To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

For a moment he seemed to have nothing to say, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he looked into her upturned face. Then the passion between them sparked and flared into life. She saw the heat and longing in his dark eyes a moment before he swooped and took her mouth with his.

Pleasure curled ribbons in her stomach. She stood on her toes, and wrapped her arms about his neck, losing herself in the warmth of his lips and tongue, the rough feel of his cheek against hers. A great wave of emotion washed over her, a painful longing, and with it came memories of the wonderful sense of rightness she had felt in his arms.

Was this love?

Then where were all the flowers and butterflies? Why did it hurt so?

Sinclair’s embrace was desperate, his kisses forceful. Could he have missed her as much as she’d missed him? Was it possible that he loved her, too?

“Yer Grace?”

The voice had been repeating itself for some time. Diffident, embarrassed, and perhaps even slightly amused. Finally it penetrated the cocoon about them. Abruptly Sinclair let her go and she blinked over his shoulder at Robert, the coachman, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his tricorn hat held between his gloved hands.

“Yer Grace, we need to be going.”

Sinclair ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away the distraction she’d become. “Very well, thank you, Robert. We’ll be there in a moment.”

He turned to her as the coachman strode away, and there was a frown line between his dark brows. “I apologize for taking advantage of you. I thought all that was behind me.”

“For heaven’s sake, Sinclair,” she said in frustration, “there’s no need to apologize.”

But he wasn’t about to be interrupted. “After we bring my sister and your brother home, all of this will finally be over.”

“Will it?” Tears were shining in her eyes and she couldn’t stop them. “What if I . . . what if we don’t want it to be over?”

His eyes grew icy as they looked into hers. “This isn’t a matter of choice. It’s a matter of proper and sensible behavior. The less I have to do with you or your family the better. You have a bad effect on me, Eugenie.”

She gave a laugh that was almost a sob.

“After this is over I never want to see you again.”

He said it like a promise, or a vow—as if he really meant it with all his heart and soul. Eugenie straightened her back, pride coming to her rescue.

“That makes two of us!”

She pushed past him, hurrying out of the inn and into the stable yard. The ducks were still in the pond but she no longer saw them or paused to smile at their antics. She was determined he would not see how much he’d worked his way into her silly heart. Climbing into the coach, while Robert sat waiting, his long whip poised over the four horses, she flung herself into what had become her corner.

Blast the man! Why did he blow hot and cold like this? It was almost as if he were determined to deny his own feelings. One moment he was kissing her passionately, the next he was telling her he couldn’t see her again. It was like being on a seesaw. If she wasn’t so closely involved in it, Eugenie might have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.

They’d lost precious hours and Sinclair blamed Eugenie, despite the niggling sense of fairness that told him it wasn’t her fault. Her being with him meant he’d wasted time changing and washing, and then falling asleep in front of the fire. If she hadn’t been there he’d never have stayed so long. She was a distraction, a bad influence, and he wanted to be rid of her.

Just as well she isn’t my mistress, he told himself, or I’d have strangled her by now.

He looked up sharply as she made a movement, and found her eyes questioning him, although she quickly glanced away. Her profile was proud and irreproachable. Had he spoken aloud? He hoped not. Well, soon it would be over and he could go back to being the Duke of Somerton. No more of this painting nonsense. He’d make a bonfire of his canvasses and then find himself a pretty, biddable blue-blooded girl and marry her.

I shouldn’t have kissed her.

Well, that was her fault, of course it was. She’d looked up at him, her pink lips parted, her green eyes so . . . so green, and he’d lost all control. Again. And now he had the taste of her in his mouth, on his skin, and it was turning his thoughts dangerously carnal.

He’d sworn to himself all those feelings were behind him, he’d been certain they were. After the way she’d treated him his pride should have been in tatters. And now with one kiss she’d stirred it all up again.

No.

Sinclair bit back a groan. That wasn’t true; none of it was true. He’d been indulging in wishful thinking. His feelings weren’t behind him—they’d been traveling with him all along. He’d wanted her then and he wanted her now. He could rant at her all he wished, punishing her for making him feel this way, but it hadn’t changed anything.

She had wormed her way inside his skin and he had no idea how to be rid of her forever. Unless . . . would one more night in her arms do the trick? All very well but what of Eugenie? Sinclair knew that as a man of principle he could not do such a thing to her. Only a cad would use her and then discard her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he harmed her.

Unless she wanted him to make love to her once more?