A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

Valentine felt his body tense with need as he imagined taking her in his arms and rolling her naked in a bed of rose petals. He wanted her with a desperation that was making him irritable and ill. Feverishly he reminded himself that if the rose was here, now, then his quest would be over. He’d be a hero, a celebrity, and it would be the perfect moment to claim her as he longed to.

And Marissa would be dazzled by his fame, too dazzled to see him as he really was. Staid, boring, and a beast.

He glanced at Lady Longhurst, still attached like a leech to his side, wishing he could shake her free. She must have thought the glance, and his introspection, was all for her, because she gave him a meaningful little smile, her eyelashes fluttering.

“Lord Kent, I am a little light-headed,” she murmured, leaning on him heavily. “I wonder if you might escort me back to the house?”

There was a seat some steps away, set in a bower dripping with white roses. Valentine led her in its direction, gently but firmly peeling her fingers from his arm, and sitting her down.

“Rest a moment, Lady Longhurst. I must continue my search.” He stepped away from her, smiling to take the sting out of his rejection.

Her mouth hung open in shocked surprise. Quickly she snapped it closed, turning her face from him. “Very well,” she said stiffly. “Search for your rose. I will try not to faint until you are done.”

Valentine felt a pang of guilt, but a moment later it was gone, when Lady Longhurst shot a vicious glance across the garden at Marissa, who was working her way along the row of roses, stopping to smell each and every one.

He set off again. He tried not to grow disillusioned and disappointed, but as the number of roses to be searched grew smaller and smaller, it was difficult to keep his hopes up. The garden, though beautiful, did not hold what he was looking for. Eventually he reached the last row and the last rose, and stood a moment, asking himself if he’d missed something, if he’d inadvertently bypassed the Crusader’s Rose.

But he knew he hadn’t.

His hands tightened into fists at his side. “Are these the only roses you have, Lady Longhurst?” he called to her, the desperation plain in his voice.

Lady Longhurst shrugged, not trying to hide her irritation. “There are some wilder species in the woods,” she admitted, pointing toward a wooden gate that led into a wilderness section of the garden.

It seemed unlikely his rose would be there but he couldn’t leave without making certain. Just in case.

A small, warm and familiar hand slipped into his and squeezed. Marissa’s calm and sensible voice said, “Let’s look then. We can’t give up yet.”

Valentine nod

ded jerkily, swallowing down his sense of failure.

“Come with me.” Lady Longhurst was on her feet again, looking anything but faint, a flush in her cheeks and a sting in her smile.

For the next hour they tramped through woodlands and peered into grottos and arbors, where statues of scantily clothed nymphs and horse-legged satyrs lurked in the shadows. Although Valentine tried to keep his hopes up, he’d already accepted the Crusader’s Rose wasn’t at Canthorpe and his sense of failure weighed him down.

Somehow Lady Longhurst had hold of his arm again, and Marissa trailed dejectedly behind them as they made their way back through the rustic wooden gate.

“You could always stay a little longer,” Her Ladyship said in a voice meant just for him. “There may be places I have forgotten and will only remember later, when you are gone. Lord Longhurst is in London, and I am sadly lonely, so you will not be intruding.” The last sentence was spoken with a trace of desperation.

“I am not sure—”

“Miss Rotherhild, too, of course,” she added hastily, with a wave of her hand to include Marissa. “I’m sure I can find something for her to do while we are busy.”

Her Ladyship was propositioning him. He couldn’t pretend otherwise, although good manners insisted he try. The strange thing was, his discomfort was laced with a growing sense of masculine pride. First Marissa and now Lady Longhurst wanted him. Was Vanessa wrong about his physical attractiveness?

He smiled.

Lady Longhurst, taking this as encouragement, clutched on to him, her voice rising in pitch. “My gardener is a modern man. I fear he does not appreciate the older style of rose. He has replaced a great many of the original plants with more modern varieties.”

“That is a great pity,” Valentine said, his smile gone.

“Oh, don’t give up. There may still be hope,” she went on. “What about this rose, Lord Kent?”

“No.” Valentine dismissed her offering with a brief glance.

“Or this one?”

“Unfortunately, no, Lady Longhurst. You don’t seem to understand that the rose I am seeking is unique. I cannot substitute it with another at a—a whim. It is like…like the woman one loves—no other will do.”