A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

But Valentine either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer her. He took a deep breath, wincing again from his bruised ribs. “George arrived and I heard them arguing. Then running. I tried to get up, to follow them, but I was dizzy and I tumbled over the wall and down into the pond. I must have lost consciousness. The next thing I saw was you.”

“So George is…?”

Marissa looked around. The rain was still coming down and she was as soaked as she could possibly be. She felt Valentine’s hand close on hers and he began to rub it between his, as if to warm it.

“You’re all wet,” he said mildly.

“Yes, Valentine, it’s raining.” Her smile was lopsided, but she hoped he couldn’t tell how miserable she felt.

He stood up, slipping his arm about her and pulling her to his side. “Come on, let’s find some shelter,” he said, and together they stumbled toward the house.

“I saw the baron upstairs at the window,” she said, brushing the soggy feather out of her face. “He might still be here.”

Valentine looked up, his eyes glittering. “Oh, I hope so.”

They reached the portico over the front door. A furious gust of wind blew rain into their meager shelter. Valentine cursed, wiping the rain from his eyes, and shoved at the door. It swung open.

Inside it wasn’t as dark as Marissa had expected, although the smell of damp and rotten wood told its own story. Looking up, she saw that what had once been a stained glass window far above had broken, and rain was dripping in. Cobwebs hung in curtains from the corners and the pieces of furniture stacked and abandoned around the walls were coated thickly with dust.

“Where did you see him?” Valentine asked. There was a staircase rising up to a gallery, part of which had begun to come away from the walls. The ornately carved railing where once Beauchamps had stood to admire their home was now warped and broken.

She did her best to explain, ending with, “But he could be anywhere now and…Valentine!”

He ignored her, already heading up the stairs, moving swiftly for a man who had recently been lying unconscious. Marissa went to follow him but she’d only taken a couple of steps when he turned to face her.

“No!” he roared. “Stay there.”

His autocratic attitude didn’t surprise her, and Marissa was prepared to argue. “I want to come with you!”

He jabbed his finger at her, emphasizing each word. “Stay right there until I come back.”

“What if the baron—”

He was grinding his teeth again. “He won’t because he’s upstairs. I’m going to teach him a lesson in manners.”

Marissa wanted to protest but he was already on the move again, as if he expected her total obedience. He reached the first landing and a moment later he’d disappeared down one of the corridors.

Did he really expect her to stand and wait for him? Stand all alone while he went off after the baron? After what happened last time the two of them met? Marissa had no intention of obeying him—he wasn’t her husband yet, and even if he was…well, Marissa had her own thoughts on the obedience to which a husband was entitled.

As she climbed the stairs they creaked alarmingly. She slowed, moving more cautiously, testing each tread before she rested her weight on it. That was when she noticed the heavy layer of dust on the bare wooden treads and the clear footprints. She could see where Valentine had just been, but there was another set of footprints, an earlier set, sometimes overlaid by Valentine’s.

Von Hautt?

Who else could it be?

The fact that the footprints were only going upward seemed to imply the baron hadn’t come back this way. Marissa wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Valentine might be struggling with Von Hautt at this very moment….

She couldn’t lose him now that she’d found him.

A wave of despair washed over her. It wasn’t just her current situation. She knew why she felt so low. It was her rain-soaked condition. Her sodden skirts were dripping, her hat was falling to pieces, and her skin was cold and clammy. When she’d been on botanical expeditions before she’d been exposed to the sun and the wind, even the snow, and maintained her equilibrium, but she never could abide being rained on. Lady Bethany used to laugh and say she must be half cat, the way she behaved when her feet got wet.

Marissa pushed the feather out of her eyes again, and made her way across the landing. Valentine must be following the footsteps, too, she decided, because they were both going in the same direction. Abruptly a door slammed overhead, making her jump. She looked up, listening hard, but there was nothing more. The wind, perhaps? It was certainly moaning around the house, gusts shaking loose boards and shutters, tearing at roof tiles.

There was an open door to her left and she peered in. The room was empty, with wallpaper peeling from walls where damp stains made strange shapes. Dried leaves rustled in the corners, where they’d blown in through the broken windows.

“Valentine where are you?” she whispered, looking ahead into the deeper shadows, trying not to imagine the baron waiting to pounce on her. Her skin was icy and she held her arms around herself, seeking a little warmth, her shivering almost constant.

“Valentine? Marissa?”