To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

And suddenly Eugenie longed for a new dress.

“Thank you, Father,” she said gratefully.

He nodded, pleased to have pleased her, and reached over to grasp her in a rough hug. “You’re a good girl, Genie.”

Eugenie wondered if that epitaph would go on her headstone when she was dead and buried. Eugenie Belmont, a good girl. Despite all her good intentions a wayward and wicked thought slipped slyly into her head: Did she really want to be a good girl? If being a bad girl meant kissing Sinclair?

Torrisham, with its golden stone buildings and narrow laneways, was a bustling place, especially on market days. Her father found the horse stalls and set about brushing down the mare and cleaning her hooves. The creature rolled its eyes but managed to control the urge to kick.

“Father, are you sure this is a lady’s mount?” Eugenie said, eyeing it uneasily.

“You’ve ridden her.”

“Yes, but I know what to expect.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of spirit,” he said jovially.

Eugenie was about to say you could have too much of a good thing, when she happened to glance across the market square and spotted a tall and very familiar figure.

“Oh good Lord, it’s him,” she gasped.

“Who’s ‘him’?”

“The duke!”

Her father shot her a curious look, and then followed her gaze. “Ah, Somerton!” he called, as if they were the best of friends. “How do you do? Come to look at the horseflesh, have ye?”

If the duke had been planning to walk past then he could no longer do so without appearing rude. She watched him hesitate, considering his options, but he’d been seen and spoken to and he was not a man to turn and run—even if that was what he quite clearly longed to do.

He strode toward them, removing his hat as he bowed in greeting. Eugenie gave a quick curtsey, avoiding his eyes, keeping just behind her father as if he might save her.

“Sir Peter, how do you do? Miss Belmont, I trust you are well?”

He sounded awkward, and she could see that telltale flush on his tanned cheeks. No doubt he was replaying the scene in the woods, just as she was. Then his gaze slid over the mare, whose tether was in her father’s hand. “You are selling today, I see. Is she any good?”

“A fine lass,” Sir Peter said, enthusiastically. He stepped closer, assuring Sinclair in an undertone that he was only selling because he was a little “light” in the pocket, while Eugenie inwardly cringed. “Does your sister need a new mount? Something with a bit more go in it? I saw her riding a gray gelding last month—looked like it was one step away from dog food, if you don’t mind me being frank with you, Your Grace.”

Clearly Sinclair did mind.

“Lady Annabelle is perfectly happy with her gelding,” he said shortly. “She is not an expert horsewoman.”

“Not like my Genie here then. She can ride anything with four legs. If I had the funds I’d set her up with the hunt. She’d put the rest of them to shame, she would.”

Sinclair’s gaze flickered to Eugenie and away before she could read his thoughts. He probably knew that her father had attempted to join the hunt himself once, only to be refused, and it wasn’t because of his lack of funds but rather his lack of good character.

At that moment her father’s attention was claimed by another buyer, an elderly man who’d brought along his granddaughter, and Eugenie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Do you always participate in your father’s schemes?” Sinclair said quietly, a note of deep disapproval in his voice.

“Terry was busy and Father needed someone to help with the mare,” she said lightly, hoping he’d say goodbye and move on.

Because she knew exactly what he was thinking. She was a hoyden. She could not be expected to behave like a gentlewoman, like his mother or his sister. The curl of his lip said it all. Well, she told herself, let him think what he liked, she no longer needed to pander to his good graces.

Some children ran past, shrieking, and Eugenie spent a number of nervous moments quieting the mare. When she glanced up again Sinclair was still there, only now he was watching her, and his expression was a mixture of puzzlement and regret. Her own hurt and disappointment began to wane.

“I find myself missing your company,” he spoke abruptly, and then seemed embarrassed he’d blurted out the words aloud. His explanation was equally clumsy. “I thought I’d apologized for anything I may have said to upset you.”

“You did, but I find myself wondering how long it will be before you upset me again.”