Beyond the Highland Mist
Page 46

Adrienne sprang to her feet. Anything to escape his eyes, and coffee to boot.
Betrayal shone in the Hawk’s eyes now.
Lydia took Adrienne by the hand and started to lead her to the gardens.
“I’ll brew the coffee, Mother,” Hawk said to their backs. “But see to it that Maery has Adrienne’s things moved to the Peacock Room.”
Lydia stopped. The hand holding Adrienne’s tightened almost imperceptibly. “Are you quite certain, Hawk?” she asked stiffly.
“You heard her. She is completely recovered. She is my wife. Where best to guard her?”
“Very well.”
“Where’s the Peacock Room?” Adrienne spun on her heel to face him.
“On the third floor.”
“Will I have it to myself?”
“As much of it as I don’t use. ’Tis the laird’s chambers.”
“I am not sleeping with you—”
“I don’t recall asking you to—”
“You oversized, arrogant, conceited jackass—”
“Really, Adrienne, my son is none of those things,” Lydia chastened.
“No reflection on you, Lydia. I really like you,” Adrienne said politely. Politeness decamped abruptly as she glared at the Hawk. “But I’m not sharing your bed!”
“Not quite the topic to be bandying about over the dinner table, I’ll say,” Tavis offered, scratching his head, a flush stealing over his cheeks.
Hawk laughed and the dark rumble vibrated through her body, leaving her nipples erect and her heart hammering.
“Wife, you will share my room this eve if I must have you tied and carried there. Either you can suffer that humiliation or you can come willingly upon your own two feet. I’m not much concerned with how you get there. Just get there.”
Mutiny rose up in her breast, threatening to steal her very senses. Dimly she heard the door behind her open and shut and caught the scent of a cloying perfume that turned her stomach. Whatever the scent was, it reminded her of the orphanage; of attics and mothballs and days the nuns had made her scrub the floors and dust the heavy dark furniture.
“Lover!” came the cry of feminine delight from behind her.
Lydia’s hand tightened painfully on hers. “Olivia Dumont,” she muttered almost beneath her breath. “Dear heavens! I doubt I’ll see this day through sane.”
“Olivia?” Adrienne echoed, her eyes flying to the Hawk’s.
Olivia, the Hawk thought gloomily. This day was rapidly running the gamut from bad to worse. He refused to meet Adrienne’s questioning gaze. How dare she call him Adam in the midst of their lovemaking and then ask questions about another woman? She had no right. Not after she’d said his name.
Fury consumed him every time he thought about it.
Adam.
Images of his hands ripping apart the smithy flesh from bone comforted him for a moment.
Then desolation overwhelmed him. Now he had two problems: How was he going to make Adrienne want him? And what was he going to do with Olivia?
Fix Olivia up with the smithy?
That brought a grin to his face, the first in a while.
And naturally, Adrienne misunderstood it, thinking his smile was meant for Olivia, as did Olivia. As, it appeared, did his mother from the scowl on her face. Grimm cursed softly beneath his breath. Tavis shook his head, muttered a heated oath, and stalked from the heavily laden dinner table.
“Olivia.” Hawk inclined his head. “What brings you to Dalkeith?”
“Why, Hawk,” Olivia purred, “need you ask? I’ve missed you at court. You’ve been away from my … side … for far too long. I surmised I’d simply have to come collect you myself if I wanted you. So,” she finished with a flutter of lashes and a blatant come-hither look, “here I am.”
Hawk realized belatedly what a stupid question he’d asked as Adrienne fixed Olivia with a chilling gaze. Hawk knew from experience that Olivia could answer any question—no matter how innocent—with a loaded innuendo, but he’d shut the unpleasant memory of her antics from his mind the moment he’d returned to Dalkeith. It occurred to him that he would do well to resurrect those memories quickly. It would be unwise to forget Olivia’s penchant for troublemaking; the asp was in his nest now.
Olivia’s breath caught audibly as she stared at Adrienne.
“Greetings, Olivia. Have you come to speak with my husband?”
Momentarily free of Adrienne’s wrathful gaze, the Hawk preened. Husband, she’d said. And she’d said it possessively. Perhaps there was hope after all.