To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

He sighed. “No, you are not.”

She opened her mouth to say more, then closed it again. Perhaps she’d said all there was to say.

Sinclair knew he should refuse. He must refuse. She would be an added complication on what was already going to be a difficult journey. Who knew what they might encounter along the way? And what if he could not find the runaway pair and they had to come home and admit failure?

There were plenty of reasons he shouldn’t agree to her accompanying him, and yet he found himself wavering.

The baggage sensed it and took advantage.

“Please, Sinclair,” she said in a soft, wheedling voice. “I could not live with myself if I did not try to bring them home. I know my brother; I know he is at heart a good boy. I don’t want the rest of his life to be blighted because of one silly mistake. I know you feel the same about your sister. We should be working together. As a—a team.”

She sounded honest and sincere. He believed her—another concern because he well knew her propensity to lie. With a groan, Sinclair shook his head. “Eugenie, I don’t think you realize what you would be letting yourself in for. I will not be stopping for hot soup and a nap at every inn we pass. I will be driving myself to extremes to catch them before they

reach the border. No concessions will be given for the weaker sex.”

“I do not ask for any.” She tilted her head proudly.

He looked away from her, noticing her bag, where he’d tossed it on the seat. “Is this all you’ve brought with you?”

“Yes. Apart from the big box of teacups and crockery and my mother’s best dinner setting—”

“This is no time for levity,” he growled. By this time he knew her well.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down, repentant, or pretending to be. “It is a bad habit of mine to make jokes during moments of stress.”

“Then you should curb it while we are together.”

A smile hovered about her lips, although she tried to hide it. She knew she had won, the minx.

He said no more, allowing the silence to grow. One thing about Eugenie, she didn’t chatter. He heard her moving about, snuggling into her corner of the coach and getting comfortable. After a time, when he couldn’t resist a glance at her, he found that her eyes were closed and she was resting her cheek against her arm.

Sinclair watched her through his lashes, enjoying the wash of shadows across her face as the coach raced through the night. He still didn’t know what had come over him to agree to let her stay. Had her arguments been that persuasive? Perhaps. Or perhaps in his heart he’d wanted to lose.

Eugenie found that it was best if she said as little as possible to her companion. Then he couldn’t glare at her, or worse, curl his lip at her in that appallingly arrogant manner. She knew, she just knew, that there would come a moment when she would no longer be able to control herself. He would curl his lip and she would slap it right off his mouth. And then where would she be? Tipped out of the ducal coach and onto her tail, most probably.

They had stopped to change their horses two or three times since they set out, and once they sat in a chilly parlor while a wide-eyed maidservant—clearly overawed by Sinclair’s consequence—served them cold ham and warm bread and butter. There was hardly time to gulp it down before Sinclair was on his feet again, marching up and down like a Sergeant Major on parade, impatient to be gone. Eugenie had only just managed to stuff some bread and ham into her pocket, before she was out the door and back in the coach.

Not that the coach wasn’t far better than anything she had ever ridden in before. It was well sprung and comfortable, with soft leather seats and padded squabs to rest one’s head on. But despite the luxury the endless hours of travel grew tedious and her stomach churned from the constant rocking movement, as well as anxiety about her brother. She had had no time to pen even a brief note to her family, although she fully intended to do so as soon as possible. She also longed to wash her face and change her clothes and brush some of the dust out of her hair, but Sinclair did not offer to wait while she did so, and Eugenie had the feeling he’d probably take advantage of the opportunity by driving off and leaving her behind.

She was still bemused by the fact she was here at all.

Not that she was sorry to have won, but the question niggled at her: Why had he agreed? She could only imagine that he was planning some dreadful punishment and no doubt she would discover what that was in due course. She might have asked him straight out, but she didn’t think he’d tell her. He’d probably just curl his lip at her. So for now most of their journey was spent in silence.

When they reached their next horse changing station, Sinclair spent more time than usual conversing with the woman whose inn it was, and then his coachman, Robert. Gratefully, Eugenie used the opportunity to walk about the yard and stretch her legs, at the same time taking deep lungfuls of fresh air. It had been raining and water dripped from the eaves and ran between the cobbles in the stable yard. A mother duck and her brood were making use of a small pond, and Eugenie couldn’t help but smile as she watched them splashing about.

Sinclair’s hand closing on her arm caused her to jump.

He ignored her nerves. His serious expression told her, even if he didn’t, that he had no time for such female nonsense.

“Your brother and my sister passed through here last night. I gather their horses are inferior to mine so we cannot be far behind them.”

“Then . . . we should catch up with them soon?” Eugenie’s relief turned to anxiety. “But what if they know we’re getting close? This is a busy road. Some other travelers might tell them we are following them. What if they change direction . . . take another road?”

“They won’t know we’re getting close—I haven’t told anyone, have you?—so they have no reason to deviate from their route. They are no doubt blissfully unaware that we are on their trail. Don’t indulge yourself with useless speculation, Eugenie. We will hunt them down before any real damage is done.”

How many days and nights had Terry and Annabelle been alone with no chaperone? No, he was wrong, real damage had already been done. The facts would have to be covered up, money would have to be paid for the silence of those who knew too much, but she knew Sinclair would do all of that for the sake of his family. He would have planned for every eventuality.

Now he was smiling in grim satisfaction. “I calculate we will have our hands on them before nightfall.”