“We’re not now.”

“As good as. In the eyes of heaven. I’ve never felt like this, either, Hawk. I’ve never truly had someone to be with like this. It’s like catching sunlight and finding it can be held in the hands forever.”

“Or having heaven here on earth.”

“Perfect Perpetual Paradise,” she murmured on a laugh. This would be the moment to tell him. So at peace, so relaxed, so inextricably bound.

And yet, it would change things. They’d have to talk, to make sense, to leave the soft clouds. Better surely to sleep now, and do the telling in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-three

Clarissa awoke to sunshine and warm, musky smells, to strangeness inside and around. And then to memory.

She turned her head slowly, but he was there, beside her, still trustingly asleep, turned away. He’d thrown the covers off down to his waist, so she could indulge in luxuriant study of the lines of his back, of his muscular arm bent close to her. She longed to ease forward and kiss it, taste his warmth and skin, but she wouldn’t wake him yet.

When he awoke she would have to tell him, and it pricked at her. It wasn’t precisely wrong not to have told him. It couldn’t make any particular difference to him. It wasn’t as if she was in danger of being arrested.

But she wished this moment was enshrined in perfect honesty.

On that thought, she reached out to touch his arm.

He stirred, rolled, then his eyes opened sharply. She saw that second of disorientation before he relaxed and smiled. But guardedly. Such shadows behind his smile. Why?

Ah.

She smiled for him. “I have no regrets. I love you, and this was the first night of our life together.”

He took her hand, the one wearing the rings, and pressed it to his lips. “I love you, too, Clarissa. This will be as perfect as I can possibly make it.”

She almost let go of why she’d awakened him, but she would not weaken now. “Almost no regrets,” she amended. As he became suddenly watchful, she added, “I have something to tell you, Hawk, and I think it requires clothing and cool heads.”

He kept hold of her hand. “You’re already married?”

“Of course not!”

“You’re not Clarissa Greystone, but her maid in disguise.”

“You’ve been reading too many novels, sir.”

He pulled her closer. “You eloped only because you were consumed with carnal lust for my luscious body.”

She resisted. “You’re beginning to sound like The Annals of Aphrodite,” she said severely, “and of course I lust. But I also love.”

“Then nothing troubles us.”

“I could have lost all my money on wild investments in fur cloaks for Africa.”

His smile deepened. “You’re a minor.”

“I gammoned my trustees.”

“I’m not at all surprised.” He gently tugged her closer. “Would you care to gammon me?”

She went, let herself be drawn to his lips, but in a moment she tugged free and clambered out of the bed. “Later,” she said, but then froze, suddenly aware of her total nakedness.

Then she laughed and faced him brazenly.

He sat up equally brazenly, completely splendid, tousled, smiling.

“Carnal lust,” she murmured, and made herself turn away to search for her shift, her corset, and her lamentably muddy stockings.

When she looked back he was already into his drawers. “I wish I had a clean dress to wear.”

“We’ll find you one in London. Much though I’d like to linger here, beloved, we’d best have breakfast and be on our way.”

Awareness of the world, of pursuit, drained delight.

She hurried into her shift and corset, then went to him to have the strings tied. A sweet and simple task, and yet to have a man tie her laces seemed a mark of the complete change in her life.

As he tied the bow, she turned in his hands and started what must be done. “I was present when Lord Deveril died,” she said, intent on his expression.

It hardly seemed to change at all. “I guessed.”

“How? Why?”

“Perhaps because I’m the Hawk.” But his lashes lowered as if that might not be the whole truth.

She put that aside. “I need to tell you about it. I should have before, but I couldn’t until now. You’ll see why.”

His eyes were steady on her again. “Very well. But you wanted clothing and cool?”

She hurried to put on her dress and stockings, though she had to hunt for her second garter. He was dressed by then, and she went to him to have her buttons fastened. As he did the last one, he brushed her hair aside and she felt heat, wet heat, up the back of her neck.

“When I saw you in this dress, Falcon, you made me think of dairy cream, and I wanted to lick you.”

She laughed and turned, pushing him playfully away. Something she could do when she knew there would be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Even, perhaps, later. They’d clearly eluded any pursuit. There was no real need to rush on to London.

Once her conscience was clear.

She sat on the rather hard chair at one end of the table and indicated that he should sit on the other, at a safe distance. His brows rose, but he obeyed.

“You were present at Deveril’s death,” he said obligingly. “I assume he was doing something vile and his death was deserved. I also assume that you did not kill him, but if you did it would only make me admire you more.”

She bit her lip on tears at his understanding.

“You don’t have to tell me any more, Falcon. It really doesn’t matter.”

She smiled. “But I want to. I have many failings, and one is an incurable urge toward honesty.”

“I don’t see that as a failing, beloved.” And yet something somber touched him.

Beloved. She plunged into it. “I don’t need to tell you that Deveril was an evil man. After he kissed me, I ran away from him.”

“When you threw up over him.”

“Yes. Perhaps I should have been able to control myself better…”

“Not at all. We use what weapons we have to hand.”

She laughed. “I see what you mean. It certainly stopped him! Well, then, I escaped through the window in my brother’s clothes, but Deveril hunted me down and caught me at… at a friend’s house.” Even now she faltered about telling him everything. “He had two men with him, so we couldn’t do anything, and he threatened… He was going to do horrible things to us both, but he was going to kill my friend. So… he was killed.”

She paused for breath and pulled a face. “That wasn’t much of a tale, was it?”

“It does rather skip the who, the where, and especially the how—which I admit fascinates me. But I understand, and you bear no guilt.”

“You won’t feel obliged to pursue justice about it?”

He reached a hand across the table. “What is justice here? I award your noble defender the medal.”

She put her hand in his, knots untangling that she’d hardly been aware of. “I knew you would think like that. I’m sorry, Hawk, deeply sorry, that I didn’t tell you everything before.”

“Before?”

“Before we committed ourselves.”

He tugged, and she understood and went to sit in his lap, to be in his arms. “There is no shame in this, Falcon. But I confess to Hawkish curiosity. About the how, and how it was concealed.”

“The how comes mostly from Deveril’s being taken by surprise. And from reinforcements.” She reached out to touch a silver button on his jacket. “I’m not sure how much else I can tell, even to you.” She looked up. “There are secrets we are bound not to share. Does that apply to husband and wife?”

“Not if it affects both husband and wife. But take time, love. Our only urgency now is to eat and be on our way.”

“I long for complete honesty between us,” she said. “On all things. But would you tell me something truly secret that Lord Vandeimen shared with you?”

He thought for a moment. “I might not.” He touched her cheek. “Do what you think is best, love. I trust you.”

Trust. It was like a perfect golden rose. She sat up slightly and faced him. “Then I have to tell you one thing, Hawk. I did not behave at all like a Falcon last year. I was frozen with fear. Paralyzed. I did nothing. And afterward… Afterward, afterward I was heartless to the one who saved me. Shocked because others weren’t shocked—”

He put his fingers over her lips. “Hush. It was your first battle. Few of us are heroes the first time out. I threw up after mine.”

His understanding was so perfect. She took his face between her hands and kissed him, without words to express the wholeness that she felt.

She drew back at a tumultuous pealing of church bells. “Is it Sunday and I didn’t notice?” she asked.

“Not unless we’ve spent days in heaven instead of just one night. And it’s very early for a wedding.”

Hawk eased Clarissa off his lap and went to open the door. There were many innocent explanations for the bells, but his instinct for danger was at the alert.

It could be nothing to do with Van, surely.

A sparkle-eyed maidservant was just running up the stairs and paused to gasp, “Not to worry, sir! It’s the duke’s heir born at last and all safe! And free ale to be served in the tap in celebration!”

“Duke?” Hawk asked, alarm subsiding, but trying to think what ducal estate was in the vicinity.

“Belcraven, sir! Not the duke’s heir, of course, but his heir’s heir. His estate is here. A fine, handsome boy born to be duke one day, God willing, just as his father was born here twenty-six years ago!”

“A true cause for celebration,” Hawk said, amazed that his voice sounded normal.

Arden here? What strange star had brought this about?

He’d discovered that the marquess had a Surrey estate called Hartwell, his principal country residence. He’d not troubled to find out precisely where. Details, details. It was always in the details.

“The marquess’s estate is very close?” he asked in faint hope.