A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

What would it feel like to have those fingers on her?

As the shocking thought took hold, he looked up at her. Hastily she glanced away, but not before being startled once more by the amazing color of his eyes. Indeed, looking into them had made her feel quite giddy.

This was George’s brother, she reminded herself. He was nothing more to her than that. George was the one she was interested in. George was the one she intended to marry.

“Who were you named for, Miss Rotherhild?” Valentine’s voice was soft, for her alone, and the husky quality of it sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Marissa took her courage in both hands and forced herself to look up. He was closer than she’d expected, leaning toward her. There was a hint of a smile on his mouth, and suddenly she found it difficult to draw air into her lungs.

“I’ve told you my secret; it is only fair you tell me yours,” he added, dropping his voice even further. That shiver rippled across her skin.

The effect he was having on her was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. George made her laugh, but when she was with him she never felt like this. Intellectually, she didn’t know quite what to make of it.

“I have no secrets,” she said sharply.

He is George’s brother, she told herself firmly, and unimportant except for the connection he has to George. But that wasn’t true any longer. Something had changed. Suddenly she was conscious of him as a man in his own right, and a most attractive one.

“No secrets at all?” he said, with that half smile that seemed to tease and admire her at the same time. “I find that difficult to believe, Miss Rotherhild. All women have secrets.”

“Then I am a sad disappointment to my sex, my lord.”

His astonishing eyes narrowed as his gaze slid over her. “You are far from a disappointment to me, Miss Rotherhild.”

Was he flirting with her? Marissa thought. And why didn’t she put a stop to it immediately? Why was her heart beginning to beat faster with excitement, like a bolting horse, running?

“You are only making me more curious, Miss Rotherhild,” he purred. “I will find out.”

Yes, she thought, I believe you will.

“Were you named after a rare botanical specimen?”

“Thank goodness, no.”

“Ah, you don’t have your father’s interest in botany then?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Definitely not. George and I are at one on the subject of botany, Lord Kent.”

“I see.” Did he appear a little disappointed? But before she could decide he was speaking again. “Then who are you named for, Miss Rotherhild? Please, keep me in suspense no longer.”

“I am named for no one but myself,” Marissa said, feeling her cheeks growing pink. “My parents don’t believe in reusing family names. We are all different and unique and we should be given a name to celebrate that fact.” She lifted her chin. “Marissa. My name is Marissa.”

A spark lit his eyes. “Marissa. It suits you.”

“I expect you think of people as roses,” she said quickly, to stop him from embarrassing her further. “George told me that…” She bit her lip, suddenly conscious that once again what George had said was probably not something he’d expected her to repeat to his brother.

Valentine smiled his fascinating smile. “Go on, Marissa,” he invited her. “I am always interested to hear what George says about me when I’m not there.”

“I assure you it was nothing you could take offence to,” she said, her color higher than ever. “George said he believed you thought of him as a climbing rose that needed constant pruning in case it escaped the trellis.”

He considered her words. “I rather think George is right.”

And as she found herself once more caught in the brilliance of his eyes, Marissa could not help but wonder what sort of rose he saw in her. Something irritating and thorny, or one of the more dull, domestic varieties? A pity she didn’t quite dare to ask because suddenly she desperately wanted to know.

After luncheon the two men removed themselves to discuss “business.” Remembering the nuances of their conversation, the strangeness of their manner, Marissa could not help but think there was something wrong despite their assurances that there wasn’t. Her fears regarding George raised their head again, and the more she considered, the more convinced she was that she was right. Why else would George abandon her like this after inviting her for the weekend? Could Lord Kent—she must remember to think of him as Valentine—have been instrumental in whisking George away? But why would he do that? Was he playing the overly protective brother, as George seemed to suggest, shielding him from a woman he didn’t consider good enough for him? But that didn’t fit. Marissa had been positive that when Valentine came face-to-face with his guests in the parlor he was utterly taken aback by their unexpected arrival.

“Marissa?”

Lady Bethany was watching her with interest. “You are miles away, my dear. Whatever are you thinking of?”