The Duchess Hunt

by Jennifer Haymore

  She forgot about the tears when he began to move. Stroking her inside walls with every surge forward and backward retreat, her own body tightening around him and drawing him in, wrapping around him in a fist of pleasure.

  His fingers curled into her hair, but she doubted he noticed – she barely did. Her body was so alive with sensation. There was nothing beyond it. Nothing but the sweet, full feeling of him inside her. Finally, fully claiming her as his own.

  Her body tautened around him. Her legs clamped over his thighs, her pelvis tilting up instinctively to allow deeper penetration.

  “More,” she whispered, because she could feel in the tension of his muscles that he still held back. “More, Simon. Give me everything. All of you.”

  It was like she’d unleashed the chains holding him back. He sank down lower over her until the tips of her breasts rubbed against his chest with every movement. His breath washed over her cheek in warm, harsh puffs. His hand tightened in her hair. And his movements became intense surges of power, deep and full.

  It was what Sarah had wanted. What she needed. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on for the ride, her head nestled in the heated crook of his shoulder.

  Simon had finally made her his. Pleasure erupted through her.

  Her body stiffened around him, tighter and tighter, and then sweet sensation exploded in her blood, racing through her, making her body jerk and twist in the confines of his embrace. He responded to her orgasm, his motions growing stronger, then frenzied, and finally, with a low, guttural cry, he surged into her and held, his body contracting over her and within her.

  The tension in his muscles bled away until he sank heavily over her, twisting to the side so he wouldn’t crush her, but taking her with him. They lay facing each other, him still wedged tightly inside her. She knew he’d finished, but she was glad he stayed inside.

  He gazed at her in wonder. “You came.”

  She nodded.

  He blinked, his dark eyelashes sweeping down twice. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. A virgin orgasm.”

  “You haven’t? You told me women sometimes come during the act.”

  “Not the first time,” he said. “At least… not that I know of.” He reached up to stroke her cheek with one finger, and his lips curved. “I suppose I can take that to mean it wasn’t terribly painful?”

  “At first it was. But it went away.” Although now she could feel a not-too-unpleasant soreness setting in. “And then it felt so good, Simon. So right to have you inside me.”

  His smile was gentle. “For me, too.”

  She glanced away, feeling suddenly shy. Although that was surely silly, since they were lying naked together, and he was still inside her.

  He moved slowly, making her gasp as sensation pricked through her. Oh, she’d thought she was sensitive before, but now the feel of him stroking inside her was so powerful she could hardly bear it.

  “Too much?” he asked.

  “Yes. No.” She looked at him again. “I… don’t know. It’s just… the sensations are so strong…”

  The finger that had been caressing her cheek smoothed back a lock of hair behind her ear. Then his hand drifted down behind her shoulder and back until his palm cupped her buttocks. “I could make love to you all night long.”

  She gave a small shudder. Her body was so alive, prickling with energy.

  “But this is too new,” he said, and she sensed the barest edge of regret in his voice. “You aren’t ready.” He began to pull away, but she stopped him by tilting her pelvis and pressing her hand on his lower back.

  “Make love to me again, Simon.”

  And so, ever so gently, slowly and lovingly, he did.

  Simon knocked on the door to his brother’s townhouse. His manservant answered. Recognizing Simon immediately, the man ushered him inside, took his hat and cane, and asked him to wait while he saw if his master was at home.

  Less than a minute later, he returned to usher Simon into Sam’s study. Sam, who’d been sitting behind his parchment-strewn desk, stood when he entered. “Trent. Good to see you.”

  They shook hands warmly, then Simon took the seat opposite Sam’s well-worn desk. He always felt at home here at Sam’s. This was the place he’d hidden himself that Season he’d made all those mistakes and the female masses of London had been pursuing him with claws extended. Sam had graciously taken him in and had concealed him until the furor had died down.

  Simon gazed at his brother, who looked hale and healthy as usual, his skin darkened from the sun to a shade far deeper than what was fashionable, his shoulders and chest broad and muscular from his exertions on his secret missions for the Crown.

  “Sorry for disturbing you like this. I know you just arrived home and haven’t had time to settle,” Simon began. Sam had sent him a note yesterday afternoon, saying he was in Town for a few days before heading north again. He’d also mentioned that he’d encountered only blank stares and non-answers for his part in the search for their mother and had made no progress. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  Sam gazed at him, very still in his chair. “Mother?”

  “No.” Simon blew out a frustrated breath. “We’ve found nothing since the recovery of Binnie.”

  They both sat in silence for a moment.

  “Luke has gone off to search on his own,” Simon finally said. “He might have discovered something, but he’s angry with me at the moment, so I’m not entirely sure he’d let me know.”

  Sam shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on Luke. He’s likely to get distracted by the first thing in skirts that crosses his path.”

  “Perhaps. Though I’m not so certain in this case. He’s taken our mother’s disappearance hard.”

  Sam’s brows rose. “Can it be that our younger brother has finally decided to become responsible?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Maybe he was taking small steps, though. Then again, Simon remembered how the coachman had found Luke curled on the ground outside Trent House and doubted it. He sighed. “For my part, I feel as though I’ve run out of options. I’ve hired a man to continue to investigate, and he has turned up empty-handed as well.”

  “She couldn’t have simply disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  “She’s got to be somewhere,” Simon agreed. “But this isn’t why I’m here. I came to see you about another matter. I need your advice.”

  “Of course.”

  And here it was. He braced himself to tell his brother what had transpired between himself and Stanley and took a deep breath before saying, “I’m being bullied into marriage.”

  Sam raised a dark brow. “Not like you to allow yourself to be bullied, Trent. Who is it?”

  “Our neighbor, Baron Stanley.”

  “Ah.” Sam’s lips tightened. “Never liked the man.”

  “Neither did I. Nor did our parents.” Now he knew why. Geographically, the Stanleys had owned the closest house to Ironwood Park, yet they had never engaged in neighborly friendship with the Hawkinses.

  “Right,” Sam said. His gaze narrowed on Simon. “Who is he attempting to shackle you to?”

  “His daughter.”

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever met the girl.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me. They keep her sheltered.” He gave his brother a bleak look. “They’ve been grooming her to be a duchess.”

  Sam leaned slightly forward, his eyes dark brown slits. “Why? What does Stanley have on you that he could possibly think would force your hand?”

  Simon rubbed his temple against a sudden headache. “He is holding a family secret over my head. Says if I do not marry his daughter, he will expose it to the world.”

  “A family secret? I thought the well of our secrets had finally run dry. Our mother and your father’s exploits have been bandied about publicly for years.”

  “Not this one.” Simon met Sam’s eyes. “This is one even you and I didn’t know about.”

/>   Sam sensed the direness of the situation – maybe from Simon’s tone or from his expression. He braced himself, his palms against the edge of the desk. “What is it?”

  There was no choice but to lay it all out, plain and in the open for Sam to see. “He told me that our brothers are all illegitimate. That Luke is his son by our mother. And that Theo and Mark are the product of my father’s relationship with a woman named Fiona Atwood. He claims to possess proof. And he claims Esme is illegitimate, too, although he admits to having no proof of that.”

  Sam stared at him, very still. A long moment of silence passed. Then he said, “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Right. I thought so, too. But he told me exactly how it happened, in detail that wasn’t easy to hear. He offered to show me the papers he signed promising to never acknowledge Luke as his. And he said he’d direct me to Fiona Atwood so I could question her myself.”

  “Papers can be forged,” Sam said. “Women can be paid to lie.”

  “I know.” Simon felt like he was choking out the words as he told Sam the one thing that had had his blood running cold since Stanley had left his drawing room. “But he looks like him, Sam. Luke looks like Stanley. His face. His eyes…” His voice faded.

  Again, he felt sick, like something dark and poisonous was twisting around his innards.

  Sam grimaced. “Do you believe him?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice raw with the pain of admitting it aloud. “Yes, I do.”

  Sam blew out a long, slow breath between his teeth. “All right,” he said quietly. “What are you going to do?”

  “That’s where I need your help.”

  “First of all, what are your feelings about marriage? About the lady?”

  “I’d planned to find a suitable bride this year.” Sam already knew that, because Simon had told him in one of their conversations just after the new year. “But even if I hadn’t…” He hesitated, then began again. “Georgina Stanley isn’t who I would have chosen.”

  Sam was too sharp to not pick up on Simon’s small blunder. “So you’d already chosen another lady?”

  “No,” Simon said quickly. Then he hesitated, because that wasn’t entirely true. He pushed a hand through his hair. Burton would blow out one of his long-suffering sighs when he saw Simon’s hair later, but the valet would survive. “Perhaps. Not to marry, but…”

  “I see,” Sam said, but Simon was quite sure that he didn’t. Simon didn’t even completely understand how his feelings for Sarah had overlapped with his hunt for a duchess.

  “We’ll get back to that,” Sam said. “So, you wouldn’t have chosen Georgina Stanley. Why not?”

  “She’s a beautiful girl. Very proper. I’d thought before that she would make a perfect duchess – just not one for me. There’s something about her that doesn’t fit with me. I can dance with her. I can converse with her. Indeed, I can spend a pleasant evening with her. But marry her? No.”

  “That’s understandable. Some people are compatible in every way but the ultimate finality of marriage.”

  Simon thought of Sarah. Of how he’d never been able to strip off the shell of Trent so completely with anyone else.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m compatible with Miss Stanley. It’s just… well, she’s agreeable. But no more.”

  “And you have no wish to marry her.”

  “None at all.”

  Sam’s gaze sharpened. “So then, what are you willing to sacrifice for our brothers and sister, Trent? How far will you go to save their names and their reputations?”

  Simon met his brother’s gaze evenly. “You know me,” he said quietly. “You know how far I will go.”

  He’d spent his life protecting himself, protecting his siblings, and protecting his family name from those who would slander them. Where his parents had built themselves a house of cards and then proceeded to blow it down in hurricane fashion before burning the pieces with a flourish, from the moment he’d attained the title at the age of ten, he had built it back up slowly, fortifying the foundation and each wall with solemn maturity and propriety.

  “Yes, I do know how far you’d go,” Sam said. “But first, you must ensure his proof is solid. Check the legality of these papers he claims to have. Verify them with your solicitor.”

  Something suddenly struck Simon. “Did Prentiss work for our parents back then?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, there it is.” Simon sank deeper into his chair. Prentiss had been a trusted member of Simon’s staff ever since he’d become the Duke of Trent, and before that, the man had been employed by his father. “Prentiss supposedly signed that document. He wouldn’t lie to me now, so I can bring the alleged proof to him, and he can confirm once and for all whether it is a forgery.”

  “And the woman? Fiona Atwood?”

  “I’ll meet her,” Simon said, though his throat seemed to tighten as he spoke.

  “I’ll go with you, if that would help.”

  “Yes.” Simon lowered his head, trying to draw air. The dark, sick thing inside him tightened around his lungs, and his breath came in short puffs. “Is it so bad, Sam? Being labeled a bastard?”

  There was a long silence before Sam spoke.

  “Simon.” Sam hadn’t called him Simon in years, and that word coming from his brother’s lips made the dark thing residing within him coil tighter. “I’m not sure Luke has the strength to bear the stigma of it. This news could be the thing that will ultimately destroy him.”

  “I know.”

  “He is our brother.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mark and Theo… That label will snatch their futures from before their very eyes.”

  Simon nodded, but he still didn’t meet his older brother’s gaze. He was going to confirm Stanley’s statements – and the sick feeling entwined in his gut gave him a dark assurance that everything Stanley had said was true – and then he was going to propose marriage to Georgina Stanley.

  And he was going to break Sarah Osborne’s heart in the process.

  And his own.

  “You’ve done it,” he choked out, a drowning man reaching, searching for that floating debris that would keep him alive. “You’ve surpassed all expectation. You’re a success.”

  Sam shook his head slowly. “At too much cost,” he said. “Too much. And what do I have to show for it?” He gestured at his shabby office. “Really, it’s not much.”

  And Simon realized it wasn’t. Sam had been gifted with moments of happiness and of fulfillment, he knew, but they had all been stolen away for one reason or another. And what did he have now? A small apartment in Town and one dangerous secret assignment after another for the Crown. No one to come home to. Few friends outside his family.

  “And then there’s Esme,” Sam said quietly. “We both know her, her difficulties, her reputation, which is only kept sterling due to your influence. But even your influence couldn’t protect her from this. Our sister will be ostracized if even the lightest whisper of ‘Esme Hawkins is a by-blow’ was unleashed into the air. You can’t let it happen.”

  Simon raised his bleak gaze to his brother. “I know.”

  “You do. I know you do. If you can think of a way out of the marriage without Stanley spewing his venom…”

  “I can’t.” Simon had thought about it, wracked his brain, in fact. But Stanley wouldn’t be convinced. His plan had been in the making for years – probably since his daughter’s birth. A plan that had taken that long in its execution could not be so easily dismissed.

  Sam gave him a faint smile. “At least she’s not disagreeable.”

  It was a feeble attempt to make him feel better. And it didn’t work.

  “Ah. I see how it is. Who is the other lady, Trent?”

  Simon looked away.

  “Do I know her?”

  He wouldn’t betray Sarah. That simply wasn’t going to happen.

  Sam sighed. “And you’re not a man who will continue an affair while you’re married to an
other.”

  “That would be our parents,” Simon said bitterly. “Not me.”

  “I know.”

  They sat in silence for a long minute. Finally, Sam murmured, “Luke I might believe, but Theo and Mark? Mama raised them like they were her own.”

  “I know. What kind of a mother raises her husband’s mistress’s children as her own flesh and blood?”

  Sam hesitated, then shrugged. “Ours.”

  “Right.”

  No one was quite like their mother. And no one, not Simon, not his father or any of his siblings, had ever been able to understand some of the choices she made. She was one of those people who actively avoided conformity. Some of the kinder gossip about the Duchess of Trent proclaimed that she was an utterly one-of-a-kind woman, and no one in her family had ever disagreed with that.

  Ultimately, it was within her character for her to whisk away the sons of her husband’s mistress to raise as her own. Hadn’t she done a similar thing with Sarah? If something had ever happened to Sarah’s father, Simon had no doubt that his mother would have officially made her part of the family.

  Simon looked up. “Once I’ve verified the truth, should I tell them? Theo and Mark? Luke? Esme?”

  “If it were you, would you want to know?”

  “Yes.” Simon’s answer was instantaneous.

  “But you’re not Luke. You’re not Esme. Theo and Mark…”

  Simon’s lips twisted. “Luke wouldn’t believe it if he heard it from my lips.”

  “And if he did?”

  He met his brother’s eyes. “He wouldn’t take it well. But he deserves the truth.”

  “I don’t think you should tell him,” Sam said quietly.

  Simon disagreed – all he knew was that he would want to know, and everyone deserved to know where they’d come from, even if the truth was difficult to bear. But he was willing to let it go, for now. Theo and Mark were busy with other things, and Luke – well, God only knew when he’d be seeing Luke again. He wanted proof first, to know for certain, and then he would have time to think about how best to approach that particular facet of the problem.