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The cat merely glanced at her with those blue eyes, and she could have sworn he grinned. Then he lifted his chin so Hawk could better scratch beneath it.
Much like what she did when the man pressed kisses along her jawline… “Ah, I see how it is. You two have formed a pact, and now I’m left out in the cold.”
“If you are chilly, I’m glad to show you more than a few ways you I can warm you.” Hawk waggled his eyebrows. “We’ll start with kisses.”
Heat invaded her cheeks. She put her attention firmly back on the boxes of decorations. “I am quite well just now. Thank you.”
If she would let him, he would thoroughly sweep her away, but it was lovely to have a man nearby again.
“Too bad. You and I are rather good together in that regard.” When Mathieu jumped to the back of his chair, Hawk rested an ankle on a knee, unfolded the newspaper, and then settled into reading.
Time passed while he read, and she laid fir boughs on the fireplace mantel. Since the lip was a few inches taller than she was, Belle utilized the ladder one of the footmen had placed for her. It necessitated her going up and down a few steps many times, but she didn’t mind the exercise. The crisp scent of the pine put her immediately in mind of winter and Christmastide. She scattered tin bells and glass balls within the greenery and then tied a few red bows here and there. Pronouncing the effect lovely, she came down once more in order to move the ladder, for she intended to place a darling wreath onto a hook set into the wall specifically for that purpose.
“You really should let one of the footmen on that ladder,” Hawk said with his face still hidden behind the paper. Gentle censure echoed in his tones.
“Pish posh. I am quite capable.” Yet she eyed the evergreen wreath lying on the top of one of the boxes and then glanced at where it needed to be. The task would prove challenging by herself.
“Oh, no doubt you are, but this has disaster in the making.”
Apparently, Mathieu agreed for he offered a meow before stretching himself out lengthwise on the back of Hawk’s chair and then promptly closed his eyes.
“Have some faith, Hawk. I decorate the house every year.”
“I’m sure you do, but do you usually have assistance?”
“Well, yes.” She ignored the heat in her cheeks. “I think I can take care of it myself. I am not elderly yet.”
“No, you are not,” he said, and this time he folded down a corner of the paper and raked his gaze up and down her person. “Far from it, actually.”
“Rogue.” Instead of hanging the wreath, she took up handfuls of evergreens and scattered them strategically about the room.
“I can only be who I am.” His lips twitched in amusement before he hid behind the paper once more.
Belle smiled as she nestled tin bells within the various bunches of evergreens. It was all too domestic having him in the drawing room with her, and if she didn’t mind herself, she would fall to his charm. That was unsettling enough, but a deep, hidden part of her yearned to belong to a man again, to have that close companionship again.
“I suppose that is the fate of all of us,” she said softly. “The hope is that there is someone out there who will appreciate those quirks or bits of oddness.”
When Hawk lowered his newspaper, shadows clouded his eyes. She would have given anything to know what went through his thoughts. “There is a certain amount of truth in that statement. I think most of us reach a point where we want a family or a spouse in order to stave off that loneliness.”
“Indeed.” She paused with a tin bell in her hand. “I assumed I would have had that with Laurence, but fate had other plans.”
“Did he perish in the war?” A sheet of the newspaper slipped to the floor, and as soon as it landed, Mathieu leaped from the back of the chair to land on the paper, which slid a few feet over the carpet.
“He did not. In fact, he didn’t feel the need to purchase a commission or even do much of anything to join that effort.” She frowned, for that made him seem ungrateful. “That is not to say he wasn’t sympathetic to what men like you were doing out there on those battlefields.” That last thing she wished to do was offend him. “Additionally, he already held the Ravenscroft title, and since we never were blessed with children, he didn’t wish to...” Her words trailed off.
Hawk held up a hand while Mathieu dove again and again into the sheet of newspaper then proceeded to shred it with his claws. “Please, don’t feel you need to explain. Not all men are suited for war.”
“Yes.” She nodded and stuffed the bell into the greenery. “Laurence tried to keep himself aloof from politics and anything of that sort. Though he argued on the floor of the House of Lords for what he believed in, he refused to discuss those things once the day was over.” Then she realized she’d never answered Hawk’s original question. “No, no, he did not die in the war. He had gotten scratched while out hunting one day, and that wound had gone into an infection, which is what killed him.”
“I’m sorry just the same.”
“Thank you. He never regained consciousness, so I wasn’t able to tell him goodbye.” The delicate tendons in her throat worked with a hard swallow. “The last words I had from him were the nonsensical ramblings of a fever-wracked man. That made it much more heartbreaking.”
“I’ll wager it did.” His intense eyes followed her as she completed her tasks. “Are your parents still alive?”
“My father died ten years ago. Mama is still alive, but she spends her time in Bath. She’s too old to travel with ease now.”
“Why did you not wish to spend the Christmastide season with her?”
