Flight of the Hawk, page 15
* * * *
Leona was escorted by the very dashing Earl of Danbury to Viscount Harrington’s house after their walk. For the rest of the day she spent time working on more sketches of the family and compiled her work into a pile to take back to her studio.
It was dark when she returned to the St. Martins’ townhouse. The snow fell much heavier and Rafe had insisted that a carriage take her home. She hadn’t argued since it was cold, snowy and late. Not to mention she had the dogs and her artwork to haul as well.
As her coat was being taken from her, Weeks was there to hand her the platter with a note for her. It was addressed with simple lettering and had only her first name on it.
She opened the note as she walked up the stairs to go change for dinner.
Leona—
I was wondering if I might once again have
The pleasure of enjoying your company.
Perhaps a walk or something where we could
Spend some time together. Alone.
I have things that I need to tell you.
Things that I can’t say in a note.
I am no good at flowery words. But I will
Learn if that is what you like. Remember,
There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you
Kitten.
I will await your reply with bated breath.
You hold my heart, now and forever.
~Trey
PS: I want you to meet my son
Damn him. He’d had to call her kitten. She had to see him. If for no other reason than to face demons from her own past. She owed it to herself and to their previous relationship to give him her undivided attention.
But where to meet him? The days were getting colder, so maybe here would be the best place. She would have to clear it with Lucien and Ciara first, as she didn’t want to have any notions of impropriety to fall on their family.
Could she? Should she? Would she?
She had to. Trace was right. Every single traitorous fiber in her being craved his touch. He knew it, she knew it, so why pretend otherwise? No matter what had happened in the past, the only thing she was absolutely positive about was she was still in love with him.
For years she may have had her doubts, but they had all vanished the second she’d recognized his body on the ground. They shared something special and unique.
* * * *
At dinner, she asked the opinions of the marquess and his wife. Since it was just the three of them and since Ciara still disliked eating formally in that specific room, they were at the breakfast table with the dinner before them to serve themselves.
“Colonel Morgan left me a note asking if he could call on me.” Leona just blurted it out.
Her friends put down their utensils and turned to look directly at her. When that was all she said, Ciara prompted, “And?”
“I was thinking I might accept.”
“Just spending some time in the receiving room talking? It is getting much colder now, so a walk may be out of the question.” Ciara’s sharp mind missed nothing.
“He said he had something he wished to discuss with me. So, I thought…”
“About damn time,” Lucien mumbled more to himself than to the women at the table, although they heard his comment. A comment that earned him a reproachful glare from his wife and caused a blush to run up Leona’s skin.
Finally Leona gave up all pretense of eating, dropping her spoon with a loud clank. The noise echoed in the silence. “I know you both know about him. I need to be able to spend some time with him alone. But I also don’t want to besmirch your name or home.”
Lucien put down his cup and exchanged another glance with his wife. His words were concise and clear when they came.
“If you need to talk to him then invite him here and do so. You have the gardens in the back if you want to be outside, or there are plenty of rooms inside if it is cold. You are like family, and after your last meeting with him, I think it is safe to say there is still something between the both of you. That kind of behavior would be much better done under this roof than out in the park.”
Leona noticed that although she stayed silent, Ciara was nodding in agreement to what her husband was saying.
“Also, this way there will be no talk of impropriety, since I will be here as will Ciara. Have him bring Falcon along also.”
Falcon? Who was Falcon? Was that his son’s name?
“Very well. I will send a response this evening.”
“For tomorrow?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Yes, Lucien. For tomorrow.” She loved how pushy and yet protective he was of her.
“Good.”
And still, Ciara remained silent.
After dinner was over and the three adults were in the library, Leona penned a short response to Trace. She rose silently and handed it to a waiting footman to deliver.
The rest of the evening was spent with Leona sketching and Ciara and Lucien snuggled together on a couch, all of them warm and protected against the winter weather that swirled out beyond the windows.
* * * *
Around ten-thirty, Trace heard a knock on his hotel door. He opened it to look down into the face of a footman who held a letter with a crest he recognized as belonging to the Marquess of Heartstone.
“Good evening, sir. This note is for you and I am to wait for a response, if there is to be one.”
Trace backed up from the door and gestured for the man to enter his room. “It will just take me a second to write one.” There would be one all right.
The footman nodded and stood by the fireplace to warm up as Trace read the note.
Across the front was penned ‘Colonel Trace Morgan’. The script was blended together perfectly, showing the expert penmanship of the writer.
Could it truly be Leona’s writing? He had only seen her write as a child and teenager. A tiny sliver of dread reared its ugly head. What if she didn’t want to see him?
Tamping it down, he opened the envelope to pull out the folded ecru-colored paper. There was the faint smell of orchids, taking Trace back to the last time he had seen Leona in his father’s house and actually spoken with her.
They were having a ball that evening. At sixteen there were other things that he would have preferred to be doing but since he had no choice, he would be attending the ball. He strode into the ballroom, to see what it looked like, and there she was.
Leona was alone in the huge room, which was good, since it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to not expose how he felt about her in the presence of others. His control slipped just looking at her, it was so hard to keep in check—her eyes, hair, body, every part of her called to him like the sirens calling sailors. Those men had no will or control of their own actions.
She stood on the far side of the room, wearing nothing more than her tattered one-piece dress. If that was what you could call it.
Leona had the faded gray article cinched at the middle with a piece of twine that accented her thin waist and her breasts—without doubt. She had matured. Her hair was braided down her back and tied off with another piece of twine.
Even in her ragged clothes she was beautiful to him. Leona moved with a grace that made her seem untouchable, unattainable. Like the horrors that were around her stopped short of touching her. Trace’s knees were wobbly as he shut the door behind him, sealing them in together. Closing it with complete care. And silence.
Leona was humming to herself as she cut and arranged the flowers on the table in front of her into vases. She worked very quickly. All the flowers were orchids.
With a quick second glance to make sure they were really alone, Trace moved toward her. He stalked her silently until he was directly behind her. Placing his arms on either side of her, he whispered softly into her ear.
“Hello, kitten. Miss me?”
“Please go away. Don’t get me into trouble.” He knew she’d known he was there as she didn’t even jump a tiny bit.
“Answer me and I will.”
“Go away.” There was a noise in the hall.
“Answer my question.”
“All right. Yes. I’ve missed you. You already know that,” she hissed in fear.
“I knew that before.” He brushed a kiss across her neck, savoring in the way it made her shudder. “Do you like orchids?” She smelled like them. She smelled good enough to eat.
“Please step away from me.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I love them. They are so beautiful, now, please. Someone is coming.”
The handle was turning on the door, slowly. Trace didn’t care, his headiness making him reckless. “Meet me later.”
“I’ll be here at the party.”
“After then. I need to hold you. I don’t want to share you with anyone. I want it to just be us so I can touch you. Agree to meet me.”
The door pushed open. Leona remained focused intensely on the flowers. Trace sprang away from her and pretended interest in the decorations. He had pulled himself together and had the look of boredom and indifference on his face. Damn it, it wasn’t easy.
It was Ben. The tall, jet-black slave who was in charge of all the others that worked inside the plantation house. His brown gaze swept the room, seeing all then some as he stepped completely inside the room and shut the door behind him.
“Good afternoon, Master Trace. Are you almost done, Leona?”
Without turning from her work, she replied, “Yes, Mister Ben. Not much longer.”
“Very good. Don’t forget to get your clean clothes from your mama. She has what you are to wear tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Trace hated this. Hated how she was treated. How they all were treated, but most especially his Leona. Ignoring the other man in the room, Trace picked up an orchid and walked back over to Leona.
He waited until she brought her eyes to meet his own, then he repeated his question in a low tone. “After the party? Usual place?”
Her eyes dropped back to her work. “I can’t.”
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She lifted her ocher-colored gaze to his and waited in silence.
“Meet me.” Forceful this time.
“All right.” Her words were barely louder than a whisper, as her head was lowered toward the floor.
His eyes held hers as he ran the orchid down her cheek and under her chin, bringing her head up to meet his stare. Surely, she knew how much he loved her. Without further consideration to the third person in the room, he replaced the orchid with his fingers so her chin was caught. Anchored between his long, lean fingers.
Trace stepped into her and lowered his face to hers. He placed a kiss so tender it would make a single snowflake give the impression of being harsh and foreboding upon her lips. Straightening, Trace set down the flower and walked out of the room without looking back to Leona or addressing the shocked look on Ben’s face that the man worked quickly to smooth away.
With a hard swallow Trace opened the note. In the same elegant script were the words—
Trey:
Breakfast is at eight.
Bring your son.
Until tomorrow,
~Leona
She’d called him Trey. Probably hadn’t meant to or realized it, but she had. Her simplicity made him smile. Ever to the point.
Trace grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to write his response, before handing it to the waiting footman.
After the man had left to deliver his message, Trace sat heavily in a chair and just thought about her. Every last detail of her beauty was burned into his brain, and he enjoyed his perusal of each and every one he recalled. He began to count down the hours until he would actually see her again in the flesh, not just a memory.
* * * *
Leona waited for the footman to bring his response. Not that she would ever willingly admit it out loud, but she was ready to climb the walls with nervousness.
When the man finally arrived and delivered said message, she opened the note without even acknowledging the expressions on the two witnesses to her actions. Leona slid her finger into the envelope and pulled out the paper. Anxious. Tense. She opened it.
In his scrawl were two words—
Until tomorrow.
“Well, what did he say? Is he coming?” someone asked her. She wasn’t sure who, since she reeled with the prospect of being alone with him again.
“Yes.” Her voice was all breathy, like she had just climbed to the top of a mountain. “For breakfast tomorrow.” That said, Leona got up, walked out through the door and headed to her room.
* * * *
Trace woke early. He was restless. Scared, as if he were going into battle his very first time. He sent for hot water. Trace shaved and dressed himself in a nice set of clothes. He roused his son.
“Falcon. Wake up. We need to get ready to go for our breakfast appointment.”
His son stirred and cracked open one eye. “Okay, Papa.”
Trace sent for another batch of hot water to be brought up for his son. As he watched Falcon get ready, his mind raced through Leona’s potential reactions to his son.
“What’s wrong, Papa?”
“Nothing, just thinking.” Would she be harsh to him?
“What if she doesn’t like me?” Worry had obviously begun to surface within Falcon.
“Why wouldn’t she like you?”
“She didn’t even look at me the other night. It was like I didn’t exist.”
“I’m sure she will love you, like I do. I imagine that seeing me was quite a shock to her. That’s why she didn’t speak to you.”
“If you say so.” It was easy to tell that Falcon didn’t believe that for a second.
With an attempt to put him at ease, Trace asked, “Don’t Bryn and Keely like her?”
“Yes. They call her Auntie Lea. But what if I make her think about the plantation?”
Trace grabbed his son’s shaking shoulders and steadied him. “She would never blame you for something that happened to her in the past. Never! She is going to love you. Come on, we should be going. They’ll be sending a carriage around.”
Smoothing down a wayward piece of hair, Falcon took a deep breath and shrugged. “All right. I’m ready.”
Trace noticed his slight tremor but made no mention of it, just placed his arm around his son and walked out of the door with him.
Partway down the hall, Falcon stopped. “I have to go back.”
“Why?”
“I forgot something. Can I have the key?” Trace handed the key over wordlessly and watched his son dash back to the room, unlock the door and reappear moments later. He locked the door behind him and ran back to his father’s side.
Trace noticed a small smile of hope on Falcon’s face as they began to walk down the hall. There were a couple times Trace noticed that his son’s hand had gone to his pocket, as if to make sure whatever he had in there stayed in there.
Outside, the morning was downright cold. New snow fell from thick slate-colored clouds. He noticed all the servants were the only ones out this early. A well-sprung carriage with the seal of the Marquess of Heartstone awaited them.
It was warm in the carriage with the heat that radiated from the bricks in there. They were on the move just as soon as the door was closed. Heading toward his destiny.
Although he climbed out when the coach stopped, Trace hesitated before proceeding up the freshly shoveled steps with his son. With knowledge beyond his years, his son slipped his hand into his father’s before giving it an encouraging squeeze.
They entered into the warmth of the home and were directed to the breakfast room after giving up their coats. They were expected, and told to go right ahead. As he walked through the doorway, Trace found Leona immediately.
There were plenty of silent footmen setting down platters of steaming-hot food that smelled heavenly along the sideboard.
Leona stood at one end with a plate in her hand. She’d leaned over to hear what Keely told her before she would put the food on the plate. It was apparent that she was fixing a plate for the child.
A pale lavender dress made of sprigged muslin and matching shoes was all Leona wore. Her hair was pulled back into a single thick braid that fell down the center of her back. As usual, there were a few wisps that had gotten free of their confinement to settle gently around her face.
“Falcon, you made it.” Bryn spoke loudly as he shoved away from the table to meet his friend. “Come, get something to eat, we can continue our discussion.”
Leona’s hand trembled as she turned to face Trace. Again. He clearly noticed, but stood silently as she pivoted to cope with his presence.
“Good morning, Colonel Morgan.” The words were a little raspy, but not too bad considering.
“Good morning ki…Leona.” Eyes met, challenged and spoke volumes to each other with a mere glance. Trace blinked, looked at her again, and she noticed that his gaze changed. The expression in his chocolate-brown eyes seemed to beg for something—perhaps it was understanding, maybe compassion—before he added, “My son.”
That was it. This was her introduction to his son. Even Bryn and Keely watched as the scene unfolded in their presence.
Leona flicked her gaze down to scrutinize the young man who stood in front of his father. In his eyes, which looked like a softer version of his father’s, she recognized what she saw. It was fear.
Fear of not being wanted, not being accepted.
After she set Keely’s partially filled plate on the sideboard, Leona walked toward them both, her steps sure.
She stopped in front of the young man to look him directly in the eye. “Hello. You must be Falcon. Bryn has told me a lot about you. How are you doing today?”
“I’m fine, thank you. What should I call you?”
“Well, most call me Leona, Miss O’Neill or Auntie Lea. You can call me whatever you want.”
“Can I just call you Lea?”
“Of course you can.” The boy visibly relaxed before smiling at her, another reminder of how Trace had looked at that age. Casting one more smile at her, Falcon headed off to get some food with Bryn. Leona was left alone with Trace.
