Page 50 of The General's Gift
“I didn’t call you here to discuss Lady Cecilia’s furniture.”
Graves inclined his head. “Awaiting orders, sir.”
Hawk clasped his hands behind his back, spine rigid. “We depart for Faversham Castle the day after tomorrow.”
Graves nodded. “Are we garrisoning the property, my lord? Preparing for an invasion? Name the operation, and I’ll see it done.”
Hawk cast a glance toward Celeste. “Operation ‘Dove Out of the Cage.’ Objective: escort Lady Cecilia to see her estate and assess her social capabilities during a carriage outing. You will engage her in conversation.”
Graves stepped back as if dodging enemy fire. “Sir, I am not adequately trained for this mission.”
“Of course you are.” He wasn’t, but Celeste had to start somewhere, and Graves was the safest option. “You will use your charm.”
Graves’ expression went blank—eyes rounder than a Brown Bess’s muzzle. “My what?”
Hawk’s gaze sharpened. “Your charm.”
“With all due respect, sir—if I cannot attach a bayonet to it, I don’t know how to use it.”
Hawk exhaled. “You were popular with the Spanish civilians.”
Graves held up both hands. “They admired my saber work. Sir, I have survived ambushes, sieges, and a particularly vicious goose outside Badajoz. But this? This is beyond my capabilities.”
“Just talk to the girl. And inform her chaperone of the plan—she will accompany us.”
Graves’ brows shot to his hairline, his entire body going rigid. “Why should I invite that woman?”
Hawk resisted the urge to strangle him. “I thought you had hired her.”
Graves scoffed. “I also hired the cannons, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend hours listening to their thunder.”
Arms crossed, Graves wore the utterly insubordinate stance of a man who believed himself completely reasonable.
Hawk gave him a flat stare. “It will be one morning in civilized company.”
Graves snorted. “Civilized? Permission to speak freely, sir? I’ve seen French artillery with more mercy than Mrs. Rue. At least a cannonball only hits you once.”
Hawk fixed him with a look. “I dare say you will survive.”
“Are you quite well, sir?” Graves’ gaze flicked toward Celeste, then back to him. “With respect, sir, you never miss morning drills. And you certainly don’t allow your study to be occupied unless it’s for a war council.”
“I am perfectly well,” Hawk clipped out. He was in control, damn it. “A general must adapt to win the campaign.”
Graves didn’t look convinced. “Of course, sir.”
“This is not the time for insubordination, Captain. Dismissed.”
Graves nodded, his expression crestfallen, and wheeled back down the corridor.
Hawk was in control. He was not breaking his own rules, damn it. He owed this to his friend. He had to see Celeste married properly.
Hawk returned to the study. The door clicked shut behind him. He should leave her alone. Yet, he walked to her, ensuring his boots made no sound on the carpet.
Hawk stood over her. His shadow fell across her soft curves, as if even it longed to shield her. His pulse pounded, as if his heart were refusing to stay locked in the cage he had built for it. He reached out. Hesitated. Then he tucked the curl away, smoothing it back. Her skin was softer than lambswool, finer than any silk he’d ever touched.
She sighed in her sleep and leaned into his touch. A strange tightness gripped his chest—a consuming ache to cup her cheek, to trace the curve of her jaw, to lean down and press his lips to her forehead.
He had faced charging cuirassiers at Salamanca. Routed French columns at Talavera. Held the line against Soult’s best and rode through volleys of musket fire with nothing but steel and fury. He had broken men twice his size, crushed rebellions, turned green boys into officers, and conquered every battlefield set before him.
