A Sinner No More Page 3

  She did not speak a single word. He refused to tear his gaze from her. If he did she might disappear once more. This was the closest she’d come to him since kissing him and seeing her now, with his eyes wide opened rather than peeking through slits—well, she quite took his breath away.

  God help him, she was utter perfection. How was such a thing possible? Her eyes, the color of a robin’s egg, nestled softly in a thick nest of long lashes that turned pale at the tips. Her heart-shaped face was flawless and her lips—oh those lips—were plump and perfect, begging to be kissed again. Softly. Ravenously.

  She released the tray and stood abruptly, as if reading his thoughts.

  “Your dinner, my lord. If you require anything further, you have but to ring.” Even her voice held a musical quality to it. Not the put-upon kind one had to suffer through at musicales and the like, but akin to quiet birdsong on an early morning. And she knew him. Enough to kiss him. It seemed almost impossible.

  She made to leave and a sudden desperation gripped at him to make her stay. He reached out a hand to stop her but she was already too far away and the tray across his lap prevented him from following.

  “Wait! Don’t go.”

  She stopped and turned back to face him, the blush in her cheeks growing to encompass her throat and beyond, disappearing beneath the lace of her bodice. “Do you need something?”

  Yes, you. But no. That would not do. “I need…that is, I would like some company. I find I am tiring greatly of my own.”

  “I shall see if Mr. Bowen is available—”

  “In truth, I find I enjoy gazing upon your beauty far more than Mr. Bowen’s stern features.” Flattery. Yes, that was the way to a lady’s heart, was it not?

  Her eyes rounded and she took a step back, his attempt at playing the gallant a dismal failure.

  Bloody hell. “My apologies. That was very forward of me. It appears along with my memory I have also lost my manners. Forgive me?”

  She did not appear convinced, but at least she had stopped edging her way toward the door.

  “Please, allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Thomas Fitzgerald, Viscount Hawksmoor, at your service.” She remained silent, so he prompted further. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  She gave nothing away as she stood there, her arms hugged around her middle as if…protecting herself? From what? Was she afraid of him? A sick feeling invaded his gut. Did she have reason to be?

  “Have I…” He did not want to even say the words, because if they were true…if they were true, what? He swallowed. “Have I hurt you in any way? Previously, I mean?”

  Her eyes widened further, something he’d not thought possible. “No, my lord.”

  He breathed a deep sigh of relief and relaxed back into the pillows. “Thank God.” Mr. Bowen’s revelations had not painted the prettiest picture of the type of man he’d been, but at least he’d held some standards when it came to compromising lovely young ladies.

  “Please.” He waved a hand toward the chair near his bedside. “Will you stay?”

  She stood motionless. Was she debating his request? He had no way of knowing. Her impassive expression gave nothing away. It was not until her shoulders relaxed a fraction, he had cause to silently celebrate the small victory.

  “Very well. For a few moments.” She strode with purposeful steps to the straight back chair he’d indicated, pushing it back from the bed, keeping more than a proper distance between them.

  Hawk bit his tongue to refrain from suggesting she could not get farther away if she sat on the other side of the room. Likely she’d take him up on that idea, as it was clear she did not wish to be in his company. But why? She had kissed him after all. And if he had not compromised or hurt her, what reason did she have for such reticence? Was it simply the difference in their stations? No. There was something else lurking behind the beautiful blue of her eyes. He did not hold his breath thinking he would experience a repeat performance of the other night’s kiss.

  Pity.

  “I am afraid I am at a bit of a disadvantage,” he began. “It seems you know my name, but I do not know what to call you?”

  “Miss Cosgrove,” she said.

  “Ah. And your given name? Since you know mine.”

  She hesitated. “Madalene.”

  “Not Rose, then?”

  Her small nose wrinkled and the motion brought a smile to his lips. It was perfectly adorable. “No.”

  “You smelled of roses, you see. So I named you Rose in my mind.” His cheeks warmed at the confession. Well done. He’d just admitted he thought of her. So much for keeping things close to the chest. Was he always this green around beautiful women? What an appalling thought.

  He hurried on, hopeful the depth of his interest in her was not so readily apparent. “And how is it that we are acquainted?”

  She sat quietly, her gaze steady but mysterious. When had she learned to do that, keep her emotions locked tightly away so that no one might read her thoughts? Likely appearing impassive was a handy skill for a servant, especially one as lovely as she. While beauty was valued amongst the ton, it could be a dangerous quality to possess for those in the lower ranks, leaving them open to inappropriate attentions. Thankfully, Miss Cosgrove was under the protection of Mr. Bowen. The man was too busy being madly in love with his beautiful wife to take part in such reprehensible behavior.

  Why did he just sneer when he thought that? Did he—

  He swallowed. Was he the sort?

  The sick feeling from earlier returned with a vengeance, almost making him forget she had not answered his inquiry. Almost. Perhaps he should appeal to her sympathies.

  “Miss Cosgrove, as you may have heard, it appears my memories have taken something of a holiday. I do not mean to pry into your personal life, or request inappropriate information. I am merely attempting to piece together who I am, what I should know. Please, will you assist me in this regard?”

  Her mouth tightened, a nearly imperceptible movement. “Dr. Bartlett has indicated it best if you retrieve your memories on your own.”

  “Is that not what I am doing? Trying to retrieve them by having you tell me something that might prompt their full remembrance?”

  A small muscle where her jaw connected jumped. A-ha. She was not so unreadable after all. He simply had to know where to look. Hardly a taxing endeavor. He was quite certain he could gaze upon her for hours on end without growing weary. And practice did make perfect.

  “Very well. I was employed by your family years ago.”

  Success! “And why are you not employed there still?” One would think a position with the Earl of Ravenwood would be a loftier post than working for an untitled gentleman such as Mr. Bowen. Unless he had behaved inappropriately and she had determined she no longer cared to stay. Except that she had kissed him, and that alone would indicate any affection must have been mutual. Didn’t it?

  “I was dismissed.”

  His brow furrowed. That didn’t seem right. From everything he had witnessed, Miss Cosgrove had proven herself more than efficient and capable. And Mr. Bowen did not strike Hawk as someone who would employ anyone who did not fit that bill. “Why?”

  A long silence followed.

  “You will not tell me?”

  “It is irrelevant.”

  “Was I there at the time of your dismissal?” He couldn’t imagine allowing such a thing to happen if the reasoning was unsupported. At the very least, he’d like to think he would have found her another suitable position. Something inside of him shifted and a deep affection for this young woman stirred, though he could find no context to fit the feeling around. It was apparent she did not share the sentiment save for the kiss she now seemed to regret.

  Silence filled the room. Good heavens, he would never have to worry about her talking his ear off, would he?

  After a long moment, she finally answered his question. “No, you were not there. You had recently left the family home.”

&n
bsp; “Never to return, I hear.” They refused to take you.

  “I cannot speak to that. I do not trouble myself with things that do not concern me.” There was a slight edge to her voice.

  And why wouldn’t there be? His family had dismissed her. Still, he could not shake the sense that she lied to him in some regard.

  “But you obviously landed on your feet, I see, having procured a good position as housekeeper in Mr. Bowen’s household.” Although, she was a bit young for such a high-placed position. All the housekeepers he had known had been much older and far less attractive.

  His brows shot upward. “I remember something!”

  Her body stiffened and her hands, where they lay clasped in her lap, gripped each other tightly. “What do you remember?”

  His chest deflated. It was hardly earth shattering. “Just that…” He stopped and chuckled. “It’s silly, really. Just that other housekeepers I have known were never as lovely to look upon as you.”

  What had his life come to that this is what qualified as good news?

  Miss Cosgrove stood abruptly. “Lord Hawksmoor, I do not—”

  Oh, blast it! She was like a frightened deer, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Had she never been given a compliment before?

  “Please, don’t get yourself in a dither. I am not attempting to woo you. I merely mean to state the obvious.” She remained standing and he released a frustrated breath. “Very well then. You are hideous.”

  “I beg your—”

  “Ghastly, really.”

  “—pardon?”

  “I can barely stand to look upon you.”

  “I do not think—”

  “Gives me nightmares, truth be told.”

  Her lips pursed.

  “Positively horrid.”

  She sat down in the chair and shot him a hard glare. “You have made your point, my lord.”

  He smiled. “Have I? You don’t look happy about it.” In truth, she looked ready to smother him with his pillow. Likely she could, too. He had a long way to go to regain the strength he’d lost while languishing in this bed. Regardless, he had to admit seeing that spark in her only made him more besotted.

  Besotted? Good grief. He was pathetic.

  “My lord—”

  Oh-oh. She had moved to the edge of her seat, ready to leave once more. Did she find him tiresome? He was so certain he was entertaining. Why, he’d made a number of very witty observations in an attempt to pass the hours. Then again, he’d hardly had an audience to bounce said observations off. Perhaps he was the only one who found himself amusing. A rather dismal thought, that.

  He rushed on before she could finish whatever she’d been about to say.

  “Did you know they called me The Hawk?” Surely that would capture her attention and make him appear a proper rogue. Ladies liked rogues. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was certain he was correct in that assumption. And Hawk was a far more roguish moniker than Thomas. Tom. Tommy. Oh good Lord, had anyone ever called him Tommy?

  His admission did not appear to leave the desired impression. “My lord, if there is nothing else you need, I’m afraid I have other duties I must attend to.”

  Why was it that in asking his permission to leave, she’d made him feel he was the one who’d been dismissed? Disappointment flooded through him, but what could he do? She was not under his employ. He could hardly order her to stay and even if he did, he was not entirely certain she would obey. “Yes. Of course.”

  “If you have need of anything, you have only to pull the bell. Someone will see to your needs.”

  “You do not care to be in my company, do you?”

  Between her reaction to him and Mr. Bowen’s vague references, Hawk was left with the sense he was a far different sort of man than the one he felt like. Had the loss of his memory stripped away the layers of who he used to be, leaving nothing but a blank slate? And as his memories were restored, would those layers return one by one until they smothered the person he was now?

  “It is not that, my lord.”

  “Then what is it? What is it about me that have men attempting to kill me, my family disowning me in my time of need, and you kissing me one moment and then wanting to bolt from the room the next as if I had grown horns and a tail?”

  “I cannot speak to what others wish for or think of you, my lord.”

  “But you can speak toward your own feelings, can you not? Please, sit with me. Talk to me. You knew me before, well enough to kiss me and call me by my given name. I need to know who I was. What I was like. I have tried to remember, but the best I can retrieve are vague snippets that make no sense and hold no value. Surely you can tell me something of import that might allow me to recall one proper memory.”

  She shook her head and desperation filled him.

  “Please.” How he hated to beg.

  But it worked. Something in her softened. “Very well. For a few more moments only.”

  Relief swept through him. He had not lost her. “Tell me about my family. Is it a large family?”

  “No, my lord. There are your parents, Lord and Lady Ravenwood.” She stopped for a breath then added, “And you had a brother.”

  Hawk blinked. “I have a brother?” But no, that is not what she said. She’d said he had a brother. Past tense. “He is dead then?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

  Something tapped the edges of his mind, but when he tried to grab hold of it, the memory dissipated like smoke caught in a breeze. “What was my brother’s name?”

  She shifted in her chair. “Phillip.”

  Phillip. The name echoed inside of him until it faded completely, leaving a black void in its wake. His heartbeat strengthened until it pounded hard within his chest. Why? He looked around the room, as if he would find the answer painted upon the walls. It wasn’t and he swung his gaze back to Miss Cosgrove. “What happened to him?”

  She evaded his gaze, staring down at her hands where she had folded them in her lap. He’d started to sweat. Why? “They said it was a hunting accident.”

  No. The word came swift and determined, deeply rooted in that part of him that held his memories in its uncompromising grip. But how could that be so? Not two minutes ago he hadn’t even known he’d had a brother. And why would she lie to him?

  “Was he older?”

  “Yes. He was heir to the earldom.”

  “And now I am,” he whispered. What sort of man stood to inherit the title and property, yet whose family refused to take him in and nurse him back to health? Something flashed in his mind’s eye. Darkness and fear, but the harder he tried to grab it, the more elusive the image proved.

  “Dammit!”

  Miss Cosgrove shot to her feet. “I must go. I’ve said too much and I’ve upset you. Forgive me.”

  “No!” He reached out for her, his knees bumping against the tray she had placed across his lap. “Ow! Bloody hell. Come back!”

  She ignored his plea and swift as a hummingbird, she was gone.

  * * *

  Hawk bolted upright, fear rushed through him. He scrambled from the bed, trying to get away, but the blankets snared his legs and he tumbled forward. Pain radiated from his shoulder as he hit the hard floor. He pulled himself free and tried to stand. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his veins. His legs refused to cooperate. He tried to call out, but his throat closed in on him as if hands had tightened around his neck and squeezed. He clawed at his skin, but there was nothing there. His voice wouldn’t work; his body lacked the strength to get away.

  “Lord Hawksmoor!”

  Miss Cosgrove! Where had she come from?

  He reached for her, but as his hand wrapped around her slim wrist the dark vision that had sent him reeling cleared, chased away by her calming presence. The air he desperately need sucked into his lungs as shock kicked through him and left him gasping.

  He was vaguely aware of her trying to pull away. He held tighter. He shouldn’t, but he needed her. N
eeded the anchor she provided. She was what was real. Not this horrid scene flashing through his mind. His brother. He knew it was Phillip.

  “Lord Hawksmoor, let me go!”

  The fear in Miss Cosgrove’s voice cut through everything else, echoing in his mind until he couldn’t decipher where her terror originated. In his dream? In reality? Still he hung on, refusing to relinquish his grip, afraid if he did, he would spiral so far down into the dark, he’d never return.

  “Help me,” he pleaded.

  What he remembered couldn’t be true. It couldn’t!

  Her attempts to pull away stopped and her body shifted, her arms closing around him as best they could. He glanced down at her. Fear filled her eyes, illuminated by the moonlight where it cut across her lovely face. Her expression shook him to the core, solidifying what the horrible memory that had crept back to torment him had revealed. He closed his eyes but there was no avoiding the truth.

  “I killed him.” His voice rasped out as if the hands in his dream still pressed against his throat, choking him. “I killed my brother.”

  Chapter Four

  Madalene released Lord Hawksmoor and pulled her arm from his grip. His memory of that night dragged her back down into its darkness. She struggled to regain her footing on the hardwood floor, but her toes caught in the hem of her dress, tripping her up. She should have never come back to his room. The admonishment repeated in her head, over and over.

  She should have left. Returned to the cottage she shared with Father.

  But she couldn’t help herself. Lord Hawksmoor drew her to him. He always had. But even as she questioned her actions and insisted returning was nothing short of foolhardy, she came anyway. Why? That part of her life, the part that he’d had in it, was over. Done with. She had buried her feelings for the new Lord Hawksmoor on the same day they had buried his brother. But she had kept the secret his parents told, insisting that their eldest had been trampled after falling from his horse.

  Better that, than to admit the new heir to the earldom had killed him.

  Murdered him with his own hands.

  Because of her.

  Madalene gave up trying to stand and instead scrambled with hands and feet until she reached the wall and pressed her back against it. Not because she feared Lord Hawksmoor, but because she feared what she might do for him. The need to offer him comfort, to ease the pain that shone so brilliantly in his eyes, overwhelmed her. Despite what he had done. Or perhaps because of it.