Chapter 29
Hawk ran a finger down the spine of The Merchant of Venus, abandoned on his desk as if she’d idly skimmed it and cast it aside. As if it were a trifle, not the most erotic campaign in the life of a man who had fought too many. What else had she read? What else did she want to learn?
He flattened his palm over the cover, trying to shut the thing, a carnal Pandora’s box he had no business opening when the sun still burned high and duty waited.
It was useless. Images stormed him anyway—the curve of Celeste’s smile, the light in her eyes when she laughed, the remembered silk of her skin beneath his hands.
A single whisper from those lips—play with me, protect me… love me—and she carried his restraint by storm.
The door swung open, and Graves admitted Leighton.
His former lieutenant, stripped of uniform but not of habit, saluted as if he still served in the 13th. “Sorry to barge in unannounced, sir.”
When Graves shut the door, Leighton started pacing, hands shoved in his pockets.
Hawk’s pulse kicked hard, a snarl rising in his throat like a wolf guarding its ground. “What is the matter, Leighton?”
The younger man gazed at him with earnest blue eyes. “I’m in love with your ward.”
Hawk’s entire body tightened, the muscles in his neck cording painfully. Leighton must have mistaken Hawk’s thunderous expression for doubt about his intentions, because he lifted his hands.
“I want your blessing to marry her.”
“Of all my officers, I never knew you to make hasty decisions.”
Leighton straightened. “I considered this at length. You, of all people, know I’m not fickle. I’m master of my mind.”
Hawk ought to be pleased with such a result. The victory of his summer campaign. “Lady Cecilia is not ready for such a step. She is young. She never had a season in London.”
Leighton lifted his chin. “She will not find a more suitable suitor in ten seasons.”
Hawk ground his teeth together until pain pulsed in his jaw. Arrogant pup, but it was true. Leighton was everything Celeste deserved.
“It is not a matter of suitability.”
“Is this about Nicki, then? Are you saving her for your son?”
“Nicki does not need me to play his matchmaker.”
Leighton stepped forward, too close to the desk where Celeste had whispered his name.
He fastened his grip on the chair, anchoring himself against the urge to drive Leighton from the room, from Celeste’s life.
“I have met with the Duke of York on his way here. I have it on his authority that the 13th will receive orders for embarkation in the coming days,” Leighton spoke calmly, but his gaze never left Hawk’s. “How will Lady Cecilia’s affairs be conducted while you are on the Peninsula?”
The question struck like a bullet through the chest, exposing a stark truth he’d been avoiding—his mortality. If he fell in battle, what would become of Celeste?
“I will deal with my ward’s affairs,” Hawk said through gritted teeth.
All his officers knew when they had pushed him too far.
Leighton stepped back. “Sir, if there is any impediment—”
“There is no impediment,” Hawk forced the words out. Not if he cast aside Lady Cecilia’s bastard of a guardian—a man careless with an innocent girl’s feelings, even now endangering her future. And for what? To keep her near while he marched away? To bind her to him for scraps of stolen desire?
He shut his eyes and expelled the breath he’d been holding.
“There is no impediment,” he said again, this time with a tone that allowed no refusal. “I appreciate your request. I will inform you of my decision.”
After Leighton left, Hawk raked a hand through his hair. He stared at the map before him, but instead of the strategic lines and annotations, he saw only Celeste’s promised-colored eyes and the pain he would cause her.
A quiet shuffle announced Graves’ entry.
The captain surveyed him, concern creasing his brow. “Sir, what did Leighton say to put you in a worse mood than the French artillery at Salamanca?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.” Hawk released a slow breath. “Send for my solicitor. Immediately.”