A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

He handed his jacket to Marissa without a word and pulled his white linen shirt over his head, folding it into a thick pad, and proceeded to press it to his friend’s bleeding wound.

It occurred to Marissa that she should avert her eyes, but she didn’t seem able to. A very strange thing was happening to her. As Valentine bent over Jasper, the broad and delectable expanse of his naked back and shoulders was quite the most exciting thing she had seen in her life thus far. The muscles in his biceps bunched as he pressed down, his untidy hair fell forward over his brow, while—dear Lord—his skintight riding breeches clung to his buttocks and the long, strong muscles of his thighs.

“Where is he?” Jasper’s voice brought her back to herself. His eyes were open and he was staring wildly around. “Von Hautt was here, Kent. He was right here.”

“He got away. Keep still, will you?”

“Blast him.”

“What did he say to you, Jasper? What did you say to him to make him act so rashly?”

“I called him a swine and a thief and told him I’d have him locked up.”

“That would do it then,” Valentine said dryly.

“We need to get Lord Jasper to a doctor,” Lady Bethany repeated loudly. “You can have this discussion later.”

“Ahem.” The sound of the vicar clearing his throat behind her made Marissa jump violently, and she wondered if he’d noticed her avid interest in Valentine’s flesh. “There’s a doctor in the village,” he said helpfully. “He’s retired now but he still takes urgent cases. I’ll show you the way, if you like?”

Valentine sprang into action. He lifted the groaning Jasper in his arms and placed him into the carriage, his head resting in Lady Bethany’s lap. The vicar squeezed in beside them and Valentine set his own foot on the step, ready to take control of the horses. And then he stopped and looked down.

Marissa, standing with his jacket still in her arms, gazed up at him mutely. She didn’t mean to do it but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes dropped from his, skimming over his chest and the golden matt of hair that stretched from his nipples and down over his flat belly to the fastening of his breeches.

Dear Lord, they really were tight, and there was a prominent bulge between his thighs.

His body was nothing like hers. The thought of finding out just how different was making her feel quite flushed and dizzy, and when he spoke she had to ask him to repeat himself.

“My jacket, Marissa.”

She handed it to him but didn’t immediately let go, so they stood, joined by the jacket between them.

His hair was darker against the blue sky, his eyes bluer, and she felt her knees growing wobbly as blood rushed into places she’d never felt it rush before. Her breasts grew heavy and sensitive, and between her legs the flesh ached, while her breath quickened in her throat.

“Do you want to squeeze into the carriage?” he said.

She shook her head. “I’ll w-walk, I think.”

“Do you think you can manage the horses then?”

“Of course. Yes, I’ll bring the horses.”

He took the jacket and slipped it on, but his eyes stayed on hers and his jaw tensed, and Marissa knew without doubt that he read everything she was feeling. Then he was whipping up the horses and the carriage moved away down the lane toward the village.

Marissa stood a moment and watched them go. Her heart was beating hard and she still felt shaky around the knees. She took a deep breath and then another, wondering what on earth had possessed her to ogle him so blatantly. The question as to whether or not she was fast had been answered well and truly. At least, that was what Valentine must think her.

Well, it was too late now to turn time back. Later, she would deal with the consequences of her actions.

The horses were tethered to the churchyard fence, but as she took a step toward them, she heard the sound of another horse approaching from over the crest of the hill.

Baron Von Hautt had returned and he was coming toward her. She could hardly believe it. She was certain her mouth fell open. He drew up his mount opposite her in the lane, earth scattering around him, his long coat flapping about him like giant wings.

He was looking at her. His eyes were light, but not the glorious blue of Valentine’s, rather they were pale and chilly. With his gray hair and youngish face he was striking, and yet his looks left her cold. And afraid.

Von Hautt’s mouth twitched into a half smile and he nodded at her. “You are every bit as beautiful as I believed you to be when I saw you through the window at Abbey Thorne Manor,” he said.

“How dare you spy

on me!”