Chapter 26
“Again!” Hawk’s voice lashed through the field like a whip.
Steel rang, and hooves thundered. Dust coated the parade ground, kicked up by the relentless rhythm of his men maneuvering under a punishing sun. Sabers clashed, horses wheeled, boots stomped the earth in perfect synchronization.
Graves rode up beside him, face carved from stone. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve never seen you allow temperaments to affect the regiment’s drills.”
Hawk’s grip tightened on the reins, and the warhorse shifted beneath him. “We will be leaving soon. They must be prepared. There is no other way.”
His mind should be on the Peninsula. On the coming campaign. On the men before him.
Instead, it was on Celeste. With Leighton.
Leighton, all charm and easy aristocratic confidence. Sitting across from her. Smiling at her. Watching her with the same unhidden appreciation Hawk had barely kept from his own eyes.
And then, Leighton’s hands on her.
His blood roared. “Prepare to charge!”
The men obeyed, falling into line, readying for another round.
Graves exhaled. “Sir—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish.
“Where’s the dove?”
The words came from behind Hawk, muttered just loud enough to carry. Hawk’s entire body went still. The troopers shifted in their saddles, muttering among themselves.
“Aye, bet she could charm him into calling it a day.”
A heartbeat of silence.
A muscle clenched in Hawk’s jaw. “Dismissed.”
Boots scuffed and horses turned as the regiment broke formation and retreated from the field.
Hawk remained behind. Celeste would have the young love of her dreams. What she was owed after years of tulle and shadows. What Philip would have wanted for his daughter. Not a life shackled to a man who carried war in his bones, who had forgotten how to laugh.
Better to send her away now, while he still could. Because one more smile, one more laugh, one more kiss, and his lines would break.
Exhaling, Hawk peeled the gauntlet off his hand, and drew the lock of hair from the inner lining of his coat. Copper curled softly between his scarred fingers. It seemed pale now that he had touched the living strands.
He closed his fist. But the memories surged—Celeste smiling up at him, Celeste racing up the stairs, Celeste burying her face in his chest, Celeste playing, teasing... dreaming.
He had given her to Leighton. And still, she was everywhere.
***
Hawk entered the war room, the scent of aged leather mingling with polished wood.
A faint rustling drew his gaze downward.
Othello sat amidst scattered papers, contentedly chewing on a letter that bore Wellington’s seal.
Hawk exhaled. Some men were born great, some achieved greatness—and some shredded his paperwork.
He bent down and scooped the puppy into his arms, the soft fur soothing beneath his fingertips.
“You are not worth your name. How can you bear to be here while she is outside?”
A pang twisted deep within his chest, a raw, possessive ache. He could not have her, damn it. Fate had given her to him to hold only long enough to give her away.
The door opened abruptly. Hawk jerked upright. Nicki stood framed in the doorway, his expression guarded, eyes alert.
Grunting, Hawk placed Othello back on the floor. “How was it?”
Nicki stepped forward, his brow furrowing. “What is wrong with her?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Hawk said angrily, but then ice flooded his veins. “What happened? Did she flee? Where is she?”
“She is fine,” Nicki held Hawk’s gaze. “Probably dressing for dinner right now. This afternoon… I noticed something off about her. Whenever Leighton, or even the coachman, spoke or gestured towards her, she flinched. She is a good actress, I have to give her that, but her eyes. She is afraid of men, isn’t she? ”
“Your perception will serve you well in battle and the war room.” He exhaled forcefully and held his son’s gaze. “But this stays between us.”
“Why?” Nicki asked.
Hawk tightened his fists. “She was attacked by a man in the past.” The words were scraped out of him. She had been hurt. And he wasn’t there to protect her.
Nicki’s hand drifted to the hilt of his saber. “Name the bastard and I will—"
“He was a diplomat. Beyond my reach. At least for now.” Hawk had already contacted the Foreign Office. Soon, he would know.
Nicki paced to the bookshelves and smiled wistfully.
“She sparkled. Entertained the group with her wit and laughter… yet it was translucent somehow. Lady Cecilia is like the finest Sèvres porcelain. Lovely to behold, luminous when the light catches her—but touch her roughly, and she will break in two.”
Hawk’s jaw tightened at Nicki’s words. He had seen it himself in the beginning—the delicate performance, the way her gaiety always rang a little too bright, as if covering cracks beneath.
But in his presence, she shed Lady Cecilia’s porcelain mask.
She was Celeste—fire, stubbornness, chaos, tears, laughter.
She trusted him enough to give him the unvarnished girl beneath the glaze.
“And Leighton?” he forced out, voice tight, dread pooling in his stomach. “Was he interested in Lady Cecilia?”
Nicki squared his shoulders. “I want to marry her.”
Hawk sucked in a breath. Of all the surprises one could find on the battlefield, foresight had not warned him of this. He pressed his fingertips into his throbbing temples. An image struck him, Celeste, walking down the aisle to his son, and Hawk nearly staggered.
“It is a matter of honor,” Nicki’s voice resonated with conviction. “I cannot allow her to marry another man in fear. She is better off here with us. No one will harm her here.”
The ghostly echo of the past clawed at Hawk’s heart, choking his breath. “And when you leave for war, do you think it fair that she be made to wait here—”
“Mother waited for you, and she never complained,” Nicki snapped back, anger and hurt shimmering beneath his controlled exterior.
“Your mother died alone in childbirth,” Hawk rasped. “While I was several miles away. Three months from any news. I don’t want the same for Lady Cecilia.”
“But I—”
“I appreciate your concern, Nicki,” Hawk interrupted firmly, his voice quiet but unyielding. “But Lady Cecilia is my burden, not yours.”
Nicki’s jaw tightened, eyes darkening. After a stiff salute, he headed for the door.
Once there, he paused at the threshold, his expression unreadable. “Leighton is in love with her. Expect a proposal by the end of the week.”
Alone, Hawk leaned back, shoulders heavy, heart aching as though pierced clean by a bayonet.
It was what he had wanted. Yet his chest burned—the winning strategy he had set in motion felt exactly like losing everything.