Page 45 of From Rakes to Riches

She leaned her head against the window and let out another sigh, her breath leaving a damp film of fog on the glass. The truth was, for all that they were uncertain about him, Ryan and Etienne loved their father, and they needed him. She knew this, yet she’d done little to help mend the rift between them.

Perhaps she could be forgiven for neglecting to read Lord Hawke properly, but there was no excuse for not doing her utmost to reconcile Ryan and Etienne to their father.She, of all people, who knew what it was to have a loving, attentive father, how much it meant.

Everything.

She huffed another hazy lungful of air onto the glass, then reached out to trace a finger through it. But how was she meant to fix it? Lord Hawke had made it clear he didn’t care for her opinions, and?—

She froze as a flicker of movement in the stable yard below caught her eye. “What in the world?” The cats let out sleepy meows of protest as she sprang up onto her knees and peered out the window.

Was that…yes! A dark shadow was passing through the stable yard!

But who would be out there at this time of morning? It must be an animal, or…no, there weren’t many animals in the Oxfordshire countryside who walked upright. It was certainly aman. A poacher, perhaps? No, that wasn’t likely. No thief in his right mind would risk coming this close to the castle.

Whoever it was, he was quite tall, and had exceptionally broad shoulders, and dark hair turned silvery by the moonlight…

“Oh, my goodness!” She slapped a hand over her mouth to smother a gasp.

It was Lord Hawke, sneaking about the stable yard in the dark! Or…no, not the stable yard, but into the stables themselves! Her heart pounded against her ribs as he reached the door, slid it open, and disappeared into the thick darkness inside.

He’d been carrying something, too, hadn’t he? There’d been something in his hand. The moonlight had caught a glint of something white. Dear God, he wasn’t going after Hecate with ill intent, was he?

No, no. That wasn’t it. He’d promised the boys he wouldn’t take Hecate away, and for all that she didn’t much care for Lord Hawke, she didn’t believe he’d lie to Ryan and Etienne. No, he had some other reason, but what? What possible business could he have in the stables at…she glanced at the small clock on the mantel.

Four o’clock in the morning? Why, even Abby wouldn’t be up yet!

Whatever he was up to, he didn’t want anyone to see him. Oh dear, thatdidseem a bit menacing, didn’t it? What did he mean, creeping about his own stable yard like a thief? It didn’t make any sense.

She waited, breath held for what felt like forever, but at last the stable door slid open again, and the tall, dark, broad-shouldered shadow reappeared. His back was toward her, and he paused there, as if watching something unfolding inside, then he turned, and a shaft of moonlight caught the lower half of hisface, throwing the sharp angles of his jaw and chin and his full lips into sharp relief.

A soft gasp fell from her lips. Yes, there was no mistaking that face. It was Lord Hawke, and he was…well, he rather stole one’s breath, didn’t he? Strange, that she hadn’t noticed how perfect his features were before now, but perhaps he wasn’t quite as handsome as that in the daytime?

It must be the moonlight. It flattered everyone.

He stood there in the doorway for some time before he pulled the stable door closed and crept back across the yard back toward the castle, vanishing into the shadows.

Whatever he’d had in his hand was now gone.

Hestia and Poseidon each let out a sleepy howl of protest as she tumbled them out of the nest they’d made in the lap of her nightdress. “Yes, I do beg your pardon, but something is afoot.” She scrambled up from the window seat. “And if you recall, neither of you permitted me a single wink of sleep last night.”

She gave each furry head a distracted pat, then hurried into her cloak and boots, and with a quick peek into the hallway outside her bedchamber door, ran down three flights of stairs, through the kitchen and out into the stable yard.

She paused when she reached the stable door, shivering in her nightdress. “Goodness, it’s cold.” She hadn’t bothered with stockings or gloves, so she stamped her feet and blew on her fingers as she darted through the door.

Her heart began to race as she drew closer to the pen at the back of the stables, but Hecate was in her pen, right where they’d left her this morning, rolling about on her back in the hay, as content as ever.

Or, no.Morecontent than ever, because there beside her, tucked into the hay was a small, white porcelain dish, with the remains of what looked like…

She dropped to her knees, reached over the side of the pen and snatched it up.

Clotted cream?

No, surely not. She dragged a fingertip through the dregs Hecate had left behind, and touched it to the end of her tongue.

By God, it was!

She sat back on her heels, amazed.

Lord Hawke, the man who claimed to loathe cats with the heat of a thousand suns had left his warm bed, sneaked out into the dark, freezing night, and delivered a bowl of clotted cream to a cat he despised.

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