A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “Ahem.”

  She turned at the masculine sound of a throat being cleared, and found herself staring at a pair of mud splattered hessians. Tilting her head back, her gaze traveled up across a pair of powerful thighs encased in gray breeches, over a flat abdomen that led to a broad, muscular chest, and finally stopped on her husband’s flour covered face.

  Looking down at her with an expression that teetered between amusement and exasperation, he held out his hand. “Sir Donald has officially been pardoned for all crimes against the crown,” he said formally, and Eleanor felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

  “I should like it put on the official record that he was never actually found guilty of any of those crimes. He was the victim of wrongful persecution.”

  “On what grounds?” the duke asked, lifting a brow.

  “On the grounds of his being a goose of course,” she said, as if it were obvious, and now Derek was the one who smiled.

  It was a very nice smile. The kind that was neither forced nor practiced, and crinkled the corners of his eyes. Feeling the same flutter in her belly as she had right before he kissed her, Eleanor hesitantly placed her small hand in his larger one and allowed him to lift her to her feet. She waited for him to let her go. To make some snide remark about her appearance. Instead his grip tightened. Their fingers interlocking, he pulled her slowly towards him as their smiles faded away.

  “You have flour in your hair,” he said, his voice husky as he picked up a loose curl. Tiny particles of white fell to the ground as he rubbed the auburn lock between his thumb and forefinger, then tucked it behind her ear, the edge of his finger trailing along the sensitive shell. Eleanor’s breath caught.

  “So – so do you.” Suddenly overwhelmed by an inexplicable shyness, she lowered her gaze to a silver button on his waistcoat. When Derek was rude and arrogant she knew what to say. How to act. What biting retort to give. But when he was like this…when his guard dropped away and she was given a rare glimpse at the man behind the hard wall of cynicism…she didn’t have the faintest idea what she should do.

  “I suppose we could take a bath,” he drawled, and her startled gaze flew up to his countenance.

  “T-together?” she stuttered even as heat pooled between her thighs like warm honey that had been left out in the sun. What would he look like naked, she wondered? All those hard lines and lean muscles, slick with water and covered in bubbles… She nibbled her lip and his eyes darkened.

  “It might be a tight fit, but you could always sit on my lap. No?” he said when her cheeks pinkened and she gave a short, nervous giggle that sounded nothing at all like herself. “Then I suppose I can settle for a kiss...”

  Nothing about the kiss was rehearsed or planned, and it was all the better for it. Eleanor gasped, both in surprise and sheer pleasure as he cupped the back of her head, the palms of his hands molding perfectly to the delicate curve of her skull, and took her mouth with his.

  This time he was demanding instead of patient. Hard instead of soft. Fast instead of slow. He plundered her mouth without apology and she clung to him with all of the desperation of a sailor in the midst of a storm, her nails biting into his chest as he bit her lip.

  His hands streaked down her back to cup her bottom through the thin fabric of her dress, squeezing the plump flesh until she moaned. The tiny, helpless little sound only seemed to fan the flames of his arousal, and with a feral growl he deepened the kiss, tongue plunging into her mouth as he yanked her against him.

  Her entire body pulsed with heat. His radiated it. They were two suns colliding until suddenly, much like a storm that was there and then gone, leaving nothing but wrecked devastation in its wake, the kiss was over.

  “Your pocket is growling at me,” he said darkly.

  “I…what?” Dazed and disoriented, it took Eleanor a moment to register what Derek was talking about. “Oh!” she said, her eyes widening when she belatedly remembered that Henny was still in her pocket. “Oh dear, I hope we haven’t squished her!”

  She scooped up the grumbling hedgehog, who appeared a tad disgruntled but otherwise unharmed. Sighing with relief, she nestled Henny against her chest and offered her husband an abashed smile. “Sorry about that. I forgot she was in there.”

  “Clearly.” On a slow, measured breath he raked a hand through his hair, fingers drawing the ebony locks taut before letting them fall in a disheveled rumple. “Do you always keep an animal on your person?”

  “Not always,” she concluded after a pause, her head tilting to the side as she thought it over.

  “That’s a relief. I should hate to be poked or bitten in a sensitive area while attempting a passionate overture.”

  Eleanor blinked. Had he just…told a joke? To be honest, she didn’t think him capable of humor. At least not the kind that was self-deprecating.

  Her gaze softened as she studied him beneath her lashes. She liked him like this. Calm. Relaxed. Warm. After eleven months and ten days of marriage, she felt as if she was finally meeting her husband for the very first time. And he wasn’t at all who she thought he was.

  “What did you say to Mrs. Gibbons to make her leave in such a rush?” she asked curiously.

  “I told her she was to be immediately relieved of all her duties,” Derek said, speaking with the same air of nonchalance one used to discuss the weather instead of the dismissal of a loyal employee who had served his family for nearly three generations.

  “You didn’t,” Eleanor gasped, her mouth dropping open.

  “I certainly did.” There wasn’t a single flicker of remorse in the deep, dark depths of his eyes. “She was disrespectful to my wife. I don’t care what that damned goose of yours did. That sort of insolence will not be tolerated.”

  My wife.

  She’d never heard him call her that before. It filled her with a secret thrill of delight even as guilt had her chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Mrs. Gibbons and I have had our differences, but I never wanted her to lose her position.”

  Derek snorted. “Mrs. Gibbons is an old dragon that has been terrorizing the staff for longer than I’ve been alive. She should have been retired a decade ago. Trust me. This is long overdue. She’ll be more than fairly compensated for her service.”

  When he put it that way…

  “Donald will certainly be relieved to know she is no longer at Hawkridge.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was the same curl Derek had rubbed between his fingers before he’d kissed her senseless.

  Again.

  She finally had an inkling for why a woman would act so silly over a man. Kissing was very nice. She dared say it was even better than crumpets. And she really loved crumpets.

  Up until this moment, she’d always thought of their hasty wedding and the resulting marriage as a burden. After all, she hadn’t become a duchess because she wanted to. The title had been thrust upon her against her wishes, rather like the hideous purple turban her mother had made her wear to a ball once. Yes, Derek had left her alone and yes, she’d gotten everything she had ever wanted: a beautiful home in the country, abundant space for her animals, the freedom to do what she wanted when she wanted to do it. But lately she had begun to feel as if something was…lacking. She didn’t know what it was, only that when Derek kissed her she felt fulfilled, like the something that was missing suddenly wasn’t missing anymore.

  “Would you like to meet the rest of them?” she asked.

  “The rest of whom?” Using his sleeve, he wiped the remaining layer of flour off his face.

  “My animals. They’re all in the old carriage barn. Well, most of them,” she amended with a glance down at Henny who had fallen asleep nestled against her chest. Derek lifted a brow.

  “How many animals do you have?”

  “You’ll see,” she said cheerfully. Tucking Henny back into her pocket, she hesitated for only a second before lightly wrapping her fingers around her husband’s forearm when he offered it to her. Side by side, the Duke and
Duchess of Hawkridge set off across the lawn towards the carriage barn.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Eleanor said ‘animals’, Derek had been expecting one or two geese and a cat. Not the entire menagerie of furred and feathered beasts that awaited him when his little wife slid open the door and gestured for him to quickly step in.

  “The pygmy shrews have been trying to escape,” she explained as she slid the door shut.

  “Shrews?” Instantly wary, he stopped short and looked down at his feet. The floor of the barn was covered in a thick, sweet smelling layer of straw. Three wooden pens at the far end of the barn contained a trio of piglets, two geese – the infamous Ronald and his brother, he presumed – and twin lambs that were no bigger than a dinner plate. “You didn’t say anything about shrews.”

  Her lips curved. “They’re harmless. Although I would check your pockets before you go. They’re always looking for a cozy place to nest.”

  Bloody hell.

  “Perhaps this was a bad idea.” He started edging towards the door. “I’ll come back when the rats, er, shrews are all properly contained. I wouldn’t want to step on one.”

  “Then I would suggest you stop moving.” One glance at his face and her smile widened. “Your Grace?” she said sweetly.

  “Yes?” Derek muttered as he continued to search the straw.

  “Are you afraid of pygmy shrews?”

  “Afraid of – no,” he said, looking up at her with a scowl. “What an absurd thing to suggest.”

  “You certainly look rather afraid,” she pointed out. “If you’d like, you can go stand on that chair. They shouldn’t be able to reach you there.”

  The chair was tempting, but he wasn’t about to go leaping up on furniture like a frightened school girl. “I don’t need a chair,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “And I am not afraid of pygmy shrews.” His voice lowered. “I’m afraid of rats.”

  It was a silly weakness he’d never admitted to anyone before. Mostly because he knew that if his grandfather found out, he would have teased him mercilessly. Or – even worse – put rats in his shoes. Which was precisely where he’d discovered one when he was eight years old, and why he still loathed the beady-eyed creatures to this day.

  “Well I can assure you there are no rats in here. They chew,” she explained when he looked at her suspiciously. “And they’re constantly getting into the grain in the horse stables. Whereas pygmy shrews only eat insects and insect larvae. Oh look! There’s one now.”

  With all the speed and precision of a cat pouncing on a mouse, she dropped to her knees in the straw and cupped her hands together. She rose slowly to her feet; a duchess with straw in her hair and a pygmy shrew trapped between her palms. A beam of morning light swept in through a window, illuminating the dusty gold smattering of freckles across her nose and turning her tousled mane from deep red to burnished copper. It spilled over her shoulders in a wave of curls that glowed like fire against her porcelain skin.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, staring at her in astonishment. How had he not seen it before? Perhaps because her beauty was nothing like Vanessa’s cool, reserved prettiness. Eleanor wasn’t a finely tended rose kept under glass. She was a wildflower growing in an untended field. Her petals weren’t perfect. Her leaves were a bit frayed. But all of her imperfections only made her that much more stunning.

  Straw rustled under his boots as he started to step closer to her, possessed by the sudden urge to gather her in his arms and twist his fingers through those glorious curls and kiss every imperfect freckle scattered across her cheeks.

  Then he remembered the rat.

  “Don’t worry.” Mistaking his approach for interest in the pygmy shrew that was poking its twitching nose out between her fingers, Eleanor smiled and held up her hands. “Bianca doesn’t bite.”

  “Bianca?” he questioned, one brow lifting.

  “Yes. I named all of them after characters from Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew.”

  Every muscle in his body stilled. “All of them? How many are there?”

  “Only four.”

  Only four. He barely managed to restrain a snort. She might as well have said there were only four horsemen of the apocalypse.

  “Hold out your hands,” Eleanor instructed.

  Derek blinked. “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “I promise she won’t bite. Bianca is a lady. Aren’t you?” she cooed, nuzzling the shrew’s tiny nose. Her laughing gaze flicked to her husband. “Come now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then prove it.”

  Of course she would call him out. Any other woman – or man, for that matter – would have known enough to respect his wishes when he made them clear the first time. Then again, Eleanor wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met before. Before he had returned to Hawkridge he’d always seen her peculiarities as flaws. Things to be ignored instead of encouraged. But now he wasn’t beginning to wonder if her uniqueness wasn’t the most special thing about her.

  “Fine,” he said grudgingly as he held out his hands.

  “Closer together and cup your fingers. Yes, like that. Are you ready?”

  No.

  “Just do it,” he said, gritting his teeth and looking past her to the far wall. He held his breath when he felt a slight weight drop into his palms. Let it out in a slow, controlled hiss of air when whiskers brushed against his skin. Gazing down, he found himself staring at one of the smallest creatures he’d ever seen. Covered in sleek brown fur with a hairless tail and a pointed nose, Bianca the pygmy shrew was smaller than the length of his thumb. She wandered to the edge of his hand, peered down at the long drop below, and promptly turned back around.

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Eleanor beamed, their shoulders brushing as she positioned herself beside him so they could look down at Bianca together.

  Yes, he thought silently, although he wasn’t looking at the shrew. She certainly is.

  “I found the entire litter washed up in the field. That happens sometimes after a hard rain. Their mother was nowhere to be found, so I brought them back here. They’re almost ready to be released.”

  Eleanor’s enthusiasm was contagious, and despite his earlier reservations he found himself warming to the miniature rodent with the long whiskers and pointy snout. “And your other animals?” he asked, nodding towards the pigs and the lambs and the geese, all of which had settled down for a mid-morning nap. “How did you manage to find those?”

  “Well I…” she hesitated. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes,” he said, surprising himself. “I really do.”

  “All right. Then let’s start with Sir Galahad and Lancelot…”

  One by one she introduced him to her pets. Most of them would be released into the wild or given back to their owners, she explained, but some – like the pigs, who had been turned away from their mother at birth – she was afraid to return to the farmer for fear of finding them on the dinner menu.

  “You’re going to need a bigger barn soon.” Carefully transferring Bianca back to her adopted mother, Derek rested his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle. “Not to mention the fact that this building should have been demolished last year. Do you see the beams there, how they’re leaning to the side? That’s only going to get worse. It’s not safe.”

  “But there’s nowhere else for the animals to go,” Eleanor protested. Returning the pygmy shrew to a square wooden box, she joined her husband in studying the interior of the dilapidated barn. “I know it’s a little worn, but all of the other outbuildings are being utilized. This was the only one that was free.”

  “Then we’ll build another,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Derek considered himself to be a generous man – when the occasion suited. Over the years he’d spent a significant fortune on presents for his various mistresses. Diamond necklaces. Ruby bracelets. Emerald earrings. He gave t
hem priceless pieces of jewelry not because he necessarily wanted to, but because it was expected of him. When one kept a mistress it was what one did. And they’d all shown their appreciation in a myriad of creative (and pleasurable) ways. But not a single mistress had ever looked at him like Eleanor was looking at him now.

  “Really?” she whispered, her eyes as bright and wide as he’d ever seen them and filled with gratitude. One glance into those green shimmering pools and a man would be lucky if he didn’t lose himself forever. “You would do that for me?”

  I would hang the stars for you.

  The foolishly romantic thought, far better suited to a dreamy eyed poet than a cynical duke, made him scowl. Where the devil had that come from? Furthermore, why was he standing ankle-deep in straw learning all about pygmy shrews when he should have been in his study catching up on a year’s worth of correspondences?

  The country air was clearly getting to his head. It was the only damn thing that made any sense. The sooner he returned to London the better. Then he could focus on finding a new mistress. One who didn’t defy him or run around the lawn chasing after geese or forget to wear bonnets.

  “It wouldn’t be for you, it would be for the estate,” he said brusquely. “

  The light in Eleanor’s eyes dimmed. “I see,” she said, trying – and failing – to mimic his cold, businesslike tone. There was nothing cold or businesslike about her. From her Titian curls to her red hot temper, she was all heat. “Well either way, my animals will be appreciative. I’d like to speak to the foreman before he begins construction. I have several ideas that I think–”

  “No,” he said abruptly.

  “No?” Her eyebrows drew together. “No to what?”

  “All of it. All of this.” He gestured to the wooden pens with a short, agitated sweep of his arm. “You are not an architect or an animal doctor. You’re a duchess. And it’s time you began acting like one.” In the back of his mind Derek knew he was being a right bastard, but he didn’t care. It was better to be angry than weak. Better to think of his wife as a means to an end rather than the means to a beginning. He’d come here to consummate his marriage and save Hawkridge from his cousin. Not fall head over heels for a wild hellion with straw in her hair and a hedgehog in her pocket