A Sinner No More Read online

  “My humblest apologies,” he said. “We have not been properly introduced, have we? May I present myself then? I am Major Timothy Gibbons, at your service, my lady.”

  He bowed with great flourish, or perhaps it was the expert cut of his uniform that made it appear so. When he straightened, she took a closer look. He had a slim build and stood a few inches shorter than Lord Hawksmoor or her father. A hint of gray had infiltrated the hair near his temples, but his face had very few lines suggesting to her he would fall somewhere in his mid-thirties.

  “And might I ask your name?” he prompted.

  “Oh.” She glanced around, fearful for making a gaffe. She did not want to upset Lady Dalridge who seemed overly interested in presenting her as above her station. But no one paid her much heed beyond an occasional, questioning glance.

  “I have embarrassed you with my forward behavior, haven’t I?”

  “Oh, no. Miss Cosgrove. That is me. I mean, my name.” She fumbled with her words, shooting them out in piecemeal. It was so much easier talking to Lord Hawksmoor. When she spoke to him, it was as if she were conversing with an old friend, which she supposed in a way she was, even if that friend had a hazy memory.

  “Well, Miss Cosgrove, I have only been back in London for a few months, but I do not believe I have seen you about. Are you not from here? Or has your family been hiding you away, afraid all the other ladies will throw fits of jealousy over your superior beauty?”

  As compliments went, it was a little over the top. “I—”

  “I’ve overstepped again, haven’t I?” He winced, his expression instantly charming. “How have you not tossed that glass of punch in my face yet?”

  “I do not want to create a scene,” she said, warming to him. “I fear my chaperone would approve of that even less than she would of finding me speaking to a strange man.”

  “I promise I am not all that strange, most days. And who, if I might ask, is your chaperone?”

  “Lady Dalridge.”

  “Good heavens!” The expression on his face turned comical and a small laugh escaped her. “Then I had better be on my best behavior.”

  “She is quite formidable.”

  “Might I escort you back to her?”

  Madalene opened her mouth to respond, but before the words could come out a murmur went through the crowd, gentle at first, like a whisper, but quickly growing into a loud buzz. Her heart chilled. Had she been discovered? Did someone recognize her as a servant masquerading as a lady? She straightened her shoulders and turned to face them, prepared for the worst.

  The horde of guests parted and the din of voices grew. Soon, she realized it was not she that had caught their attention. She sighed with relief. But as the buzz grew, she noted a distinct anger in their tone that kept her rooted. Whoever it was, it was clear they were not welcomed.

  A sick feeling invaded her stomach and even before the crowd had parted to reveal the newcomer’s identity, she knew.

  Lord Hawksmoor.

  Her breath caught in her throat. There had been several instances during her time at Raven Manor when his family held parties and she had seen him trussed up as he had called it. And despite the years that had passed, the effect of him in formal attire was still a sight to behold.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest as her gaze greedily supped on his lean frame, broadened with hard muscle that had overtaken the lankiness of his youth. Time had filled him out, and pugilistic pursuits had honed his build, if the shop girls at Madame Belliveau’s dress shop were to be believed. Though, there was no evidence of such in his features, sharp and straight. He was even more handsome now in his thirtieth year as he had been as a young man.

  Although, the man who approached her now, resplendent in unrelenting black, was not the man she’d known all those years ago. This man was darker, more dangerous. More like the man they called The Hawk.

  “Perhaps I should escort you back to Lady Dalridge,” Major Gibbons suggested, but his voice sounded far away and she paid it no heed.

  Even if she had, she would not have left, as Lord Hawksmoor’s expression held her rooted in place. At first glance, he appeared unreadable, but she had spent far too much time studying each plane and angle of his face until even the smallest ripple of discomfort or distress became an easy read. Tonight was no exception. In his hypnotic green eyes, his suffering called out to her. What had happened in the days since she had seen him last? Had he remembered more of his past? All of it? Had it been too much to bear?

  How badly she wanted to rush into his arms to offer the comfort his expression told her he sorely needed. Her toes curled in her slippers.

  “Miss Cosgrove? Are you certain I cannot escort you—”

  “No. Thank you.” She should tell him she knew Lord Hawksmoor, but that would require more of an explanation than she wanted to give, revealing where she had come from, or suggesting a relationship that might call both their reputations into question. Hers more than his. Lord Hawksmoor’s reputation had already been dragged about as low as one could get, not that he had appeared to care. His disdain for society had been obvious in his actions, destroying many whose finances fell to a state of disrepair within the walls of his establishment.

  Perhaps Major Gibbons was right. Perhaps she should leave. Showing a friendship with Lord Hawksmoor would do her no favors in the eyes of those present, including Lady Dalridge, who had gone to great lengths to make her appear as more than she was.

  But none of that convinced her to move. Instead, she remained. Waited.

  What had he learned upon his return to The Devil’s Lair? Was there something even darker lurking in the depths of his mind than the death of his brother? What she knew of his life after he had left Raven Manor was based on rumors and hearsay, secondhand accounts of how he had immersed himself in the seedier side of London, increasing his power by trading on the weaknesses of his peers.

  Had he been happy? She doubted it. Not if the man who arrived at Northill had been any indication.

  Lord Hawksmoor greeted her with an expert bow. “Miss Cosgrove,” he said, his voice a whisper barely heard above the din. He cast a glance in Major Gibbons’s direction, then summarily dismissed him as his attention reverted to her.

  She curtsied. “My lord. I am surprised to see you here this evening.”

  The hint of a smirk curled one corner of his beautiful mouth. “No more than the rest of them, if my current reception is any indication. It shows how little the Lindwells know of London society that they even let me through their doors.”

  “You are still a Peer of the Realm, are you not?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose.”

  Major Gibbons stepped closer to Madalene. “Why did you come here tonight if you did not expect to be welcomed?”

  Lord Hawksmoor cut a cold glare in the major’s direction, one that would have sent most men scurrying off to the corners in retreat. But Madalene supposed having seen battle, Major Gibbons did not scare as easily as the regular gentleman.

  “And you are?” The words dragged out of Lord Hawksmoor and he arched one dark eyebrow skyward.

  “Major Gibbons.”

  “A soldier, then?”

  Major Gibbons stiffened next to her, as if Lord Hawksmoor had meant the inquiry as an insult. “I am a close advisor to our Prime Minister.”

  If such a claim was meant to impress Lord Hawksmoor, it did not and he returned his attention back to Madalene once again, giving her a sweet smile reminiscent of the ones from years past. Warmth pooled low in her belly.

  “To answer your question, Miss Cosgrove,” Lord Hawksmoor said, his voice the consistency of warm chocolate. “I came here to find you, of course.”

  Chapter Ten

  Hawk continued to smile as Madalene’s eyes opened round and wide and her mouth dropped open slightly. At least she was not completely immune to him. It was something at least, to know he had some effect on her. A pretty pink blush infused her cheeks and made her even more striking. Q
uite the feat, given she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment when the crowd parted and he saw her standing near the refreshment table, a vision in pale blue.

  He was less than thrilled to see her talking to another gentleman who appeared far too interested in her, based on how close he was standing or the way he leaned in when she spoke. Highly inappropriate in his opinion. He imagined picking the shorter man up by the lapels and throwing him into the crowd to be trampled. It proved a most pleasing image.

  Hawk should not be here. His reception made it clear he was not wanted, but after reading the letters, the need to ensure Madalene’s safety overpowered any reticence he had at rejoining society.

  Those damned letters. They had been sent religiously, the first one arriving three months following Phillip’s death and then every three months afterwards. They possessed no return address, no distinctive seal, no proper signature other than a scrawling T. The letters were brief in nature, yet taunting in tone. Their contents made it clear the threat to Madalene had not ended.

  The last one had arrived at Northill, following the same three-month pattern. He’d questioned his staff about the letters, but they could offer no clue as to who had sent them. They arrived without fanfare, left somewhere within The Devil’s Lair where they would be easily found, collected and brought to him. No one saw who left the letters and they were never left in the same place twice.

  The words still echoed in his mind and struck fear deep in his heart. Madalene remained at risk. He had to see her, to protect her.

  “I understand your brother failed in his quest. Such a shame to see the mighty fall. But have no fear; I shall take up the cause. The game is still afoot.”

  “My quarry is an elusive little minx. Each time I think I’ve found her, she escapes into the mist. But I shall not give up.”

  And the last one, arriving shortly before his run-in with Pengrin. “A little bird has told me my quarry resides within the home of a friend of yours. How safe she must think she is. How wrong she will find herself to be.”

  But she was no longer at Northill. Now she was in London, flitting about as if no danger existed. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to snatch her from this overheated ballroom and carry her off to the catacombs of The Devil’s Lair where he could watch over her and ensure no harm ever came to her.

  He may not be able to do the latter, but he’d be damned if he let her out of his sight whenever she stepped foot outside of Ridgemont’s townhouse. Although, he had not expected her to step out and end up at the Lindwells’ overdone party.

  He had originally hoped to speak with her at Lord Ridgemont’s town house. To impress upon her the need for caution, without scaring her by telling her why. He did not want to fill her with the fear he now lived with. Let that be his burden to carry.

  Unfortunately, the marquess’s footman informed Hawk that Madalene had accompanied Lady Dalridge to this god-awful party. His first instinct was to dismiss the statement as false. Despite her grandfather being a baronet, a society party did not strike him as something Madalene would be overly keen on attending. Nor welcomed to.

  But the footman had insisted and so Hawk found himself rushing back to The Devil’s Lair to change into proper evening attire, before barging into the Lindwells’ over-decorated abode without benefit of an invitation, as if he belonged there.

  They did not bar his entry. He was still a Peer of the Realm after all, no matter how low he had fallen in their estimation. Not that his title afforded him a reprieve from the silent censure of the guests present.

  Regardless, here he stood, facing the woman who had haunted his thoughts since his return to wakefulness. He could not pinpoint what disconcerted him more: that she was speaking to this dandified solider, or that he could not come up with a single, intelligent thing to say to impress her.

  “It appears I am unable to find those items we spoke of earlier.” A stellar beginning. Well done. Quite vague. She should have no problem at all discerning that he spoke of his journals over any other item that he might have misplaced. “That is, the books.” He raised his eyebrows, silently begging her to understand. Though what he thought she would do upon deciphering his meaning remained a mystery. Conjure the journals out of thin air perhaps?

  That damnable mouth that he could not tear his gaze away from formed a perfect little ‘O’. “I see.”

  “I thought perhaps I would request your assistance.” A completely foolish idea. She owed him nothing. And he had already determined he could not bring her to The Devil’s Lair to assist in his search.

  “I’m not sure how I may be of help to you, my lord.”

  “Nor is it proper for you to request such a thing from her,” soldier boy said, his voice clipped at the edges.

  “I don’t believe you are qualified to make that decision, Mister—I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Hawk lifted his eyebrows in question.

  “Major Gibbons,” soldier boy answered. The man’s eyes were a cold brown color. Funny, Hawk thought brown normally a rather warm color, like chocolate. Not in the major’s case however. They looked like two beady pebbles.

  “Well, as it stands, Major Gibbons, Miss Cosgrove and I have a lengthy acquaintance and as such, I feel perfectly qualified in mentioning a matter of past discussion with her. You don’t mind, do you Miss Cosgrove?”

  Hawk swung his attention back to her, as she was a much prettier picture to gaze upon than the major with his cold eyes and disapproving manner.

  “Not at all, my lord. And I am sorry to hear you were unsuccessful in your endeavor.” Her gaze drifted away from him toward the French doors that remained firmly closed despite the stifling heat of the ballroom. Or was the heat he felt due to his close proximity to Madalene and the effect she had on him? “I promised Lady Dalridge I would bring her some punch.”

  The major took a step closer to her. “I will escort—”

  “Nonsense,” Hawk said, cutting off Gibbons’s offer with one of his own. “I’m certain you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

  “I’m certain I do not. And I cannot imagine it would do the lady’s reputation any good to be seen with the likes of you.”

  A low blow, even if it did hold the ring of truth to it. Still, Hawk was not about to give up so easily. In the end, it turned out he did not have to.

  “Gentlemen, please.” Miss Cosgrove took the cup and saucer Major Gibbons held in his hands. “It does no one any good to have you two disagree so. Lord Hawksmoor, I would be pleased to have you escort me back to Lady Dalridge.”

  “Then I insist upon a dance,” Major Gibbons said before Hawk could lead her away from the annoying little man. Granted, he was likely only a hand shorter than he, but regardless.

  “It would be my pleasure, Major Gibbons,” Madalene answered with a small nod of her head.

  “Just not the waltz,” Hawk cut in. “I’m afraid that one has been promised to me.” The major glared at him, both of them knowing it was a boldfaced lie. He had only just arrived and could in no way have claimed any dance, let alone the coveted waltz. Thankfully, the man’s manners overrode any need to contradict him. A mark against him in Hawk’s estimation. He would have fought harder for her.

  He had fought harder for her. Once upon a time, he had fought to the death for her.

  Hawk took the punch from her and offered his arm, once again conscious of the stares that followed them as they left Major Gibbons and the refreshment table to find their way back to Lady Dalridge.

  “Do you remember how to dance?” she asked him.

  He stopped and lifted his eyebrows. A very good question indeed. “I have absolutely no idea. I suppose we shall soon find out. At least the waltz will make it easier to discuss matters of import if we are not constantly exchanging partners or being pulled apart.”

  She glanced up at him with a quick smile. “Then you do remember how to dance.”

  He returned her smile with a hint of surprise. “Yes, I suppose I
do. Now, if only the rest of my memories would return so easily, I might not have to constantly annoy you with my pleas for assistance.”

  “You do not annoy me. I enjoy your company.”

  Her confession humbled him. He did not deserve such latitude where she was concerned. If anything, she should deliver him a proper slap and demand he never speak to her again after he’d kissed her as he did. As he wanted to again. And again.

  “I can’t imagine why. I have behaved abominably where you are concerned.”

  Pink colored her cheeks. He had never met a lady who blushed so spontaneously and yet so prettily. At least, he didn’t think he had. “We were both at fault in that regard,” she said.

  “No. I take full responsibility. You were simply being kind.”

  “It was not kindness, my lord.”

  Her answer surprised him and his need for her surged, stymieing any attempt to come up with a pithy quip to lead them to a safer avenue of conversation. His mind fixated on reliving the kiss they had shared and refused to stop. He swallowed. If this kept up, the effect of that kiss would be embarrassingly evident.

  Thankfully for him, Madalene’s mind was not as mired in lust as his; something to be expected, he supposed, yet still rather disappointing. “Did you recognize anyone when you arrived, my lord?”

  “No. Although if the greeting I received upon my arrival tonight is any indication, I am not a man people care to be around or remembered by.”

  “Perhaps that is because they are looking at the man you became, instead of the man you were.” She looked up at him again and he found himself becoming lost in her all over again. The clear blue of her eyes reminded him of endless pools and he could not help but dive into them as if salvation lurked somewhere in their depths.

  “But if that is the man I became, is it not who I am?”

  “Perhaps, in some ways. But when you awoke, with no memories to bind you to any particular personality, the man you revealed to me was the man I remembered. The man I—” She stopped.

  “The man you what?” He whispered the question, afraid of what she might say.