To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

But then, she reminded herself, the duke wasn’t likely to come out to meet them personally. Why should he? He must have far more important things to do. Just because her wretched tongue had set her on an impossible course—a husband who had everything she would never have, and who was everything she wished her family could be—did not mean he was going to fall into her hands. . .

And then her thoughts stopped.

A tall, elegant figure was moving toward them, a figure she recognized all too well, and she felt the drummer boy begin his rapid drumming on her heart.

He had come to meet them after all!

“This is your chance, Eugenie,” she heard her friends’ voices in her head, as clear as if they had joined hands and were circling about her, urging her on in this madness. “You must make him notice you. Fascinate him, ensnare him, wind his heart around your finger. Make him fall in love with you. You may not get another chance like this, Eugenie!”

She felt quite giddy and took a deep breath. He certainly made an elegant and imposing figure. She couldn’t help but admire him. If this was a novel he would find her equally fascinating in her ancient dress which was an inch too short at the hem, but unfortunately such things did not happen in real life.

Beside her Terry was still slouching. She dug her elbow into him, making him jerk upright just as Sinclair came striding up to join them.

He was impeccably dressed, his dark hair brushed into the latest style, his boots like mirrors. She felt no warmth from him, only that chilly reserve as he greeted them in measured tones. After Eugenie had dipped her curtsey, she introduced her brother.

“How d’you do,” Terry drawled.

She wanted to elbow him again.

Sinclair lifted his brows and, ignoring Terry, settled his gaze on Eugenie. “Back from finishing school, Miss Belmont. Tell me, how did you find it?”

So he had remembered! She didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed that that awful moment had lodged in his memory.

“Most instructive, Your Grace,” she replied breathlessly, ignoring Terry’s snort. “I learned an awful lot.”

His eyes were as coal black as she remembered. Strangely they no longer seemed cold. In fact a smile was lurking in them, a glimmer of something tentative, as though he wanted to reach out to her but didn’t know how. Eugenie knew she must be imagining it. Why would Somerton want to be her friend? It was utterly preposterous. And yet she was aware of her own giddy feelings, that sense of having skipped over her last bridge.

Foolish and ill-conceived her plan may be but she was going to do it. She really was. She was going to go husband hunting for the duke.

The twins were led off by a young lad to find Erik, but Jack expressed a wish to see the stables first. Sinclair showed the way, with Eugenie hurrying to keep up.

“Thank you

, Your Grace, for your generosity in allowing Jack to visit Erik. And your stables,” she said raising her voice as he drew farther away. “He is very excited to see so many beautiful horses.”

“Genie,” Jack murmured, with a disgusted glance.

Now Sinclair did smile. “Just so, Jack,” he agreed heartily. “These are not ‘beautiful horses,’ these are prime horseflesh. Come and I will introduce you to my latest hope for Newmarket.”

Terry mooched along at Eugenie’s side. “Must be easy to be generous when you have everything,” he muttered, unable to hide his envy.

Eugenie frowned. “Do behave yourself, Terry. You promised me.”

He gave a grunt but thankfully said no more. There was even a spark of interest in his gaze as he took in the sleek animals and for a short time he was almost the boy he used to be.

Jack was content to remain in the stables with the grooms, and Sinclair returned to the door, where Eugenie was standing, to ask if she would care for some refreshment. “Terrence, too, of course,” he added, with a cool look at Terry.

“Thank you, that is very—” Eugenie began to answer for them both.

“Do you have any Moroccan punch?” Terry said eagerly.

Sinclair curled his lip. “Good God no,” he said in what Eugenie could almost have called a sneer—a far more credible sneer than Terry’s earlier attempt. “Surely that is only for bounders?”

They set off across one of the wide paths that crossed the immaculate lawn, shaded by old beeches and oaks. After his set-down Terry wasn’t in a hurry to keep up with them, lagging behind like a sulky child.

“I’ve often remembered our meeting in the lane,” Sinclair said, sneer gone.

“Oh?” Eugenie felt herself flushing at her own memories. “I hoped you might forgive and forget, Your Grace,” she ventured.