discussion.

Also, when crossing a muddy street, a lady should lift her skirt with her right hand because using both hands was vulgar.

As Naila crossed over to the staircase, the door to the sitting room opened and Hawk came out wearing a dark tailored suit that was cut to perfection around his strong athletic form.

“Good day,” he said, his tone cool and distant.

Her heart leapt, which it definitely had no business doing. “My lord.”

“Your cousin appears to be recovering nicely.”

“Yes, it is such a relief.”

“You seem to be occupied these days.”

“I am working on a new project.”

“So I have heard.” Disdain stamped his face. “Are you really writing a book instructing American heiresses on how to land a lord?”

“It’s actually going to be a pamphlet,” she told him. “It’s an excellent idea, don’t you think?”

He bristled. “You must do as you wish.”

She registered his rigid stance and the hard set of his mouth. “But you object to the idea.”

“It is not my place to object.” His expression remained inscrutable. “I have no claim over you or your pursuits.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed. “But I am still interested in knowing why you seem so agitated.”

“You would not appreciate my perspective.”

“I assure you that I would.”

“Very well. Since you insist, I find monetizing marriage, commodifying it, to be... unseemly.”

“I am bringing together two parties who need each other.”

“Need? It becomes clear to me why I wasn’t good enough back then,” he said coldly. “I now understand why we didn’t work. For you, marriage is all about money.”

“How is what I am suggesting any different than what you English have been doing for centuries?” she shot back. “Do you not match people based on their bank accounts?”

“No, not entirely. In society, suitable matches do involve funds but they are based on family lineage, on tradition.”

“Tradition? That sounds like someone who is intent on maintaining the status quo.”

That certainly explained why now, as an earl, Hawk held himself back from sharing his true feelings, whatever they might be. He kept his emotions so tightly buried, he probably had no idea how he truly felt.

Despite the moments of understanding and connection at Briar Hall, the distance between them again felt unbreachable. The chemistry between them remained strong. But did they have anything else in common anymore?

“What really bothers you is that I am proposing muddying the blood lines,” she snapped. “Isn’t that right?”

“No.” His beautiful mouth twitched with annoyance. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“What’s so great about aristocratic blood?” she asked. “Your ancestors didn’t even build these palaces. It was the poor, the impoverished, the people who actually worked the land who built these masterpieces.”

“What is your point?”

“My point is that these houses can be saved,” she shot back, irked by his displeasure.

Who was he to judge her? “I don’t care who these lords marry.

It could be the daughter of a man born in a gutter and why not?

At least her father will have worked hard to make his place in society while men like you, who’ve done nothing to earn your place, wear fancy suits and look down on everyone else. ”

“Your speech about the poor and downtrodden is very inspiring, but these heiresses are neither,” he said dryly. “You’ve made it clear that marriage is a business transaction that has nothing to do with feelings.”

“That is no different from how the English have arranged marriages in the past, based on what each party brings to the match.”

“And what does Mr. Amar bring to a match with you?”

She frowned. “Kareem? What are you talking about?”

“He clearly helps you see color in the world again.” He cast a look down her body. “The drab gowns are a thing of the past. Do you dress in brilliant shades for him?”

Her cheeks burned at the way he assessed her. And from the jealousy she detected in his tone. Despite doing her best to avoid him since leaving Briar Hall, need for him flared. “I dress for me.”

“Do you?” he said softly.

She tipped her head back. “You must leave me alone. We have to leave each other in peace.”

“I don’t have peace,” he growled. “Do you have peace?”

“It’s too much.” Tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t had peace in eight years. She backed away from him, finding herself in an alcove under the stairs. “I can’t do this any longer.”

He looked stricken. “Don’t cry.” He used his thumb to brush away the tear that had fallen.

His touch branded her. Instead being a comfort, the skin-to-skin contact ignited a wildfire across her face, down her neck. Sensation stirred in her breasts and deeper still in the lowest recesses of her belly. “Inglese,” she whispered, half-terrified by this pull between them.

His gaze burned through her. “Naila.” And then he slammed his lips down on hers, kissing her, hard and demanding. And it was like a huge sigh of relief for her body, as if she’d been waiting for this, for him, forever.

His tongue was in her mouth, entwining with hers. She hugged him closer. She was covered practically from head to toe, as was he, when all she craved was more skin-to-skin contact.

As their mouths took and gave, the kiss deepening, she got lost in the feel of him.

Basil was kissing her again. Finally. After all these years, she was a starving woman finally being fed.

But she wanted, she needed, more. She clutched at him, bringing him closer still.

His member was hard and full against her belly and she relished it.

She reached between them to feel his hardness with her fingers, stroking and rubbing, wishing she could free him and feel his member, big and throbbing against her palm.

He gasped at her touch, groaning into her mouth.

She felt air around her legs. He was lifting her skirt.

She hooked one leg around his and cried out when his fingers found her most private area, spreading the moisture he found there over her folds, until his fingers came to the place that answered her body’s call.

He moved his fingers around the bundle of nerves that heightened everything.

She squirmed from the intensely delicious sensations. She threw her head back. “Oh!”

He continued to apply his fingers in urgent and gentle movements. He watched her now, absorbing the expression on her face.

“So beautiful,” he half-groaned, his mouth sucking her throat.

“Oh, oh!” She tried to control her body but she’d completely lost herself. She began to tremble; pleasure seized her legs and rushed through her body. She cried out as the sensation ripped through her, but his mouth found hers, muffling the sound, catching her pleasure.

After, they stood there, draped around each other, their heavy breaths intermingled, faces buried in the crook of each other’s neck.

Hawk half-held her up because her legs seemed incapable of doing their job.

She inhaled him, the scent of his skin, his shaving soap, trying to imprint it in her memory again.

Hawk suddenly pulled away. In her dazed state, she wanted to protest, to pull him back to her so she could continue burrowing into his warmth. She’d waited eight years for this. She wasn’t ready for it to end.

His eyes ran over her. Scrutinizing her? He quickly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook out the hem of her dress, straightening the folds of her skirt. Then he turned away and was gone.

Naila blinked. What was that? Had he just used her up against the wall like he might some trollop he found on the street? Impulsively, she went after him. To do what, she didn’t know. Maybe to punch him in the face.

She stopped abruptly when she caught sight of the Duke of Strickland standing in the front hall staring at Hawk.

“I thought you’d left,” the duke said.

Hawk cleared his throat. “I’m just on my way out now.”

The duke’s attention darted to Naila. She flushed under his scrutiny, afraid of what she must look like. “Are you well?” he asked.

She could not meet his gaze. “Quite well.”

“Hawk,” he asked, a warning in his tone, “would you care to explain?”

“No.” Hawk held the duke’s gaze.

“There’s nothing to explain,” Naila interjected, her voice a little squeaky.

“Miss Darwish was just on her way to rejoin Mr. Amar to work on her pamphlet,” Hawk said.

“Yes. That’s right.” He’d thrown her a lifeline. She gratefully grabbed it. Even though it meant running out on Hawk yet again. “If you’ll excuse me, Kareem is waiting.”

Holding her head high, pretending nothing was amiss, Naila escaped.