The Duchess Hunt (36 page)

“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,