To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

“You make it all sound so simple,” she burst out a little wildly.

“Because it is.”

Eugenie looked up into his eyes and wondered how he could be so obtuse. Did he really imagine she could bear to have him “save” her like this, in payment for the use of her body? And yet he saw it all so differently from her, like a businessman coldly signing a mutually acceptable deal. A practical solution. Well, Eugenie refused to go along with it. She wasn’t going to be his mistress. There was a man out there, somewhere, who would be her perfect husband and who would be every bit as handsome and appealing as Sinclair—she just had to find him.

“I want you, Eugenie,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “I’m willing to do anything I can to have you.”

They had each been so engrossed in their contrary thoughts that they had not heard someone approaching, but now that person’s querulous voice brought them to their senses.

“Sinclair? Who is this young lady?”

He muttered a curse beneath his breath but when he turned around he was perfectly composed. “Mother, I did not hear you.”

“No, you were otherwise engaged,” she retorted. Her dark eyes didn’t leave Eugenie. “Please introduce me.”

Eugenie looked back at the Dowager Duchess of Somerton and found herself surprised by what she saw. This wasn’t a woman like her own mother, overwhelmed by life. The Dowager Duchess was dressed in a gray silk skirt and close-fitting jacket, decorated with fine lace, accentuating her still fine figure. Her graying hair was swept up in a flattering style, covered with a small confection of silk and ribbons.

There was a distinct resemblance to her son, perhaps more in her expression than her actual features—an air of haughtiness that characterized them both.

Sinclair had finished introducing them.

“Belmont?” the dowager duchess declared, as Eugenie made her careful curtsey. “Never heard the name. Do they live locally?”

“Sir Peter, my father, and Mrs. Belmont, my mother, live in Belmont Hall, in the village, Your Grace,” Eugenie said evenly, determined to be polite even if Sinclair’s mother wasn’t. “Actually, it is my brother who His Grace invited to Somerton. I am here as his companion. He is ten, you see, and very good with His Grace’s horses.”

The dowager duchess was staring at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. “Indeed,” she replied at last, cold as frost, and turned back to her son. “When you are done with Miss Belmont, Sinclair, I wish to speak to you in my rooms.”

And with that she turned and was gone.

“My mother believes she lives in another age,” Sinclair said apologetically.

“I really should be going home now anyway,” Eugenie said, and began to walk a little shakily toward the stables to fetch Jack. She was angry, and upset, and she didn’t want him to see either.

“There is no need . . .” he began.

“I think there is. Good-bye, Your Grace.” The slight emphasis on the ‘good-bye’ was her way of letting him know this really was a last farewell. After last night’s tender embraces she might have been able to convince herself that there was a slight chance of winning Sinclair, but not now. His mother’s behavior had made up Eugenie’s mind well and truly.

He didn’t follow her. Eugenie expected he was keen to get back to his mother and be told he must not associate with the peasants. Insufferable woman! To speak to her so! Was she so above the rest of the world that she did not need to show good manners? It certainly explained a great deal about Sinclair.

Eugenie could not imagine how she ever thought it would be possible to marry him. She was someone to look down upon. How she could have believed for a moment she would fit into the life he lived and the world he occupied? Well, she knew the cold, hard truth now.

She refused to glance back

ward, even though this was the last time she would see him. How could she have let her silly tongue and her overactive imagination to get her into this scrape in the first place? Husband hunting, in her opinion, was a very overrated occupation! And as for the reaction of her friends. . .

She’d have to make up some tale. If worse came to worst, Eugenie told herself, she could always run away with a circus and become a bareback horse rider. It seemed preferable to telling them the truth.

Chapter 14

As Sinclair expected, his mother was waiting for him, back perfectly straight, hands clasped in her lap, chin high. Her dark eyes followed him to his chair opposite her and something perverse made him fling himself down into the soft leather, rather than seating himself fastidiously, as he usually did.

She winced. “Sinclair,” she said, as if she was in pain. “Whatever is wrong with you? No, don’t answer me. I believe I already know, and that is what I wish to speak to you about.”

“Can you read my mind, Mother?” he said in mock surprise.

Her dark eyes bored into his and eventually she shamed him into the reaction she wished.

“My apologies, Mother. That was childish. Tell me what you wish to speak to me about.”