Page 30 of Four Promises to Love

“You were trying to prove a point, and you did,” he said tautly. “I am a madman. Stay away from me—and my family.”

He strode out. Paralyzed by remorse, she heard the front door slam.

Nine

Two nights later, Finn arrived at the gamekeeper’s cottage. It was situated in the woods behind Bottoms House, and the glow of her lantern revealed the higgledy-piggledy silhouette of its thatched roof. She didn’t know if she was relieved or anxious when she saw light spilling from the single window. She’d surveilled Bottoms House for hours and observed Owen returning to the cottage after supper. He’d been alone, which meant it was time to make her move.

She’d chosen to fly solo this time. The Hawks did not know she’d come. She’d hurt Owen badly—and knowing how private he was, involving more people would be like pouring salt into the wound.

The wound I tore open.

Shame roiled inside her. While she would freely admit to being dodgy, she was a Hawk, and they had their own code of honor. They did what they needed to survive, and they did not target the poor, sick, and young. They were hunters, yes, but out of necessity rather than pleasure.

Hawks did not thrive on cruelty and pain. This distinguished them from bastards like Alexander Carver—and made them better than their origins. Better than the brutality of the orphanages and flash houses and brothels they had survived. While they broke certain laws designed to benefit the rich and powerful, they considered their group’s ethics inviolable.

Finn had dishonored these ethics—dishonored herself.

She could still see Owen’s tormented expression. Still feel the vibrating fear of his powerful body as he sheltered her from invisible bullets and yelled at her to stay down. Her chest throbbed with self-recrimination. These were not the actions of a spoiled lordling playing at war, but those of a brave soldier who’d done bloody battle for his country.

I made him remember. Relive whatever horrors he survived. I used his pain like a weapon—and I felt smug about it.

She closed her eyes briefly. Then, before she changed her mind, she knocked on his door. She could have picked the lock—another one of her skills—but now that she had a glimpse of his past, she suspected that he didn’t like to be taken by surprise.

It was a preference they shared.

The door opened, and the words she’d rehearsed left her. While Owen was never a dandified sort of gentleman, he’d apparently abandoned any attempt at civility. His shaggy brown hair looked like he’d dragged his hands through it repeatedly. Shadows hung beneath his eyes, heightening the glittering grey of his irises. A night beard—make that two nights’ worth—roughened his jaw. He wore a linen shirt, open waistcoat, and trousers. His collar was open, revealing his corded throat and glimpses of his muscular chest.

He was dangerously on edge…and dangerously attractive.

“What do you want?” he said.

She stopped staring at his chest. Squared her shoulders.

“I came to apologize,” she said.

“That is unnecessary. Go away.”

She stuck her foot in the door before he could shut it. Unfortunately, he used more force than she’d bargained for.

“Ouch,” she exclaimed. “Are you trying to smash my foot to smithereens?”

“You put your foot in harm’s way,” he said testily.

“I put my foot in a lot of foolish places. Including my mouth.”

Her candor had the intended effect. At the very least, he didn’t shut the door further.

“You have apologized,” he said curtly. “You can go.”

She wished she could. “I cannot. Not until I⁠—”

“I am not interested in discussing what happened.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I would rather put that incident, and the rest of our unfortunate history, behind us.”

She thought quickly. “I would leave you in peace, but my foot hurts too much to walk.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t close the door that hard.”

“I shall try to walk back.” She took a mincing step. “I suppose if I can’t make it home, I can stop in the forest and try to find shelter until the morning. Do you think it is safe⁠—”