The Duchess Hunt (4 page)

“It was clean,” Esme whispered.

“As far as we could tell, most of her
possessions were untouched,” Sarah added. “But her safe was open and empty. All
her money was gone, as well as her jewels.”

Hell. His mother had enough jewels to keep
a small village living in luxury for years.

Mark’s frown deepened. “A robbery?”

If someone wished to rob Ironwood Park,
the dower house would be the best place to start, considering that not only was
it secluded – hidden in a copse of trees on the northern edge of the property –
but it wasn’t well guarded, and everyone acquainted with his mother knew she
wasn’t one to pay much heed to such frivolous things as locks.

But if someone had entered the dower house
with the intention of stealing jewels, what had the thief done with his mother
and her servants? The thought brought bile into Simon’s mouth.

“Possibly,” he told Mark, but his voice
held doubt.

“Who originally searched the dower house?”
Sam asked Sarah.

“Mrs. Hope, Lady Esme, and me, sir. We
were out there this morning again while we awaited your arrival.”

Sam met Simon’s gaze. “We’ll do a thorough
search. Leave no stone unturned.”

“And not only of the house,” Simon added,
“but also the woods and the surrounding areas. And” – he took a fortifying
breath – “we’ll need to drag the lake.”

Esme sniffed. The stream running through
the property fed the small lake near the dower house… dragging the lake was
akin to admitting their mother might have been drowned. Turning toward his
sister, Simon saw her shoulders slump as a tear carved a trail down her cheek.

Hell, he’d been raised with brothers. Esme
hadn’t been born until he was ten years old and already at Eton. His mother had
always been the epitome of strength – she’d never shed a tear in his presence.
He’d never learned how to comfort a weeping female.

He glanced up and realized he wasn’t the
only one at a loss as to what to do about this. His brothers appeared frozen in
place. Even their expressions didn’t change as they stared at their whimpering
sister.

Sarah broke the stillness. She hurried
over to Esme, knelt beside her, offered her a handkerchief and put an arm
around Esme while the girl sobbed into Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah looked up at
Simon over Esme’s head, stroking Esme’s dark hair. Her blue eyes, usually
sparkling with vivacious warmth, had darkened with sympathy… and with her own
worry. Sarah loved their mother as much as any of her children did.

“Hush.” She looked back down at Esme and
rubbed her back in gentle circles. “If anyone can find her, His Grace can.”

Esme’s shoulders shuddered. When Sarah
looked up at him again, the knowledge of what he must say flooded into him.
“We’ll find her, Esme. That is a promise.”

He glanced at his brothers, all of whom
nodded their agreement.

Esme took a great gulping breath, her
voice muffled in Sarah’s shoulder. “But what if she… if she isn’t… what if she
is…”

“There’s no evidence whatsoever that
points to the conclusion that Her Grace has come to any harm,” Sarah soothed.

“That is correct,” Sam said, his voice a
notch lower than his usual cold detachment. “And that is how we must approach
finding her.”

“Mama wouldn’t —” Theo broke off,
frowning.

“She wouldn’t what?” Simon asked him.

Theo gazed at him with bleak eyes. “She
wouldn’t run off, would she?”

Everyone stared at Theo. Even Sarah looked
at him with parted lips. Finally, Mark asked, “Why would she run off?”

Theo shook his head. “Couldn’t say.” He
shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

“If Mama simply decided to leave Ironwood
Park, one would assume she’d let
someone
know where she was going,” Mark said.

Simon looked to Esme, whose tears had
abated. Sarah still crouched beside her, though, keeping that comforting arm
around his sister, and he was glad he’d told her to stay. “Has our mother been
behaving erratically in any way?”

Mark snorted. “What kind of a question is
that, Trent? Our mother is always erratic.”

“I mean more so than usual.”

Esme shook her head somberly. “No. No more
than usual. She was excited about the ladies’ luncheon she was going to hold
next week. She’d embroidered kerchiefs for each of the ladies and was planning
to give them as gifts.”

“So she wasn’t planning to run off, then,”
Theo said thoughtfully.

“But you know her. She’ll change plans on
a whim,” Mark pointed out.

“True,” Sam agreed. “We should check her
house near Lake Windermere as well as her townhouse in London.”

“And her sisters’ houses as well, in case
she decided to make a last-minute visit,” Simon said.

Theo shook his head. “If our mother went
somewhere on a whim, she could be anywhere in England.”

“But someone would have seen her,
somewhere,” Mark said. “Collectively, we know her favorite haunts and the
routes she’d take to travel to them.”

“We will check them all,” Simon said.

A knock on the door heralded a footman, who
told them dinner was served. Simon dismissed the man, then turned to his
siblings, his stomach growling in anticipation of a hot meal. He hadn’t eaten
since yesterday.

“We’ll formulate a solid plan after
dinner.” He turned to Sarah. “Thank you for staying. Will you meet us back here
at nine o’clock?”

“If you wish it, Your Grace.”

“I do.”

She inclined her head and looked at him
with her big, blue eyes. “Then I will be here.”

Chapter
Two

The midnight hour had descended over
Ironwood Park when Sarah finally left the great house for the night and walked
toward the cottage she shared with her father.

Yesterday it had rained, but tonight the
waxing moon shone bright, sparkling over the trees, shrubs, and flowers her
father was responsible for keeping beautiful. He’d done an excellent job of it,
and the duchess loved to tell him so. She always laughed and said that when
he’d been hired, she hadn’t actually expected him to
improve
Capability Brown’s famous landscape.

But improve it he had. The gardens around
the house were beautiful to look upon year-round, constantly emitting the
fresh, sweet scents of flowers and herbs. The outer garden was a study in
geometric forms, its boundary keeping a strict separation between it and the
landscape beyond, which Papa constantly assessed and modified to provide a
haven of nature that flowed naturally with the contours of the land.

Despite the beauty and perfection of the
grounds through which she walked, Sarah was brimming with a feeling of dread.

The duchess’s strange disappearance had
knocked the small universe of Ironwood Park out of kilter. The Duchess of Trent
was a constant here. Sure, she traveled often, visiting London and her family
scattered throughout England. But Ironwood Park was her home, her anchor, and when
she was gone, everyone felt her absence keenly. And this absence was different
from a mere holiday – everyone knew it in their bones. The servants were all on
edge. Even Mrs. Hope – a woman in possession of an inherently positive nature –
was scared.

Worst of all was the family. Sam, Mark,
and Theo had all rushed home, their concern obvious in the speed of their
arrival. Luke hadn’t come, though no one was worried – he made an appearance
either in London or at Ironwood Park once every few months, but Sarah knew how
upset he’d be when he ultimately heard the news. Of all of them, Luke was
closest to their mother.

Poor Esme had discovered her mother
missing, and for some reason she blamed herself for the odd disappearance. Esme
was terrified something dire had happened. So was everyone else, but Esme
wasn’t able to push that fear aside like the rest of them had.

And Simon.

Sarah’s step faltered. She gazed up at the
spray of stars that made silver pinpricks in the dark velvet of the sky.

Simon
.

She couldn’t speak his name out loud
anymore. That wouldn’t be proper. But she’d never stopped speaking it in her
mind. Not since the day he’d encountered her in the blackberry bush long ago
and had gifted her with it.

It had been almost three years since she’d
last seen him. He was more handsome than she remembered. It was like that every
time – she convinced herself that he wasn’t as appealing as he truly was, only
to be overwhelmed by his allure when next she saw him.

When he’d walked into the parlor earlier
this evening, her heart seemed to have stopped cold for a few seconds, and when
it had started up again, it had beaten like a hundred horses galloping through
her chest. Images of his lips and hands on her, hot and breathless, slammed
through her head. She’d managed – only barely – to finish pouring the tea and
hand him the cup and saucer without her hand shaking violently enough to
splatter tea all over the carpet.

His straight hair had grown an inch or two
– but it was the same color it had been since he’d reached adulthood – light
brown with golden streaks. His penetrating green eyes had always been serious,
but now they looked a little darker than she recalled, the full irises as dark
as the moss green ring that usually circled around the edges. Shallow lines were
etched into the corners of his eyes – she didn’t remember those at all, but she
liked them. They lent additional character to his face.

The freckles scattered across his nose as
a youth had vanished, leaving his face with a uniform golden hue. His patrician
nose and high cheekbones topped a square jaw, the lines of his facial structure
coming together in a way that no one would deny was handsome, punctuated by the
slightest cleft that dented the center of his chin, difficult to see unless he
smiled. Sarah hadn’t seen it since he’d arrived. She hoped he’d smile at least
once before he left Ironwood Park.

The way his strong thighs strained against
the wool of his pantaloons tonight had drawn Sarah’s eye so often she kept
having to remind herself to look away. The way the muscles in his shoulders and
broad back flexed beneath the wool of his coats had stolen her breath.

She remembered how those muscles had felt
under her hands. How she wanted to touch them again, to explore every facet of
his strong body.

But the way he walked into the parlor and
took control in that calm, self-possessed way of his – that was most appealing
of all. He wasn’t overbearing or obnoxious or self-indulgent. He allowed
everyone to speak, took everyone’s opinions and suggestions under review. Even
hers.

And as she’d struggled to focus on the
problem at hand, Simon’s presence had constantly distracted her, constantly
brought her back to that night. The memory of that kiss – the heat of it.
Goodness, she still dreamed about it. Still woke craving his arms around her,
his lips on hers.

She’d resolved that she was no longer
besotted with him. Now, tilting her head to the sky, she gave a
self-deprecating puff of laughter up to the heavens. How silly she’d been. Three
years had passed since she’d last seen him, but she was as besotted with the
Duke of Trent as she’d ever been. More so, probably.

She closed her eyes and let out a long,
slow breath. Sarah was well aware of her place. Simon was aware of her place,
too, and of the vast distance that separated him from her. Everything Simon did
was well thought out and cautious – he was very cognizant of his family’s image
and in a constant struggle to wipe it clean of the tarnish his parents had
caused to mar it.

Whenever he and Sarah were in the presence
of others, Simon was careful never to cross those deep, thick lines that
society had drawn between them.

It wasn’t right for her to so desperately
want someone so far out of her reach. It had never been right, but it was
especially wrong now, when the duchess was missing. The duchess was Simon’s
priority right now, and she should be Sarah’s, too.

She began walking again, hesitating at the
fork in the graveled walkway. The right fork would take her home to Papa and
the cottage. The left fork led to a path that wandered along the bank of the
stream. On impulse, she went left. She couldn’t sleep. Not yet. Her head was
too busy, too muddled by the events of the past few days. She needed to clear
her mind before sleeping, and it would be easier to do so outside in the
crispness of the spring air.

The moon splashed silver over the path,
lighting her way. As Sarah walked, she considered the fact that robbers might
have been at Ironwood Park – that perhaps very bad men were responsible for the
duchess’s disappearance.

Sarah couldn’t conjure any fear of a
similar horror happening to her. This was Ironwood Park, her home, and if there
were intruders near, she’d hear them. She’d
feel
them. And they wouldn’t be after the gardener’s daughter, anyhow.

She walked along the stream for about half
a mile, soothed by the gurgling and bubbling noises the water made as it rushed
over stones.

When she reached the familiar marble bench
that had been placed at a bend in the bank wedged between two blackberry
bushes, she hesitated again. Set on the bank a bit of a distance from the path,
it glimmered pearly white in the moonlight, beckoning to her.

She didn’t come out here as much as she
used to. Sitting on that bench made Sarah dream things a practical girl like
her had no business dreaming. But sometimes she came anyhow, just to remember.

Tonight, she wanted to remember. So she sat,
breathing slowly in and out, curling her toes in her shoes as she gazed out
over the stream. Moonlight glistened over the ripples and eddies the water made
as it slipped past her.

She gripped the front edge of the bench
and straightened her back, stretching this way then that, then rolling her neck
in each direction, trying to rid herself of some of the stiffness that had
built up since Esme had come rushing into the Stone Room, where Sarah had been
supervising the annual deep cleaning of the marble, to tell her the news about
the duchess.

“Sarah?”

She stilled, then stiffened. Then she
looked over her shoulder.

He was standing in the path, his body
partially obscured by the dark fingers of branches. Moonlight dappled his coat
and threw a gold accent over the masculine slope of his nose.

Simon
, her body whispered. Her chest
tightened, all that pent-up love for him that she’d locked tight within her
pressing to be set free.

“Your Grace,” she said, keeping her voice
mild.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nor I.” She turned back toward the
stream, scooting over to make room for him on the bench.

They’d met at this very spot more than
once over the years. Each of them had made it their personal place of peace and
solitude, and that hadn’t changed when they’d begun to discover each other here
from time to time.

But the last time they’d met here, Simon
had kissed her. It had been a long kiss, hot and drowning. His lips had
ventured far from hers – over her jaw and neck and down to her breasts, which
he’d kissed over her dress and pelisse. And he’d touched her, too. His hands
had stroked her breasts, moved over her nipples, cupped her behind and pressed
her body against his.

He had returned to London the very next
day, and she hadn’t seen him again until tonight.

Now, his tall form cast a shadow over her
as he settled beside her.

She hadn’t expected him. He must be tired
from his hard ride from London, and she’d assumed he’d go straight to bed. Even
if he hadn’t been exhausted, she knew his association to this place must have
changed three years ago. Hers certainly had. It was no longer a place of quiet
tranquility, because their last encounter had charged it with something hot and
needy and frantic. Something
carnal
.

But here he was. He’d had the opportunity
to turn away without her noticing his presence, but he’d chosen to stay. To sit
beside her.

They gazed out over the swirling
silver-washed flow of water. Slowly, Sarah’s tension eased. There was no
further need for her to roll her shoulders or twist her neck. The warmth emanating
from Simon and the cedar-and-spice essence that she inhaled with every breath
when she was beside him was enough.

Eventually, she slid a glance in his
direction. “I’m sorry you had to come home like this, Your Grace.”

“I’m not sorry to be home. It is… good to
be here. It’s been too long. The circumstances, though…” He sighed. “I don’t
believe I’ll ever understand my mother. Why she didn’t warn one of us that
something was amiss is beyond my comprehension.”

“You can’t be certain she had aught to do
with it,” Sarah reminded him gently.

He blew out a breath from between tight
lips. “True. Still, I have a feeling she did.”

It was always like this out on the grounds
when they were alone. They could talk freely without the constraints their
respective positions placed upon them. And they always did. There was an ease
out here in plain privacy that there would never be in the presence of others.
Out here, those thick, deep lines that separated them seemed insubstantial and
unimportant. Out here, ever since that very first day when he’d rescued her,
they’d been friends.

Until the last time, when they’d suddenly
become something more.

“After you and Esme left the parlor
tonight, I had an idea,” Simon said.

She turned to him and met his eyes, trying
to ignore the heat that licked through her at his proximity. She remembered how
they’d been sitting just like this, and then suddenly he’d groaned. “I can’t
stop it anymore, Sarah,” he’d said. Then his arms went around her and his lips
clashed with hers. She’d immediately fallen into the kiss, a slave to the
sensations he aroused in her. Kissing Simon was
right
. As natural as breathing, but far,
far
more exciting. She’d known instinctively what to do. Her arms had
slipped around him, and she’d kissed him back, touching him through his coat,
exploring him as his lips and hands explored her, kissing her all over, licking
her earlobe, suckling her breast through layers of material.