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the freshness of the air and the fanciful array of meringue-puff clouds and the promise of summer
splendors soon to arrive.
When a maidservant opened the door, Hawk handed her his calling card and asked for Miss Hamilton.
The maid bobbed a curtsy then scurried up the narrow wooden staircase to see if her mistress was
prepared to receive visitors. He paced in the small entrance hall, his footfalls ringing with an odd empty
echo. It hardly seemed like the same place that had been so thronged last night. His excitement to see the
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lovely, impertinent, and most delicious Miss Hamilton again was barely mitigated by the twinge of guilt
that endeavored to remind him he was only here because of Lucy.
The maid returned and asked him if he would wait a few minutes more. He shrugged and continued
pacing, tapping his top hat idly against his thigh, curiously inspecting Harriette s sedan chair which leaned
beside the staircase.
Miss Hamilton kept him, the mighty duke of Hawkscliffe, waiting a full quarter hour before she deigned
to allow him up into her rarified company. He didn t doubt she had no other purpose in the delay than to
teach him his place under her pretty foot. What could he do but sigh and take it? Until he had her under
his exclusive protection, the bit o muslin held all the cards. Strangely, her transparent machinations didn t
touch his surprisingly jovial mood. He couldn t help it. The chit amused him.
When Miss Hamilton finally sent her maid back to lead him up, his heartbeat quickened absurdly as he
mounted the steps. The maid took him through the large, now empty salon, past the green baize card
table, to the parlor in the back of the second floor. The maid curtsied and left him at the parlor s
threshold.
He stepped closer and found Miss Hamilton arranged in demure perfection on a graceful Egyptian-style
couch next to a round table that held a vase burgeoning with fresh-cut hydrangeas. She had a newspaper
on her lap while her dainty slippered feet were displayed for him on an embroidered footstool. Even the
afternoon sunbeam streaming in through the window seemed artful as it sparkled on her pale blond hair,
which today she wore tumbling over her shoulders in flaxen waves and champagne-bright ringlets. All that
bound her luxurious tresses in some semblance of order was a pair of ivory combs.
Hawk smiled as the fetching creature pretended not to notice him, letting him have his fill of looking at
her. Her walking dress, with a wide scoop neck, was of sprigged muslin in muted yellow. The short
puffed sleeves invited him to admire her slender arms. She looked for all the world like a soft, cuddly
angel, he thought in asinine sentimentality. Though he knew the whole scene before him was the
calculated result of mercenary feminine conquest, he was captivated nonetheless.
Good day, Miss Hamilton.
On cue, she looked up, then beamed a warm smile at him. Her eyes shone with fresh brilliance. Your
Grace!
I hope I am not interrupting, he said in a rather wry tone.
Not at all, she declared in pleasure, holding out her hand to him like a princess disposed to show
favor.
Dutifully he strode forward and took her hand in his own, bestowing the expected kiss on her fingertips.
Her large violet-blue eyes shone as she greeted him and if he was not mistaken, his young courtesan
beauty was most decidedly blushing.
When he had kissed her hand, she did not let go of his light grasp, but curled her fingers around his and
tugged him down to sit on the couch beside her, gifting him with a generous smile. His gaze lingered on
her face, drinking in the sight of her.
I wondered if you would visit me today, she said almost shyly.
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He laughed softly. You could doubt it?
She smiled, blushing more brightly. They stared at each other in a charmed, relishing silence. He quite
believed his heart skipped a beat.
What s that you re reading? he asked before he was tempted to catch her up in his arms and kiss her
senseless on the couch.
TheQuarterly Review?
Really? Surprised that it wasn t some mindless serialized Gothic tale, he rested his arm along the back
of the couch behind her and leaned nearer to inspect the volume she was reading. He caught a whiff of
the soft, clean fragrance of her hair, a wholesome blend of rosebuds, sweet almond, and chamomile. It
went straight to his head.
I ve just finished reading the most fascinating article entitled A Call for Total International Abolition of
Slavery by His Grace, the duke of Hawkscliffe. Ever heard of him?
Startled, Hawk felt his cheeks flush. A wave of self-consciousness washed through him at her interest in
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