A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

As she gazed up at him with pale blue eyes, Marissa was surprised to see that Lady Longhurst, standing now in the cruel light from the windows, was a great deal older than she’d first appeared. The fine lines about her eyes and the faint sagging of the skin about her throat and jaw were a clear sign she’d never see forty again.

“How strange we are neighbors and yet we’ve never met?” Lady Longhurst said with a quizzical little smile.

“I am not a great one for socializing,” Valentine replied.

“That’s a great pity. We will have to do something about that, my lord.”

When their gazing into each other’s eyes seemed to have gone on for far too long, Marissa stepped forward and held out her own hand. “Lady Longhurst? I am Miss Rotherhild. How do you do?”

Lady Longhurst’s eyebrows lifted in surprise—to introduce oneself was a social faux pas. She took Marissa’s hand with care, as if it might bite, her sly sideways glance at Valentine seeming to invite him to join her in appalled amusement.

Marissa also gave Valentine a glance but hers was far from ambiguous. “Perhaps you should tell Lady Longhurst what we’re doing here, Lord Kent?” she suggested meaningfully.

“Yes. Of course. Hum, Lady Longhurst, we are here to find a rose,” he began.

“A rose?” She clapped her hands together like a child. “But I am famous for my roses!”

“Then you will understand,” he said, and proceeded to explain the story of the Crusader’s Rose.

After a few sentences, Lady Longhurst gestured for them to be seated, and arranged herself gracefully on a sofa. She was watching him intently as he spoke; indeed, thought Marissa, hanging on his every word. And while this was obviously flattering, and most men would be flattered, Valentine seemed far more intent on his story than his audience.

When he finished, Lady Longhurst sighed and placed a hand on her breast, blinking her pale eyes as if the emotion was too great for her. “I am quite overwhelmed,” she gushed. “And you believe the rose is here? At Canthorpe? In my garden, Lord Kent?”

“I very much hope so, Lady Longhurst.”

“Then you must look at once,” she declared, rising lightly to her feet. “And I will come with you.”

Pleased at her enthusiastic response, Valentine jumped up after her, and disappeared through the sitting room door. Marissa sighed and also followed, only to run into him as he hastily returned to the sitting room. The pleasant shock of his big body against hers shook her momentarily, and then he clasped her elbows, steadying her, as he stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “I’m like a boy today, thinking only of my quest and—”

Before Marissa could answer him, Lady Longhurst was calling out, “Lord Kent? The roses are this way!”

Valentine spun around and went striding in her direction, but this time he remembered to keep a firm grip on Marissa’s arm.

“We can reach the rose garden through the conservatory,” Lady Longhurst said when they reached her, and led them into a well-lit saloon with glass doors, which she proceeded to open.

The warm, heady scent of earth and vegetation was suddenly very strong, as if they’d stepped into an Amazonian jungle. Marissa couldn’t help but stare at some of the stranger plants, with their twisting root tendrils and huge flat leaves and faintly alarming flowers. Her parents would be entranced in such a place—they would probably refuse to leave—but Valentine barely gave the contents of the conservatory a glance. His mind was on the roses—his rose—and when Marissa was prone to linger, his hand tightened on her arm and he hurried her out through some more doors and into the garden proper.

“This is more like it,” he growled, as he gazed over a sea of lush, well-tended bushes.

To Marissa’s startled eyes there were roses of every imaginable color, as well as every size and habit. They climbed, they drooped, they sprawled in huge bushes, or were upright and neatly trimmed. Instinctively she bent to press her face to a pink cup of soft petals with yellow stamens, breathing deeply of the heady perfume.

“Oh, how lovely,” she whispered. “What is this one called?”

“One of the Albas. ‘Celestial,’ I believe.” Valentine dismissed it with a single glance.

He began to make his way down the rows of plants, searching, occasionally pausing but never for long. Marissa watched him, torn between wanting him to find his rose and selfishly wanting him not to find it just yet. But she never really believed he wouldn’t find it, with so many roses to choose from, because surely it must be here, somewhere? It must be here, she told herself.

Lady Longhurst was trotting along after him. Marissa could see her mouth opening and shutting as she chatted away, her breathless voice too low to carry. It was possible Valentine was ignoring her, but Marissa was of the opinion he was so involved in his search he simply didn’t notice. Perhaps Lady Longhurst was of the same opinion, and not being a woman who was used to being ignored, she chose to do something about it. The next time Valentine paused to inspect one of the bushes, she tucked her hand into his arm, giving him a smile when he started with surprise. When he moved on, she continued to cling to him, refusing to take second place to her roses.

After a few steps Valentine turned his head, searching around, and it occurred to Marissa that he was looking for her. His gaze, across several rows of plants, was so beseeching she almost laughed aloud. Valentine, her Valentine, was not interested in the flattering attentions of the beautiful Lady Longhurst. He was only interested in finding his rose.

And her.

Valentine could feel Her Ladyship’s soft breast brushing against his biceps. At first he thought it must be accidental, but when he looked down her pale eyes were staring up at him and he was startled to find them full of the sort of invitation he had no intention of accepting.

For the first time it occurred to him that Lady Longhurst was far more interested in him than the roses. He looked up, searching for Marissa, and saw her standing alone on the far side of the garden, watching him. She was surrounded by roses of every color, adrift in their perfume, and he wanted…he wanted…