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“Nevil, as much as it grieves me to say it openly, was a greedy bastard. I knew it but chose to keep myself out of it. More fool I!”
“None of it was your fault, Father,” Hawk said. “None of it. Every man chooses his own road, you know that. The question still remains, though, none of what?”
The marquess ruminated, saying finally, his voice meditative, “If Lord Dempsey was responsible for Nevil’s death, then perforce it had to do with racing. And that, unfortunately, brings our Edmund to the fore.”
Hawk cursed very explicitly.
“I know, my boy. There is Beatrice and all that.”
“It occurred to me, Father, that it was Beatrice behind Edmund’s push to buy me out. Perhaps it wasn’t.”
“Or worse, perhaps it was.”
The two men stared at each other. Hawk very carefully set down his brandy snifter. “I am going to speak to Belvis. The horses, particularly Flying Davie, must be protected.”
He didn’t realize that his father still held Amalie’s letter.
He didn’t give it a thought, in fact, until he visited Frances that evening to share dinner with her.
“You look ready to slay dragons again, my dear,” he said.
“I am thinking of one particular dragon, a very stupid dragon,” she said, unsmiling.
“Ah,” Hawk said, “here is our dinner.” He took the bed tray from Mrs. Jerkins’ hands and set it over his wife’s legs. He raised the various lids and inhaled. “Delicious,” he announced.
“All of her ladyship’s favorites,” said Mrs. Jerkins.
“Yes, I see,” said Hawk. “Chicken with bechamel sauce, larded peahen, and her very favorite—tipsy cake.”
He waited until Mrs. Jerkins had left the bedchamber, then said sharply, “Now, what is wrong with you, other than your shoulder?”
“This,” Frances said, and thrust Amalie’s letter at him.
“Damn,” said Hawk. “I think I shall murder my father.”
“How could you keep this from me! Do you believe I am some sort of weak-willed female whose delicate sensibilities would be grossly overset? You are an idiot, and I won’t have it, Hawk!”
He sighed and seated himself beside her bed. “We’re in deep trouble, Frances.”
She was so surprised at his capitulation that she was without words for many moments. She saw the worry in his beautiful eyes and softened. But she didn’t want to feel softened and gentled, damn him!
“You will try no more ploys to keep me in ignorance, Hawk.”
“No, it is too late,” he agreed. “Eat your dinner.”
He uncovered his own dishes and took a thoughtful bite of the fluffy potatoes. “Too much salt,” he said absently.
“The tipsy cake is delicious,” said Frances.
“Are you in much pain now?”
“No,” she said honestly. “Just very sore. You were right about the bruises. I look awfut—an blue and purple and disgusting yellow-green.”
“Sounds like those wretched caps you used to wear,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “I shall see for myself after dinner.”
“If you are thinking to seduce me, I suggest you forget it!”
He gave her a very knowing look. “I have the utmost respect for your body, my dear, though I must admit that my interest in some parts is more intense than in others.”
