The Husband Hunt

by Jillian Hunter

  His voice snapped her out of her reverie. "So, tell me, did you like it?"

  She opened her eyes, heart leaping into her throat, to see him standing over her, his broad frame blocking out the candlelight. The emotion on his face unnerved her. She struggled to answer. "The ball? Well." What could she say? She had detested every second, every dance except for the few with him. No debutante had ever made such a spectacle of herself, but after all the trouble and expense he and Olivia had gone to, surely such ingratitude would be a slap in the face. "Yes. It was a beautiful ball—"

  His voice lashed her feeble response into ribbons. "I meant Sir Alistair's kiss. Did you like it?"

  She was stunned into another brief silence. Was this the source of his wretched mood? After all that had happened afterward, she had almost forgotten that unpleasant scene in the stables. "I don't know whether I liked it," she admitted honestly, adjusting her skirts. "You attacked him before I had a chance to form a fair opinion."

  He sat down beside her, his muscular thighs brushing hers. "Oh?"

  She shrank away from the black anger in his eyes. "Well, I—"

  He claimed her ripe mouth in a kiss that was designed to be her undoing. It was. The moment his lips touched hers, she was his, body and soul, and the skill he wielded to dominate her was more than her shaky emotions could handle. In a breathless whisper, she blurted out, "If you mean to prove a point—"

  "Be quiet, Catriona. I am too busy for idle chatter."

  By "too busy" she supposed he meant that he was deftly unhooking her gown, tugging at the ties of her chemise, rendering her shaking and helpless in his arms. A shiver shot through her as cool air brushed her naked breasts, the tender tips of her nipples hardening in response to his sensual regard.

  "Look at you," he said mockingly, forcing her back against the chaise. "Half naked in my arms. What a wanton young woman you are. I could swive you on a stable floor, couldn't I?"

  His crude words sent a chill of anger mixed with anticipation down her spine. "Knight—"

  "I'm sorry," he said with an utter lack of conviction. "Is it my fault that I am insane at the thought of anyone else touching you? You've made me wild with wanting you."

  "I thought you hated me," she whispered, her voice catching.

  He hesitated; the last thing he had wished to do was admit the depth of his feelings. He intended to take his revenge in words, but, as usual, she broke through his reserve with the openness that made her so vulnerable. And hadn't the humiliation she suffered been enough? Hadn't the time come for him to face her with his own truth?

  He knew now that he loved her, that beneath the boiling desire, the emotional unrest, he cared for her so deeply he could not deny it. Perhaps he should have fought against it, but fighting the truth was not his way. He had found the love of his life, and he wouldn't let her go. He would possess her and protect her, no matter what it took.

  "Hate you?" His gaze disarmed her with its unmasked emotion. "I lose a piece of my heart every time you walk into a room."

  She stared at him, relief bringing tears to her eyes. "You aren't going to ask me to do the proper thing and leave?"

  "On the contrary." He leaned forward to kiss the trembling corners of her mouth. "I'm going to ask you to do a very improper thing with me."

  His gaze was heavy-lidded and hypnotic, awakening all her senses. Her body ached for his touch. Her breathing faltered as she felt a flush of arousal warm her skin.

  She glanced at the door, whispering, "Are you certain about this? Olivia and Aunt Marigold will murder us if they find out."

  "They'll find out sooner or later," he said, his smile full of devilish intentions. "If anything good comes of tonight, it is that I cannot keep what I feel for you a secret."

  Then his hands were around her shoulders, in her hair, strong, persuasive, lifting her to him. He pushed the sleeves on her gown down as he kissed her. She tried to cover her breasts, but he shook his head, his eyes burning with need. He wanted to see her body. He held her still beneath him with his muscular weight. She gave a soft whimper, then fell still, her eyes closing. He smiled, pleased at her submission, and trailed his fingers down the arch of her throat to her breasts.

  "You are mine," he whispered in a dark voice that made her shiver again.

  “I—”

  "You will never, ever, let another man touch you, do you understand?"

  His fingers plucked at her distended nipples with a sensuality that rendered her powerless. His hard body burned against hers, radiating heat and male aggression. She felt small and defenseless, incapable of doing a single thing to stop him. Not that she wanted to. She gazed up into his intense face through her eyelashes. Pure lust smoldered in the depths of his dark eyes. She was utterly lost in him.

  He nuzzled her neck and shoulders, taking small bites here and there that left her feeling lightheaded; certainly, she knew that this was not ladylike behavior. But only for a moment, a few kisses—would it hurt? She needed to be held after the evening's turmoil, but, oh, what if she didn't stop him? And he was jealous; this big, handsome tyrant was enraged because another man had kissed her, even though she couldn't remember that other man's face, or even his name.

  He buried his face between her milky white breasts, his big hands holding her as if he would never release her. Her scent reminded him of wild roses, he thought as he flicked his tongue back and forth between her sensitive pink nipples, intent on reducing her to raw sensation. She moaned, pushing herself against him for more. She looked innocent and flagrantly erotic at the same time. He closed his eyes, a shudder rocking his large frame.

  "We can't do this here," he said roughly. "Jesus, I am such a bastard."

  She made an incoherent noise, captured in all those indescribably wicked sensations that he knew so well how to evoke. As he drew her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently, she gripped the arms of the chaise for anchorage.

  He looked up into her eyes, the pupils dilated with desire. "Don't breathe a word of this to Olivia. Let me be the one to tell her."

  "She already knows you're a bastard, Knight. I heard her telling Wendell so when they were checking the ballroom this morning."

  "Thank you," he said wryly. "Actually, I meant that I should be the one to break the news to her about our engagement."

  "Our what?" she said, sitting up in shock, her hand at her throat.

  He cupped her astonished face in his hands and kissed her into silence.

  "Do I take that as a yes?" he asked, his thumb stroking her cheek.

  Mischief danced in her eyes. "Well, I would have to ask permission from the master of the manor. Just as a courtesy—"

  She found herself deposited on the Axminster carpet before she could finish, his body nailing hers to the floor. She stared up into his dark, unfathomable eyes and shivered, conquered by his potent masculinity. The weight of his thighs smothered her lower body in waves of pleasurable sensation. The desire smoldering in the depths of his eyes seemed to draw the strength from her body.

  "What happened?" she whispered with a dazed smile.

  He laughed. Sprawled out like that on the carpet, she looked alluring and disoriented, like a fairy who had fallen out of the sky. How careful he would have to be not to damage this dainty creature. He stared at her creamy white breasts and imagined her body writhing beneath his. But to deflower her on the floor—almighty God, if he did not walk away now, he would tear that dress into shreds with his teeth.

  "I have to get you out of here," he said hoarsely.

  "Why?" she asked, sounding more disappointed than anything.

  "Because—oh, hell."

  He pushed her filmy skirts up to her waist, all the colors of. the ocean wrapped around her sensuous curves like a ribbon that held an enticing gift. What a sweet handful of woman. What a temptress and, oh, God, the treasure buried deep beneath her thighs, the enticing scent of woman that drifted to him. He wanted to sink his shaft into that softness and pump her all night. He stroked
his fingers against her soft flesh. She arched in surprise. She was so tight and slick that his heart began to pound.

  "Oh," she said, her back curling into a bow, her gaze on his hard face. She knew perfectly well in theory what a man and a woman did in the mating act, but this, well, no wonder no one had ever explained the finer details. She closed her eyes, awash in embarrassment at her body's animal instinct. It was all she could do not to thrust against his hand, to push down deeper and soothe the ache he had awakened. She begin to move, restless, encouraged by the groan he gave into her hair as he held her. Unconsciously, she held his forearm for reassurance.

  His elegant fingers touched her in feathery strokes, over and over, dipping deep inside the most private recesses of her body. Knight watched her opening to him in wonder, her inhibitions shed as he seduced her without mercy. What if he had married Arabella and missed Catriona? The thought of everything she had gone through made him determined that she would have a secure life, that nothing would ever hurt her again. "You have the sweetest body," he whispered. "I want every piece of it for myself."

  His belly tightened with a hunger he could not deny as he studied the sensuous curves of her small body. The thought of Alistair touching her reawakened the rage and jealousy he had fought to subdue. She was his. He would kill to keep her. He alone would show her sexual pleasure beyond anything she could imagine. Even now, she quivered at his most casual touch.

  He plundered her mouth with kisses that left her gasping. He rubbed his thick shaft against her until they were both moaning in frustration. With a fierce growl, he pulled her up onto his lap so that she was straddling his thigh, her legs sprawled open like a wanton as he pressed his finger all the way inside her tight passage. He broke out into a sweat as he imagined thrusting into that wet, pink sheath.

  "Only me, Catriona," he whispered.

  She sighed, too engrossed in what he was doing to respond. She felt hot and aching; her shoulders sagged forward as shocks of pleasure began to spread across her belly. Before he brought her to her peak, her body convulsing, she felt his hand firmly grip her bottom and heard a curse, accompanied by the rending of silk, the painstaking stitches of Claudette's hardworking assistants coming apart. Her underskirt had been torn; she saw that much as she lifted her head in hazy curiosity to look.

  "Oh, hell," he said, his breath uneven, his eyes black with lust. "I'll buy you another, but you're not wearing anything this provocative again for anyone but me."

  "It doesn't look as if I shall be wearing this again in any hurry, either," she whispered, biting her lip.

  "I can't believe I did that to you," he muttered.

  He lifted her off the floor, his harsh face inscrutable. He should have known she would tempt him beyond mercy. He should have known that he couldn't touch her sweet flesh and expect to walk away unaffected. He ached to his marrow, drawing on every last remnant of his restraint. How was he supposed to keep his hands off her after this? Nothing would satisfy him until he had her in his bed. His gaze wandered over her, marking every inch of her as his own. She looked tousled and sexy and wanton, and he wanted to take her in every way known to man.

  "I adore you, Catriona Beatrice Grant," he said gruffly, "you who nearly shot my gardener the first night I found you hiding in my garden."

  "And I thought you were, well, perfect."

  He smiled. "Far from that."

  "Yes." She gave him a wicked grin. "I found that out, too."

  "Brat," he said with affection.

  "Brute," she said.

  "Twit."

  "Tyrant."

  He paused. "Scottish sorceress."

  "English scoundrel."

  He looked up at the ceiling. "Umm. Interesting combination. Think of the children a Celtic sorceress and a stuffy scoundrel would produce."

  "If I'm given permission to marry him," she said. "My unofficial guardian might refuse."

  "I shall talk to this guardian of yours tonight. Man to man, as they say."

  "He can be very difficult."

  He took her chin in his hands. "And very persuasive, and he will do anything to have you."

  "Will he?" she whispered.

  "Just watch him." He narrowed his eyes at her, striving to look serious. “Speaking as your unofficial guardian, I strongly advise you to accept his proposal."

  "Do you?"

  "Oh, yes. I hear he's quite a catch. Wealthy and quite devoted once he gives his heart, which is a rarity in itself. I wouldn't let this opportunity go by, young lady."

  Catriona pretended to give the matter deep consideration. "But gossip has it that he plans to take Lady Frampton back into his bed the moment her husband isn't looking. They were spotted together in the woods by a reliable source."

  "And I have it on good authority that his affair with Arabella is dead. It was more a matter of convenience, anyway. Childhood association and all that. Their parents had pushed the match from their cradle days."

  "Really? Well, I happen to suspect there was a little more to it than that."

  He kissed her until her head began to swim again; finally, he drew away, his face a mask of agony as he pulled her gown back over her shoulders. "Are you all right, Knight?" she asked curiously.

  "Nothing that sitting in a tub of ice water for seven hours or so won't cure." He turned her resolutely toward the door. "Are you ready for what could possibly be the most dangerous mission of our lives?"

  "That is hardly an encouraging way to view our prospective marriage."

  He grunted. "I wasn't talking about our marriage. I was talking about sneaking you upstairs without being caught. The three Gorgons are on guard."

  "Gorgons?"

  "Yes. My sister, Aunt Marigold, and Mrs. Evans. Olivia is afraid that you might try to run back to your brother after what happened tonight. Unless we fetch a ladder, we shall have to cross enemy lines to smuggle you safely into your room."

  She grinned. "Oh, honestly."

  He circled her, arms folded across his chest. "This is a serious matter. The passageway to your room runs past Olivia's and Aunt Marigold's doors. I thought it was foolish of my sister to place you next to me. I realize now it was a crafty act of strategy on her part. She can hear every creak of my door. That is, if we get that far."

  "Perhaps we ought to go separately," she suggested. "So as not to arouse suspicion if we're seen."

  "What? Where is your sense of adventure?"

  She sighed. "I believe it has been quite exhausted for one evening."

  "Do you have any idea what will happen if the Gorgons catch us?"

  "Well—"

  He gripped her hand and dragged her to the door. "We shall be shot on the spot, or transported to Botany Bay, or, worse, lashed to death by my dear sister's tongue."

  She hung back, her amusement fading. "Oh, Knight. She already thinks ill of me. I don't want to upset her."

  "This is no time to get the cold shivers."

  "But—"

  She swallowed a giggle as he pushed her out into the darkened hallway. No sooner were they halfway to the stairs than Howard came marching by with a tray of dirty dishes. They ducked into the alcove. A few seconds later, a pair of kitchen maids walked past them, one of whom was sneaking a glass of champagne left over from the party.

  "Spies on a midnight intelligence mission," Knight whispered in her ear. "Trained killers, by the look of them. Ah, here comes the grand master."

  Catriona bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Mrs. Evans waddled around the corner, humming a Welsh hymn.

  "Do not be deceived by her gentle appearance," he said quietly. "I have it on good advice that the woman is an expert at torture. You should see what she does to a roast chicken on a rack."

  "Oh, really."

  He raised his brow at her. "You doubt the word of a man who is risking life and limb to see you safely to your base?"

  "I doubt—"

  "Now."

  They launched themselves pell-mell at the staircase
, holding hands, a split-second before Mr. Aubrey appeared in the hall. When Catriona rose up on her knees to peer around, Knight put his hand on her bottom to push her back down on the stairs.

  "I say," the butler said, scratching his head. "What bleedin' moron opened the door to his lordship's study? It was shut a minute ago."

  Catriona grinned over her shoulder at Knight, mouthing, "Careless of you."

  He shrugged. "I told you we were working against brilliant minds. These trained professionals miss nothing."

  "God's truth," Aubrey muttered. "Look at this lying here on the floor. Am I a lady's maid?" And he bent, creaking at the knees, to retrieve the shawl that Catriona had dropped in her mad dash to the stairs.

  "Right." Knight patted her on the backside. "He's gone, and now comes the most hazardous part of the mission. Getting you past the Gorgons."

  She swallowed. "You're exaggerating. Surely they would believe us if we explained that we were only talking in your study."

  "It would have to have been quite a conversation to explain the state of your dress."

  A becoming blush tinted her cheeks. "Yes. That's quite true, so I suppose that the sooner I get into my room, the better. Are you ready?"

  He leaned back against the balustrade, admiring her in the moonlight that filtered through the landing windows. "A fallen angel," he murmured, sitting forward to kiss her gently. "Well, half fallen, anyway, and if you don't escape right now, I cannot promise to behave. Go on. Please go."

  Her golden-green eyes widened. "Aren't you coming?"

  His eyes glittered with devilish lights. "It would only make it look worse if you were caught in my company."

  "Oh, you scoundrel. You coward."

  He gave a wicked chuckle. "I'll stay here and listen for the sounds of their doors opening. Olivia's has a distinctive squeak."

  "Have you done this sort of thing before?"

  "Never." He paused. "I'll whistle to warn you."

  "Oh, thanks very much."

  He crossed his arms behind his head. "You might try tiptoeing to your room. Olivia is a light sleeper."

  Snatching her skirts out from beneath him, she rose to ascend the rest of the stairs. He grinned to himself as he watched her flit like a sprite down the darkened hallway, but he didn't bother waiting to make sure that she reached her room. It was enough to confront Olivia in the morning with news of their engagement.