A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

“Did think it?”

His eyes searched hers, looking for something, but when he didn’t find it and she didn’t oblige him by answering his question, he gave up and sat himself down on the log beside her. With his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent, he continued to fidget with his hat.

“I’ve realized just recently—when George was talking about Von Hautt—that I had a romantic idea of my quest for the rose. That it made me like one of the knights of the Round Table. Brave and honorable. Von Hautt said something similar, but I have grown up and he obviously hasn’t.” He gave a short laugh. “As I grew older I began to see my quest for what it was—the important restoration of an ancient rose—a piece of history that would otherwise be lost to the world, and my family in particular. While I sought the rose I learned more about roses in general, and now I am somewhat of an expert in the field.”

“You are the leading expert in the field.”

He gave a wry smile.

Marissa, feeling that something more was required of her, said, “Go on.”

“That is the thing. I am an expert, well-known to others in my field of expertise, but my life is spent in solitude. I am not an exciting character. The past few days are the most exciting I have ever spent where roses are concerned, and that’s mainly because of you, Marissa.”

“It has been most enjoyable,” she agreed.

“But this has been an anomaly. I live a staid and insular life, rarely does something out of the ordinary ha

ppen. I am busy with my studies and my correspondence. Sometimes I lose track of time. I rarely accept invitations. I rarely travel to London, and when I do it is to visit libraries or museums, never to socialize with my peers.”

He was watching her closely but Marissa didn’t know what he expected. Cries of shock and horror? Surely he realized her own life had been more or less the same as his, before she was sent off to Miss Debenham’s Finishing School?

He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Marissa, are you listening to me? Are you hearing what I’m saying?”

She rested her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. “I’m listening,” she said. She turned her nose into the cloth of his jacket, breathing in his scent, then stretched up to nuzzle his jaw, enjoying the masculine scratch of whiskers.

He turned his head, blindly seeking with his lips for hers, and they kissed. Lightly at first, a mere touching of flesh to flesh, and then deeper, more passionately, as the ever-present desire took hold.

Marissa forgot to breathe. Her skin was hot, her body melting, and she wanted him so much. She wanted to be able to touch him every morning and smile at him across the breakfast table, to soothe him when he was upset and to laugh with him when he was happy. She wanted children with his eyes, and the years to stretch on, both of them growing old together at Abbey Thorne Manor.

A moment later she was floundering, trying to keep her balance. He’d stood up so abruptly she was left reeling. Catching her breath, she clung to the log, staring up at him as he loomed over her, his chest rising and falling heavily.

“No!” he burst out, an agony of regret in his face and voice.

“Valentine?” she whispered, bewildered and hurt and now very frightened.

She didn’t understand. Valentine had hoped, coward that he was, that she would catch on without him having to spell it out. That she would guess his meaning and…And what? Walk away? Agree with him and display horror at the very idea of joining her life to his?

The truth was he wanted Marissa to disagree.

He rubbed his hands down his face and when he looked at her again he could see he’d frightened her. No wonder. She probably thought he’d lost his mind.

“I’m sorry.” He dropped to his knees and wrapped her in his arms. For a moment she was stiff and unresponsive, but gradually she slipped her own arms about his neck and rested her cheek against his, and he felt her body soften in that sweet, trusting way he was so worried he was going to lose forever.

He tilted her face up and kissed her. Then kissed her again, deeply and intensely, showing her how much he desired her with tongue and lips and teeth. Soon she was kissing him back, his rejection forgotten, and when he placed his hand on her thigh through the layers of her clothing, she made no objection.

She was on fire, eager to experience all he could give her, not at all shy about letting him know how she was feeling. He loved that about her. He didn’t believe in his heart there was another woman like her in all the world.

Valentine groaned, then couldn’t speak at all when she slid her hand down his body, cupping the bulge in his breeches.

He’d forgot why he’d brought her here. Rational thought caught flame and turned to ashes. He forgot everything but the need to be inside her, part of her, deep in the pleasure of making love with this woman.

His hands slid under her skirts, seeking her soft, warm flesh. She pressed against him as he opened her thighs, brushing aside the soft cloth of her bloomers and slipping his hand into the opening to touch her slick, swollen folds.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please, Valentine, this time.”

Yes, he thought wildly. Yes, he would take her. She wanted it and so did he. What did it matter about the future? It was nothing, it meant nothing. Only the present had any importance.

Somehow his breeches were open, and he was lifting her toward him. Her hands tugged his buttocks, drawing him closer, but he didn’t need any urging. He wanted her with a single-minded desperation he’d never known before. The head of his cock brushed her soft flesh and she whimpered.