Hawk's Prize by Elaine Barbieri Page A

my dear. However, Angie mentioned that this fellow was formerly a Confederate soldier. My sympathies are with all the poor fellows who served the Confederacy so bravely. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need help in any way.”
    “Yes, of course. Good-bye.”
    Ignoring the tight pursing of Tricia lips, Simon drew the door closed behind him and strode swiftly down the hallway toward the rear exit of the house. He did not intend to allow the arrival of another possible Hawk to threaten his plans. He’d find out who this man was, and when he did . . .
    Not bothering to finish that thought, Simon drew the door open and moved quickly down the outside stairs.
    Drew awoke slowly. He looked around him, at the morning light shining through the elaborately draped window and at the gaudily decorated room. He ached all over, his leg was throbbing, and he was so disoriented he could not quite figure out where he was.
    A sound at his bedside turned him toward the beautiful blond woman asleep in a chair beside his bed. Her perfect profile was angled toward him, a graceful outline against the gaudy upholstery. Her complexion, although pale, was creamy and flawless; her features were small, fine, and motionless in sleep, and her lips were parted, as if in silent invitation.
    Don’t worry, you’re going to be all right. I won’t desert you.
    The angel . . .
    No, that was wrong.
    His mind clearing, Drew remembered. She looked like an angel and she talked like an angel . . . but she wasn’t an angel.
    The woman stirred, then came to full wakefulness with a start. Sea-green eyes that had been burned into his memory met his as she said, “Oh, you’re awake.” She blinked and pushed a strand of fair hair from her cheek, scrutinizing him more intently. She touched her palm to his forehead and said, “You’re definitely cooler. I’m glad . . . I mean, I think Dr. Wesley will be pleased.”
    “Dr. Wesley?”
    “You don’t remember him?” Appearing to think better of that question, she said, “He’s the man who cleaned out the infected wound in your leg, applied the poultice, and left the medicine you’ve been taking all night.”
    “All night . . .”
    He searched her expression confusedly, and she glanced away. Doing his best to ignore the renewed throbbing in his leg, Drew said with a trace of impatience, “I know where I am, and I know why I came here. What I don’t know is how I got into this room.”
    “You collapsed downstairs yesterday. You had a fever, and Chantalle had you brought up here so the doctor could look at you.”
    “Chantalle . . . the red-haired madam.”
    The angel’s lips twitched. “Yes, Chantalle—the woman who probably saved your life.”
    His teeth clenching tight against the raw ache in his leg, Drew said gruffly, “I’m harder than that to kill.”
    He stared at the young woman in the flowing blue dressing gown. His gaze trailed slowly over her petite frame, assessing every inch, indulging himself and allowing the sight of her to dull his pain. An area of his body far distant from his brain stirred predictably, and he knew that if he didn’t feel like hell, she wouldn’t be standing beside the bed. She’d be in it . . . with him, and he’d be—
    Drew took a sharp breath as pain stabbed sharply.
    The young woman reacted by saying sympathetically, “Dr. Wesley will be here soon.”
    Drew blinked when the pain stabbed again, and the young woman said, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any more of the powder that the doctor left for you. I used it all up last night, but he’ll probably bring more. The powder will continue fighting the infection, and I can ask him for something to lessen your pain if you wish. I don’t know what he’ll prescribe, but a few drops of laudanum should do.”
    “Laudanum . . .” He had been witness to the easy administration of laudanum to many of his fellow soldiers while he was hospitalized. Remembering clearly that he had also seen many of them become