The Summer Duchess (A Duchess for All Seasons Book 3)

by Jillian Eaton

  Her cloak was gone, as was one shoe. Soaked through to the skin and trembling from the cold, she managed to stagger to her feet only to quickly sit back down when her vision blurred and white dots danced in front of her eyes. Biting back a sob, she drew her knees to her chest in a desperate bid for warmth and prayed help was on its way.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “GEORGIE! GEORGIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

  Opening one eye and then the other, Georgiana sat up on her elbow and grimaced. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep. Twenty minutes? Forty? It was impossible to tell. The sky was still the same dull, gloomy gray it had been when her eyelids had grown too heavy to keep open any longer, but her vision was sharper, and when she gingerly touched the open wound on the side of her head she was grateful to discover it was no longer bleeding. But it did still ache, the pain of which was only intensified by Sebastian’s loud shouting.

  Sebastian.

  He’d come for her! Somewhere deep inside, she’d always known he would. Or at least she’d hoped. Although she did wish he would stop yelling quite so loudly.

  “Here-” When her voice emerged as little more than a raspy whisper, she spit out a mouthful of mud, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Here I am! Down here. At the bottom of the hill.”

  It didn’t take him long to find her and when his dark silhouette appeared in front of the tower Georgiana could have wept with joy. Leaning back on his haunches, he half ran/half slid down the steep embankment.

  “Georgie. You’re alive.” The relief in his tone was palpable as he crouched down beside her.

  “Of course I’m alive,” she sniffed, a bit perturbed that he’d thought otherwise. “It’s going to take more than a spot of rain to do me in. I’m not a wilting flower.”

  “No.” His hands began a thorough examination of her body, fingers running lightly up and down her limbs as he searched for any broken bones. She held perfectly still, letting him do what he wished. She couldn’t help but flinch, however, when he touched the pulsing wound at her temple. With a violet curse he plucked her up into her arms as though she weighed no more than a bag of feathers. “What you are is a bloody idiot,” he growled, dark eyes flashing. “What were you thinking, coming here alone? You could have been set upon my highwayman-”

  “Highwaymen?” Brows rising, she turned her head to look at the vacant countryside. Aside from a few cows in a nearby field who didn’t seem bothered by the weather in the slightest, they were completely alone. “There’s no one around for miles!”

  “Which is precisely the point. You could have gotten lost-”

  “There’s only one road,” she pointed out reasonably.

  “-or slipped and broken your foolish neck!” He tightened his grip, large hands clamping around her back and beneath her knees like iron manacles. “It was stupid of you to come here.”

  “Well then it was equally stupid for you to come after me!” Georgiana retorted. She didn’t know what she had been expecting. A touch of sympathy, at the very least. A little kindness wouldn’t have hurt. Maybe a kiss - or two. Just to warm her up, of course. But she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with his anger.

  It wasn’t until he looked down at her, obsidian eyes ablaze and jaw clenched tight, that she saw the fear beneath the fury. “What if something had happened to you? I don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” he whispered hoarsely before he buried his face in the side of her neck.

  “I’m alright.” Stunned by his raw display of emotion, Georgiana twisted in his arms and pressed the flat of her palm against his heart. It was galloping at an uncanny rhythm, and her own jumped in response. “I’m alright, Sebastian. A bit banged up and bruised, but no worse for wear.”

  “If I hadn’t been able to find you…”

  “But you did find me.” She’d never seen him so vulnerable. It touched something deep inside of her, and just like that the wall she had painstakingly built around her heart suffered its first serious crack. “You did find me,” she repeated softly.

  He lifted his head, expression bleak. “I never should have left you.” A light rain began to fall, but neither one of them noticed. Standing at the bottom of the ruins, with Georgiana wrapped firmly in Sebastian’s strong grip, they were in their own little world and nothing, not rain, nor sleet, nor God himself, could penetrate it. “Not marrying you is one of the greatest regrets of my life, Georgie. When I think of the pain I caused you...”

  “Why?” It may have taken seven years and a near death experience, but she was finally ready to hear his explanation. “Why did you do it, Sebastian? I thought - I thought you loved me.”

  “I did love you. I do love you.” The lightning that streaked across the sky was nothing compared to the blazing heat in his gaze. “But what I said this morning was true. I was selfish, Georgie. Young and selfish and afraid of losing someone else who meant the world to me.”

  “Your parents,” she said softly as understanding dawned. She’d known they had drowned at sea in a tragic accident, but Sebastian had never spoken of them and she’d never dared ask.

  “And my sister,” he confirmed as pain sliced across his countenance. “I should have been with them on that bloody ship. I was supposed to be. And the guilt I felt when I wasn’t and they died...it tore me apart.

  “I wasn’t in a good place when I met you, Georgie. I was dealing with demons that I couldn’t control.” He looked away. “That I didn’t want to control. Then there you were. A bright beacon of light in an otherwise dark and gray existence. And I wanted you.” His brows drew together as he gazed down at her. “I wanted you more than I wanted to breathe. But I knew...I knew if I lost you as I’d lost them...it would be my undoing.”

  “So you chose someone who was safe,” Georgiana said, echoing Ginny’s words. “Because being safe was easier than being hurt. But what about me, Sebastian? What about the hurt you caused me?”

  Water dripped from the ends of his hair as he gave a dismal shake of his head. “I wouldn’t have been a good husband to you, Georgie. As excuses go, it’s more pitiful than most, but that’s the truth. You were better than I deserved. You still are. And I would have ruined you. Not at first. Not all at once. But little by little, bit by bit, the sweet, charming, witty girl I was in love with would have been destroyed by the same demons that nearly destroyed me.”

  “And what makes this time any different than before?” She wanted to trust him. She wanted it so desperately that she ached. But she was still afraid, and as long as she was afraid the wall around her heart would continue to stand. “What makes us any different?”

  “Time,” he said simply as he tucked a wet curl behind her ear. “We’re not the same people we were, Georgie. For better or worse, we’ve both changed. I’ve made peace with my demons, and I’m not the man I was.”

  “And I’m not the girl I was. That sweet, charming, naive girl you fell in love with…” Her hand fell away from his chest. “She’s gone, Sebastian. What if you’re only in love with a memory? What if you” - her throat burned to even speak the words “-break my heart again?”

  “I’m not in love with a memory, Georgie. I’m in love with you.” Lifting his head, he gently traced the curve of her jaw, thumb sliding across her cheek to catch a tear before it could slide down her face. “I loved the sweet girl you were, and I love the opinionated, stubborn, independent woman you’ve become.”

  “At least one of those was a compliment,” she said with a wry sniffle.

  The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I can’t promise I will never break your heart again. I know we’ll fight. We’re both too pigheaded not to. But I can promise that I will never leave you. I can promise that I will never give up on us. I can promise that every night I will fall asleep beside you, no matter how angry we are with one another, and every morning I will wake with you in my arms. You’re mine, Georgiana. Just as I’m yours.” His chest rose and fell as he drew a deep breath. “If you’ll have me.”

  More
tears raced down her cheeks, faster than Sebastian could catch them. “You’ve made me cry,” she complained, batting his hand away when he tried to comfort. “I hate to cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said solemnly.

  “Good. You should be.” There was a part of her that still wondered. A part of her that still feared. But maybe that was the point, she thought silently. To not know, and to accept love anyways. Because love - true, once in a lifetime love - was not safe. It was not boring or staid or predictable. It didn’t come with a guarantee.

  And that’s what made it beautiful.

  “Kiss me,” she said, looping her arms around his neck.

  Sebastian frowned. “You’re soaked through to the skin. There’s a cottage not far from-”

  “Kiss me,” she repeated. “I won’t ask again.”

  One dark brow rose. “I wasn’t aware you asked to begin with.”

  “I’m a stubborn, opinionated woman.” Her fingers curled into his wet mane. “You said as much yourself. I think you’ll find I am also quite demanding.”

  “God, I hope so.” On a groan he sought her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss that left them both breathless and craving more.

  “Where did you say this cottage was again?” she murmured against his lips.

  Sebastian needed no other encouragement. After one more long, lingering kiss, he carried Georgiana away from the ruins of the past...and into a future bright with promise.

  EPILOGUE

  Georgiana and Sebastian were married two months later on a hot summer’s day in the middle of August. As it was the second marriage for both of them the wedding was a small, private affair with only close friends and family in attendance.

  Plus Eleanor’s hedgehog, of course.

  After the ceremony was concluded the newlyweds departed directly for Warwick Lock. Nestled contentedly in her husband’s arms - how strange it felt to think of him as her husband! - Georgiana closed her eyes and murmured, “That was very nice.”

  “It was,” Sebastian agreed. “I particularly liked the part where it ended so quickly.”

  Slanting one eye open, she scowled up at him. “It took us seven years to get to that church, and your favorite part was how quickly it ended?”

  “Aye.” He grinned wolfishly. “Because now I have you all to myself.”

  Georgiana squealed when his hand slid beneath her skirts, but all it took was one stroke of his clever fingers to have her purring with pleasure.

  “You’re positively wicked,” she gasped as he traced a fiery path down her neck with his tongue.

  “And you, Your Grace,” he growled when her hand slid down between his thighs to encircle the hard, pulsing length of him through his trousers, “are no saint yourself.”

  When their passions were sated and their clothes properly disheveled, Georgiana laid her head on Sebastian’s lap and muffled a yawn. “How much further?”

  “To Warwick Lock, or to our happily-ever-after?”

  Her mouth curved in a sleepy smile. “Both, I suppose.”

  “Another five or six hours to the estate, I’m afraid. But as for our happily-ever-after…” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her brow. “We’re already there, Georgie. We’re already there.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jillian grew up in Maine and now lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, their rambunctious toddler, two cattle dogs, and a whole lot of love. From an early age Jillian always knew she wanted to be a writer, and she has you, the reader, to thank for helping to make her dreams come true.

  Make sure to follow Jillian on social media to keep up with her latest releases and read on for an exclusive excerpt from A Dangerous Passion, the fourth book in her thrilling Bow Street Brides’ series, now on sale for just $0.99 cents!

  A DANGEROUS PASSION

  If Juliet didn’t die, he was going to kill her.

  Silently fuming at his sister’s stupidity for getting herself tangled up with a runner – and not just any runner, but the bloody Wolf himself – Bran took the stairs two at a time. Below him the brawling ruckus had subsided to dull roar as the sailors began to run out of steam. Drawing his pistol, he threw his shoulder into the first door he came to…and ran straight into an angel.

  No, not an angel, he realized when he reached out to steady the ethereal creature and his hands closed around a real flesh and blood woman. Angels weren’t real, and even if they were they sure as hell wouldn’t be in a place like this. But damned if she didn’t look just like one with her tangled mane of silver blonde hair and luminous violet eyes that were looking up at him with fear and mistrust.

  Bran couldn’t blame her for not trusting him. At just over six feet in height, he had the long, lithe build of a wolf and the sharp, aristocratic features of a nobleman. The son of an earl’s daughter and an Irish blacksmith, he’d been born and raised in his father’s homeland until the age of seven when his grandfather had tracked them down and forced his mother to return to England. A sweet, albeit fickle woman who desperately missed the life her poor husband could not give her on his pittance of a salary, she’d agreed to return home so long as Bran could come as well.

  For two blissful years Bran had the entire world at his fingertips…until his mother died of consumption and the earl, loving grandfather that he was, turned his grandson out on the streets with no more than a sack of bread and the clothes on his back.

  ‘No filthy Irish half-breed shall ever inherit the Glenberry title’, he had blustered as he’d sent Bran away, his face flushed with self-righteous anger and his piercing blue eyes filled with malice.

  It struck Bran as wickedly ironic that he’d grown up to look just like the bastard. They shared the same piercing blue eyes, strong chin, and tousled mane of dirty blond hair – although the earl had fastidiously kept his covered beneath a white wig. Occasionally he wondered if the old man was still alive, but it was never more than a passing thought, there and gone again before he had time to dwell on it.

  He supposed most men would have spent the rest of their lives trying to figure out a way back into the earl’s good graces, or at the very least grow bitter with resentment. Not Bran. He may have been a filthy Irish half-breed, but he wasn’t without his pride and he’d be damned before he ever asked for a single piece of copper from the man who had, for all intents and purposes, sentenced him to death.

  “Easy love,” he said soothingly, trying to ease some of the fear in the blonde angel’s gaze. “I'm not going to hurt ye. I was just seeing if ye were all right. That was a hard tumble ye took.” His deep, husky voice revealed a hint of the Irish he could add in or take out at will. At a young age he’d learned women’s knees went all wobbly for a bit of brogue and he wasn’t above using it to get what he wanted. In this case, for the barmaid to stop looking at him as if he were going to snap her up in two tasty bites.

  If she didn’t look so bloody terrified he might have been tempted to do just that – if only to see if she tasted as delicious as she looked – but given that she appeared perilously close to fainting, he thought it best to keep his hands (and mouth) to himself.

  At least for now, he thought silently, a roguish grin flitting across his countenance. It slowly faded into a concerned frown when he noted her pale cheeks and unblinking stare. Had she struck her head when they’d collided?

  “I say, ye are lookin' a touch out of it.” He lifted his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  She blinked, and those brilliant violet eyes – the same exact color as an amethyst necklace he’d pinched two weeks ago from a townhouse in Grosvenor Square – refocused on his face. “Three,” she said, winged brows gathering over the bridge of her nose. “I’m not blind.”

  “I never said ye were.” He gave an easy shrug. “What’s a lovely lass like ye doing in a place like this?”

  “It’s – it’s a long story,” she murmured, her chin tilting down as her cheeks turned a pretty pink that made him think of the cherry blossoms that filled Hyde Park ever
y spring.

  Everything about her was delicate and soft and dainty, from her willowy figure to her trembling bottom lip. There was an etherealness to her beauty he’d never seen before, at least not in the East End. She should have been in a fancy drawing room sipping tea instead of cowering in one of the filthiest taverns in all of London.

  “And a hard one, I’d imagine.” Filled with the sudden urge to take her out of this wicked place, he held out his hand. “Come on love,” he coaxed with a smile. “Let’s get ye somewhere safe.”

  Bran was no one’s knight in shining armor. He didn’t slay dragons. He stole the gold the dragons were protecting. But damned if he didn’t want to slay whatever demons were haunting the tiny barmaid with the sad violet eyes.

  She studied his hand, her gaze traveling across his calloused palm before she bit her lip and peered up at him beneath a sweep of pale lashes. “Are you going to rape me?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  “Am I - no. No.” Shaken all the way down to his core, his jaw clenched and his eyes flashed a dangerous, icy blue as he thought of what must have happened – or almost happened – to provoke such a question. “I'm not in the habit of takin' women against their will. Nor do I keep company with any men who do.” His gaze softened. “Ye don't have to come with me if ye don't want to. But I think ye would be a great deal better off if ye did.”

  He didn’t consider himself an exorbitantly wealthy man, but he’d done well enough for himself over the years. While the townhouse he shared with Juliet was in the middle of St. Giles instead of a posh street bordering one of the parks, it had been completely renovated from top to bottom and there was no home finer in all of the East End. If the barmaid went with him she would want for nothing. Most importantly of all, she would never need fear for her safety again.