A Most Sinful Proposal

by Sara Bennett

  “I hate being wet,” she said, her teeth clenched to stop them from chattering. “I hate it above all things. I have stood in the rain from the Faro Isles to the Scilly Isles, and I’ve hated it every time. And you promised me I would not get wet on your expedition. You promised…” She dragged her bonnet from her head and flung it on the ground. It landed with a sodden squish. For a horrible moment she felt like she was going to burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Valentine said, biting his lip.

  “You’d better not be laughing…”

  “No, I-I’m not. We’ll go to the Fox and Hounds in Bentley Green.”

  Marissa shook her head, frightened to speak in case her voice came out all wobbly.

  “You don’t want to go to Bentley Green?” Valentine hazarded, coming closer.

  “Yes,” she managed, “I do. But you need to see a doctor. Your head.”

  “My head’s hard as a rock.”

  “Well it’s not, is it? It was a rock, at least a brick, that did this to you.”

  “My head is fine.”

  “Nevertheless,” George interrupted, “you will see a quack, or whoever passes for one in Bentley Green. Do you think Von Hautt meant to hurt you?” he added, before his brother could protest.

  Valentine pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I think he hates me,” he said in a voice devoid of feeling. “He wants to see me suffer.”

  “But why?” George seemed bewildered.

  Valentine gave him a look, as if he had more to say but wasn’t going to say it in front of Marissa. Cautiously she began to descend the creaky stairs. I don’t care, she told herself. Let them have their silly secrets. She crossed to the front door, her shoes squelching with each step. I want a warm bath and a warm fire and dry clothing and warm sheets with a hot water bottle.

  Outside, the rain had stopped. The afternoon was lighter, and the rain clouds were breaking up as the storm moved on. She might have thought it a big improvement, apart from the fact the wind was icy. It felt as if it was blowing right through her wet clothes to her bare, shivering skin.

  Behind her Valentine and George came out of the house and stood under the portico. They both looked at her, then away again. George even flushed. Something had passed between them; something about her, Marissa decided, irritably. Well they could keep their secrets, see if she cared.

  With as much dignity as she could muster, Marissa headed down the path through the garden, trying not to wince each time the rain-soaked foliage showered her with drops.

  I wish I’d never come, she thought miserably. I wish I’d stayed at home. Why do I want to marry a man who brings me to a monstrous tumbledown ruin with an overrun jungle for a garden and then makes me stand in the rain?

  A warm, strong hand closed on her arm, and a large jacket was placed about her shoulders. It was far from dry but at least it was warm from his body, and just for a moment she allowed herself to breathe in his scent.

  “Poor Marissa,” he said, his voice deep and husky, with a smile in it.

  “Not poor Marissa,” she retorted. “Courageous Marissa. Marissa who saved you from drowning in the pond.”

  He was silent a moment, and then he bent closer, his breath in her ear, the warmth of it making her shiver despite herself. “Sweetest, dearest Marissa, thank you.”

  She hoped he meant it, but she wasn’t sure. She glanced at him sideways and saw that he was watching her, a sparkle in his eyes. How could he be so…so alive after all that had happened?

  “Does it rain on that hillside in Italy?” she asked blithely.

  He grinned. “If it does there’s always the villa to shelter in.”

  Marissa opened her mouth to ask if the villa had a bed, and then closed it again. Time for talk about beds later, when she was warm again, and when they were alone.

  Chapter 27

  Baron Augustus Von Hautt raised his telescope to his eye and watched the passing of his enemy. Lord Valentine Kent was on the road below, ignorant of the fact that he was under observation. The baron smiled. He’d returned to the house as soon as Kent left it, creeping in unseen, settling himself by the window on the top story. He knew the place well and today he’d used that knowledge to make a fool of his enemy.

  All his life he’d felt second best.

  Well, soon that would change. He would be a hero, someone others admired and listened to in silent appreciation, the sort of man who was invited everywhere. His life would become what it always should have been, had fate been different. All he had to do was find the Crusader’s Rose and destroy Valentine Kent.

  He used to think the two went together, that by being the first to discover the rose after all these years he would automatically blight Kent’s future happiness. But now he saw another possible avenue for his revenge.

  Marissa Rotherhild.

  It had been clear to him from the first moment he saw her, as he stood looking into the candlelit rooms of Abbey Thorne Manor, that she was something out of the ordinary. A rare and precious treasure, like the Crusader’s Rose itself. He’d seen her again at Montfitchet, and been even more struck by her.

  That’s when he’d decided to have her as well as the rose.

  Well, why not? To be truly destroyed, Valentine Kent must lose everything he treasured—and Von Hautt believed Kent was enamored of Marissa Rotherhild. For years he’d watched him, secretly, and he’d never seen him like this, as if he was on the verge of an epiphany.

  Augustus wanted nothing more than to ruin it. He hadn’t meant to give away his plan, but while Kent lay on the ground in the garden, at Von Hautt’s mercy, he hadn’t been able to resist gloating a little. He’d leaned down and whispered, “The woman will be mine. Remember all you have lost while I am…” He’d used a filthy term, but one he knew Kent would understand. The coarseness of it added to the effect, despoiling what Kent believed was wholesome and pure.

  Kent had promptly tried to throttle him but instead he’d fallen and struck his head. Not dead, though—Von Hautt had time to check before the brother came after him and he had to run.

  Was Kent remembering his words now, as he hurried toward Bentley Green? Was he grinding his teeth in fury, imagining what would happen to his woman? Von Hautt smiled. He hoped so. He hoped Kent was sick with fear. Let him suffer.

  Before the final confrontation.

  Chapter 28

  The landlord of the Fox and Hounds was obliging enough, especially when Valentine offered to pay extra for the carrying up of water for the hot baths. He made sure that Marissa was bustled upstairs first, a kindly maid fussing over her. Valentine and George settled down in the parlor with some brandy and a warm fire, awaiting the arrival of the local doctor.

  “Well, he isn’t really a doctor, but he makes do as one,” the landlord said cryptically as he closed the door.

  George grimaced at his brother. “I hope it’s not some old warlock with a jar of leeches.”

  Valentine grunted, taking a gulp of his brandy, and watching his boots steam as he stretched them out before the fire. After a moment he said, “I’m going to get him, George.”

  George didn’t ask who he meant. “Did he really say that?” he said quietly. “Perhaps you misheard.”

  “I didn’t mishear,” Valentine growled, glaring at him. “He said it deliberately, watching my reaction. It was me he wanted to hurt, not Marissa, but he’s willing to use her.”

  “There’s something deep here, Valentine. Who is Baron Von Hautt, really? What of his family, his past? We don’t know much and I have a feeling we need to delve into who he is if we want to solve the mystery.”

  Valentine stared thoughtfully into the flames. “He’s been around as long as me, he’s about my age, and his family is Prussian. His father was a soldier, I think, but I can’t swear to it. Someone told me once that his background was murky, and it doesn’t surprise me. That’s all I know for certain. I promise you I haven’t done anything to make him swear revenge on me.”

  “S
o you haven’t seduced his sister or stolen his family inheritance,” George said thoughtfully. “It can’t be anything obvious then, Valentine, but there is something. Perhaps it’s time we found out just what his problem is.” George looked up. “Oh by the way, was your rose in the garden at Beauchamp Place?”

  Valentine shook his head. “Roses were few and far between.”

  “That’s it then.” George tried to sound cheerful but his sideways glance was wary.

  Valentine said nothing. He didn’t want to talk about his failure to find the rose. There were too many unknowns, too many decisions to be made, and he didn’t want to face any of them just now. He’d deal with the problem of Von Hautt and then he’d decide what came next.

  “I don’t think Marissa should stay at Abbey Thorne,” he said at last. “I want her to return to London with her grandmother, where she’s safe.”

  George raised his eyebrows. “Good luck with that, brother.”

  Valentine gave him a baleful look. “You think she’ll refuse?”

  “I’d wager on it.”

  “Can’t you persuade her?”

  George looked pensive. “I’m beginning to realize I was mistaken in her character. She always seemed a fun sort of girl, undemanding, not complaining if a chap happened to be late or forgot to mention a boxing match he was going to. But now…I don’t think we’d suit after all. I have a feeling the banns would hardly be called and she’d be nagging me to do something I didn’t want to do.”

  Valentine was staring him. “Yes, you’re probably right,” he said at last, and turned back to the fire.

  Typical of George to decide Marissa wasn’t the woman he thought her, in the middle of a crisis. Still, it was one less worry for Valentine. Now he knew George wouldn’t accuse him of stealing his ladylove; he might even be grateful to his brother for taking her off his hands.

  Valentine tried to smile, but couldn’t.

  The memory of the baron’s expression, the gleam in his eyes, was enough to set his anger bubbling and boiling all over again. Trying to steal the rose was one thing but threatening darling Marissa…well, that was quite another.

  By the time Marissa had soaked in a hot bath and dried herself before a fire, her underclothing was also dry enough to be worn. Her outer garments were still too wet, so she had no choice but to don a woolen dress that had once belonged to the landlord’s mother. It was a little big but not overly, and the style was very old-fashioned, with the waist several inches above Marissa’s actual waistline, and the skirt lacking the yards of cloth now so much in vogue. Still, it was better than nothing, and she felt able to enter the parlor feeling more like herself rather than that tearful creature of the rainstorm at Beauchamp Place.

  The parlor was stuffy and warm, with a not unpleasant odor of drying cloth. George looked up at her with a wry smile. He was standing by Valentine’s chair, while a stranger bent over him and examined his head. If this was the doctor, Marissa thought, he was old and grizzled and well into his retirement.

  “Aye, you’ve had a nice bump on the head there, m’lord,” the fellow said, straightening up. He turned his lined face toward Marissa, and smiled a kindly smile, his eyes crinkling up.

  “This is Miss Rotherhild,” George introduced them. “Marissa, this is Doctor Arnold.” He widened his eyes slightly.

  “Doctor is a courtesy title,” the man said, not losing his good humor. “I am an animal doctor, Miss Rotherhild, but the folk of Bentley Green call upon me for most of their ills.”

  “Oh.” Marissa didn’t know whether she should be appalled or grateful. “And how is Lord Kent, Doctor?” she asked tentatively.

  Valentine shuffled about at the sound of her voice. “Perfectly well,” he interrupted.

  “He will soon recover, miss,” Doctor Arnold assured her. “He is a strong and healthy young man, as fit as a horse.”

  George found that hilarious and doubled up with laughter. Doctor Arnold smiled at him with good humor, not at all insulted.

  “Is it true it was Baron Von Hautt who struck you?” the doctor asked, and suddenly his smile was gone and the lines on his face deepened.

  “Do you know him?” said Valentine.

  He gave an unwilling nod. “Always a troubled soul, that one. But he had no one else and I was better than nothing, I suppose, after his grandmother passed on.”

  Marissa drew closer. “Is your name Beauchamp, sir?”

  “Aye, it is. Arnold Beauchamp.”

  “Do you mean Von Hautt is a Beauchamp?” George cried.

  “On his grandmother’s side, aye. He used to visit her as a child and she’d tell him all about the family’s past glories. Rubbish most of it, but he believed in it. I think it gave him something to hold on to after his father died at Waterloo.”

  Valentine stiffened. “My father died at Waterloo, too,” he said.

  “He still comes and stays in the house like it belongs to him. I’ve sat opposite him and listened to him planning to make the place as grand as before, with him king of his little kingdom.”

  “Perhaps he will,” Marissa said.

  But the old man shook his head. “He has no fortune, his title is a hollow one. After his father died the brother stepped in and took what was left, although he couldn’t take the title. Augustus has nothing but dreams. As I said, he’s a troubled soul.”

  More than a troubled soul, thought Marissa, remembering what he had done to Valentine. Whatever his problems Von Hautt could not be allowed to run amok any longer.

  And from the expression on Valentine’s face she knew he agreed.

  When George went upstairs to take his bath, Marissa broached the subject.

  “We must find him and stop him before he causes any more harm,” she said, walking about restlessly in the stuffy parlor. “He’s dangerous, Valentine.”

  Valentine was watching her pace back and forth, a frown between his brows, but when he spoke his words weren’t what she expected. “What are you wearing, Marissa?”

  She turned to stare at him. “My dress is wet, remember? I’m surprised you would bring that subject up after you broke your promise. The landlord found it for me. It belonged to his mother.”

  His mouth twitched but he smoothed it out when her eyes narrowed warningly. “It looks like something from a museum, but a very fetching something, I might add,” he said hastily. “Perhaps they’ll have something similarly museumlike for me.”

  “A doublet and stockings? I do hope so,” she retorted. “And those shoes that curl at the toe.”

  “I think only jesters wore them,” Valentine said.

  “A pity.”

  She sank down in the chair beside his and, kicking off the clogs her host had found for her while her shoes dried, lifted her stockinged feet to join Valentine’s before the fire. They sat a moment in companionable silence as a clock ticked on the mantel.

  “Do you think Baron Von Hautt will visit Doctor Arnold tonight?” she said at last, smothering a yawn. “He seems to be the only friend he has in Bentley Green.”

  “No. I think he will realize we mean to spring a trap on him and he’ll stay away.”

  “Or he might think we’ll think that and come anyway.”

  Valentine chuckled. “Your mind is torturous, minx, but nevertheless you may be right. I’ll send George to stay with the old man just in case.”

  “George will love that,” Marissa said, with a raised eyebrow.

  “It’s time he earned his place in the Kent family tree,” Valentine replied unsympathetically.

  “But you don’t believe the Baron will go there?”

  “No, I don’t believe he will.” He smiled at her and reaching out entwined her fingers with his.

  Marissa turned to the window, where rain was still softly falling.

  His fingers tightened gently on hers, bringing her attention back to him. “I’m sorry I broke my promise. I’ll never do it again.”

  “I hope not,” she said, but her heart had begun to beat a
little erratically. Was he saying there would be more promises?

  “The quest for the rose is over,” he spoke quietly, without emotion.

  Her gaze searched his. “And you haven’t found it. I’m sorry, Valentine.”

  He bent his head to kiss the back of her hand, and smiled up at her. He looked weary, with shadows under his eyes, but there was also a gleam in his eyes that spoke of his refusal to let defeat bring him down.

  “I haven’t quite decided what it means to me,” he admitted. “Disappointment, certainly. My quest has turned out to be a bit of a flop, I suppose. But I’m not as shattered as I might have expected to be. I did my utmost and if I failed then I did so honorably; if there is such a thing as an honorable failure.”

  “Valentine…”

  There was a twist to his mouth that made him seem vulnerable and endearing. “Somehow after what we now know about Von Hautt the rose doesn’t seem quite so important. More like a boyhood dream that I should have grown out of years ago.”

  “You’re nothing like him, Valentine.”

  But she could see he didn’t believe her, not entirely. There were so many parallels between the two men. She reached up to gently brush aside his hair, to better see the lump on his head.

  “You’d never do this to anyone, Valentine, not even for the Crusader’s Rose. I’m sorry that you didn’t find it at Beauchamp Place.”

  He met her eyes, his own blazing.

  “No, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m far from needing any pity. I may not have found the rose, but I’ve found you. Actually, I should be celebrating. It took the ending of the quest, and Von Hautt, to make me realize how empty my life had become until you arrived at my door. I’ve been a coward, Marissa, hiding from life in case I get hurt again, but I’m not going to hide any longer. I’m going to face whatever comes my way.”

  Marissa felt her heart swell in her breast, full of emotion and passion for this man. Tears stung her eyes. “I’m glad,” she said in a shaky voice.

  There was a tap on the door and the call that supper had arrived. The meal was as good as before, and they ate heartily and then sat contentedly by the fire until it was time for bed. George went off, complaining, into the night, to spend his time keeping watch at Doctor Arnold’s house.