The woman curtsied. “Your Grace.”
Sarah should have curtsied and said, “Your Grace,” too, to both the duke and duchess, but it was too late now. She would have at least risen from the sofa, but the older lady came bustling toward her brandishing a bottle, and she shrank back against the cushions.
“Here now, little one, let’s have a look at all those cuts.” Mrs. Hope crouched in front of the sofa, first taking each of Sarah’s arms in her gentle hands, then carefully peeling her stocking away from the worst of the scratches on her knees. “We’ll have to wash them first. Binnie, hand me a towel.”
Sarah hadn’t noticed the young, dark-haired maid who had entered with Mrs. Hope before now. She stood at attention near the sofa holding a basin and several small white towels, one of which she handed to Mrs. Hope. Mrs. Hope finished removing Sarah’s stockings and cleaned her knee, muttering about how the injuries looked horrible, but they were really quite minor, and once she’d cleaned them and applied a bit of salve, Sarah would feel as good as new. At one point, when Mrs. Hope had pulled Sarah’s dress up over both her knees, she glanced up at Simon. “If she were any older, Your Grace, I’d have you leave the room.”
Simon’s expression didn’t falter. “I found her, so I am responsible for her. I’ll stay until I’m certain she’ll be all right.”
She gave him a shy smile. She was already all right, thanks to him. She wouldn’t have ever imagined that a duke could be so kind. Or a duchess, for that matter.
Ever since she’d come to Ironwood Park with Papa and lived under the shadow of the enormous house and his dire warnings should she go anywhere near the family, she’d formed an image of the House of Trent as a group of cold, unkind aristocrats who would brush her aside like an annoying fly—if they’d even bother to look down their noses at her. But they were nothing like that. Beneath the great gabled roofs and beyond the marble and silk and gilt, they were a shockingly regular family.
One of the boys—Mark, Sarah remembered—stepped forward, cradling a steaming cup in his hands, which the duchess took and handed to Sarah after blowing a bit upon its surface. It was sweet and warm and soothing, and Sarah sipped at it and held her body as rigid as the statue of the Laocoön while Mrs. Hope applied the woodsy-smelling salve. If the Laocoön could be so still while being strangled by a gigantic serpent, then she could be still while her cuts stung and burned.
And if Simon had thought her brave, then she would be.
Just then, the door opened, and yet another servant stepped in, followed by her father. He rushed inside, then halted suddenly, drawing himself up and fumbling to remove his wide-brimmed gardener’s hat as the boys tumbled in behind him.
“Your Graces.” He bowed low toward Simon and his mother. “Please forgive me. My daughter—”
“Ah, you must be Mr. Osborne.” The duchess rose from her chair to greet him. “Welcome to Ironwood Park. I do hope you have found its landscape to your liking.”
Papa’s gaze flitted to Sarah, who gave him a fearful look, but she was still trapped behind Mrs. Hope’s ministrations, her leg being held down, and she couldn’t move to his side despite the fact that his expression summoned her.
“Ironwood Park is an idyllic setting, Your Grace. I am honored to be employed here. The landscape is nothing less than an artistic masterpiece, and I will do my best to maintain its glory.”
Sarah swallowed hard. She knew what Papa was doing. Trying to convince the duchess that despite his daughter’s wayward behavior, he was determined to perform his duties well.
He was trying to keep his position. And it was Sarah’s fault he had to do this.
“It is quite lovely, isn’t it? Boys”—the duchess waved her hand toward the door as she addressed her sons—“you are excused. You may remain outdoors until dinner. Keep an eye on each other, and please try not to ruin your clothes today.”
“Yes, Mama!” The four boys tumbled back out of the room, but Simon didn’t move from his mother’s side. He stood quietly, his shoulders straight and hands clasped behind his back. He gazed at her father with solemn green eyes, his face a mask of politeness.
The duchess smiled at Sarah’s father. “The duke rescued your daughter from the throes of a blackberry bush attack.” Her dark brows rose into perfect arches. “No one informed me when we took you on that you were in possession of a family, Mr. Osborne. Fredericks has been remiss. I have told him time and again that he must tell me everything about everyone who makes their home at Ironwood Park.”
Papa bowed his head. “It is only Sarah and I, Your Grace. My wife, she—died last year.” Papa still couldn’t talk about Mama without a catch in his voice. “I gave my assurances to Mr. Fredericks that I would keep the child out of the family’s way.”
The duchess waved her hand. “The more children frolicking happily about this cold and desolate place, the warmer and friendlier it becomes. And your daughter, despite her ruffian appearance, is quite the epitome of sweetness. Not to mention that this house lacks in female blood.”
Simon turned to his mother. “We do have Esme,” he pointed out.
The duchess laughed. “I tend to forget that my youngest is female sometimes. But that poor child—with five older brothers, she’s more likely to turn into a ruffian like the rest of them than into a proper young lady.”
Papa gazed at the little girl, then looked back to the duchess, clearly unsure how to respond.
“Now,” the duchess said, “back to the problem of Sarah. As I told you, she suffered a brutal attack from a thorned assailant. However, the housekeeper has assured me that the damage is minor. I am relieved to report to you that the scratches are not deep and, thanks to Mrs. Hope’s miraculous salve, will not scar, save the one on the knee, perhaps.”
Papa gave a short nod, then cleared his throat. “My daughter has a tendency to wander. However, I can assure you that it will not happen again. She will remain in our cottage from now on.” There was a note in his voice that promised future discipline, and Sarah cringed inwardly at the sound of it.
“Oh, but Mr. Osborne, it is natural for children to wander, to explore their surroundings and to discover. Especially in an unfamiliar place. I have always encouraged my children to explore to the extent of their curiosity.”
Papa gaped a little at that, but then he gathered his wits and bowed his head, clutching his hat to his chest. “Nevertheless, ma’am, my daughter should not be gallivanting about the grounds as if she owned them. She will refrain from doing so henceforth.”
The duchess’s expression softened. “Can you truly expect a child of her age and disposition to sit in that tiny cottage of yours every day while you go about your duties? No child should be constrained so, Mr. Osborne.”
Papa glanced toward Sarah again but didn’t answer. Clearly he wanted to be out of this great house and back to tending his beloved bushes.
The duchess’s gaze moved from Sarah to her father, an odd glint in her brown eyes. “Tell me, does Sarah know her letters?”
Papa’s body jolted at the change of topic, then he straightened a little. “Why, yes, ma’am. Her mother was quite learned—she was the schoolmistress at the parish’s charity school before we were married. She taught the girl to read and to write.”
The duchess clasped her long-nailed hands together in front of her. “Ah! I thought there was something about the way both of you speak …” Musingly, she turned toward Sarah, who was holding out her arm to Mrs. Hope while the older woman dabbed salve over a cut on her forearm. “Would you like to continue your studies, dear?”
Unsure how to respond, Sarah glanced at Papa. The answer was yes, of course she’d love to learn more. About everything. Especially the Trojan War Simon had mentioned earlier. If Mama were still alive, Sarah would run home and beg her to tell her the story right away.
But how would Papa want her to answer?
The duchess followed her gaze. “I see she turns to you, Mr. Osborne. Well, then, did your daughter enjoy he
r mother’s teachings?”
“She did,” Papa admitted reluctantly. “Very much.”
“Good!” the duchess exclaimed, clapping her hands. “It’s settled, then.”
Everyone stared at her, including Simon. “What’s settled, Mother?” he asked.
“Starting tomorrow, Miss Sarah Osborne will join your brothers in their studies with Miss Farnshaw.”
No one said a word. Sarah watched as her father’s jaw slowly fell open.
And that was how a gardener’s daughter ended up being educated with the offspring of a duke.
From the desk of Jennifer Haymore
Dear Reader,
When Lady Dunthorpe, the heroine of THE SCOUNDREL’S SEDUCTION, came to my office, she filled the tiny room with her presence, making me look up from my computer the moment she walked in. The first thing I noticed was that she was gorgeous. Very petite, with lovely features perfectly arranged on her face. She could probably be a movie star.
“How can I help—?” I began, but she interrupted me.
“I need you,” she declared. I could hear the smooth cadence of a French accent in her voice. “My husband has been murdered, and I’ve been kidnapped by a very bad blackguard … a … a scoundrel.”
I straightened in my chair. “What? How … why?” I had about a million questions, but I couldn’t seem to get them all out. “Please, my lady, sit down.”
She slid into the chair opposite me.
“Now,” I said, “please tell me what exactly is going on and how I can help you.”
She leaned forward, her blue eyes luminous and large. “My husband—Lord Dunthorpe. He was killed. And his murderer … his murderer has captured me. I don’t know what he’s going to do …” She swallowed hard, looking terrified.
“Do you know who the murderer is?
She shook her head. “Non. But his friends call him ‘Hawk.’”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. I knew only one man called Hawk. His real name was Samson Hawkins, he was the oldest brother of the House of Trent, and I’d just finished writing books about two of his brothers.
Yet maybe she wasn’t talking about “my” Hawk. Sam was a hero, not a murderer. Still, I had to know.
“Is he tall and broad?” I asked her. “Very muscular?”
“Oui … yes.”
“Handsome features?”
“Very.”
“Dark eyes and dark hair that curls at his shoulders?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a certain … intensity about him?”
“Oh, yes, very much.”
Yep, she was definitely talking about Sam Hawkins.
I sat back in my chair, stunned, mulling over all she had told me. Sam had killed her husband. He’d kidnapped her … and was holding her hostage … Wow.
“I need your help,” she whispered urgently. “I need to be free …”
“Of course,” I soothed.
Her desire to be free sparked an idea in my mind. Because if she truly knew Sam—knew the man inside that hard shell—perhaps she wouldn’t want to be free of him. She was beautiful and vivacious—she’d lit up my little office when she’d walked inside. Sam had certainly already noticed this about her. Now … all I had to do was work a little magic—okay, I admitted to myself, a lot of magic, considering the fact that Sam had killed her husband—and I could bring these two together.
Sam hadn’t lived a very easy life. He so deserved his very own happily ever after.
This would be a love match born in adversity. Very tricky. But if I could make it work—if I could give Lady Dunthorpe to Sam as his heroine—it would probably be the most fulfilling love story I’d ever written.
With determination to make it work, I turned my computer screen toward me and started typing away. “Tell me what happened,” I told Lady Dunthorpe, “from the beginning …”
And that was how I began the story of THE SCOUNDREL’S SEDUCTION—and now that I’ve finished it, I’m so excited to share it with readers, because I definitely believe it’s my most romantic story yet.
Please come visit me at my website, www.jenniferhaymore.com, where you can share your thoughts about my books and read more about THE SCOUNDREL’S SEDUCTION and the House of Trent Series. I’d also love to see you on Twitter (@jenniferhaymore) or on Facebook (www.facebook.com/jenniferhaymore-author).
Sincerely,
Do you love getting swept away in the thrilling and romantic House of Trent series?
Read on for other similar titles published by Piatkus … and surrender yourself to some delicious new authors.
Discover the delightful Cynster Sisters series, starting with …
VISCOUNT BRECKENRIDGE TO THE RESCUE
By Stephanie Laurens
Heather Cynster has been waiting her whole life to find what her older brothers Gabriel and Lucifer have found: love. Not the pleasant marriage that most of society enters into, but the passion-filled, adventure-packed kind of love that she’d seen fulfil the lives of her brothers and cousins. But what’s a girl to do when her hero just isn’t showing up? If she’s a Cynster, she takes finding him into her own hands.
Determined to actively search in places she hasn’t yet ventured, Heather’s journey to Scotland is rudely interrupted by a kidnapper. As she and her would-be rescuer Timothy Danvers – Viscount Breckenridge – team up to bring her kidnapper to justice and foil his grand scheme, Heather begins to realise that there’s more to be gained than just her freedom …
Become enchanted with the first in the Happy Ever After series …
A KISS AT MIDNIGHT
By Eloisa James
Miss Kate Daltry doesn’t believe in fairy tales … or happily ever after.
Forced by her stepmother to attend a ball, Kate meets a prince, and decides he’s anything but charming. A clash of wits and wills ensues, but they both know their irresistible attraction will lead nowhere. For Gabriel is promised to another woman – a princess whose hand in marriage will fulfil his ruthless ambitions.
Gabriel likes his fiancée, which is a welcome turn of events, but he doesn’t love her, and knows he should be wooing his bride-to-be, not the witty, impoverished beauty who refuses to fawn over him.
Godmothers and glass slippers notwithstanding, this is one fairy tale in which destiny conspires to destroy any chance that Kate and Gabriel might have a happily ever after – unless one kiss at the stroke of midnight changes everything.
Do you love historical fiction?
Want the chance to hear news about your favourite authors (and the chance to win free books)?
Mary Balogh
Charlotte Betts
Jessica Blair
Frances Brody
Gaelen Foley
Elizabeth Hoyt
Eloisa James
Lisa Kleypas
Stephanie Laurens
Claire Lorrimer
Sarah MacLean
Amanda Quick
Julia Quinn
Then visit the Piatkus website and blog
www.piatkus.co.uk | www.piatkusbooks.net
And follow us on Facebook and Twitter
www.facebook.com/piatkusfiction | www.twitter.com/piatkusbooks
The Scoundrel’s Seduction Page 32
