One Night with Prince Charming (Aristocratic Grooms #2)(15)
Author: Anna DePalo

He saw Pia hesitate.

“An early morning phone call awakened me from a pleasant slumber, as I recall,” he went on, searching her gaze. “I still remember the view from your apartment window as the news reached me.”

Pia looked momentarily bewildered. He knew he’d flummoxed her.

“So you departed without a word?”

He nodded. “On the first flight back to London.”

The unexpected news about his brother had changed the trajectory of his life. He’d left Pia’s apartment quietly, while she’d still slept. Then he’d rushed back to London for a bedside vigil that had ended days later when William had taken his last breath.

With the tumult in his life that had followed the tragedy, he’d been able to push Pia to the back of his mind. Then with the space of days and miles, and the weight of his newfound responsibilities as a ducal heir, he convinced himself that it would be better if he didn’t get in touch with her again—if he let matters end as they were.

It had all been convenient, too, he admitted to himself now. Because the truth was that after sleeping with Pia and discovering that she’d been a virgin, he’d had the feeling of being in too deep. It had been a novel and uncomfortable sensation for him. His younger, inconsiderate self had simply been looking for a steamy fling. But he’d been spared the need to figure out how to handle it all by the news of his brother’s tragic accident.

“I’m sorry, however belatedly, for your loss,” Pia said, a look of openhearted feeling transforming her face.

“I’m not asking for your sympathy,” he responded.

He didn’t deserve it. As much as Pia had claimed to have developed a more cynical shell since they’d been lovers, she still, he could tell, possessed a soft-hearted fragility about her that showed how easily she could be hurt.

He was thankful for that sign that he hadn’t changed her too deeply, even though it made her all that more dangerous. To him.

He was here to help, he reminded himself. He was going to make amends for past wrongs, however inadequately, and that’s all.

“My father died months later,” he elaborated, forcing himself to stay on topic. “Some would say brokenhearted, though he’d already been in poor health. So by two quirks of fate within a year, I became the duke.”

“And then you started Sunhill Investments,” Pia observed without inflection. “You’ve had a busy few years.”

He inclined his head. “Again, some would say so. And yet it was all born of necessity, and nothing more so than the need to find a new cash flow for the maintenance of the ducal estates.”

When his father had died, the full weight of the dukedom had been thrust upon his shoulders. He’d stepped up to take care of the family…become responsible…

He’d already started exploring his options for starting a hedge fund, but the costs associated with the ducal estates had added new urgency to matters.

And in the shuffle—in the crazy upheaval and burdensome work schedule that had been his life for the past three years—it had been easy to shut the door on his discomfort as far as Pia was concerned. He had, at many moments, been too busy to think about their one stupendous night, when he’d broken his vow and done what he said he’d never do, even in his careless playboy days—be remembered as a woman’s first lover. And even in his younger days, he hadn’t been the type to leave without a word—instead, he stuck around and made sure there were no hard feelings.

“You never got back in touch,” Pia stated, though without rancor.

He searched her eyes—so unusual in their warm amber tone that he’d been arrested by them on their first meeting.

Now, he sensed in them that her adamancy from when he’d walked in the door was weakening, exactly as he’d wanted. Still, what he said next was the truth. “None of this explanation was intended as an excuse.”

“Why go out of your way to arrange for me to be Lucy’s wedding planner?” Pia asked. “To make amends?”

Hawk couldn’t help but smile at her astute query. Pia might still be rather sweet and naive, despite her posturing to the contrary, but she was intelligent. He’d been drawn to her wit on the night they’d first met.

“If I said yes, would you let me?” he parried.

“I’ve found from past experience that letting you do anything is dangerous.”

He gave a low laugh. “Even if it’s a favor?”

“With no strings attached?”

He could sense her weakening toward him, so he gave her his most innocent look. “Would you let me wipe some of the dirt off my conscience?”

“So this is an act of mercy on my part?”

“Of sorts.”

“So you’re acting not only to make up for your friend Easterbridge’s actions at Belinda’s wedding but for yours in the past as well?”

“I don’t believe I was ever motivated by Easterbridge’s actions.”

Then, not giving her a chance to backtrack, he withdrew a pen from his inner jacket pocket and using the nearby wall as support, he inked her contract with his signature.

“There, it’s signed,” he said, handing out the contract to her.

She looked at him with some wariness, but nevertheless took the contract from him and glanced at it.

“Hawkshire,” she read, and then looked up, a sudden glimmer in her eyes. “How grand. Sh-should I receive it as a benediction of sorts?”

He shrugged, willing for her to be amused at his expense. “Am I being permitted to try to make restitution, however inadequately? Then please view this contract as a grant of clemency from you to me.”

Deliberately, he held the pen out to her.

Pia seemed to understand his gesture for the meaning-laden act it was, and hesitated.

Hawk glanced down at Mr. Darcy for a moment, and then arched a brow. “Our one witness wants you to sign.”

And indeed, Mr. Darcy was looking up at them, unmoving and unblinking. Hawk was starting to realize that it was a customary pose for the cat, and he got the uncomfortable feeling that Mr. Darcy understood too much for a feline.

“I’m not in the business of reforming rakes,” Pia said as she reached for the pen.

Their fingers brushed, causing a sizzle of awareness to shoot through him.

Hawk schooled his expression. “Of course you are,” he contradicted her. “I assume you adopted Mr. Darcy from a shelter?”

“That was saving a soul, not reforming a rake.”