Free The Duchess Hunt by Jennifer Haymore Page B

gave a cynical shrug. “What’s another
blemish on our family name? There have been so many. Between her and Luke, I’m
surprised we’re not the sole topic of every scandal sheet.”
    “Those blemishes heal with the work you do
every day,” she told him, certainty throbbing in her voice.
    He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Thank you.
There’s much work left to be done, though.” Then the laugh faded and he scanned
her face. After a long, silent moment, he murmured, “I’ll walk you back to your
room.”
    But he didn’t move, and neither did she.
    She just stared at his handsome face, at
the way his eyes narrowed as he studied her. At the heat in them. It prickled
over her skin, building in her core. The look in his eyes was full of such…
promise. Instinctively, she licked her lips, and his gaze flickered down to
them.
    And then he leaned forward and kissed her.
     
    Simon remembered her taste – as fresh and
sweet as the sunbaked grasses in a country meadow. Her mouth was warm and soft
and dry, and he felt a little puff of air as her surprised “oh!” whispered over
his lips in the gentlest caress.
    Simon wrapped his arms around her slender
form and drew her close.
    His body screamed with need.
    For Sarah. His friend. His sister’s
companion. The gardener’s daughter.
    He closed his eyes and stifled a groan as
her arms came around him. Of course it had come to this.
Of course.
He’d been a fool to think he
could keep his hands off her.
    He pulled her closer until her pliant body
was flush against his. He splayed his hand over the muslin covering the curve
of her lower back and coaxed her lips open with his. Wanting more of that sweet
taste. Wanting to insinuate himself inside her in every way.
    And then he heard voices. The softest
whisper of sound was like a slap, drawing him back to the world. He tore
himself away, immediately missing the feel of her against him.
    She blinked her wide blue eyes at him. Her
cheeks were flushed, her lips now damp from his kisses.
    And guilt made a frigid wash through him.
He averted his gaze. Damn it. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said through
clenched teeth.
    She didn’t answer him right away. The
voices were growing louder – there were people coming up the stairs.
    Finally, she whispered, “I liked it.” And
then she smiled.
    A part of him – a very, very large part –
wanted to accept that smile, to sink into it and bask in its warmth, allowing
it to burn away his guilt. A very large part of him wanted to take more from
her. Much more.
    But he wasn’t a man who took advantage of
servants and innocent young ladies. He left all that to his carousing peers.
    The voices came closer. He recognized one
of them as Johnston, the coachman. After an instant of confusion as to why
Johnston would be coming up here, Simon recalled that he’d reserved the whole
floor for his party – the suites for him and his sister and Sarah, and the
smaller rooms for the servants. His family often frequented this inn on their
more leisurely trips to and from London, and the mistress of the place tripped
over her skirts to make certain all was perfect for any member of the Hawkins
family whenever they chose to visit. Today had been no exception.
    He didn’t have much time.
    “Listen to me, Sarah. That was a mistake.”
    She gazed at him, unapologetic. As lovely
and sweet and innocent as she was, she was no wilting flower. She never had
been.
    “It can’t happen again,” he told her
quietly, and took a step back from her. The servants were upon them now with
bows and curtsies and “Your Graces.” He greeted them all politely and wished
them a good evening.
    Then he disappeared into the silence of
his room where he undressed to his shirtsleeves and crawled between the cold
sheets to stare up at the dark ceiling.
    Simon was twenty-nine years old – old
enough to know better. A relationship between him and Sarah was impossible for
a variety of reasons that would be too exhausting