The Duchess Hunt (35 page)

“I’m sure I have many —”

“You’ll wish to read these,” Sam
interrupted, “immediately.”

With a bemused look, Simon took the two
folded pieces of stationery. He read the first one in silence and then handed
it to Sarah.

Trent,

I am leaving
this wretched place and finally marrying the duke who deserves me.

If you, or
anyone in your family, ever mentions the existence of the idiot Bertram Smith,
and his link to my family, I shall bring down the wrath of the entire Dukedom
of Dunsberg against you. Mark my words, Trent. You do not wish to trifle with
me.

Good-bye, and
may we never see each other again for the remainder of our days on Earth,

Georgina Stanley,

Future Duchess of Dunsberg

“Goodness,” Sarah whispered. “But how did
Miss Stanley know you knew about Bertram?”

Simon glanced up at his brothers, who all looked
away, except for Luke, who gave him a grin worthy of a Cheshire cat. “Bit of a
slip of the tongue, perhaps?”

“Luke,” Simon said warningly.

“What? The lovely Georgina is my half
sister, after all. I simply asked her what she thought of our eldest brother.
When she looked confused, I clarified I meant our dear brother, Bertram
Stanley, the idiot who resides at Bordesley Green.”

“Good God. So not only did you tell her we
knew about Bertram, but you also revealed that you were her half brother?”
Simon asked.

Luke gave a soft chuckle. “It was fun,
really, to see how many shades of green she could turn before she went off
crying to her papa.”

“We believe the second letter is a result
of that conversation,” Sam said, passing it to Simon.

Simon bent his head to read the second
letter, and then, as he had before, he passed it to Sarah.

Trent,

No thanks to
you, my wishes for my only daughter have come to fruition, and I am a happy and
proud man. Her chosen duke, though neither as young nor as sound in body as you
are, possesses a maturity and sense that I feel certain you never shall.

Regarding the
unpleasantness we have discussed in multiple circumstances – I have changed my
mind. I think it’s best if society is left in the dark regarding certain
people’s parentage.

Therefore,
the secret shall remain in my safekeeping. But understand this: it shall only
remain safe for as long as you keep the secret regarding the identity of a
certain B.S., who resides near Worcester. If, at any time, you reveal that
man’s identity, I shall not hesitate to publish the proof I carry with me
regarding certain people.

I trust we
are in understanding on this issue, but should you have any questions regarding
our agreement, I shall remain in London for precisely one month, after which
time I will be heading to Hampshire to Dunsberg’s seat for a house party
celebrating my daughter’s nuptials. You may contact me in London, but I suggest
you do not show your face in Hampshire, for yours will be an unwelcome visage
indeed.

Stanley

Sarah looked up from the letter as Simon
said, “They think we’ve turned the tables on them. Threatening them with openly
revealing Bertram’s identity.”

“But we’re not!” Theo exclaimed.

“No.” Luke shrugged. “But why deny it? To
give Stanley leave to blab all over England that he’s my father.” A sour look
crossed his face. “No, thank you.”

“Luke is right,” Sam said. “We do as we
planned – which is to remain quiet regarding Bertram Stanley, and Stanley will
keep quiet, too.”

“It is a reasonable solution.” Simon pinned
his three younger brothers with stares, one by one. “But that doesn’t mean the
secret is safe. Too many people know it.”

Theo sighed. “In other words, our
‘legitimacy’ is safe for now, but it could be revealed at any time that we’re
baseborn.”

Luke gave his youngest brother a scowl. “I
take offense to that, Theo. I’m not baseborn.” Giving a negligent shrug, he
added lightly, “Just a bastard.”

Theo rolled his eyes heavenward.

“But what am I?” Esme said softly.

They all turned to her.

“The only one who knows that is our
mother,” Simon told Esme.

“And we still don’t know where she is,”
Sarah said with a heavy sigh.

“But,” Luke said, “we have a lead. I have
a name and location. I’m going to bring her home so she can damn well explain
everything to us.” Luke glanced at Sarah, and she saw the touch of gentleness
behind the steel of his blue eyes. “I wanted to ensure you were safe and sound
before I left.”

“Oh, Lord Lukas. I
am
safe and sound.”

Luke flinched. “Don’t call me Lord Lukas
anymore, Sarah. You’re my sister now, so just Luke will do.”

“Very well, Just Luke.”

He gave her a wry look then turned back to
Simon. “I’m pleased you did the right thing, but now I need to leave. I’m
heading to Cardiff. I’ll be gone by the time you wake tomorrow morning.”

“Do you require anything?” Simon asked.

Luke raised a sardonic brow. “From you,
Your Grace? From your unending wealth of resources? Why, thank you, but no. I’d
prefer to do this one damn thing on my own.”

Simon regarded his brother in silence for
a moment. They all did. Finally, Simon gave a slow nod. “Very well. I suppose
all I can do for you then is hope for you to return quickly, and with our
mother at your side.”

“Hear, hear.” Sam held up his glass. And
they all drank to Luke and their mother’s swift return.

Sarah woke to see Simon standing by the
tall window that looked out over the winding drive that led from the main road
to the house. The heavy velvet curtains were parted, and the soft light of dawn
seeped into the room.

She watched him for a long moment. He
stood there, his form tall and powerful. He was a powerful man, inside and out.

One who could have had almost any woman in
England. And he’d chosen her. She wondered when she’d stop feeling so awed by
that. Probably never.

Rising, she slipped a robe over her
shoulders and went to stand beside him. He moved her in front of him, tucking
her against him so the hard length of his body pressed against her.

Safe and sound.
Now, enclosed in Simon’s arms, she realized she’d never felt safe
in her life, until now. It was a heady sensation.

It wasn’t difficult to see what he was
gazing out at. She looked down just as Luke finished tightening the straps of
his saddlebag and then mounted his horse.

They watched in silence, Sarah secure in
Simon’s embrace, as Luke walked the horse down the road that led away from
Ironwood Park.

Then she whispered, “He’ll find her.”

“Do you think so?” Simon’s voice was
musing.

“Yes.”

But her own voice wasn’t as confident as
she would have liked it to be, and she felt the heaviness of Simon’s sigh
behind her.

“I engaged Grindlow’s services again. I
asked him to follow Luke. To conduct his own investigation regarding this
Morton fellow Mother left Ironwood Park with.”

“How do you think Luke will feel about
that?” she asked him.

“He’ll probably be infuriated. But it’s
not my duty to pander to Luke’s self-absorption. I want to find my mother, and
I’ll use whatever means I have to do so.”

Sarah could understand that. “I still hope
that Luke is the one who finally finds her.”

“So do I.”

“He seems better. Than he was in London,
at least.”

“Yes.” Simon sighed. “Sometimes it’s hard
to say, though. Is he still drinking too much? Gambling? There’s really no way
to know.”

“I don’t think he is doing any of those
things. At least not to the extent at which we found him in London.”

“I wish he’d just stay here. Fewer things
about to lead him astray than in a place like London.”

“And yet he always has complained of
boredom here at Ironwood Park.” That was one thing she’d never really
understood about Luke.

“True.”

They watched Luke ride until he turned a
bend lined on both sides of the road with thickly wooded elm trees and
disappeared through the iron gates. After they could no longer see him, they
stood there a few moments longer in silence.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Simon finally
said.

She went gladly. In the warm cocoon of
blankets, Simon made slow, sweet love to her, worshiping her body with his
hands and lips. She would never tire of this, of the way he touched her and
kissed her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He brought her to her peak and then
reached his own. They drifted off to sleep again until the sun blazed in a
slanted, golden ray through the open curtains of the window and across the
room.

She turned over to look at Simon, who lay
on his side gazing at her. Reaching up, he pushed a lock of hair out of her
face and tucked it behind her ear.

“Our life together truly begins today, my
love,” he told her in a low voice. His hand wandered to her stomach, where
their child grew. No one at Ironwood Park knew besides Sarah’s father. Sarah
and Simon had decided together to keep the child their special secret for now.
They’d tell the rest of the household in a few weeks.

The truth of it all swept through her,
invigorating and simply wonderful. She and Simon were making a family together.
A life. She smiled at him. “The first day of a new life. One I never imagined
I’d be blessed with.”

“Nor I,” Simon told her. “But I shall
thank God for it – and for you – every day.”

They rose and performed their morning
ablutions before going downstairs together. The first day of their life
together was a perfect one, the first of many that followed.

The scandal, as expected, rocked England,
its details whispered in the far reaches of the empire, but no one seemed to be
able to shun Sarah for long. Soon enough, she was accepted into society as if
she’d been born into it, and her marriage to Simon was touted by many as the
love match of the decade.

And for as long as he lived, nothing made
Simon Hawkins, the Duke of Trent, happier than to fall asleep beside Sarah at
night and for her face to be the first thing he saw when he awoke in the
morning. To Simon, nothing could be sweeter.

Lord Lukas Hawkins has never found a wager
he couldn’t win or a woman he couldn’t seduce.

But a midnight meeting with a beautiful
stranger will lead Lukas down his wildest path yet…

Please read on

for a preview of

The Rogue’s Proposal…

Chapter
One

Lord Lukas Hawkins wasn’t drunk enough.
Not yet. He gazed at the glass of ale sitting on the table before him and
dragged the pad of his thumb through the drops of condensation on its lip.

He would have preferred something
stronger, but the ale was beginning its work. All his sharp edges, those
phantom blades that sliced so ruthlessly at him when he was sober, were
beginning to dull. The noises of the tavern had faded into an agreeable drone
rather than the piercing, headache-inducing racket of when he’d first arrived.

Luke took another generous swallow of the
cool amber liquid and leaned back, letting his eyelids descend to a pleasant
half-mast.

He’d asked enough questions for tonight.
He’d made no progress in his hunt for Roger Morton, but that didn’t surprise
him. The villain who’d taken Luke’s mother from her home at Ironwood Park was a
wily man, slipping through Luke’s fingers all the way from Cardiff to Bristol.

Luke wouldn’t find Morton here. It was
hopeless. What he needed now was to gulp down another three or four tall
glasses of ale, unearth some pleasant companionship for the evening, and
plummet into a dreamless sleep.

Only to wake up tomorrow and begin the
whole fruitless endeavor over again.

Taking his ale in two hands, he brought it
to his lips, closed his eyes, and tossed back the whole bloody thing.

His eyes reopened as he lowered the empty
glass.

Well, well, well.

Straightening his spine, he brought his
glass down until it landed with a decided
clunk
on the worn wooden tabletop. His lips
curled into a wicked grin. It seemed like his pleasant companionship had
unearthed itself.

A vision in black and white had seated
herself on the other side of the narrow wood-planked table. She was the
loveliest thing he’d seen in a very long time. Brown eyes shot through with
polished gold gazed at him, their expression inscrutable. Thick, burnished
waves of bronze hair escaped the little annoyance of a prim, white cap and
framed a heart-shaped and pink-cheeked face. Her lips… hell, just edible.
Gazing at those lips aroused Luke’s senses – the deep red of cherries in the
summertime, their sweet scent, the decadent, juicy burst when he bit into one.

Just one glance at those lips was enough
to bring Luke’s sluggish body to sudden, alert life.

“Well,” he said, infusing his voice with a
lazy edge of suggestive slyness. He’d perfected the tone over the years, and it
had a dual purpose: It told a lady of loose morals exactly what he wanted,
while simultaneously warning an innocent maiden to escape while she still had a
chance. “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for you.”

To her credit, her only reaction was a
slight widening of her eyes. He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been looking
carefully. Otherwise, she didn’t move.

“Have you now?” she asked.

Lust jolted through him. God, that voice.
Potent and smooth, like the finest brandy. It evoked images of the bedroom,
mussed sheets, a rough tumble, erotic pleasure.

His body hardened all over. His cock
pressed against the falls of his breeches. Between her lovely face, her calm,
unperturbed demeanor, and the husky sensuality of her voice, he was done for.
He wanted to take her upstairs. Immediately.

But Luke wasn’t one to rush things
overmuch, especially when he was so intrigued. He possessed some restraint,
some patience. Not much, but some.

He cocked his head at her. “What took you
so long?”

“Well —” She took a deep breath. The
action drew his eyes to her bosom – her full breasts strained at the top edge
of her bodice as if they yearned to be set free. He’d be happy to perform that
task for her.

“— I was detained,” she finished.

“Oh? By what? Or whom?”

The corner of her lip quirked upward. She
was playing with him. He was the one who usually toyed with females. But in
this case, they were toying with each other. He liked that.

“By ignorance,” she said.

Ignorance.
Loose women usually didn’t use such words, especially not with
such inflection. Her throaty voice had spoken the word as only an educated
woman would.

Luke settled back in his seat, pushing
past his arousal and drunkenness to study her. He’d only noticed her cap before
– when he’d wanted to toss it to the floor and push his hand through that
bounty of burnished hair. He hadn’t noticed the pearl earrings, the fine silk
of her dress, white with black velvet trim.

She was no whore. She was a lady.

He stiffened, quickly scanning the area surrounding
them. The tavern was crowded with men and women drinking, eating, conversing.
The atmosphere was boisterous, and the smells of charred meat and hops and
yeast permeated every inch of the place. No one was watching them – at least
not overtly. But, hell, ladies like this didn’t just waltz into pubs and plunk
down across from the first drunkard they encountered. This woman knew
something.

None of these revelations made her less
appealing. In fact, they fascinated him. She was brazen, lady or not. Luke
liked his women brazen. That kind of woman was fearless, more likely to take
risks, in bed and out.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on
the sleek, well-worn surface of the table. The table was so narrow his face
ended up only a few inches from hers. “And now you’re no longer ignorant?” he
asked her. “Someone has enlightened you?”

She nodded sagely. “Indeed.”

She’d probably heard he’d been asking
questions about Roger Morton. “So then. You have information for me?”

“Hm,” she said. Her fingers drummed on the
table, drawing his gaze downward. Her brown kid gloves hugged each long,
elegant finger as they tapped the wooden surface. “I thought
you
might have information for
me
.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

Her brows mirrored his in a haughty
reaction. “It is.”

He laughed, the rare feeling bubbling up
in him and spilling over. His smile widened. This was not how women generally
behaved in his presence. They either ran crying to their mamas like abused
little kittens or dragged him straight to bed like lionesses on the prowl. This
woman was a different kind of creature altogether.

“Therefore, I have a proposal for you, my
lord.”

Ah, so she knew who he was, as well. Or,
he amended, she knew who he spent his life pretending to be.

“And I have a proposal for you. Miss…?”

“Mrs.”

“Mrs.,” he repeated. But he didn’t believe
for a second that she was married. No, he possessed the skill of sniffing out
married women. And this woman – she smelled of lavender soap, but there was
more. Something raw and sensual, something in her gaze that spoke of warm,
womanly flesh and dark, languid nights.

No, definitely not married.

So that meant that she was lying about her
marital status… or she was a widow. She was very young to be a widow, though.
He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to see beneath that calm surface, to delve
underneath and find some clue that would tell him what this woman was about.

“Mrs. Curtis,” she told him.

“Mrs. Curtis,” he said, “
I
have a proposal for
you
.”

That corner of her lip quirked again. Her
eyes sparkled the most fascinating shade of amber at him.

“Do you?”

He reached up to drag a finger across her
lower lip. Softer than the velvet of her dress ribbons. Plump and red as a
ripe, sweet cherry. He wanted a taste.

“Come upstairs with me,” he whispered.

She didn’t react to his touch, or his
words. She was very still. Too still. Then, she drew back from his touch and
gave the slightest of nods. “Very well, my lord.”

Terse and businesslike, she rose. He rose
instantly, too, out of long-ingrained habit more than anything else. “Always
rise when a lady is standing,” his governess had told him, “or you shall be
considered the rudest of gentlemen.”

These days, he
was
considered the rudest of gentlemen,
but it still didn’t prevent him from rising.

“Please” – Mrs. Curtis gestured in the
general direction of the exit – “lead the way.”

“Of course.” He turned away from the
table, seeing his empty ale glass from the corner of his eye. How odd – he’d
forgotten to hail the serving girl to ask her to refill his glass. But that
seemed utterly unimportant now.

They threaded their way in silence through
the crowded pub. No one paid them any mind. They left the large room and walked
down a long corridor, taking the narrow stairs at its end.

Nighttime had descended, and with it, a
bitter autumn chill. It was cold in the dimly lit stairwell, and Luke had the
urge to draw Mrs. Curtis close to warm her. But he was sober enough to realize
that that kind of advance in plain, public view might be unwelcome to such a
lady.

On the other hand, he was foxed enough to
imagine how exuberantly she’d accept his advances behind a closed door.

He strode up the stairs, pausing on the
landing to gain his bearings. It was a large inn, and the corridor branched in
three directions from here.

She paused beside him, quirking a
bronze-tinted brow at him. “I believe it’s this way, my lord.”

He followed when she turned to the
rightmost corridor and began to walk again. So, he mused, she already knew
where his room was located. She grew more intriguing by the second.

She stopped at the very last room. “Here?”

“Yes, Mrs. Curtis. Here.”

He withdrew the key from a pocket in his
coat and unlocked the door, then stepped inside.

The room was Spartan and cold. Unlike his
exalted brother, the Duke of Trent, Luke didn’t have the means to set aside
entire floors of inns for himself and his party and employ maids and other
servants to stoke fires and light braziers to keep them pleasantly warm.
Besides, he had no party. There was just him. Always had been, always would be.
Especially now that he knew he wasn’t a true Hawkins.

He opened the door wider, and she stepped
inside behind him. She made to move around him, but he shut the door with a
firm
click
, then held up
an arm to stop her. She retreated until her back pressed against the door.

He boxed her in, placing a firm arm on
either side of her and flattening his palms against the door. “There,” he said
softly, “now you’re my prisoner.”

Something flared in her eyes. Heat or
fear? Heat, probably. From what he’d seen of her so far, she wasn’t a woman who
was easily frightened.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You
like that idea, don’t you? Do you like to be bound, Mrs. Curtis?”

Her reaction was slight – an infinitesimal
tremor that ran through her body. It was enough.

He moved his mouth to a hair’s breadth
from hers. The warm wash of her breath fluttered across his cheek. Other than
that soft release of air, she didn’t move.

His body was an inch from hers. Not
touching, but so close he could feel their heat combine and simmer in the
narrow gap between them.

Slowly, painstakingly, he touched his
mouth to hers in the lightest of kisses. His eyelids sank shut. Her lips were
plump and soft, forgiving against his.

He dragged his lips against hers in a
back-and-forth motion, a slow, sensual slide. She didn’t move, but her flesh
yielded beneath his, and he released a low groan. She tasted so good. Sweet.
Ripe. He sipped at her unresponsive lips, then touched the tip of his tongue to
the corner of her mouth, urging a reaction, but still she didn’t move.

God, he wanted this woman. His body
screamed at him to haul her against him and take all the wicked pleasure her
supple flesh could offer him. But he didn’t only want her compliance, he wanted
her to be an active participant.

He kissed his way from the edge of her
lips, across the upper portion of her jaw – such supple, smooth skin – until he
nuzzled the tender lobe of her ear.

“Now,” he whispered, “are you ready to
hear my proposal?”

He feathered his lips over her earlobe,
bit down over it gently, then drew back to study her. Her expression didn’t
change, but her eyelids were lowered. She didn’t speak for a long moment.

As she formulated her response, he
formulated his own words in his mind.
I
believe you have information for me, Mrs. Curtis. I believe you might want
something from me in return. But those are things that can be saved for later.
Right here, right now, I want you. I want your lovely body beneath mine. I want
to strip that dress from you and lick every inch of that delectable skin. I
want to make you scream my name in pleasure again and again until we’re both in
such a delirium that there’s nothing either of us can do but to sleep. And
then, when we wake
—