The Duchess Hunt by Jennifer Haymore Page A

blue eyes for a long moment, heat creeping beneath his skin, before he
returned to himself and looked away.
    “Let’s finish here,” he said in a brisk
voice.
    After he’d gone to bed last night, he
hadn’t been able to push the images from his mind. He’d lain there, wide awake,
his skin crawling with need, craving Sarah Osborne under him. Now, as he sifted
through the duchess’s papers, none of them providing a clue as to what had
happened to her, worries about his mother’s fate battled with fantasies of
Sarah’s warm, naked, slender form arching against his.
    Every nerve in his body heated, reaching
out for her. Craving her. Every time she glanced at him, heat scorched through
him. Need, rising and burning, aching and demanding.
    His body paid no heed to his strict
attempts at discipline, to his notions of honor and responsibility.
    He wanted her.
    God help him.
     
    After a quick luncheon, Simon began to
question the staff. Over and over again, he asked the same questions and
received the same answers.
    “When was the last time you saw the
duchess?”
    “’Bout a week ago, Your Grace.”
    “Where?”
    “Out and about on the property.”
    “Did anything seem odd about her? Was she
behaving differently in any way?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you seen anyone besides the staff
and family on the grounds of Ironwood Park recently?”
    “No, sir.”
    And on and on. Until one of the coachmen
entered the saloon through the double doors of dark, heavy oak.
    He was a new employee, tall, dark-haired,
and dark-eyed, and clearly he had never been inside the saloon before, for he
gazed in unabashed wonder at the octagon-shaped ceiling painted with an image
of Apollo driving into the sun.
    Simon had not been introduced to this man,
and evidently none of his brothers had either, for none of them greeted him.
Sarah was the one to rise from a gilded red velvet armchair, one of several
arranged about the vast room. She came forward to stand beside the man and make
the introductions.
    “Your Grace, this is Robert Johnston, the
new coachman. He has been at Ironwood Park since September of last year.”
    “Mr. Johnston,” Simon acknowledged with a
tilt of his head.
    Sarah introduced the man to Simon’s
brothers one by one, and when they were finished, Johnston turned his attention
back to Sarah, his mouth quirked in something of a smile as his gaze took her
in. Simon saw interest in that gaze.
    He didn’t like it.
    He arranged the sheets of paper that were
lying on the table in front of him and stacked them with loud taps on the
polished wood surface. Johnston’s attention snapped back to him.
    “We’ve brought you here to ask you some
questions. You are acquainted with the duchess, correct?”
    “Yes, Your Grace. I drive her to the
village often.”
    “When was the last time you saw her?”
    Johnston tilted his head, considered.
“Well, I’d say that’d be just over a week ago. Last time I drove for her.”
    “Did anything seem odd about her? Was she
behaving differently in any way?”
    “No, sir. She was kind and friendly as
always. She gave me some pennies to go to the pub for a pint while she was at
her ladies’ gathering.”
    Mark snorted. “Of course she did,” he said
under his breath.
    “And you drove her home after that?” Simon
asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And there were no odd occurrences or
incidents that you recall on that day?”
    “No, sir. None.”
    Looking down at the papers he held, Simon
blew a breath through clenched teeth. Not one blasted soul had seen or heard
anything odd. His mother had seemingly vanished into thin air.
    Johnston cleared his throat, and Simon
glanced up to see him looking at Sarah again, who was giving him an encouraging
nod. Johnston turned back to Simon. There was hesitation in his voice when he
said, “There was one thing, though.”
    Simon set down the papers on the table.
Very slightly, he leaned forward. “Tell me.”
    “I did see – and hear – something