A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

She laughed. “There you go again, thinking I do not know my own mind and must have a man to tell it to me. My father has said he doesn’t care if I marry or not. I think on the whole he would prefer I didn’t because then I could help him catalogue his papers and keep his library tidy. My mother wants to see me happy. They are somewhat Bohemian, too, you see.”

“Marissa,” he growled, “you are driving me to madness.”

“My grandmother has lived a very happy life. She has given herself up to pleasure.”

“Dear God, I am in the presence of a madwoman. Is that what you intend to do? Give yourself up to pleasure?”

She blinked at him, startled. “I suppose, in a way, I do.”

He closed his eyes in genuine pain. When he opened them again she was smiling in a manner that made him extremely nervous. “What are you thinking?” he asked suspiciously.

“I was wondering whether you were about to offer to initiate me into the world of pleasure, Valentine.”

He gave her a hard look and her smile grew, the dimple peeping out in her cheek.

“Don’t worry, Valentine, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

He scowled at her and refused to answer.

She waited a moment, and then said, “Goodnight, Valentine, I will see you in the morning,” and turned away, her skirts rustling about her.

“Dash it,” he muttered, as the door closed. He poured himself another brandy, despite knowing he’d had enough. The silence of the empty room weighed dark and heavily upon him. It was as if her presence had made it lighter and airier and it was only now she was gone that he realized the fact.

She was like no other woman he’d ever known and he knew he’d never meet another who could match her. He was besotted with her and despite all the problems he could see looming over him he couldn’t bring himself to drive her away.

Valentine set down his half-full glass. He should go to bed and sleep it off, the brandy and Marissa. One thing was for certain, he had no intention of making the same mistake he’d made last time, when he married Vanessa in a warm haze of romantic dreams and woke up with cold, harsh reality. Whatever madness Marissa was trying to inflict upon him must be fought and defeated, because whatever she said this was all her fault. Until she arrived on his doorstep he’d been perfectly happy with his life.

And he refused to consider any alternative views.

It wasn’t until he was in bed and drifting into sleep that he remembered George. Marissa had made it clear—or as clear as anything she said could be—that George was her reason for being at Abbey Thorne Manor. Did she believe herself in love with George? Was he the man she hoped to initiate her into a life of pleasure?

Valentine was no expert on relationships, far from it, but he was fairly sure Marissa and George were not going to be a fairy-tale couple. They were too different and George would treat her carelessly and not like the treasure she so obviously was.

“Dash it!”

With a groan he put the pillow over his head and tried to sleep.

Eventually he did sleep, but it seemed only a moment later that he was sitting bolt upright, staring into the darkness. Voices were coming from downstairs. A door banged shut. In his half-awake state he thought it was Baron Von Hautt come for Marissa, come to carry her out into the woods and undress her.

His eyes sprang open and his heart began to thud. Valentine was just about to leap to her rescue when he realized one of the voices he could hear was Morris’s.

Clambering out of bed, he pulled on his robe and made his way to the landing. There was a candelabra on the table, the wavering light picking out the scene in the hall below. Morris, dapper even in his night robe and nightcap, was helping a man remove his traveling coat, fair hair glittering with raindrops.

“Will I wake Lord Kent, sir?”

“No, no, Morris. Best leave it till the morning. He might be in a better mood then.”

Valentine began to make his way down the stairs. “I doubt it,” he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing his brother start. “Where have you been, George? And what the devil do you mean by it?”

George met his arrival at the bottom of the stairs with a handshake and a warm smile. “Valentine.”

Valentine tried to maintain his anger but it was already dissipating into a sort of grumpy irritability. George always had that effect on him; he could never stay truly cross with him for very long. Now he sighed and led his brother into the library. Morris followed them, lighting first the candles and then the fire in the grate.

“Well, George?” Valentine demanded, determined to get an answer. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” his brother said airily, thanking Morris as he sank down by the fire and warmed his hands.

“Miss Rotherhild was understandably concerned when she arrived and you weren’t here to greet her,” Valentine went on, watching George’s face intently. He wasn’t disappointed. George grimaced and his eyes held a trace of guilt, but only for a moment.