He kissed his way from the edge of her lips, across the upper portion of her jaw – such supple, smooth skin – until he nuzzled the tender lobe of her ear.
“Now,” he whispered, “are you ready to hear my proposal?”
He feathered his lips over her earlobe, bit down over it gently, then drew back to study her. Her expression didn’t change, but her eyelids were lowered. She didn’t speak for a long moment.
As she formulated her response, he formulated his own words in his mind. I believe you have information for me, Mrs. Curtis. I believe you might want something from me in return. But those are things that can be saved for later. Right here, right now, I want you. I want your lovely body beneath mine. I want to strip that dress from you and lick every inch of that delectable skin. I want to make you scream my name in pleasure again and again until we’re both in such a delirium that there’s nothing either of us can do but to sleep. And then, when we wake —
“No,” she said, finally looking up at him.
“No?”
“I don’t wish to hear your proposal, my lord.”
God, her voice. It scraped his every nerve into a raw, needy thing that only her touch could soothe.
“I think you do.”
“I know I don’t,” she countered. “Because I know the essence of it.”
“And it’s not a proposal you believe you’ll accept?”
“Absolutely not,” she said.
“Why not?”
She looked deliberately down at the arms that caged her, first his right arm, then his left. Then she looked back at his face, her eyes coming to sparkling golden life, brimming with determination. “Because I’ve more important things to do.”
He laughed, long and loud. “Trust me, Mrs. Curtis. At this hour, there is nothing more important than what I intend to suggest.”
“There is,” she said simply, and the soft curve of her lips firmed.
He’d humor her, then. “What could it possibly be?”
“The proposition I have for you.”
He sighed. “Very well. Tell me what it is.”
“You’ve come to Bristol looking for a man named Roger Morton, is that correct?”
He gazed steadily at her. This didn’t surprise him. She knew who he was. She knew the location of his room. Obviously, she’d been watching him since he’d ridden into town yesterday and knew exactly why he was here. He hadn’t made a secret of it. He was looking for any information that would lead him to Roger Morton.
“Yes, that’s true. I am searching for Roger Morton.”
“I can help you find him.”
His lips curved. “Could you?”
“And that is my proposition. I will give you the information you shall require to find him if you allow me to come with you.”
“Allow you to come with me.” He said the words slowly, tasting them in his mouth as images washed through him. Taking this lovely specimen of womanhood with him in his hunt across England for Roger Morton. Sampling the beds of different country inns. Long nights of feasting on her pale, curvaceous flesh, of vigorous lovemaking…
He studied her face. The color was high on her cheeks now, and her implacable features had hardened, giving her an expression of iron resolve. He stood close enough to her to feel the thrum of purpose under her skin. Whatever this was about, it meant a great deal to her.
“Why would you wish to travel with me? Alone with me?” He put emphasis on the word “alone” to remind her of the potential permanent repercussions to her reputation. She was a lady, after all, and ladies simply did not travel alone with gentlemen unless they were married to them.
“Because,” she said, her voice throbbing with certainty, “I want to find Roger Morton, too.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“And then I want to kill him.”
From the desk of Jennifer Haymore
Dear Reader,
When Sarah Osborne, the heroine of THE DUCHESS HUNT, entered my office for the first time, I thought she was a member of the janitorial staff and that she was there to clean.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’m going to be working for a few more hours. Can you come back later?”
Her flush was instant, a dark red suffusing her pretty cheeks. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I’m not here to clean… I’m here as a potential client.”
Now it was my turn to blush. But you couldn’t really blame me – she wore a dark dress with an apron and a tidy maid’s cap. It was an honest mistake.
I rose from my seat, apologizing profusely, and offered her a seat and refreshments. When she was settled, and neither of us was blushing anymore, I returned to my own chair and asked her to tell me her story.
“I’m the head housemaid at Ironwood Park,” she told me. Leaning forward, she added significantly, “I work for the Duke of Trent.”
I’d heard of him, and of the great estate of Ironwood Park. “Go on.”
“I want him,” she murmured.
I blinked, sure I’d missed something. “Who?”
“The Duke of Trent.”
“You are the housemaid.”
She nodded.
“He is a duke.”
She nodded again.
I shook my head with a sigh. The housemaid and the duke? Nope. This wouldn’t work at all. The chasm between their classes was far too deep to cross.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Osborne,” I began, “but —”
Her dark eyes blinked up at me and she held up her hand to stop my next words. “Wait! I know what you’re going to say. But it’s not as impossible as you might think. You see… I am His Grace’s best friend.”
I gaped at her, for that was almost more difficult to believe than the thought of her being his lover. Dukes simply didn’t “make friends” with their maids.
“We have been friends since childhood. You see, the duke’s family is quite unconventional. The dowager raised me almost as one of her own.”
Now this was getting interesting. I cocked my head. “Do you think he would agree with your assessment?”
“That the House of Trent is unconventional?”
I chuckled. “No. I know the House of Trent has been widely acclaimed as the most scandalous and shocking house in England over the past several decades. I meant, would he agree with your assessment that you are his best friend?”
She folded her hands in her lap, and her dark brows furrowed. “If he was being honest?” she said softly, and I could see the earnest honesty in her gaze. “Yes, he would agree.”
I leaned back in my chair, drumming my fingers on my desk, thinking. How intriguing. Friends to lovers, to… love. What a delightful Cinderella story this could make.
My lips curved into a smile, and I flicked open the lid of my laptop and opened a new document. “All right, Miss Osborne. Tell me your story. Start with the story of the first time you laid eyes upon the Duke of Trent…”
And that was how my relationship with the wickedly wonderful family of the House of Trent began. I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent with them, and I hope you enjoy Sarah and the duke’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Please come visit me at my website, www.jenniferhaymore.com, where you can share your thoughts about my books, sign up for some fun freebies and contests, and read more about the characters from THE DUCHESS HUNT and the House of Trent Series.
Sincerely,
Table of Contents
Praise for Jennifer Haymore:
About the Author
COPYRIGHT
Table of Contents
Dedication.
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twel
ve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Please read on
From the desk of Jennifer Haymore
Table of Contents
Praise for Jennifer Haymore:
About the Author
COPYRIGHT
Table of Contents
Dedication.
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Please read on
From the desk of Jennifer Haymore
The Duchess Hunt Page 32