A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

“Then someone must have let him in and guided him to the letter. All this,” Jasper waved his uninjured arm at the mess, “is for effect. To hurt you. To show you he is capable of creeping into your most private sanctum. How can you feel safe knowing that?”

“All along I’ve believed an enemy resides within my household,” Valentine said. “There are things Von Hautt knows about me, about us, that only an intimate of my family could possibly know.”

“So not a kitchen maid or a boot polisher,” Lady Bethany said in droll tones. “This enemy must be someone who spends time in your company and is well known and trusted by you.”

“One of us.” Marissa spoke what they were all thinking.

Valentine looked bleak. “That makes it worse. A betrayal. This person and Von Hautt are comrades, working against me, and there’s nothing I can do to protect myself.”

“You need some sleep, Kent,” Jasper said gruffly. “You’ve been up all night. Lady Bethany and I will deal with the next name on the list and if there’s a chance the rose still exists then we’ll send for you.”

Valentine wavered, obviously torn, but he was exhausted and he knew he’d be no good to anyone unless he spent an hour or two in bed. Reluctantly he nodded, and Jasper and Lady Bethany began to make their plans.

“George is still at Lady Longhurst’s,” Marissa added. “Someone should send a message to him and let him know what’s happening, so that he can be on his guard, too.”

It was agreed. Jasper and Lady Bethany would set off after breakfast, and Valentine and Marissa would remain at Abbey Thorne Manor.

“And we will all take great care,” Lady Bethany said with grim seriousness, looking at each of them in turn. “It seems our little botanical adventure has turned into a dangerous melodrama, and I would not like to see any more of us hurt.”

“We must be united against our enemy,” Jasper said.

“Enemies,” Valentine corrected him.

And with that somber warning they went their separate ways.

&n

bsp; Chapter 23

What do you think of my granddaughter and your friend Kent?” Lady Bethany spoke into the long silence as the carriage bowled along a lane beneath a blue summer sky.

“Think of them?” Jasper appeared surprised.

“Haven’t you noticed there is a certain frisson between them, whenever they are together? Really, Jasper, you can’t be that unobservant.”

“I suppose I have noticed a change in Kent since Miss Rotherhild arrived.”

“That’s better. A change in what way?”

“Well, he’s far more jittery, as if he’s living on his nerves.” Jasper shifted uneasily on his seat. “Didn’t you tell me your granddaughter came here with an eye for George, my dear? I’d hate Kent to have his heart broken by a fickle miss.”

Lady Bethany bristled in defense of her granddaughter. “Marissa is not a fickle miss, Jasper, far from it. And as for George…if you knew how drab the poor girl’s life has been you’d forgive her for setting her sights on the first man she met who was good-looking and the slightest bit interested in anything other than plants.”

“I suppose so,” he said uncertainly.

“I know so,” she replied forthrightly. “But when we arrived at Abbey Thorne Manor and she came face-to-face with Kent—and he with her, I might add—she realized George wasn’t the one. She has had stars in her eyes ever since.”

Jasper smiled. “Do I have stars in my eyes, my dear?”

Lady Bethany pretended to peer closely into them, her face expressionless, but there was a flush on her cheeks that betrayed how she was really feeling. “There may be one or two,” she admitted at last.

Jasper sighed contentedly. “Who would have thought that in the twilight of my years I would find the love of my life.”

Lady Bethany slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Falling in love was a wonderful thing, there was no doubt about it, but she’d lived long enough to accept it didn’t always end happily or well. She had come to Abbey Thorne Manor for Marissa’s sake, never expecting to meet a man with whom she could feel such an affinity.

The strange thing was that she’d recently given up on any more affairs of the heart. She was, she’d told herself, too old for the highs and lows of passionate love. These days a warm fire and comfortable slippers had become far more important than a man’s companionship.

But even while she was preparing to make her bed and lie in it, she’d admitted that she missed the feel of strong arms about her, and the exquisite physicality of a masculine body pressed to hers. It wasn’t even as if the act of connection mattered greatly to her anymore; it was the being close, being stroked and loved, and the feeling that she wasn’t alone.