A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

She seemed surprised, and then pulled a scornful face. “No, of course not,” she declared. “What a poor creature I’d be if I did that. I’ve been to worse places than this, believe me.”

“But not with me,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “This isn’t the sort of place I would ever willingly bring you to.”

Thankfully George was busy trying to open the gate and hadn’t overheard him. But Marissa was watching him, her dark eyes seemingly trying to see inside his head and discover what he was really saying.

“What sort of place would you prefer to take me to?” she said quietly. With a sideways glance at George, still busy with the gate, she lifted her hand, and he knew she wanted to trace the shape of his mouth, just as he knew he wanted to press his lips to hers.

“There is a garden in Italy, growing on the side of a hill.” His voice sounded shaky, uncertain, far from the autocratic tone he’d used in Bentley Green. “There is an orchard and you can pick oranges from the trees and taste the sun in them. They crush their own grapes and make their own wine. I’ve dined in a courtyard full of flowers and music and laughter, with moths dancing around the candle flames. Perhaps, one day…”

She was gazing at him, her expression soft and dreamy, a little smile playing on her lips. “Valentine…”

But then George came up, interrupting. “That gate will fall down if I get it open. We’ll have to climb over it.” He held out his hand to help Marissa down to the ground. “Do you think you can manage?”

She nodded. “I—I think so.”

George tested the strength of it, putting his boot on the first wooden bar, before swinging his leg over the top and dropping down to the other side. Impatiently, Marissa gathered her skirts out of the way with one hand, holding her bonnet with the other and prepared to follow.

“No.”

Valentine was down from the carriage before he had a chance to reconsider. He swept her up in his arms and held her nice and securely against his chest. Startled, she clutched hold of her bonnet, and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“That’s better,” was all he said. “George?”

George chuckled as he held out his own arms to receive her. “Ready.”

“There’s—there’s no need. Really,” she said breathlessly.

“My brother being gallant,” George teased, “that’s something I haven’t seen for a long time. Make the most of it, Marissa.”

Valentine ignored them both, swinging Marissa up and over the top of the gate, and depositing her gently within George’s grasp. A moment later she was on her feet in the garden, and Valentine vaulted over behind her, landing with a thump and striding off into the wilderness.

“Follow me,” he called, heading into the dank greenery.

“Follow me,” Marissa muttered an hour later, wiping a gloved hand across her brow, and glaring down at the remains of a tangled patch of forget-me-nots, the sticky seeds clinging to her skirts.

Since Valentine had marched off into the garden like an explorer heading into darkest Africa, Marissa seemed to have gotten nowhere despite hours of hard work.

“Anything that looks like a rose, call me to take a look,” he had instructed before he disappeared entirely. “Remember, the Crusader’s Rose should be flowering at this time of year, but if it’s struggling in this mess it may not have the necessary light and nourishment to flower. The leaves are a pale green and the thorns have a reddish tinge and are hooked over like a hawk’s claws.”

George had dredged up a sigh from the depths of his being. “I hope you know you will be reimbursing me for this. My tailor’s bill needs paying and I am going to tell him to send it to you. I’ll probably need a new set of clothes after I’ve fought my way through this jungle.”

“Then you should not have worn your London best, George. This isn’t a stroll along Bond Street, you know.”

George swept his brother’s ensemble a scornful look. “One of the Kents has to keep up appearances, Valentine.”

The two of them headed into the garden, still arguing, until their voices faded completely.

At first Marissa remained close to the gate, exploring the edges of the garden, but eventually she was drawn further and further into it. Narrow paths were still evident, their bricks moss-covered and slippery, while dark and mysterious tunnels of undergrowth tempted her away from the light. Soon she was barely aware of the two men, apart from the occasional snapping of a twig or the rustling of leaves, and even that began to blend in with the natural sounds of the place.

She was completely immersed and it was only when a rumble of thunder sounded overhead that she realized how much time had flown by. Surprised, she looked around her. The light was fading, as the approaching rainstorm trailed its dark skirts over Beauchamp Place. If it had been creepy before it was more so now. Almost as if something was watching her, waiting to pounce.

And gobble her up.

“Valentine?” she called, her voice a squeak. “George?”

Neither of them answered. She forced back her panic, reminding herself that until a moment before she had been deaf and blind to anything but the search for the Crusader’s Rose, and no doubt they still were.

Marissa stood up on her tiptoes, peering through perennials that were now as big as small trees, but it was impossible to see through the close-growing greenery from here. She needed to find a high point.