Theo rolled his eyes heavenward.
“But what am I?” Esme said softly.
They all turned to her.
“The only one who knows that is our mother,” Simon told Esme.
“And we still don’t know where she is,” Sarah said with a heavy sigh.
“But,” Luke said, “we have a lead. I have a name and location. I’m going to bring her home so she can damn well explain everything to us.” Luke glanced at Sarah, and she saw the touch of gentleness behind the steel of his blue eyes. “I wanted to ensure you were safe and sound before I left.”
“Oh, Lord Lukas. I am safe and sound.”
Luke flinched. “Don’t call me Lord Lukas anymore, Sarah. You’re my sister now, so just Luke will do.”
“Very well, Just Luke.”
He gave her a wry look then turned back to Simon. “I’m pleased you did the right thing, but now I need to leave. I’m heading to Cardiff. I’ll be gone by the time you wake tomorrow morning.”
“Do you require anything?” Simon asked.
Luke raised a sardonic brow. “From you, Your Grace? From your unending wealth of resources? Why, thank you, but no. I’d prefer to do this one damn thing on my own.”
Simon regarded his brother in silence for a moment. They all did. Finally, Simon gave a slow nod. “Very well. I suppose all I can do for you then is hope for you to return quickly, and with our mother at your side.”
“Hear, hear.” Sam held up his glass. And they all drank to Luke and their mother’s swift return.
Sarah woke to see Simon standing by the tall window that looked out over the winding drive that led from the main road to the house. The heavy velvet curtains were parted, and the soft light of dawn seeped into the room.
She watched him for a long moment. He stood there, his form tall and powerful. He was a powerful man, inside and out.
One who could have had almost any woman in England. And he’d chosen her. She wondered when she’d stop feeling so awed by that. Probably never.
Rising, she slipped a robe over her shoulders and went to stand beside him. He moved her in front of him, tucking her against him so the hard length of his body pressed against her.
Safe and sound. Now, enclosed in Simon’s arms, she realized she’d never felt safe in her life, until now. It was a heady sensation.
It wasn’t difficult to see what he was gazing out at. She looked down just as Luke finished tightening the straps of his saddlebag and then mounted his horse.
They watched in silence, Sarah secure in Simon’s embrace, as Luke walked the horse down the road that led away from Ironwood Park.
Then she whispered, “He’ll find her.”
“Do you think so?” Simon’s voice was musing.
“Yes.”
But her own voice wasn’t as confident as she would have liked it to be, and she felt the heaviness of Simon’s sigh behind her.
“I engaged Grindlow’s services again. I asked him to follow Luke. To conduct his own investigation regarding this Morton fellow Mother left Ironwood Park with.”
“How do you think Luke will feel about that?” she asked him.
“He’ll probably be infuriated. But it’s not my duty to pander to Luke’s self-absorption. I want to find my mother, and I’ll use whatever means I have to do so.”
Sarah could understand that. “I still hope that Luke is the one who finally finds her.”
“So do I.”
“He seems better. Than he was in London, at least.”
“Yes.” Simon sighed. “Sometimes it’s hard to say, though. Is he still drinking too much? Gambling? There’s really no way to know.”
“I don’t think he is doing any of those things. At least not to the extent at which we found him in London.”
“I wish he’d just stay here. Fewer things about to lead him astray than in a place like London.”
“And yet he always has complained of boredom here at Ironwood Park.” That was one thing she’d never really understood about Luke.
“True.”
They watched Luke ride until he turned a bend lined on both sides of the road with thickly wooded elm trees and disappeared through the iron gates. After they could no longer see him, they stood there a few moments longer in silence.
“Let’s go back to bed,” Simon finally said.
She went gladly. In the warm cocoon of blankets, Simon made slow, sweet love to her, worshiping her body with his hands and lips. She would never tire of this, of the way he touched her and kissed her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
He brought her to her peak and then reached his own. They drifted off to sleep again until the sun blazed in a slanted, golden ray through the open curtains of the window and across the room.
She turned over to look at Simon, who lay on his side gazing at her. Reaching up, he pushed a lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.
“Our life together truly begins today, my love,” he told her in a low voice. His hand wandered to her stomach, where their child grew. No one at Ironwood Park knew besides Sarah’s father. Sarah and Simon had decided together to keep the child their special secret for now. They’d tell the rest of the household in a few weeks.
The truth of it all swept through her, invigorating and simply wonderful. She and Simon were making a family together. A life. She smiled at him. “The first day of a new life. One I never imagined I’d be blessed with.”
“Nor I,” Simon told her. “But I shall thank God for it – and for you – every day.”
They rose and performed their morning ablutions before going downstairs together. The first day of their life together was a perfect one, the first of many that followed.
The scandal, as expected, rocked England, its details whispered in the far reaches of the empire, but no one seemed to be able to shun Sarah for long. Soon enough, she was accepted into society as if she’d been born into it, and her marriage to Simon was touted by many as the love match of the decade.
And for as long as he lived, nothing made Simon Hawkins, the Duke of Trent, happier than to fall asleep beside Sarah at night and for her face to be the first thing he saw when he awoke in the morning. To Simon, nothing could be sweeter.
Lord Lukas Hawkins has never found a wager he couldn’t win or a woman he couldn’t seduce.
But a midnight meeting with a beautiful stranger will lead Lukas down his wildest path yet…
Please read on
for a preview of
The Rogue’s Proposal…
Chapter One
Lord Lukas Hawkins wasn’t drunk enough. Not yet. He gazed at the glass of ale sitting on the table before him and dragged the pad of his thumb through the drops of condensation on its lip.
He would have preferred something stronger, but the ale was beginning its work. All his sharp edges, those phantom blades that sliced so ruthlessly at him when he was sober, were beginning to dull. The noises of the tavern had faded into an agreeable drone rather than the piercing, headache-inducing racket of when he’d first arrived.
Luke took another generous swallow of the cool amber liquid and leaned back, letting his eyelids descend to a pleasant half-mast.
He’d asked enough questions for tonight. He’d made no progress in his hunt for Roger Morton, but that didn’t surprise him. The villain who’d taken Luke’s mother from her home at Ironwood Park was a wily man, slipping through Luke’s fingers all the way from Cardiff to Bristol.
Luke wouldn’t find Morton here. It was hopeless. What he needed now was to gulp down another three or four tall glasses of ale, unearth some pleasant companionship for the evening, and plummet into a dreamless sleep.
Only to wake up tomorrow and begin the whole fruitless endeavor over again.
Taking his ale in two hands, he brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and tossed back the whole bloody thing.
His eyes reopened as he lowered the empty glass.
Well, well, well.
&n
bsp; Straightening his spine, he brought his glass down until it landed with a decided clunk on the worn wooden tabletop. His lips curled into a wicked grin. It seemed like his pleasant companionship had unearthed itself.
A vision in black and white had seated herself on the other side of the narrow wood-planked table. She was the loveliest thing he’d seen in a very long time. Brown eyes shot through with polished gold gazed at him, their expression inscrutable. Thick, burnished waves of bronze hair escaped the little annoyance of a prim, white cap and framed a heart-shaped and pink-cheeked face. Her lips… hell, just edible. Gazing at those lips aroused Luke’s senses – the deep red of cherries in the summertime, their sweet scent, the decadent, juicy burst when he bit into one.
Just one glance at those lips was enough to bring Luke’s sluggish body to sudden, alert life.
“Well,” he said, infusing his voice with a lazy edge of suggestive slyness. He’d perfected the tone over the years, and it had a dual purpose: It told a lady of loose morals exactly what he wanted, while simultaneously warning an innocent maiden to escape while she still had a chance. “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for you.”
To her credit, her only reaction was a slight widening of her eyes. He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been looking carefully. Otherwise, she didn’t move.
“Have you now?” she asked.
Lust jolted through him. God, that voice. Potent and smooth, like the finest brandy. It evoked images of the bedroom, mussed sheets, a rough tumble, erotic pleasure.
His body hardened all over. His cock pressed against the falls of his breeches. Between her lovely face, her calm, unperturbed demeanor, and the husky sensuality of her voice, he was done for. He wanted to take her upstairs. Immediately.
But Luke wasn’t one to rush things overmuch, especially when he was so intrigued. He possessed some restraint, some patience. Not much, but some.
He cocked his head at her. “What took you so long?”
“Well —” She took a deep breath. The action drew his eyes to her bosom – her full breasts strained at the top edge of her bodice as if they yearned to be set free. He’d be happy to perform that task for her.
“— I was detained,” she finished.
“Oh? By what? Or whom?”
The corner of her lip quirked upward. She was playing with him. He was the one who usually toyed with females. But in this case, they were toying with each other. He liked that.
“By ignorance,” she said.
Ignorance. Loose women usually didn’t use such words, especially not with such inflection. Her throaty voice had spoken the word as only an educated woman would.
Luke settled back in his seat, pushing past his arousal and drunkenness to study her. He’d only noticed her cap before – when he’d wanted to toss it to the floor and push his hand through that bounty of burnished hair. He hadn’t noticed the pearl earrings, the fine silk of her dress, white with black velvet trim.
She was no whore. She was a lady.
He stiffened, quickly scanning the area surrounding them. The tavern was crowded with men and women drinking, eating, conversing. The atmosphere was boisterous, and the smells of charred meat and hops and yeast permeated every inch of the place. No one was watching them – at least not overtly. But, hell, ladies like this didn’t just waltz into pubs and plunk down across from the first drunkard they encountered. This woman knew something.
None of these revelations made her less appealing. In fact, they fascinated him. She was brazen, lady or not. Luke liked his women brazen. That kind of woman was fearless, more likely to take risks, in bed and out.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the sleek, well-worn surface of the table. The table was so narrow his face ended up only a few inches from hers. “And now you’re no longer ignorant?” he asked her. “Someone has enlightened you?”
She nodded sagely. “Indeed.”
She’d probably heard he’d been asking questions about Roger Morton. “So then. You have information for me?”
“Hm,” she said. Her fingers drummed on the table, drawing his gaze downward. Her brown kid gloves hugged each long, elegant finger as they tapped the wooden surface. “I thought you might have information forme.”
He raised his brows. “Is that so?”
Her brows mirrored his in a haughty reaction. “It is.”
He laughed, the rare feeling bubbling up in him and spilling over. His smile widened. This was not how women generally behaved in his presence. They either ran crying to their mamas like abused little kittens or dragged him straight to bed like lionesses on the prowl. This woman was a different kind of creature altogether.
“Therefore, I have a proposal for you, my lord.”
Ah, so she knew who he was, as well. Or, he amended, she knew who he spent his life pretending to be.
“And I have a proposal for you. Miss…?”
“Mrs.”
“Mrs.,” he repeated. But he didn’t believe for a second that she was married. No, he possessed the skill of sniffing out married women. And this woman – she smelled of lavender soap, but there was more. Something raw and sensual, something in her gaze that spoke of warm, womanly flesh and dark, languid nights.
No, definitely not married.
So that meant that she was lying about her marital status… or she was a widow. She was very young to be a widow, though. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to see beneath that calm surface, to delve underneath and find some clue that would tell him what this woman was about.
“Mrs. Curtis,” she told him.
“Mrs. Curtis,” he said, “I have a proposal for you.”
That corner of her lip quirked again. Her eyes sparkled the most fascinating shade of amber at him.
“Do you?”
He reached up to drag a finger across her lower lip. Softer than the velvet of her dress ribbons. Plump and red as a ripe, sweet cherry. He wanted a taste.
“Come upstairs with me,” he whispered.
She didn’t react to his touch, or his words. She was very still. Too still. Then, she drew back from his touch and gave the slightest of nods. “Very well, my lord.”
Terse and businesslike, she rose. He rose instantly, too, out of long-ingrained habit more than anything else. “Always rise when a lady is standing,” his governess had told him, “or you shall be considered the rudest of gentlemen.”
These days, he was considered the rudest of gentlemen, but it still didn’t prevent him from rising.
“Please” – Mrs. Curtis gestured in the general direction of the exit – “lead the way.”
“Of course.” He turned away from the table, seeing his empty ale glass from the corner of his eye. How odd – he’d forgotten to hail the serving girl to ask her to refill his glass. But that seemed utterly unimportant now.
They threaded their way in silence through the crowded pub. No one paid them any mind. They left the large room and walked down a long corridor, taking the narrow stairs at its end.
Nighttime had descended, and with it, a bitter autumn chill. It was cold in the dimly lit stairwell, and Luke had the urge to draw Mrs. Curtis close to warm her. But he was sober enough to realize that that kind of advance in plain, public view might be unwelcome to such a lady.
On the other hand, he was foxed enough to imagine how exuberantly she’d accept his advances behind a closed door.
He strode up the stairs, pausing on the landing to gain his bearings. It was a large inn, and the corridor branched in three directions from here.
She paused beside him, quirking a bronze-tinted brow at him. “I believe it’s this way, my lord.”
He followed when she turned to the rightmost corridor and began to walk again. So, he mused, she already knew where his room was located. She grew more intriguing by the second.
She stopped at the very last room. “Here?”
“Yes, Mrs. Curtis. Here.”
He withdrew the key from a pocket in his coat and unlocked the do
or, then stepped inside.
The room was Spartan and cold. Unlike his exalted brother, the Duke of Trent, Luke didn’t have the means to set aside entire floors of inns for himself and his party and employ maids and other servants to stoke fires and light braziers to keep them pleasantly warm. Besides, he had no party. There was just him. Always had been, always would be. Especially now that he knew he wasn’t a true Hawkins.
He opened the door wider, and she stepped inside behind him. She made to move around him, but he shut the door with a firm click, then held up an arm to stop her. She retreated until her back pressed against the door.
He boxed her in, placing a firm arm on either side of her and flattening his palms against the door. “There,” he said softly, “now you’re my prisoner.”
Something flared in her eyes. Heat or fear? Heat, probably. From what he’d seen of her so far, she wasn’t a woman who was easily frightened.
He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You like that idea, don’t you? Do you like to be bound, Mrs. Curtis?”
Her reaction was slight – an infinitesimal tremor that ran through her body. It was enough.
He moved his mouth to a hair’s breadth from hers. The warm wash of her breath fluttered across his cheek. Other than that soft release of air, she didn’t move.
His body was an inch from hers. Not touching, but so close he could feel their heat combine and simmer in the narrow gap between them.
Slowly, painstakingly, he touched his mouth to hers in the lightest of kisses. His eyelids sank shut. Her lips were plump and soft, forgiving against his.
He dragged his lips against hers in a back-and-forth motion, a slow, sensual slide. She didn’t move, but her flesh yielded beneath his, and he released a low groan. She tasted so good. Sweet. Ripe. He sipped at her unresponsive lips, then touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of her mouth, urging a reaction, but still she didn’t move.
God, he wanted this woman. His body screamed at him to haul her against him and take all the wicked pleasure her supple flesh could offer him. But he didn’t only want her compliance, he wanted her to be an active participant.
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