Page 43 of The Earl That Got Away (Sirens in Silk #2)
Chapter Thirty-One
T wo days later, Naila still hadn’t seen or heard from Hawk.
She’d been so certain that he’d attend her latest salon that she would have bet a year’s worth of pamphlet sales on it.
Her heart had skipped a beat with each new arrival but Hawk was never among them.
She hadn’t had the chance to tell him that she was ready to go public with their betrothal, no matter what the consequences.
“I wonder where Hawk is,” she’d finally said to Charles and Phoebe, unable to stop herself from asking about him.
“I asked him just yesterday if he would attend,” Charles informed her. “He said he was unsure.”
Why would Hawk question coming to her salon? He’d attended the few others she’d hosted. Now, as she stared out the window of the upstairs sitting room, she couldn’t help wondering what was going on with Hawk.
“ Shoo malitch? ” Auntie Majida asked.
She looked over at her aunt, who was working on her tatreez needlework. “What do you mean? There is nothing wrong with me.”
“You keep staring out the window.” She dipped another stitch, red thread on black fabric, creating an intricate pattern. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Who would I be waiting for?”
Auntie Majida made a skeptical humming sound deep in her throat. “Yes. Who.”
“Why do you think I’m waiting for someone?”
“You get that look when you think about il ajnabi .”
She did? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her aunt looked at her with dark beady eyes. “You still want him, even after all these years.” It was a statement, not a question.
Naila looked away but she didn’t bother to deny the truth of Auntie’s words. It wouldn’t be long now before she and Hawk told the family that they intended to be together.
“He left you a letter,” Auntie said.
“Who did?” Naila asked absently, turning back to gaze out the window.
“The boy from Philadelphia.”
Naila swung around to stare at her aunt. “Hawk sent me a letter?”
Her aunt nodded.
Her heart beat a little faster. “When?”
“Two days ago.”
“What?” Excitement bubbled up in her. “Where’s this letter?”
“ Fa ibbee ,” the aunt answered, reaching into the hidden breast pocket of her traditional thobe where women often kept money and other valuables.
“Why didn’t you give it to me before?” she demanded to know.
“You know why.”
Her chest burned. “Because you’re still against my marrying him.”
“It is always better to marry your own kind.”
“You accepted Raya’s marriage to an ajnabi .”
The older woman fixed her with a sharp look. “You know why.”
Naila was aware of certain extenuating circumstances surrounding Raya’s marriage to Strick. But she didn’t care about any of that now. She reached for the letter, snatching it up like precious gold. “Why are you giving this to me now?”
“You are old,” Auntie Majida said matter-of-factly. Aunties never worried about hurting anyone’s feelings. “Who else will marry you?”
Naila let out a joyous half-laugh. “Who else indeed?”
And she went away to read the letter in private.
My dearest Naila,
How to begin? I have torn up a fortune in paper while trying to tell you what is in my heart.
And, put quite simply, it is you. It is your laugh, and the way you look at me, it is your pleasure in drinking a cup of mint tea, and how you row a boat or single-handedly save a crumbling mansion.
It is how you exist as your incomparable self.
I have heard of your engagement to Mr. Amar and I confess to being deeply confused.
I believed we had reached an understanding.
What have I done to turn you away so quickly?
I am convinced there’s been some mistake, but then I am petrified when I contemplate that perhaps word of your betrothal to another man could be true.
You once accused me of not speaking plainly about matters of the heart.
That is why I am writing to you now. I cannot let you go away from me until I am convinced that you understand how deeply I cherish you.
I have loved you since we first met in the garden in Philadelphia.
I now believe my soul became forever intertwined with yours the moment we met.
I am not a man of many words, but just know that I love you to the depths of my being. I will never love another as I love you. In all of these years, I have never met a woman who compares to you. As much as I’ve tried to drive you from my mind these last nine years, it’s an impossible task.
And so, yet again, I offer you my heart. What of you, my love? Am I firmly lodged in your heart and mind the way you are forever entrenched in mine? Will you still have me?
Yours now and always,
Basil
Tears gathered in Naila’s eyes as she read and reread the note. Hawk loved her and wanted to marry her. Breathless with excitement, she folded the letter and tucked it under her pillow. She had to find him right away. Auntie Majida had held on to his letter for two days. What must he be thinking?
She changed quickly and quietly let herself out through the garden entrance.
She didn’t want to contend with Auntie Majida asking her where she was going.
She dashed over to Hawk’s London residence, half running, bursting into a smile every few minutes when she thought of their reunion.
She couldn’t wait to tell him that she too had loved him from the beginning, that there could be no other for her.
By the time she arrived at his townhome on Grosvenor Square, Naila was out of breath. She ran up the front steps, not caring who saw her, an unmarried woman, pounding on the front door of a known bachelor.
The heavy front door opened to reveal a disdainful-looking footman in full red-and-black regalia. “May I help you?” he intoned, peering down his nose at her.
“Lord Hawksworth,” she managed to say as she gulped in breaths of air. “I must see him.”
“His lordship is not at home to visitors.”
“He will be at home to me. Tell him it’s Naila and that I’ve just read his letter and my answer is yes.” She erupted in happy laughter. “A thousand times yes.”
“His lordship sent you a letter?” He regarded her more carefully now. “To which he required a response.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right.” She was beginning to catch her breath. “My name is Miss Darwish.”
“Darwish? The author of An American Heiress’s Guide to Landing a Lord ?”
“Yes, that is me,” she said. Now that Hawk’s footman knew who she was, he would surely admit her.
He frowned. “With respect, Miss Darwish, his lordship is not at all fond of liver or puce.”
It took her a minute to understand his point. “I realize. Please, I must speak to his lordship regarding a most urgent matter.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
She couldn’t bear the thought of Hawk going another minute thinking she’d chosen not to respond to his letter. “Kindly go and tell him that I’m here.”
“I cannot. His lordship is not at home.”
Her face fell. “Where is he?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
In her desperation to reach Hawk, Naila lost all patience. “If you value your place in this house, you will tell me where Hawksworth is. He would want my response to his letter in all haste, which you are preventing.”
“Very well,” he relented. “His lordship is out rowing.”
“Where?” she demanded to know. “Where does he row when he is in London?”
“He takes his scull out at Philips Boat Club. It’s just a few blocks from here.”
He directed her on how to get to the boat club. But she was so excited and flustered that she couldn’t remember whether to go left or right at the last turn. Thankfully, a passing washerwoman pointed her in the correct direction.
When she finally arrived at the boat club, Naila was out of breath again.
Her cheeks burned and her heart thumped hard.
She imagined Catherine Anne Turner would not be winded in the slightest had she undertaken the same journey on foot.
But there was no reason to think of Catherine Anne now.
Miss Turner had landed her earl and now it was long past time for Naila to do the same.
She would not let her earl get away again.
She stood on the water’s edge searching all of the boats for Hawk’s familiar form. And there, in the distance, finally, she spotted him.
Hawk rowed as hard as he ever had before, his skiff barreling down the Thames.
His muscles burned but he barely noticed.
His thoughts churned. Where was Naila? Why hadn’t she responded to his letter?
He’d delivered the note to Strickland House himself.
He’d stopped short of placing his message directly in her hands but surely Philips, Strick’s butler, would have given it to her.
A servant, even the highest servant, would never disobey an earl’s direct order.
He pulled up at the boathouse after more than two hours on the water. Boathouse attendants rushed over to see to his boat. Out of breath and perspiring profusely, Hawk stepped onto dry land.
“How dare you!”
He turned at the sound of Naila’s indignant words, a voice he’d been waiting to hear for what felt like an eternity.
“How dare I what?”
She had her hands on her hips, and her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d run a long distance. “How dare you believe I would contemplate marrying another man?”
A smile touched his lips. He knew it couldn’t be true.
“We’ll put the boat away, your lordship,” one of the attendants said. “Do you require anything else?”
That’s when Hawk realized they were drawing attention from the attendants and other boaters. “That will be all.” He turned his attention back to Naila. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”
He led her into the boathouse.
“Boathouses are not exactly where we do our best talking,” she noted.
The words shot straight to his prick. “I remember.”
After a quick word with the boatkeeper, he led Naila upstairs to the boatkeeper’s private lodgings, a two-room space with a narrow bed on at the far end. A worn wooden table with three chairs and a tattered sofa were the primary furnishings in the main room.