Page 62 of Her Magnificent Mistake
Smith-McSmith-Smith frowned up at him. “Make him drink his water. He is weak,” she commanded, quite unfairly, before she shut the door behind her.
Leaving him alone with his best friend.
Hawk took a deep breath, wishing he weren’t dreading this.
When he turned back to Bull, the other man was slumped in his chair, looking—as the maid had said—weaker than ever. Hawk winced, wondering what to do if his friend passed out on him or something.
Wasn’t he supposed to slap the other person smartly between the shoulder blades? No, no, that was if they were choking.
“Come sit down,” Bull commanded, and Hawk forced himself to move toward the opposite seat.
Still, he couldn’t relax back against the leather. He leaned forward, planted his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together. Surely he needed to address that kiss. The kiss that Bull’s little sister had just given him?Surelythat was why Bull was eyeing him now with that hard look in his gray eyes?
It wasn’t as though the man could have missed it.
Hawk swallowed, preparing to say what needed to be said. Hadn’t he practiced this speech over and over, the last ten years? He had it down to a fine art…but what came out was, “I’m sorry.” He gestured to the large bandage around Bull’s head. “This wasmeant for me, and ye just had the bad luck to be wearing a hat that looked like mine.”
Bull was still studying him with that steely gray gaze under the heavy bandage. He’d never looked at Hawk like that before: distrust and uncertainty. Hawk allowed his gaze to focus on his friend’s chin, because it was easier than meeting that accusing stare.
Bull clearly didn’t approve of the kiss.
Perhaps ye shouldnae tell him about the cottage, or the way Marcia screamed yer name, or what ye did again an’ again an’ again ten years ago.
Finally Bull spoke, his voice hard. Cold. Unimpressed. “Marcia told me the same; that the attack was meant for ye. I admit, the evidence is compelling. If true, it changes the focus of my investigation completely. She pointed out that if someone is trying to kill ye, then that means it’s likely they killed the previous barons, and ye’re innocent.”
Hawk’s gaze jerked up, along with his chin. “Investigation? Innocent?” He frowned, thinking of what Marcia had told him in the woodshed earlier. “As in, innocent ofkilling my family members?”
“Innocent of committing murder to achieve ownership of the land and title ye clearly hold dear,” Bull corrected blandly.
Hawk gaped.Perhaps he’d been the one hit on the head.“Ye cannae honestly think I would do such a thing?” When his old friend’s expression didn’t change, he slowly straightened. “Bull? I thought ye kenned me better than that.”
The other man held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Aye, I thought so too. When the case was handed to me, I couldnae believe ye would do such a thing. But look at the results, Hawk. Each baron dead, one after the other, so Tostinham could land in yer lap.”
Yer best friend thought ye capable of murder? “How could ye…? I wouldnever…” Hawk suspected he was sputtering, but then Bull’s meaning sunk in and his fingers tightened around his knees.“Case? Evidence? Ye’ve been investigating me?”
Bull’s hands curled around the arms of his chair, as if he was holding himself back. His gaze was direct, his tone fierce, when he speared Hawk with a sharp tone. “Did ye kill any of the previous barons, Hawk? Yer grandfather, yer cousins, yer uncle?”
Acid boiling in his stomach, Hawk shook his head in disbelief. “Ilovedmy grandfather. Aye, cousin Roger was a bit of an arse, but I wasnae going to?—”
“Just answer me!”
Bull’s interruption startled Hawk. He met his friend’s gaze and saw the seriousness of this line of questioning. “I didno’,” Hawk said quietly, intently.It was the truth; Bull had to believe him.“I didnae kill my grandfather, nor Franklin, nor Roger, nor Uncle William.” For good measure, he added, “Nor William’s son, nor my brother Stephen, both of whom should’ve been heir before me…had they lived.”
Bull was quiet for a long moment, his eyes narrowed and sharp, as if considering the words. Finally, he spoke without moving the rest of his body. “Swear it, Hawk. Swear it on our friendship, andon that kiss ye just gave my sister, and the years of history we share. Swear it.”
Hawk swallowed—but swearing on such things was easy. “I swear it, Bull. I didnae kill anyone.”
Suddenly, his friend relaxed. The slumping of his shoulders, the way he fell back against his chair, all highlighted how tense he must’ve been. Hawk startled, wondering if Bull was about to pass out and what he needed to do about it…
But then, in one motion, Bull yanked the bandage from his head and reached behind his back. He dropped the white material to the ground as he pulled a pistol from his kidney region and placed it on his thigh.
Hawk reared back, suddenly uncertain.
Axes, aye. But pistols?
But Bull grinned crookedly and crossed one immaculately tailored trouser leg over the other, looking far more like himself—charming, at ease,not at all weak—than he had a moment ago. Gone was the weak invalid, and in its place was the Bull he knew and loved.
“Sorry about all this. Pretending to be a weak invalid and all that.” Without glancing down, Bull moved the gun from his lap to the table beside him, his movements sure and confident. “Gabby insisted it would work to make ye feel stronger.” He tipped his head toward the door. “That’s what all theOh, he’s so weaknonsense was about.”
