Chapter Four

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“WHAT DO I CALL him?” Eleanor asked, her voice pitched with nerves. “Do I bow? What about his wife? Do I curtsy?”

“They aren’t royalty, Jinx.” I watched the English countryside streak past as we drove from the airport to Buckinghamshire. “At least, I don’t think they are.”

I’d never actually checked.

When I received that first email from a resident psychiatrist at an English hospital we donated to, claiming to have a teenage boy with behavioural issues that were amplified depending on who was in the room with him, I’d agreed to personally find a mix of drugs to help.

Originally, I’d wondered if he was schizophrenic, but after professional curiosity led to me phoning the teenager in question and ending up having a conversation that made my scientific brain race with a quest to understand, I realised Jethro’s condition was far more interesting than schizophrenia.

I hadn’t long been in charge of Sinclair and Sinclair Group—barely out of my teens myself—so I took a personal interest in Jethro’s case, purely because beneath his shields and snarls, I heard what I saw in all trapped animals: the cry for help and the broken faith not to believe in hope.

When we’d spoken, he’d originally been stiff and aristocratically cold, yet the more we talked, the more he relaxed to the point he was analysing himself, just as I was, instead of having his hackles up about his ‘disease’.

It was never a disease.

Not in the physical sense, at least. Jethro Hawk had an affliction that I suffered with to a much lesser degree. The same reason I’d begun my hunt and rampage against all animal testers and abusers.

A reason that I was able to shut off and buy women for my own means. And a reason that drove Jethro into a dark, miserable place where he almost killed the very woman he fell in love with.

“It’s very pretty here,” Eleanor murmured beside me. Her fingers pressed against the window as quaint brick walls, tiny country lanes, and patchwork fields skimmed past.

Not a hint of an ocean.

Not a single palm tree or parrot.

My skin itched beneath my suit, already wanting to turn around and return to Indonesia. But...I’d agreed to attend, and I wanted to see the change in Jethro now he had two kids as well as a wife.

Were they as much a cure as she was?

“Are you tired?” I asked gently, letting the driver navigate the fork up ahead that took us deeper into the English countryside.

“Not really. I slept on the plane. You?”

I’d worked most of the trip, but thanks to the first-class suite we’d shared—complete with a queen-sized bed and private bathroom—I was rested enough to attend a ball tonight.

“I’m good. We have a few hours before the other guests arrive. Jethro said he’s arranged a room for us, and his staff know we’re coming.”

“So...he won’t be there to start with?”

“I’m guessing he’ll be mentally preparing for a night of people.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Not a fan of society either?”

I smirked. “Not at all. If he could live on an island like we do, I have no doubt he’d leap at the chance.”

“I think most people would.”

I grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles as the car slipped beneath the gatehouse with a huge crest of hawks fighting over something. An impressive seal for an ancient ruthless family.

“Well, who needs an ocean for a wall when you have a stone one?” I eyed up the entrance, the stone fortress snaking off up a hill and down a valley. The long driveway climbed through meadows and woodlands, weaving left and right, hinting that the estate we’d arrived at went on for miles and miles.

“This is where they live?” Eleanor gasped as a herd of deer bounded through the shrubbery, scampering off in a flash of perfect choreographed leaps. “It’s stunning.”

I nodded. I’d never visited Hawksridge Hall, but I had researched Jethro when our medical conversations turned friendlier. I had no trust when it came to people, and research was always a great way of arming yourself with everything you needed so you weren’t surprised when they betrayed you.

I’d seen the rumours of debts and contracts over one house and another. I’d heard the gossip about diamond collars and beheadings. And I’d seen the photos of their exclusive castle that put any king or queen’s residence to shame.

“Would you rather a beach or brocade?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at my wife. “I can build you a fancier villa than the one we share with sugar gliders and Komodo dragons, you know. Just say the word, and you can live in a palace.”

She rolled her eyes, pinning me with a look that called me stupid even if she didn’t say it out loud. “Do I look like I want brocade?”

“Sitting in this car, surrounded by expensive upholstery, you look positively trapped.” I flinched, seeing the truth of such a sentence. I’d never seen Eleanor in a city environment when we first met. I’d dragged her to my shores and trapped her on my islands and fallen in love with her all while she was dressed in bikinis instead of ball gowns, but the truth was...the wildness inside her—the sun glowing from her skin, the oceans swirling in her grey gaze, and the sand still sparkling in her hair—hinted that she’d always been unfit for cookie-cutter houses and concrete office blocks.

That was probably why she’d had a love of travelling...so she could find the place where she fit in.

Thank fucking God, it was with me.

Undoing her seatbelt and dragging her onto my lap, I brought her mouth to mine just as we crested the hill. I kissed her softly, our lips moving in a well-known dance even as our eyes stayed locked on the massive monolithic hall that took up the entire horizon.

Turrets and lattice grass wound through stone bricks, hundreds of windows, thousands of arches, gothic downpipes, and a roof designed like an intricate puzzle.

We pulled apart as the car drove around the huge water fountain and parked at the bottom of sweeping stairs leading to a medieval wooden door that promised pain and power the moment you stepped over its threshold. Every inch of this place from the groomed gravel, immaculately pruned gardens, and hulking hall ensured visitors were well aware that ordinary men didn’t live here.

Monsters did.

Eleanor pulled away, her eyes wide as a butler appeared, opening the massive door and standing prim and proper as he waited for us to ascend. “Suddenly, I really, really miss Goddess Isles.”

I ran my fingers through her hair, letting her climb off my lap as our driver came to open our door. “We can turn around if you want.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re here to see a friend.” Flashing me a smile, she added, “And besides, I’ve never spent a night in an ancient hall before. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun or haunted.”

“If there are ghosts in there, they’d better stay far away until we leave.”

A black crow flew past as we climbed from the car, its midnight wings glistening with a wicked sharp beak that could kill any rodent or prey it spied. My mind instantly went to Pika and Skittles. They’d been pissed we’d left them behind, but at least, they wouldn’t become lunch.

“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Sinclair.” The butler descended a few steps, his youngish face stern but polite. He kept his brown stare on the driver as he lifted out our small amount of luggage. Just one bag between Eleanor and myself. We didn’t plan to stay long, and Jethro had assured me that the masquerade attire for tonight had been taken care of.

The butler took the bag, climbing up the huge staircase. “Follow me, please. I will escort you to your room. Mr and Mrs Hawk are otherwise indisposed this afternoon but look forward to seeing you at the ball tonight.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Eleanor stayed quiet beside me as we followed the butler out of the weak English sun and into the oppressive majesty of Hawksridge Hall. The stone flagons on the floor and the bolts of tapestries hanging from the high ceiling all spoke of lineages, history, and blood-soaked secrets.

The hall was warm, which I found surprising, considering the age of such a place that still favoured antiquated methods instead of modern conveniences, and the deeper we travelled into the impressive mansion, the more I noticed primeval ideologies were slowly being replaced with the aura of a family home.

The suit of armour, polished and threatening at the end of the carpeted corridor had a stuffed purple elephant at its feet. The paintings of past Hawk ancestors in their stuffy suits and dresses had the faintest of scribbles from a child’s sneaky crayon.

Sound echoed and muffled in equal measure the deeper we travelled into the giant homestead, thick rich carpets sat like islands on top of slate tile and stone.

Everyone stayed silent as we climbed a staircase that swept up with ornate carved banisters and gold carpet stitched with the Hawk emblem.

“This way, please.” The butler continued down yet another corridor, past floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an impressive orchard and manicured hedgerow maze, past wooden doors and nooks with wingbacks and stained-glass lamps to read by. At the end of the long corridor, the butler stopped and opened another large door, stepping aside with a stiff bow. “Your quarters for the duration of your stay at Hawksridge.”

Eleanor smiled politely, slipping past him, gasping at the splendour.

“Thank you.” I shook the man’s hand as he placed our bag on the floor and scooted from the room. With a tight smile, he shut the door, leaving Eleanor and me alone in a bedroom almost the same size as our entire villa back on Batari.

“Wow.” Eleanor drifted forward. We’d been given a room along the side of the huge hall, granting us impressive quarters.

A small kitchenette was tucked by the entrance, a doorway led to a luxurious black marble bathroom and a claw-foot tub big enough for four waited for use. Pacing deeper into the space, I skimmed the maroon velvet sitting area complete with chaise lounge down the east end, a small library with towering bookcases filled with classics in the middle, and a four-poster bed with a mattress you needed a ladder to climb into waited with fresh white sheets and rich crimson coverlets toward the west.

The scent of jasmine wafted in the space, and what was left of the afternoon sun spilled into the entire length of the room, thanks to the ten huge windows giving us a view of the meadows toward the stone stables in the distance.

Eleanor stopped by one of the large windows, drinking in the view. “Well, it’s not the sea, but the vista is spectacular.”

I wrapped my arms around her from behind, pulling her close. “It’s impressive.”

“Wonder if the stables are used or—” Her hand swooped up, pointing at a sudden movement within the willows beyond. “Horses.”

Three horses, to be exact.

Two adults and one child cantered from the treeline, all competent and carefree. The man rode a black horse, leading the way, a woman followed on a dapple grey with a small toddler sitting in front of her, and a tiny boy charged ahead on a fat little pony.

I smiled. “I’m guessing that’s our host and hostess.”

“The Hawks?” Eleanor tracked them as the family swept up the meadow and over the ridge beyond in a flurry of hooves. “They ride?”

“I think Jethro even plays polo. While we were trialling certain drugs, he admitted that being on horseback was the only relief he could find before his wife came along.”

“How did they meet?” Eleanor twisted in my embrace, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. “Do they have a story like ours? A kidnapping turned fairy-tale? Or perhaps an arranged marriage turned into love? Or even a forbidden romance where they had to overcome so many things?”

I smirked, kissing her back. I’d never asked Jethro point-blank about the rumours I’d read online. After all, I had my own fair share of gossip and slander painting me as a murderer and ruthless bastard. And where rumours existed, truth was never far away.

Therefore, the whispers surrounding the firstborn Hawk son had a grain of honesty.

“They say that Jethro was given Nila as a present on his birthday.”

Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “She’s a person, not a gift.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a gift. More like a test.” I let Eleanor go and strode toward the garment bags waiting to be unzipped on the back of the couch. “If she’s wearing a diamond collar tonight, I’m guessing there’s more truth to the tale than I thought.”

“What tale? What collar?” Eleanor came up beside me, staying close as I unzipped the largest of the bags.

“Tale of debts, diamonds, and death.” Pushing aside the black covering, I revealed a ball gown. And not just any ball gown...a dress fit for the most regal of queens.

“Oh, my God.” Eleanor reached out to touch the exquisite creation. “Where on earth did this come from? I’ve never seen anything so...gorgeous.”

“Jethro’s wife is a seamstress.” I held up the hanger, slipping off the rest of the garment bag.

I grew hard the longer I stared.

My lust ignited just imagining Eleanor in this dress. She wouldn’t just be irresistible to me; she’d be the most stunning creature at the masquerade.

And she’s mine.

Plucking a matching mask from the bag, she murmured, “She isn’t just a seamstress; she’s a magician.”

“She’s made it impossible for me to keep my hands to myself tonight.” I swallowed back a growl full of possession and need. “If any other man looks at you, I can’t promise I won’t drag you into the nearest closet and tear that thing off you.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “I doubt there are closets in this place, my love. More like dungeons.”

“A dungeon will do.”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes again.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you own me and want to show me in every explicit detail how much.”

I licked my lips. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No problem.” She laughed. “In fact, I’ll keep a lookout for a dungeon, just so you can have your wicked way with me.”

I grinned. “And that is why I love you, Eleanor Jinx Sinclair. You’re as obsessed as I am.”

“Forever obsessed.” She raked her hands through my hair, pulling me down for a vicious kiss.

Grabbing her around the waist, I dragged her toward the bathroom. I needed her naked. Now. “Guess we better get ready for the ball, wife. After all, the sooner we mingle, the sooner we can be alone.”