Page 74 of The Bright and Hungry Future of Hawks

She gave him a sharp glance. As well she might, given this was the first time she’d seen him naked.

He moved the towel lower.

“What are you doing here?” He meant his room, but realised this question also covered being in the house at all.

“She was staying the night. They are trying for a baby, apparently.”

Ah. The beautiful young wife.

“Awkward”

“I made sure to make it so before I left, yes.”

She was staring again at the clothes. He was trying to think up a lie. Normally these came to him as easily as breathing, but even he was struggling to explain how a civil servant in Whitehall had ended up being a little bit toasty. She’d bought him the coat for his birthday, too, which was tricky, he had to admit.

“I heard something interesting on the news driving back.”

I’m standing here wrapped in a very small hand towel. Go away.

“Really?”

“Hmm. There was a fire in somewhere called Nettlebed.”

“How fascinating. Was there a parsnip-growing contest too? Do you mind? I want to—”

“Obviously, I wouldn't have taken any notice of that ordinarily. Not our county. Not our sort of people, come to that. But oddly I did recognise the name. Hard to miss, really, so quaint. And such a strange coincidence you see, because Ben’s new cottage is in a tiny hamlet called…Nettlebed. He was telling me all about it.Nettle Cottage. Which I thought was rather sweet. Ridiculous mortgage, though. You pay him too much. And thatch. Very hard to insure, so I’m told.”

“I have no interest in what my assistants do when they are not at work. I do not pay anyone; we are all government employees. Now I wish to get dressed, Philipa. It is November. In a house with no central heating.” Any longer standing there and he wouldn’t need that towel.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Only, your clothes are burnt.”

Damn it. He knew this was going to sound bad. It was the best he’d been able to come up with. “Yes, quite a funny story. I went to a Bonfire Night party, too. Some Whitehall people; you would not know them. There was a little accident with some accelerant.” Not as bad as he’d thought. He almost believed it himself.

‘Ah. AWhitehallparty. Such fun. Were you the Guy, Nikolas?” She raised her gaze, and he saw that she knew. Obviously, she knew.

He twitched his nose, entirely unable to think of a suitable response. Well, one he’d get away with, anyway. He considered tryingall right, yes, I was there, of course, Stinging Fucking Nettles. I was helpingto put the fire out.

Could he add in the word brave, or heroic? Possibly.

“I was—”

“A man died. In the fire.” She paused, assessing his reaction, then added to his utter fury, “Ah, good, so not Ben then.” Too late he realised that if he had actually been elsewhere, he would have shown immediate and genuine concern at the death in case it had been Ben. Fuck. It had been a long day.

She came closer.

“What have you done?” So close she could now see his scorched hair. “Oh my God! What have you done, Nikolas! What have you done?”

Okay, this wasn’t good.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

And then burst free from his tiny confines.

He grabbed the startled woman by the neck, implied one thing, felt her shudder with terror, but then did another, kissing her full on—Aleksey Primakov at his absolute best—and knew she shivered then in a very different way.

She wrenched out of his arms and slapped him.

Huh. Not that kind of quiver then. He was clearly off his game. But then he hadn’t kissed many women before.

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