An Unforgettable Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

Bryce walked his friend out, shutting the door, leaving her alone inside. When he did not return for fully fifteen minutes, she began to think he had deserted her again. But he finally returned, followed by a succession of servants bearing a table, linen, everything necessary for an intimate supper. Other servants brought up the rear with her bags, which Hawk’s man must have taken from Chesterfield’s carriage at the church.
    Dinner looked and smelled divine, but Alex was in a fair way to dozing off after such a taxing day. The joint of roast pork and fried sole were simple but delicious fare. She was just too tired to eat much beyond a nibble.
    Hawksworth waited until everything to do with supper had been collected before suggesting they retire early, which woke her right up. Was this then to be the first night of their marriage? Finally?
    Since this was supposed to have been her wedding day, Alex thought it fitting for the wedding night denied her nearly two years before.
    This man leading her into the bedroom was Bryceson, after all, her friend, first, now her husband, her love.
    Hawksworth, his friends now called him. Hawk.
    She liked it.
    Hawk, taking the pins from her hair, turning her in circles until he found the hooks beneath the rosebuds marching down the front of her cream satin wedding gown.
    Hawk, opening and sliding her wedding dress off to bare her to her stays and petticoats.
    And this was Alexandra, not only allowing her husband’s intimate attention but reveling in it, flattered and amazed to have so much of his focus directed her way.
    He sat her on the bed and left her then. And like a bisque doll on a nursery shelf, Alex sat unmoving, waiting to be redressed, or undressed, or dropped and shattered, at whim.
    Far in the back of her mind, she knew she was acting lovesick and calf-eyed again. But at this moment, she cared not a whit.
    When Hawksworth returned, he laid her portmanteau beside her on the bed and extracted the gossamer gown she was supposed to have worn for her wedding night with Judson, one of several he had dared to purchase for her.
    Hawk’s brow rose as he regarded it, then he set it aside and extracted the wrap that went with it. When he was finished, he lifted her foot to his knee, removing first one cream kid slipper, then the other.
    As if she floated outside her body, and watched from afar, Alexandra wondered what or who had taken over her more sensible self and why she was letting it happen. But the only answer that came was love, or lovesickness, as she thought.
    Why neither of them spoke, Alex did not know. Perhaps Bryceson was too busy concentrating on his task while she was too busy appreciating and noticing everything about him. She knew only that his topaz eyes were warm, kind, loving. Here stood the gentle boy who’d tended scraped knees, extracted slivers from small hands and dried a lifetime of silly tears. She saw that his shoulders were broader, his arms stronger, his huge hands callused, his sable hair, prematurely silver-gilt.
    His demeanor no longer bore the mark of a young god, perfect of feature and seeking admiration, but of a soldier home from war, wounded and scarred, though striking, still, and virile. So potently male that Alex lost her breath just watching him. As opposed to his former chiseled perfection, Hawk’s face now bore a hard, flawed quality, which gave him an aura of jeopardy, a provocation that would draw women like moths to a flame.
    He was definitely older, though she could not yet vouch for wiser, but after overhearing his amazing story, earlier, she surmised that he could hardly have escaped some degree of wisdom. She did know that he must have survived a great deal more than he would ever willingly reveal. “Your father would be proud of you,” she said without thinking.
    “If I had died fighting Boney, perhaps, but I expect that he would have considered any man mustered home, broken, as a failure.”
    “But you were not mustered home