Henry's Heart Read online

  Lords of Hawksfell Manor 11

  Henry’s Heart

  Henry Hawk has never known love. His late mother resented his father, and hated Henry. He believes his heart can’t be touched.

  Julian Beckham recently rose to first footman of Hawksfell Manor and puts up a proper façade. Cook’s assistant Poppy Thompson sees through his disguise. There’s heat between them, as delectable as the treats she creates in the kitchens after hours.

  Henry comes to Hawksfell, and is immediately attracted to Julian. One midnight visit to the kitchens and he wants Poppy, too. He and Julian share passion, and talk about Poppy. She admits she wants them both, but she’s untried. Henry and Julian tenderly make love to her, and their liaisons grow more passionate and emotional with every encounter.

  When Poppy and Julian profess their love, Henry’s terrified. He insists they’re both better off without him. But Poppy and Julian cannot be together without Henry.

  Will Henry learn to trust his loves? Or will his heart remain closed forever?

  Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 24,152 words

  HENRY'S HEART

  Lords of Hawksfell Manor 11

  Josie Dennis

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  HENRY'S HEART

  Copyright © 2016 by Josie Dennis

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-264-1

  First E-book Publication: May 2016

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  HENRY'S HEART

  Lords of Hawksfell Manor 11

  JOSIE DENNIS

  Copyright © 2016

  Chapter 1

  Yorkshire England, 1913

  Henry Hawk, Baron Stanton, growled in satisfaction as the maid came to her feet. He’d taken her mouth this evening, his need far too urgent for any other course. He gave the maid a small nod of dismissal as he tucked himself back into his trousers. She righted her hair. He must have grasped her in his haste to find release, and bobbed a curtsey. Once more alone, he settled into the chair behind his desk.

  His man of affairs would see to the generous addition to her pay this month. His staff was well cared for, and they served him on occasion with the utmost discretion. As much as he wished there was no need for such service, he’d given up on that fantasy years earlier. Tonight’s encounter was due to his foolish decision to put off calming the beast for nearly a month.

  He sucked in a breath and released it with a groan of intense physical fulfillment. He knew that feeling would fade in mere moments. His beast was appeased for the time being however, and would most likely stay docile for the next fortnight or so. It was as it had been since he’d reached adulthood and the curse began to present itself.

  Hawk men suffered from undeniable sexual urges that had to be addressed. There was no pleasing oneself. He’d learned that when he was younger, gaining no release and hours of pain and nausea. His own hand was no substitute for a willing mouth or pussy or ass. He’d come to terms with this, even as he couldn’t help but imagine how much better his life would be if matters were different.

  But they were not.

  At least his mother was gone now. He felt a twinge of guilt at the relief her passing gave him. It had been but three days since her funeral, but after twenty-seven years of treatment varying from cool detachment to outright antagonism, the grand house already felt less bleak. Even her month-long illness had been a sort of reprieve, though he was loathe to admit it to anyone but himself.

  The woman had always blamed his Hawk father for her life’s misfortunes despite the riches her own family had left her. Riches Henry had built on since reaching adulthood and seeing true the gift Hawk men had with finances. Most of all, she hated Henry for his resemblance to the man.

  Henry had spent the last ten years or so avoiding excess contact with the woman, ever since the curse made itself known. She’d had several choice words to describe that particular aspect of his father’s legacy to his son.

  Both his father and he himself came from a long line of bastards, legitimatized in name only. One of the stories perpetuated by all and sundry was that a Hawk man had played a witch false a century or so earlier, and she’d cursed the entire male line in response. Or perhaps it was because they were all rutting bastards and brought the beast onto themselves. Whatever the reason, Hawk men were insatiable and, conversely, unable to satisfy themselves. To ever feel completely satisfied, in truth.

  Henry often wondered about his unknown sire. What had drawn the man to his mother? It was true that her face, often wearing a scowl or worse, had been pretty and fair nonetheless. Her voice, when not raised in ire or laced with disgust, had been light and musical. If she had never met his father, no doubt her life
would have been different. Since it was hopeless to imagine such a thing, Henry pushed the thought aside.

  “Excuse me, my lord.”

  Henry looked up to see Stanton House’s longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Pritchard. She wore that familiar gentle expression on her face and warmth in her eyes. Truth be told, she’d been more of a mother to him than his own ever had. He felt some of his tension ease.

  “Mrs. Pritchard.” He rubbed his hands over his face and blew out a breath. “What can I do for you?”

  She smiled, gliding into the room. Her hands were clasped over her middle, and her uniform was pressed and starched. The ring of keys swung at her waist, and her hair was neat as a pin. She was as she’d always been, and at the moment she was a panacea for his blighted soul.

  “I wondered if you had eaten, my lord,” she said. “The staff is waiting for your instruction this evening.”

  Henry hadn’t eaten much since the funeral, and that was unusual for him. Food wasn’t the only appetite he’d fought since his mother took ill. He’d satisfied one of them this afternoon, though that echo of ease was rapidly fading.

  “I could eat something,” he admitted.

  “I’ll see to a tray brought in here, if you like.” At his brief nod, she studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a bit bothered.”

  Henry blew out a breath. “And if I do mind your saying so?” She blinked at him, and he held up a hand. “You know me quite well, Mrs. Pritchard. You also know what just transpired in here. What I’ve been about.”

  Her cheeks reddened a bit but she shook her head. “You are a Hawk, my lord. The staff serves you.”

  “And you?”

  “I am in no position to judge you. You’re a kind master. The staff is well aware of that.”

  Henry’s gaze slid away from hers to study the pristine view of the lawn beyond his study window. “The staff is well paid.”

  “True,” she allowed. “But despite yourself, you inspire loyalty.”

  He focused on her even expression again. “Never say I’m to be admired.”

  She smiled. “You are, no matter how you might think me daft to believe such a thing.”

  “Daft?” He might not believe her, but he returned her smile nonetheless. “Never you, Mrs. Pritchard.”

  Nodding, she withdrew an envelope and held it toward him. “This came for you. I admit I’m hoping reading its contents will lift your spirits.”

  He took the letter and saw the seal. It bore a crest he recognized well enough. A blood-thirsty hawk with talons outstretched, its sharp eyes daring any and all to stay out of its way. Breaking the seal, he opened the envelope and his suspicions were confirmed in the first few written lines.

  “The Bloody Earl of Hawksfell,” he murmured.

  “Indeed.”

  “You knew the sender’s identity?”

  “I suspected, my lord. Little correspondence has come despite the recent sadness. I suppose it’s fitting that the head of the Hawk family would contact you to express his sympathies.”

  His gut twisted as he thought again of his mother’s passing. “No such sympathies are fitting, Mrs. Pritchard.”

  Her lips pursed. “It isn’t my place to speak ill of the dead.”

  He blinked, and then barked out a laugh. “You do your position credit, then.”

  She dipped her head. “I’ll leave you to your letter and see to that dinner tray.”

  He nodded absently as she left, his attention now fully caught by the words on the fine paper. And on this apparent invitation to visit the earl and his family at the grand Hawksfell Manor for an extended visit. He thought once more about the morose atmosphere blanketing his own fine home and decided in that moment that he would take the earl up on his generous offer, if only for the chance to escape the old bitterness and new grief.

  He only hoped the feeling didn’t follow him over the moors into Hawksfell Manor.

  * * * *

  Poppy Thompson kneaded the thick, warm dough, the scents of yeast and vanilla hanging heavy in the air. Flour puffed in clouds around her and she smiled to herself.

  The kitchens of Hawksfell Manor were quiet at this hour, the family abed and most of the staff tucked into their rooms in the attics. This was the time she liked best, when the extensive kitchens were hers alone. During the daytime hours she served the earl and his family. The cook, Mrs. Padmont, ruled this place during those hours as well. As cook’s assistant, it was Poppy’s place to toe the line and do whatever was asked of her. At night, however? She was permitted to create recipes that would allow her to someday make her own way. She wasn’t chained to service, like the maids or footmen. She was on her own, with no siblings or parents to support. She would find a way to use what her sainted mother had taught her nearly every day up until her death three years ago. To bake with the hopes of opening her own shop one day.

  She pounded her fist into the mass in her hands. “It will happen,” she whispered, punching and poking at the puffy dough. “May God help me.”

  “Easy there,” a masculine voice drawled.

  She stilled, the smooth tone of Julian’s voice cutting through the yeast and vanilla and flour. Withdrawing her hands from the dough, she wiped them on her apron.

  “Good evening, Julian.” He still wore his uniform, though he looked a little less starched than he did lately. “Why aren’t you abed?”

  He tilted his head to one side, the light from the bulbs hanging from the ceiling catching in the golden streaks running through his fair hair. His smile was a little crooked, and his blue eyes sparkled. Oh, he was handsome. And tall. As a footman in a great house, he was expected to be both. He didn’t have to bedevil her in her dark domain, however.

  “Ah, Poppy. You know I can’t resist your creations.”

  “They aren’t for you.”

  He arched a brow. “And yet you make your treats in the manor’s kitchens?”

  She nodded, and then lifted her chin. “Mrs. Padmont and her ladyship herself allow me this, Julian.”

  He shrugged. “As you say.”

  Blowing out a breath, she narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “Mr. Carstairs was just informing me of a new visitor to the manor. A Baron Stanton.”

  “Stanton?”

  “Yes. Hawk, actually. He’s another Hawk.”

  Poppy’s belly gave a flutter. She’d been in service here at the manor for three months now, and had caught glimpses of the handsome Hawks that had come here to roost over that time. Brooding, gorgeous gentlemen, without exception. They all bore more than a slight resemblance to the Earl of Hawksfell. In fact, more than one of them had come to discover they were half brothers to the earl.

  “Another Hawk?”

  Julian stepped closer, and she caught his fresh, warm scent even here in the kitchen. “They are quite compelling, aren’t they? Tall and magnetic. Makes a body yearn, or so I’ve heard.”

  Poppy blinked. This was the Julian she’d known up until last month when he’d been promoted. Teasing, slightly naughty, flirty Julian. She stiffened her spine and fought to ignore his lure. She’d always been a girl with an attraction toward lads who spelled trouble with a capital T. Since becoming first footman he’d taken on a staid, sober demeanor that never seemed to quite fit him.

  “You would do better to stick with your disguise,” she said, immediately wishing she could bite her tongue.

  He blinked in apparent confusion. “What disguise?”

  She couldn’t tell him she knew he wasn’t the dull stick he now pretended to be. Did the other girls in the manor see the difference as well? Or did he drop his put-on airs when he wanted a little bit of something in the attics?

  “Never mind, pray.” She blew a hair off her brow. “I’m a bit tired.”

  He reached out and ran a finger over her cheek, his touch gentle. “You work too hard, I wager.”

  “Julian,” she said in warning, her voice sounding breathy.


  He held out his finger, showing flour on his fingertip. “Nothing should mar that face.”

  It was her turn to blink at him in confusion.

  He studied her mouth for a long moment, then straightened. It was as if he donned his mask again, a coldness settling over his features. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

  And with that, he left the kitchens. His scent lingered, she was dismayed to learn. His fresh, hot scent and the memory of the way he made her feel. Jittery and flushed and like she could give up her dreams if only he’d gift her with a kiss from that perfect mouth of his.

  “Don’t think it,” she chided herself. “He’s not for you.”

  For a reason she couldn’t fathom, her eyes pricked. Dreams of kisses and romance weren’t in her future. She pounded the dough more forcefully. She wouldn’t lose herself, no matter the enticement.

  And whether gorgeous Julian or handsome Hawk, she wouldn’t let herself be tempted.

  Chapter 2

  Julian woke the next morning in his lonely room in the attics of the manor. As first footman, he was supposed to share his room, but they’d yet to fill his previous position, so the other bed in his small, tidy room remained empty. He’d risen to his current role after his predecessor left with the latest Hawk to grace the manor with his presence. Vincent had fallen hard for both the gentleman and the man’s ward, though Julian couldn’t fault him on either count. It wasn’t mentioned in company that the three embarked on a romance under Hawksfell’s peaked slate roofs last month, but most of the staff guessed that was the truth of it.