To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

In Sinclair’s mind the offer he intended to make was absurdly generous. She would have everything she wanted, certainly a great deal more than she had now, and it wasn’t as if she had a great deal to lose. Even so he would be careful with her reputation, such as it was, protecting her as much as he was able. Ensuring her life—and the lives of her family—were as comfortable as possible.

Which reminded him. Belmont Hall was afflicted by damp and rot and probably deathwatch beetle. The Belmonts would find themselves without a home if they didn’t find some way of repairing that hovel. He could see to those repairs; he could even buy them something larger and less drafty. Something at a great distance from himself and Eugenie.

Arrogant he may be, but surely he was not being unreasonable in expecting a favorable answer? Considering all the benefits he was offering. She may be playing coy but he would win her around.

This uncertainty had put him in a foolish lather.

Oh, he had had his amours—what man in his position had not?—but none of them had meant more to him than a passing fancy. These days he was hard-pressed to recall their faces. There was a world of difference between how he felt about them and how he felt about Eugenie Belmont. The only way he could explain his feelings was that he felt himself when he was with her, as if he didn’t have to pretend.

Surely that was reason enough to want to make her a permanent fixture in his life?

He’d begun waking in the night, awash with desire and longing. His body became hard as rock whenever he imagined her beneath him, naked upon his sheets. Sometimes he’d believe he caught a whiff of her scent, the fresh sweet smell of her hair, and his body would react with embarrassing promptness. He was beginning to think he was turning into one of his stallions, so eager to mate that he was liable to leap over fences to find his ladylove.

It might be a form of madness, but he wanted her. He wanted to clasp her in his arms and take her when and wherever the need took him. That was what a mistress was for, after all. He could sit with her in his arms and talk to her, or simply say nothing in companionable silence. And in return for being with him, she could have anything she’d ever wanted.

To Sinclair’s fevered mind it was only a matter of time before Eugenie Belmont gave in to the inevitable.

Chapter 10

By Friday morning Sinclair was up and ready, his temper on a short leash. Annabelle eyed him uneasily over breakfast. He could tell she wanted to speak to him but wasn’t certain how to broach the subject. If it was about her marriage to Lucius he would rather she remain silent, but Annabelle was not one to shirk a conversation just because it may cause difficulties to herself or others.

“I have had a letter from my friend Greta,” she said at last, setting down her teacup on its saucer with a rattle of china.

“Indeed.”

“She lives in Bedfordshire, Sinclair.”

“And you are telling me this because . . . ?”

“Stop it, Sinclair. You are obviously in a bad mood but I will not let it affect me. I am telling you about Greta because I want to stay with her before I am hemmed about by convention as Lucius’s bride-to-be. She has promi

sed me a party and visits to other friends.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have no objections, Annabelle, as long as your mother and your husband-to-be have none.”

“What has Lucius to say to anything?” she snapped. “We are not married yet.”

“If I remember correctly Greta was always a little unconventional. Perhaps this isn’t the moment to visit her, Annabelle. We do not want a scandal.”

She scowled. “You don’t want me to have any friends. You want me to be miserable, Sinclair.”

“Annabelle, now you are being ridiculous. You will have plenty of friends to see when you go to London. Who knows, you may even make some new ones.”

She rose from the table and fled the room.

Miss Gamboni stumbled to her feet. “I am sorry, Your Grace,” she began, but he waved a hand at her, dismissing her apology.

“Perhaps you could turn her mind in some other direction, Miss Gamboni.”

“I will try, Your Grace.”

He was getting used to such departures from his sister, and he didn’t allow it to bother him for long. He had other matters to mull over.

His paints had arrived from London and he was itching to lock himself away in his attic room and begin painting. He’d already done some sketches of Eugenie from memory, and thought they were rather good. He still had to capture that sweet mischief in her expression, but he thought he could make a start.

Alas, after breakfast, he had to spend some time with his land agent, and then he needed to write several letters in regard to tenants who had asked him for help in the repair of their cottages or stone fences. As he worked he thought about how much responsibility his position placed upon him. For the past ten years he’d lived without complaint, doing as was expected of him, inhabiting his role as duke, not really thinking about what he was becoming.

Dull, boring.