Seduce Me If You Can (The Ashbrook Legacy Book 1)

by Tonya Brooks

  SEDUCE ME IF YOU CAN

  The Ashbrook Legacy

  TONYA BROOKS

  First Edition Copyright © 2017 by Tonya Brooks

  All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and publisher except for the use of brief quotations used in a book review.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Seduce Me If You Can is my debut book into the world of Regency romance. The first book in The Ashbrook Legacy introduces you to the characters you will meet throughout the rest of the series. Not only do the members of the Ashbrook family get their own books, but their friends do as well.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  To the members of Tonya's Tribe for all of your love and support!

  A huge thank you to my wonderful beta team: Karina, Bonnie, Michal, Amanda, Sandy, Allison, Frankie, Nicole and Cindy. Y'all freakin' rock!

  To my critique partner and very dear friend, Abbie Zanders for the million little things you do that make you so very special. I knew a bonnie Irish lass would find the perfect shade of emerald for Scarlett's eyes!

  And as always, my inspiration comes from my husband, Billy, the man who loves me exactly as I am. I am my beloveds and my beloved is mine.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  AVAILABLE BOOKS BY TONYA BROOKS

  OTHER AUTHORS BOOKS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  Brookhaven Estate, England, 1782

  The pair of thirty-year-old men stood before the open window sipping brandy as they watched their wives seated on a bench in the garden, holding their infant sons. Two such beautiful, vibrant women surrounded by roses in full bloom. It was a magnificent sight to behold. Especially since both of the men were still in awe of the fact that they were married and had children.

  Neither of them had ever had any inclination to get married until they each found the one woman they simply could not live without. Jaded rakes, both of them, they had protested the inevitable till the bitter end, but neither man could be more pleased with his decision. They loved their wives to distraction, even if they were still amazed by the knowledge.

  “Never thought I'd see the day you'd be leg shackled,” Charlton Ashbrook II, Marquess Bromley, teased his oldest friend.

  “Me?” Michael Branvill, Marquess Westlin laughed in genuine amusement. “What about you? You swore there wasn't a woman alive who could drag you to the altar.”

  Charlton shrugged his shoulders, but his grin showed that he was more than happy to be proven wrong. “What can I say?” He replied in the devil may care manner he was reputed for. “The wench is stronger than she looks.”

  Michael laughed heartily at that bit of nonsense. “As I recall, you were the one who did the dragging. All the way to Gretna Greene… after you publicly compromised the dear girl in the middle of your mother’s birthday ball.”

  Charlton's wicked smile was completely unabashed at the scandal he had caused, but he wasn't about to let his friend off the hook so easily. Not when Michael had nearly created an international incident by stealing the affections of a Moldavian princess who was already betrothed to an Austrian Prince. “This from the man who almost started a war when you had the temerity to seduce a princess right under her fiancée’s nose.”

  Michael's grin was as devilish as it was infectious. “It was worth it.”

  The ladies laughter drew the men's attention again, and they stared at their respective families in something akin to bemusement. “It bloody well was,” Charlton readily agreed.

  “How did we get so lucky?” Michael asked, a bemused expression on his handsome face.

  “Don't know. Don't care either,” his friend admitted as he gazed in open adoration at his own wife. “The only thing that matters is she's mine.”

  ~~~~~

  The two ladies sat beside each other on the bench holding each other’s infant sons while they chatted. “Do you think our children will be as close as their fathers are?” Danielle Ashbrook, Marchioness Bromley asked hopefully.

  “How could they not?” Jacqueline Branvill, Marchioness Westlin laughed. “After all, you and I have become as close as sisters, thanks to the marvelous men we married.”

  “They are marvelous, aren't they?” Danielle grinned as she reached over and lightly grasped the other woman's hand. “And you are the sister I always wanted, Jackie.”

  “As you are mine, Danni,” came the sincere reply as she squeezed the hand that held hers. “I was very nervous, leaving my family behind to come to a new country where I knew no one but my darling Michael. Oh, I knew our love would prevent me from ever regretting the decision, and it has. But you, ma soeur, you have made me a part of this wonderful Ashbrook family, and I have been far too happy to even be homesick.”

  ~~~~~

  “And this little one will keep you far too busy as well,” Danielle predicted as she smiled down at the child cradled in her arm. Black as night eyes stared back curiously as the baby smiled up at her. “Nicholas is such a darling baby, but where did he get those midnight eyes from?”

  “He has my father’s eyes,” the former princess laughed. “It annoys Michael to no end. He says mon pere can bore a hole through a man with those eyes. It's very disconcerting.”

  Danielle couldn't imagine anything that could disconcert a man as bold as Michael Branvill. He was as brash and daring as her own husband. “Well,” she added with an impish grin. “I suppose a father-in-law should have that type of effect on the scandalous rake who dared to seduce you, and on the very night your engagement to another man was to be announced.”

  “Oh, yes,” the other woman readily agreed, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Mon pere was not at all pleased with my choice. He offered Michael the moon if he would remain in Moldavia as my consort, but my husband is the heir to a dukedom and could not give up his responsibilities here in England.”

  “Do you ever miss being a princess?” She asked curiously.

  “Heavens, no,” was quickly denied. “I have Michael and Nicholas. What more could a woman ask for?”

  Danielle was in complete agreement. She wouldn't give up her beloved Charlton and their son for anything. Especially not to possess a silly title. “And one day we wi
ll be duchesses,” she said with a sigh of resignation and did not relish the thought of being elevated to that exalted position. As a former ladies companion, marrying a lord of the realm was not something that she had ever aspired to do. Were it not for her wonderful mother-in-law's guidance, she would despair of ever being prepared for the responsibility.

  “In the meantime, we have only to love our husbands and children,” Jacqueline sighed in utter contentment as she smiled down at the child she held, the pale blue eyes staring back at her curiously. “Is that not right, Devlin? You and Nicholas will be the two most loved little boys in all the world.”

  “And the two most spoiled if their fathers have their way. Which they will.”

  Both women laughed in delight at the knowledge that the scandalous rakes they had married, had quickly become the most loving husbands and doting fathers anyone could ever ask for.

  Chapter One

  Devil's Keep, England, 1812

  “Damnation, Dev, you've got to do something,” Lady Scarlett Ashbrook, Countess Montvale, demanded as she stalked into her brother’s study in high dudgeon, Rajah, her white Himalayan Persian prancing along at her heels. It was more than obvious from her tone that she was furious, as was evidenced by the color riding her delicate cheeks, and the fire flashing in her emerald eyes. “I won't do it. I bloody well won't!”

  Devlin Ashbrook, Duke of Langford, was not known as a man who tolerated any form of insolence, nor did he possess a great deal of patience. His sister, however, was the exception to that rule. He had raised her since she was six, and was well used to her displays of temperament, as well as her penchant for cursing. So he merely raised an eyebrow, an indulgent smile curving his lips as he asked calmly, “Do what, minx?”

  She all but threw a letter onto the desk before him. “Grand’Mere is making absurd demands for this blasted season,” she announced dramatically with a toss of her head, the mane of fiery tresses swinging over her shoulder.

  He didn't bother to read the letter from their grandmother. There would be time for that after his sister calmed down. Unfortunately, that could take a while to accomplish. Scarlett had always been a mischievous minx full of laughter, but when she was riled, she had the devil’s own temper. It was a family trait that both brother and sister shared, along with the fact that they were too damn stubborn for their own good. Truth be told, Devlin wouldn't have her any other way… most of the time.

  He sincerely hoped this was one of those times.

  “You agreed to go,” he reminded her evenly and did not want to have that argument again. Hell, he'd barely survived the last one without pulling his hair out in frustration.

  “I did not agree to go to Almack's!” She denied in a fine fury. “I refuse to be paraded around the marriage mart like a horse at auction!” He laughed at the rather precise analogy, which prompted Scarlett to lean forward, placing her balled fists atop his desk as she pointed out, “And just who do you think Grand’Mere is expecting to escort me?”

  The humor faded instantly, and a scowl covered his handsome face as realization dawned as hard and swift as a kick to the ballocks. “Bloody everlasting hell,” Devlin muttered in disgust.

  He was going to be trapped inside the famed assembly hall with a group of simpering innocents and their title hungry mamas, a chore he'd vowed not to do again after his own damnable first season. The truth was that he'd be lucky to escape unscathed. A duke of the realm was considered quite a catch indeed, but when one added his wealth and lineage into the equation, the lure was irresistible.

  Almost as irresistible as the man himself.

  Devlin had been blessed with the ruggedly handsome good looks that all the Ashbrook men possessed. Granite jaw, slightly squared chin, aristocratic nose, and those pale blue eyes that could be as hard and cutting as a diamond, or as warm as a summer sky, depending on his mood.

  The coal black hair that he wore slightly longer than was considered fashionable, gave him a rakish appearance and firmly attested that he was a born rebel. A couple of inches over six feet, he bore an impressive set of shoulders, a broad chest that tapered to a lean waist and long, muscular legs. At thirty years of age, he was quite a delicious specimen of manhood.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Scarlett complained and began pacing the length of the room in agitation. “I won't do it, Dev. I won't, d'ya hear?”

  As her volume had increased, along with her ire, he assumed they had heard her all the way to Town. Devlin looked across the desk to where his oldest and most trusted friend, Nicholas Branvill, Duke of Ryder, slouched comfortably in a chair, a devilish smile curving his lips as he stroked the cat perched atop his lap. The bloody ass was no doubt amused, as would he be, if their situations were reversed.

  He sighed in resignation and said, “I'll talk to Duchy.”

  “You'd damned well better,” she seethed, her pace never slowing as she changed directions. “I swear I'll not take part in that marriage mart nonsense. It's bad enough I let the two of you talk me into having a season to begin with, but this... this is beyond the pale,” she snorted in abject disgust and cast a quelling glare at both men.

  “You'll enjoy a season in town, minx,” she mimicked, a perfect, if decidedly feminine, imitation of her brother's voice. “All you have to do is make your bow and take your rightful place in society. No one said you had to look for a bloody husband.”

  The sound that escaped her lips this time could only be interpreted as a growl. An angry no-way-in-hell-is-that-going-to-happen growl that even the cat seemed to understand as his unblinking blue eyes followed her every move. “Apparently you failed to inform Grand’Mere of that little detail.”

  The two men sat quietly, sipping their brandy as she paced and fumed. To look at her, one would never believe that she was a member of one of the oldest and most revered families in all of England. Five hundred years of nobility flowed through her veins in the form of sheer determination and arrogance that were not at all common in gently bred young ladies.

  Unfortunately, Scarlett wasn't the usual gently bred young lady.

  She didn't give a hoot in Hades about the rules of propriety that governed society, or what was expected of a lady of her exalted station. No, his darling little sister was quite a hoyden, more comfortable astride her thoroughbred than sipping tea in a drawing room. The patronesses of Almack's would have a fit of the vapors if they could see her now, the duke thought with dark humor.

  Other than the exotic beauty of her face, the long flowing mane of reddish gold hair was the only feminine trait she seemed to possess, and that was mainly because he had forbidden her to cut it. Her clothing of choice was leather breeches tucked into a pair of well-worn Hessians, normally covered in mud, muck and manure.

  However, the oversized shirt belted around her, did hint at a tiny waist, ample breasts and a gently curving bottom that revealed she was indeed endowed with other feminine attributes as well. Quite lushly so. When they finally managed to get her togged out like a proper lady, the men would be all over her like flies on honey. A fact that her overprotective brother was not looking forward to a'tall.

  ~~~~~

  Once she'd gotten it all out of her system, Scarlett returned to perch on the edge of the desk, one breeches clad leg swinging indolently. “Why did I have the damnable luck to be born a woman?” She complained.

  “Because God in His infinite wisdom chose not to deprive mankind of such a vision of loveliness,” Nicolas said in that teasing tone he reserved solely for her, which effectively ended her sulk.

  She laughed in delight at his nonsense, as she always did when he teased her, the ill humor gone. Scarlett slid off the desk, shooed the cat away and curled herself in his lap, as she had done since she was a child. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  “Oh, Nicky, I simply adore you. You've spoiled me for any other man, you know. The sad truth is that I'd never find a husband to indulge me like you do,” Scarlett teased, even though she
spoke the absolute truth.

  Since the day she was born, her brother and his best friend had indulged her every whim, and in essence spoiled her rotten. Finding a husband who would be as indulgent would be an impossible task if she were looking for a husband which she most assuredly was not. But if she were husband hunting, Nicholas would be the ideal man for her. Not only did he indulge her every whim, he also respected her opinions and treated her like an equal.

  Besides, what man could hope to compare with the notoriously wicked, Rake of Ryder? With those dark, fallen angel looks, Nicholas was so handsome it should have been a sin. He too had coal black hair worn a bit too long, and even softer to touch than her silky haired cat. Scarlett loved running her fingers through it and did so at every opportunity.

  Set in that classically perfect face, his irises were so dark they didn't appear to have pupils. Obsidian eyes, midnight eyes, glittering black diamond eyes that could bore a hole through a man, or reduce a woman to a puddle of melted honey.

  At six feet, his shoulders were not as broad as her brothers, no one had shoulders as broad as Devlin, but they were the perfect size for her head to rest comfortably against while curled up in his lap. His muscular body was long and lean and in perfect physical condition as his numerous lovers could attest.

  Scarlett regretted that she would never have the pleasure of finding that out first hand since the handsome young duke considered her to be his little sister. She, however, did not consider him to be her brother. Once she realized that the intense attraction she felt for him in no way resembled what she felt for Devlin, she had stopped thinking of Nicholas as a sibling.

  Even so, the devilishly handsome rake was still her best friend and confidant, and there was nothing that she couldn't discuss with him. He was calm and even tempered; a perfect foil for Scarlett’s own hot temperament. He was also extremely patient and understanding, gentle and fun loving, level headed and very intelligent.