The Duchess Hunt (33 page)

I am so happy
for you, my dear. Mr. Johnston is a lovely man and I wish you both many
felicitations and happy years together. Please accept this little purse as a
wedding gift from the staff at Ironwood Park, and I insist you take the next
week off as a honeymoon for you and your new husband to enjoy together.

With all my love,

Mildred Hope

Swallowing hard, Sarah had refolded the
note and tucked it back into the purse. She’d need to return all the money once
she returned home.

And that was the plan. She’d return to
Ironwood Park to tie up everything there. As soon as Simon was married, she
wouldn’t be welcome there anymore, but she intended to be far from the place by
then.

But before she left, she was going to tell
Simon how she felt. She was going to tell him that he was going to be a father
– not because she wished to manipulate him or threaten him, but because he
deserved to know.

The carriage jerked to a halt, and Sarah
looked up in surprise. “What is it?” she asked no one in particular.

Mrs. Jones, the only other female occupant
of the carriage, exclaimed, “Well, I never. Now we’ll certainly be late!”

The single man – Sarah could not recall
his name – pushed aside the curtain and peered outside. He bent closer, then
turned to the rest of them, eyes wide. “There’s a man on horseback outside. He
looks rather wild. I think we’re being robbed!”

Mrs. Jones pressed her knuckles to her
mouth. “Highwaymen?” she squeaked.

And then a shout came from outside, in the
vicinity of the driver. “Sarah? Sarah Osborne?”

The three other passengers stared at her.
She raised her gaze to theirs.

Good God, what was Robert doing? She’d
thought him above making a scene on a dusty country road.

The door of the carriage flew open, and
the passengers all found themselves looking at a set of bright, wild green eyes
staring out of a dirty face.

Not Robert Johnston, but a very dirty,
very rumpled Duke of Trent.

He stared into the carriage. They all
stared back at him. And then his eyes moved to Sarah.

“Sar-ah,” he said in a broken voice,
reaching his hand out to her.

“Y-your Grace. What are you doing?”

“I’ve come for you,” he said simply.

She shook her head, blinking hard to make
sure it was Simon, not Robert. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the idea
that she was gazing at him, that he was here.

Why
was he here?

“But why?”

The corner of his lips cocked up ruefully.
He glanced at the other occupants of the carriage and then back to her. “Come
stand outside with me for a moment.”

She let him lift her from the carriage and
set her on the dusty ground. Then he grasped her hand and led her a short
distance away. Off to the right, she saw his horse, standing with head hanging
and dusted with foam from nose to tail. Wherever he’d come from, he’d been in a
great hurry.

She looked up at him in concern. “I don’t
understand.” She couldn’t conceive of an emergency occurring at Ironwood Park
that would send him chasing after her in the far reaches of the country.

He gazed down at her, his eyes softening.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tilting her head up so she faced him.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered.

He’d never been demonstrative with people
watching. And she knew people were watching – she could feel the fascinated
gazes coming from the direction of the mail coach.

“Wha – what are you —?” she stuttered.

And then he bent down and kissed her.

She forgot the eyes watching them. She
forgot she was standing in the middle of a road. She forgot that Simon was
marrying someone else.

There was only him. His soft lips
caressing hers, tentatively seeking, tasting. Moving against her with exquisite
gentleness.

She wrapped her arms around him and
returned the kiss, pouring all her love into it. Pouring all the secret hopes
and desires she’d ever had into it.

He pulled away, touching his forehead to
hers, and for long moments, they just stood there, sharing a space in the world
they hadn’t dared share for too many weeks, trading whispers of breath between
them.

It felt so right.

And then reality returned. There were
people watching. People who’d heard her call him “Your Grace.” They were on a
road somewhere in the far northern reaches of England.

And she wasn’t sure what on earth Simon
was doing. It wasn’t like him to behave so openly. He was ever conscious of
listening ears, of seeing eyes, of the potential for scandal.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. He
dropped his hands from her cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Why…” He glanced down in the vicinity of
her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me, Sarah?”

She stiffened.

“No,” he said, sliding his hands up and
down her arms. “Don’t.”

“Who…?” she choked.

“No one told me. Your father…” He shook
his head. “He didn’t tell me, exactly, but I was able to derive the truth from
what he did say.”

She closed her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he repeated.

“I didn’t want to put you in an untenable
position,” she said dully. “I didn’t want to force you to make choices that
would hurt you… or your reputation.”

He blew out a harsh breath and his fingers
tightened over her arms. “My reputation has no importance when compared to you,
do you understand that?”

Gazing at him bleakly, she shook her head.

His chest rose and fell. “Sarah, I love
you. So much.”

She looked hard at him, trying to see, to
understand his words. The expression on his face, open and raw and honest, made
her breath catch.

“I love you,” he repeated. Then, in a
louder, stronger voice, “I love you.”

She struggled to breathe – because he’d
said the words so loudly everyone from the mail coach must have heard. There
was no air in the atmosphere. It had all been sucked away. Her breaths came in
little gasping spurts.

Silence, and then she pushed out the only
word she could manage through the thick well of emotion in her throat. “Why?”

Simon blinked at her, then shook his head,
a slight smile on his face. The dimple in his chin winked at her. “Why do I
love you?”

“Yes… why?”

“There are too many reasons – reasons I
intend to spend the rest of my life making you understand. For now… Because you
are kind and honest and loyal. Because you see beneath Trent straight through
to the man I am. Because you understand me. Because you love me for who I am,
not because of the title I hold. Because I can reveal my heart to you. Because
you are the person I want to lie beside every night, and you are the only
person whose face I want to see when I wake every morning.”

She blinked back tears. “It cannot be,
Simon,” she whispered. “You are betrothed to another.”

“No. I ended the engagement.”

“What?” she gasped. “But… your family. Your
brothers… The secret…”

“My brothers understand. I could never
love Georgina Stanley, could never be happy with her. They have supported my
decision. There is only one woman I want. You.”

A tight sensation pulled at her chest. “Is
this because of the child?”

“I broke it off with Georgina before I
knew about the child.”

She inhaled a full, deep breath – somehow
the air had returned to the atmosphere. Relief flooded her as she realized he
hadn’t come all this way with the intention of hiding her away somewhere to
cover up her pregnancy.

“I finally learned to listen to my heart,
Sarah. To really listen, like you told me to that night in London. The child
didn’t affect my decision in the least. But I am not unhappy. I want you to be
the mother of my children.” Suddenly, he sucked in a harsh breath. “I just
realized something. My God.”

“What is it?”

He looked down and spoke in a low voice so
that the people in the carriage, yards away, couldn’t hear. “I never… came
inside a woman before you. I was meticulously careful to prevent conception –
with every woman, it was always at the forefront of my mind.” He blinked hard.
“I always thought of Sam and what he endured as a boy and how I wouldn’t do
that to a child. But with you… I wanted you so badly, to be as close to you as
a man could be to a woman. That concern never crossed my mind. Now I know why.”

She gave him a quizzical frown. “Why?”

“Because I knew even then… at least a part
of me did. My body knew that you were mine. My heart knew. It just took a while
longer for my head to catch up, for me to listen. But now that I have, I know
the truth. I want you as my one companion for life. My wife.”

“Your…” Her voice drifted away.

“Yes.” His green eyes latched onto hers,
and he sank to one knee before her, his hands trailing down her arms until his
fingers wrapped around hers. He looked up at her, his green gaze overflowing
with warmth and hope and love. “Sarah Osborne, will you marry me?”

She stared down at him for long moments
that turned into minutes, her mind grasping onto the truth in bits and
snatches.

Simon loved her.

Simon wasn’t marrying Miss Stanley.

Simon wanted her. To be his wife.

“I love you, Simon,” she finally breathed.
“So much.” She always had, ever since that day he’d rescued her from the
blackberry bush.

He was still gazing up at her, but he
closed his eyes in a long blink. When he opened them again, they were the
shimmering green of emeralds. “Marry me, Sarah.”

She nodded. Then she said, in a low,
scratchy voice, “Yes.”

Rising to his feet, he enfolded her in his
arms. And as their lips met, cheers and shouts of “bravo!” erupted from the direction
of the mail coach.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Simon and Sarah turned around once again
and headed back up to Scotland, where there was no sign of Robert Johnston and
where a seemingly unsurprised Mr. Elliot married them in a most efficient
manner.

Simon spoke his vows solemnly and listened
to Sarah as she said hers, her sweet, calm voice always such a balm to his
soul. All the agony of the past few weeks slipped away as Elliot solemnized
their bond before God.

Still dusty and dirty, they retired to the
finest bridal chamber in the inn, where they bathed and ate their dinner, a
simple meal of mutton stew, pigeon pies, and fresh bread.

Afterward, Simon removed Sarah’s clothes
and kissed her belly, marveling at the life that was being created within her.
Then, he spent the night making love to his wife until they both fell asleep in
sated exhaustion.

The next morning, Simon procured a
carriage for them to make the return trip to Ironwood Park. They moved
diligently south, aware of the looming difficulty with Baron Stanley, but Simon
refused to rush. They rose late and breakfasted, then paused on occasion to
view the scenery and for picnic luncheons. In the evenings, they stopped at
pleasant inns, where Simon gloried in bathing his wife, in feeding her morsels of
dinner by hand, and then in worshiping her sweet body again and again.

Finally, on the fourth afternoon after
their marriage, they entered through the tall iron gates that opened onto the
vast property of Ironwood Park.

He glanced at Sarah, who stared straight
ahead. Tiny lines of tension had formed around her mouth.

He took her hand in his. “Don’t worry,” he
murmured.

She gave a shaky laugh. “I am trying not
to.”

He knew she had many fears regarding her
return to Ironwood Park – from her father’s reaction to how the staff would
respond to her sudden elevation in status. In truth, he thought this might be
even more difficult for her than the ultimate necessity of facing the
ton
. These were the people who mattered to
her. The people she loved.

They rolled onto the graveled drive and
the carriage drew to a halt. He turned to her and kissed her gently on the lips
before slipping out of the carriage and holding out his hand to her.

She smoothed the skirt of her dress – one
of the plain dresses she’d often worn before he’d taken her and Esme to London.
Much to Sarah’s chagrin, Johnston and her father had taken it upon themselves
to pack her luggage in preparation for her abduction. They’d included her
hairbrush and hairpins, her underthings, and her two extra muslin dresses.
They’d avoided the clothes Simon had bought her in London, probably thinking
them too rich for a Gretna Green marriage to a coachman.

She looked at Simon with desperate eyes.

“They’ll hate me. They’ll think I trapped
you.”

“If they believe that, then they’re
undeserving of your respect.”

“I know… I’m just…” She looked past him to
the stately façade of the house. “Mrs. Hope is waiting at the door,” she
gulped.

“Of everyone, you can face Mrs. Hope.”

“Esme is there, too.”

He glanced over his shoulder as his
brothers came out of the front door to stand on the portico beside Esme and
Mrs. Hope. Even Luke appeared – Simon had expected him to have gone to Wales in
search of their mother by now.

Sarah’s father emerged from the house – a
place he seldom visited – wearing his broad-brimmed straw hat and looking
decidedly uncomfortable.

And then the servants began to line up on
one side of Mrs. Hope while Simon’s family and Mr. Osborne clustered on the
other, everyone’s gaze directed toward the carriage. And the two of them.

“Oh, my Lord,” Sarah squeaked.

But Simon grinned. His brothers had done
this for him. They’d prepared Mr. Osborne and the staff so Sarah wouldn’t have
to face their shock and questions.

He grasped her hand. “Our people have come
out to greet us. Our family.”

She gave a small nod and allowed him to
hand her down from the carriage. They walked between two of the massive columns
and up the steps, Simon holding his wife’s hand in a reassuring grip and
feeling his grin growing wide. This was the perfect way to present his duchess
to his household. With everyone waiting for them, standing with looks ranging
from a stable boy’s awe to Mrs. Hope’s glowing happiness.

They reached her, and she gave a low
curtsy. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” she said gravely.

Simon acknowledged her with a nod. Then he
said, in a loud enough voice for them all to hear, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hope.
I would like to present my wife, Sarah Hawkins, the Duchess of Trent.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Hope cried under her breath.
She turned to Sarah, and her smile split her wrinkled face as she curtsied
again. “And welcome home to you, too, Your Grace.”

They walked down the line, and Simon
watched everyone, from Fredericks the steward to Burton, Simon’s valet, all the
way down to the most junior of the scullery maids, bow and greet their new
mistress. None of them seemed surprised or upset to find Sarah in this
position.

His talk to his brothers on the way home
from Bordesley Green – about how he intended to erase the lines of separation
society had drawn between him and Sarah – had sunk in. His brothers had
prepared the household well.

Simon and Sarah circled back around to
greet their family. His brothers slapped him on the back and gave Sarah
brotherly kisses. Simon watched Mr. Osborne blink back tears as he gave his
daughter a gruff hug. And then Sarah turned to Esme.

Sarah had told him that this was the
relationship she worried for the most. Out of everyone, she feared Esme might
never understand why Simon would marry someone like her.

Esme looked at Sarah for a long moment.
Then, a small smile curved her lips. “When Luke told me Trent had gone after
you, I didn’t believe it at first,” she told Sarah softly. “I thought you and
Mr. Johnston… well, I needed to mull it over for a while. You and Trent – the
both of you hid it so well, Sarah, but the more I thought about it, the more I
recalled those subtle clues. The way you looked at each other. The way you
spoke to each other…” She gave a rueful shake of her head, but then she smiled
a real smile that went all the way through to her hazel eyes, and whispered, “I
once said you were the closest thing to a sister I have ever had. And now you
really are my sister. I am so happy.”

“I’ve always longed to have a sister like
you,” Sarah said. And they embraced.

Esme looked over Sarah’s shoulder at
Simon. “And thank the
Lord
you didn’t marry that awful Georgina Stanley! She was the most
horrid little brat I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!”

Not only was the statement utterly true,
but such a hearty declaration coming from Esme’s lips was so uncharacteristic,
Simon burst into laughter, as did his brothers.

They meandered inside, Mrs. Hope shooing
everyone away and commanding Simon and Sarah to go upstairs to bathe away the
grime of travel and to dress for an informal luncheon that would be served in
the parlor.

Inside his bedchamber, Sarah stopped to
gaze around, her blue eyes round with wonder. Simon chuckled. “You look as
though you’ve never been in here before.”

“I
have
been in here before,” she told him. “Many, many times. To change
the linens or iron the draperies or dust the mantel.”

“But this isn’t the same,” he said.

“Not at all.”

“You’ll come to know it in a different
capacity now. But if you wish to do any ironing, I certainly won’t begrudge you
that.”

She turned to him, grinning, but their
conversation was interrupted by the servants carrying the bathtub and water to
bathe and Sarah’s London clothes fetched from her father’s cottage. Burton
entered wielding a pair of freshly shined shoes which he arranged in exact
precision beneath the clothes that had been laid out for Simon to wear.

Then the valet turned to Simon. His brown
eyes widening, he let out a heartfelt sob. “I am a failure, Your Grace. Look at
you, just look! Your outward appearance as a duke of the realm is my duty, my
responsibility, and you look like a… like you’ve been rolling about in a
meadow.” With an expression of supreme disgust, he plucked a piece of grass out
of Simon’s hair, then held it between his thumb and forefinger and gazed at it
as though it were a particularly revolting species of insect.

Simon grinned at Sarah, and she glanced
away, smiling and blushing. He had, in fact, tumbled her in a meadow earlier
today when they’d stopped for a picnic luncheon. He’d laid her on a blanket and
tasted every inch of her sun-kissed skin. He’d made her come with his mouth and
his tongue. Then he’d taken his pleasure with her on her back, then on her
knees, then riding him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and shining blue-black
in the sunlight.

With effort, Simon turned his attention
back to his poor, fastidious valet. “Burton,” he said reasonably, “I have been
traveling.” He gestured to the steaming bathtub. “And please note that I am
attempting to remedy my unseemly appearance. If you would kindly go away, then
I could proceed.”

Burton sniffed. “Very well, sir. I shall
return in half an hour to shave you and assist you in dressing.”

“Oh, no. You shall come when I summon
you.” Simon slid Sarah a look filled with heat and promise. “And you can be
sure it’ll be far longer than in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir.” Burton bowed stiffly to Simon
and then to Sarah before slipping out the door, closing it with a tidy snap
behind him. The other servants soon followed him out, and moments later, Simon
found himself finally, blessedly, alone with his wife, who pushed a dark lock
of hair out of her face and cast a longing glance at his enormous linen-lined
copper bathing tub.

He gave her a wicked grin. “My bathing tub
is large.”

She gave it a considering look. “I’ve
always thought it to be excessively so. Its size makes it all the more
difficult for servants to fill.”

“Be that as it may, a large tub does have
some advantages.” Reaching her, he began to undo the simple buttons of her
dress.

“Such as?” she asked innocently.

He’d been right about her proclivities
when it came to the bedchamber. She learned fast. And she was a vixen.

“Such as giving a certain duke the ability
to share a bath with his wife.”

The dress slipped off her shoulders, and
he stroked the palms of his hands down her arms, pushing her sleeves all the
way off as he did so. Her dress pooled on the floor, quickly followed by her
petticoat and her stays and chemise, and finally, she stood before him, naked
save her stockings and shoes.

He stepped back, taking in her long limbs,
the curve of her waist, the high breasts, each one just large enough for his
hand. “Do you know what an erotic vision you are?” he asked softly. “So
beautiful.”

Color rose in her cheeks as he came forward
again and bent to his knees to remove the ribbons that held up her stockings
and slowly rolled each stocking down her slender legs, his fingertips stroking
her warm skin, his palms cupping the backs of her calves.

When the second stocking rolled past her
knee, he saw it. The little scar from the scratch the blackberry bush had given
her all those years ago. He pressed his lips to it, closing his eyes,
remembering that day, how brave and sweet she’d been, even with deep scratches
all over her. Her big blue eyes had roused his protective senses more than
anything, made him want to take her home and make sure she was taken care of.

Slowly, he drew away and looked up at her,
seeing the memory of that day in her eyes, too.

“Hold my shoulders,” he commanded as he
lifted her foot, removed her shoe, and finished rolling her stocking off. He
felt the gentle pressure of her hands on him as he took off the other shoe and
stocking in the same manner.

Now she was naked. Still in a crouch, he
looked up at her again. She was gazing down at him, and now her blue eyes were
full of heat.