To Pleasure A Duke (The Husband Hunters Club #3)

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

E ugenie found herself slipping back into her life as it used to be. At night she might dream of Sinclair’s kisses, with his body warm on hers, but she refused to remember him during the day. Once she woke with a start, thinking she heard the scatter of gravel against her window pane, but when she rose to look outside there was no one there.

The household and the twins took up most of her time, and her mother seemed grateful to leave most matters to her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she took to saying. One morning Mrs. Belmont informed her with a beaming smile that as a special treat she had accepted an invitation to a supper party on her behalf.

Eugenie didn’t want to go. She found she no longer trusted herself in social situations.

“I really think I should stay home with the twins, Mother. You and Father go to Major Banks’s supper party. No one will miss me.”

“The twins are perfectly well, and the major asked for you particularly, Eugenie. You know how he admires you. If you are not there we will never hear the end of it.”

Eugenie was well aware that the major had a tender for her, but the fact that her admirer was fat and forty and happily married meant it was most unlikely anything romantic would come of it, even had she wanted it to.

“Your father is hoping to sell him a horse,” her mother added the clincher.

“And he wants me to butter him up first?” Eugenie said wryly.

“Well, a few words from you might help.” Her mother fixed her with a sharp look. “Are you well, Eugenie? You have been so unlike yourself lately I am beginning to wonder if you are lovelorn.”

“And who would I be lovelorn with, Mother?”

“Well, there has been talk in the village about one of the Duke of Somerton’s grooms. Of course I dismissed it immediately. I would hope you could do a lot better than a groom.”

She eyed her daughter, awaiting confirmation that the whole thing was nonsense. Eugenie did her best to supply it. “There is no one I am lovelorn about, Mother. Maybe I’m out of practice when it comes to supper parties.”

“All the more reason to go.”

Satisfied she’d made her point, Mrs. Belmont went to peruse her limited wardrobe in search of something to wear to Major Banks’s supper party. Eugenie, with a growing sense of trepidation, did the same.

In the end she chose her pink taffeta, which was old-fashioned and rather too short and had faded over the years to a dusty color. But then it was only the major, she reassured herself, and he wouldn’t notice.

It wasn’t until they arrived that she found there were a lot more guests than she’d expected from her mother’s blithe description. The major had outdone himself this time, and there were a large number of well-to-do families as well as businessmen and merchants from Torrisham. Eugenie, regretting now she hadn’t made more of an effort with her appearance, accepted the major’s effusive greeting.

To her surprise she found herself enjoying the company. Her experience with Sinclair had dinted her confidence but she soon regained it, chatting with the guests. As long as she kept a tight rein on her unruly tongue she could manage very well, and she’d learned her lesson there. Never again, Eugenie vowed to herself, would she do something so reckless.

After a time she wandered into Major Banks’s library. She knew the major was an enthusiastic collector of travel memoirs, and that she’d find plenty of fascinating tales about jungles and deserts and snowy mountains to peruse. Eugenie had opened the door and was heading toward the tall bookshelves before she heard footsteps behind her and realized that someone else had followed her in.

Turning with a smile she began to make some comment to the tall, broad-shouldered gentleman in evening dress silhouetted against the brighter lights outside the door. And then he came farther into the room and with a paralyzing shock she recognized him.

“What are you doing here?” she burst out rudely.

“Miss Belmont,” he said in a cold, clipped voice. “As charming as ever.”

“I . . . Your Grace,” she said hastily, and dipped a curtsey, although her knees felt weak. “I’m sorry. I did not expect you here this evening. No one said.” She didn’t need to add the unspoken, I would not have come if I had known.

Typically Sinclair took her words as a slight upon his character.

“It is part of my responsibility as the largest landholder in the county to be on good terms with my neighbors,” he said haughtily. “I hope I’m not too proud to sit down with farmers and shopkeepers.”

“I did not mean—”

“Your opinion of me has never been high, has it, Miss Belmont?”

“You’re wrong. It is your opinion of me that is low. It would not matter if I had the patronage of the queen herself, you would still curl your lip at me.”

He frowned. Perhaps she had been too blunt?

“But I am interrupting,” she said, edging around him toward the door. “I will leave you to your reading.”

He looked around him, as if surprised to see he was in a library. “I was late arriving. Just as I was apologizing to the major I looked across the room and saw you creeping in here.”

“I wasn’t ‘creeping,’” she retorted, blushing. “I enjoy reading.”

“Melodramas, no doubt.”

Eugenie ignored his snide remark. “Why did you follow me? I would have thought I was the last person you wished to see here tonight.”

He gave her his arrogant stare. “I am not so mean-spirited as you think, Miss Belmont. Jack mentioned that the twins had been unwell and I merely wished to ask you if they were recovered.”

Her eyebrows rose at the unlikeliness of his concern. “They are fully recovered, thank you, Your Grace.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

It was a very odd conversation. So polite and yet Eugenie could not help but recall the last time they spoke together, and the anger and bitterness in his voice. Perhaps it was a good thing that they were meeting here like this among others. Eugenie could put the past behind her and move on. But despite her determination to forget, her memories were still unpleasantly fresh. Should she apologize again? Would that give her the peace of mind she craved?

She took a deep breath. “Your Grace—”

“Miss Belmont—”

Their eyes met in shock and then slid away, but in that moment of surprising contact Eugenie was certain she saw lingering in his gaze his previous hot passion. It occurred to her that it would not be very difficult to stir the coals to their former intensity, if she should wish to try.

What should have been a terrifying thought was actually extremely tempting.

“I must go back to the supper room,” she said, sounding breathless.

“Don’t go, Eugenie.” His voice was gruff, unwilling, as if he was speaking words he’d rather not speak.

“I think I had better.” She forced a shaky laugh. “You know me. I am liable to do something scandalous.”

His dark gaze was piercing. “You are a thoughtless little minx, I’ll give you that.”

“And you are an arrogant . . .”

He bent his head as if to kiss her. She was certain that was what he meant to do.

Would she kiss him back? Had she learned so little that she would fling herself once more into the chaos of his arms?

Luckily they were interrupted.

Someone cleared their throat.

Sinclair spun around, his face white, and found Major Banks standing in the doorway with a servant goggling behind him. Eugenie put a hand to her face, wondering if Scarlet Woman was written there in flaming letters. She began to slip around the duke, hoping to make her escape without anyone noticing, but the major’s next words brought her to a stop.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said stiffly, his face perfectly composed. If he was wondering what he had just interrupted then he hid it well. “An urgent message has just come for you.” He nodded to the servant, who held out a sealed paper on a silver salver as if it was an entrée.

Impatiently Sinclair snatched it up and tore it open without a word. Eugenie, watching his face change as he scanned the words, knew at once that something dreadful had happened. All her personal doubts melted away as her generous spirit compelled her to help him in any way she could.

“What is it?” she said. “What does it say?”

He looked at her as if he didn’t know her. “Leave us,” he said icily, jerking his head at the major and his servant. His rudeness was evidently to be excused on this occasion, because a moment later the library door closed and they were again alone.

“Sinclair, please, what is the matter?” she tried. If she hadn’t known better she might think this was another of her mistakes. She even searched her consciousness in case some new piece of reckless behavior had slipped her mind.

Sinclair was speaking in a clipped, precise voice that was as cold as winter.

“My mother arrived at Somerton this evening to accompany my sister to London in preparation for her wedding.”

“The wedding. Of course. Wish her well from me, won’t you?”

His look was baleful. “My sister was not there. She has left a written note saying she has run away to Scotland with your brother.”

Eugenie opened her mouth to refute his accusation utterly. “Terry would never . . . !” she squeaked, and then stopped. Certain conversations jumbled into her head, snippets of things Terry had said, secrets half disclosed, and suddenly she knew with a sinking heart that it was indeed possible. In fact it was more than likely Terry had run off with Lady Annabelle.

“Never fear, I will bring them back,” Sinclair said with cold fury. “The rascal will not benefit from his base act.”

“I’m sure if Terry has taken your sister to Scotland then it wasn’t his idea alone,” Eugenie dared to argue.

“We both know who is the villain in this tale.”

He stared at her a moment more, as if there was more he wanted to say but could not, and then he walked out.

Eugenie stood as if turned to stone. She wanted to slump down into one of the leather chairs and cover her face with her hands. She wanted to lose herself in a storm of wailing. But it wasn’t possible. She had to tell her parents what their son had done, and then they must go home. Perhaps he had left an explaining letter for them; perhaps it was all a mistake.

Hope buoyed her up as she hurried from the room.

* * *

Sinclair sat slumped in the corner of his coach, seething with such a mass of contradicting emotions that he lurched from fury to rage to self-re-criminations and back again. Of course he blamed himself. He should have seen what was happening and taken action to remove Terry Belmont from his sister’s orbit. His mother, in the brief and bitter note she’d sent to Major Banks, had informed him that Annabelle’s maid had known all about it. Of course the poor chit was no match for the dowager duchess, and soon told tearful tales of Annabelle’s evening meetings in the garden and the woods, of plans made and secrets kept, and finally, this evening, the flight north to Scotland with her lover.

As for Miss Gamboni, where was she in all this? Her part was, as yet, a mystery because they could not find her. She had disappeared. Perhaps, too afraid to face her charge’s family, she had fled to the safety of her home.

I blame you, Sinclair.

His mother had only written what he believed to be the truth. If he had never pursued Eugenie, if he had not become so obsessed with having her, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, then the warning signals would have jolted him into seeing what was happening long ago. Instead, whenever he had felt a faint niggling unease, he had chosen to ignore it and continue on his merry way.

Bleakly, he stared ahead.

There was Somerton, windows ablaze, as though by lighting every candle and lamp in the house his mother could bring Annabelle home. The coach circled the drive and came to a stop. Grimly Sinclair prepared himself for what was ahead.

He would find her. He would redeem himself. No matter how long it took, he would bring his sister home.