A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “All right.” She inclined her head ever-so-slightly, as if she were granting him a favor. The corners of his mouth twitched, the first real emotion he’d shown, before he turned and led her to the double doors leading out onto the stone terrace.

  It was hot inside the ballroom, and they weren’t the only ones to seek the cool night air. Removed from the bright flicker of candlelight and hidden in shadow, they passed unseen through the crowd and down into the gardens. Georgiana felt a moment’s hesitation when she realized they’d left her chaperone behind, but it was quickly eclipsed by a tiny thrill of anticipation when he led her to a bench and they sat side by side, not looking, not touching, but intrinsically aware of one another just the same.

  “I haven’t seen you before.” It was not a question, but a statement. One he punctuated with a subtle lift of his brow as he glanced at her. Moonlight spilled across his countenance, illuminating the hard, handsome lines of his countenance. He couldn’t have been more than four or five years her senior, but there was a weariness in his expression that hinted at hardship and pain.

  “This is my debut.” She spoke softly and clearly, her voice as melodious as his was dark and deep.

  “Is it?” His tone held a faint note of surprise. “You’ve maturity beyond your years, Lady…”

  “Perrin. Lady Perrin, Your Grace.”

  “You know who I am then.”

  She met his cold, clear stare without blinking. “Yes.”

  “And yet you still came out here alone with me. That either shows admirable courage or incredible foolishness, Lady Perrin. Haven’t you heard what they say behind closed doors?”

  “I prefer to meet a person before I judge them.”

  “The rumors aren’t true, you know.” He shifted nearer. Just a small, nearly indiscernible change of balance that brought their faces within inches of one another. He was so close she could smell the tiniest hint of bourbon on his breath and see the steady throb of his pulse above the crisp fold of his white cravat.

  “Oh - oh no?” Her voice trembled even as her body yearned.

  “No,” he whispered, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her own. “The truth is much, much worse.”

  She wasn’t surprised when he kissed her. But she was surprised by how gentle his lips were, and how sweetly he coaxed hers apart. He cupped the nape of her neck as she pressed her hands against his chest, fingers splaying across the satin folds of his waistcoat.

  The kiss lingered like a warm evening in the middle of summer when fireflies danced in the sky and the air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. When it finally ended, when he finally leaned back to regard her with a gaze that was as commanding as it was unreadable, she couldn’t help but wish it had lasted a little longer.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” There was no trace of apology in his tone. He was merely stating a fact, one she acknowledged with a slight tilt of her chin.

  “No,” she agreed. Her gaze flicked down to her lap where her hands had returned after memorizing the breadth of his chest. She lifted her eyes slowly, peeking up at him beneath a sooty fringe of black lashes. “But I am glad you did.”

  They were still sitting so close together that she felt more than heard his sharp intake of breath. He glanced down at her lips and her stomach coiled in anticipation of another kiss, but instead - to her silent dismay - he stood up and offered his hand. “Let’s continue our walk. There is something I want to show you...”

  If only I had said no, Georgiana reflected as she wrenched herself free of the past. She would have saved herself so much trouble...and heartbreak. She never would have known the sharp sting of rejection. Never would have soaked her pillow with an ocean’s worth of tears. Never would have humiliated herself by waiting for him to return like a besotted puppy whose master had cast it aside.

  After seven years, that was what still hurt the most. The humiliation of knowing he’d chosen another woman over her. The shame that came from being so easily manipulated. She’d fancied herself in love with him and he...he had taken her love, twisted it into something she didn’t recognize, and cast it carelessly aside as if it were a toy that no longer worked properly.

  “I’m sorry,” Georgiana told Ginny abruptly. “I know I’m not acting myself. I suppose seeing Warwick again rattled me more than I cared to admit. But let’s forget about all that nonsense, shall we?” She managed a bright - albeit feigned - smile. “I came here to enjoy myself, not reminiscence about a man I hardly remember.”

  “Err…” Ginny bit her lip as guilt spread across her countenance like a spool of ribbon being unraveled. “Well you see, the thing is…”

  Georgiana’s eyes immediately narrowed. “What have you done this time, Ginny?”

  “It wasn’t so much what I did. He was the one who insisted on coming.”

  “No,” Georgiana whispered as icy shivers of dread raced down her spine. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “What was I supposed to do? He’s a duke,” Ginny said helplessly. “I couldn’t say no.”

  “You certainly could have! It’s only two letters!”

  “Please don’t make a scene,” Ginny begged when Georgiana’s shrill voice swiveled more than a few heads. “It’s only for a few days-”

  “A few days?”

  “-and then he has to travel back to London for business. Why, you’ll hardly see him.”

  “You’re right about that, because I’m leaving. Right this minute. Let go of my arm,” Georgiana said through clenched teeth when Ginny grabbed onto her limb with all the tenacity of a well bred terrier.

  “But you can’t leave! People will talk. The house party will be ruined!”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you invited him here.” It was one thing to be betrayed by a man; quite another to be betrayed by a friend. The pain was like a dull blade to the back, slowly spreading inch by inch until her entire body felt numb. “The luncheon I could excuse, but this is unforgivable.” Wrenching free of Ginny’s desperate grasp, she stormed out the front door...and straight into the arms of the Duke of Warwick.

  Chapter Four

  What the bloody hell was he doing here? Tugging irritably at his knotted cravat, Sebastian scowled up at the gabled roof of Swiftmore Manor and seriously contemplated climbing back into his carriage. He was only a two day’s ride from one of his smaller country estates. Less if he had his coachman stop midway and switch out for fresh horses.

  He could be sleeping in his own bed by tomorrow night...but then that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to sleep in his bed. He wanted to sleep in hers. Although if it were up to him, there wouldn’t be much sleeping.

  Georgiana.

  Just thinking her name had his bollocks swelling. He’d been in a semi-permanent state of arousal ever since he’d seen her in the library and nothing - not a rigorous boxing match, not a cold bath, not even his own fist - had managed to slake the ache in his loins.

  That he still desired her so intensely after so much time...it was just another sign in a long damned list of them that he never should have let her go. Then again, there were a lot of things he never should have done. Including coming to this damned house party.

  But he’d no sooner turned to go than the front door suddenly flew open and he found his arms filled with nine stone of spitting hellcat. Hazel eyes flashing with fury, Georgiana shoved her hands into his chest with so much force he was actually pushed back a step.

  “Please watch where you’re - you,” she breathed. With a curse that had Sebastian’s brows lifting she pushed past him and all but fled down the drive towards the side lawn, her skirts billowing out behind her like a sail that had just caught the wind.

  “Oh dear.” Emerging in the doorway, Lady Swiftmore’s gaze flicked from Sebastian to Georgiana and then back to Sebastian. “Oh dear, oh dear. I had hoped that might have gone a tad bit better.”

  “You didn’t tell her I was going to be here, did you?”

  “Of course I
didn’t.” Huffing out a breath, Ginny stepped down beside him as together they watched Georgiana disappear beneath the awning of a giant white tent. “If I’d done that, she never would have come.”

  “And this is so much better?” he asked dryly.

  “You’re both here, aren’t you? That’s a start.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Although if you have any intention of keeping her here you’d best start working on your apology.”

  “My apology?” His shoulders stiffened. “What the bloody hell for?”

  “Swearing in front of my wife, for one thing.” The Earl of Swiftmore was a tall, leanly built man with brown hair that was beginning to thin at the temple and serious brown eyes that warmed considerably as he walked out the door and shook Sebastian’s hand. “Good to see you again so soon, old friend. I didn’t believe Ginny when she showed me the guest list and your name was on it.”

  “It was a last minute decision.” A bad one, Sebastian added silently as he stared at the tent. What the devil had he been thinking? That Georgiana would be overjoyed to see him again? He barely suppressed a snort. She’d barreled into his arms with all the destructive force of a cannonball. Not that he’d really expected anything less. His Georgie had never been the sweet, doe-eyed, malleable sort. Beneath that beautiful face was the heart and soul of an Amazon. One who wouldn’t hesitate to stab him in the chest. Or the stomach. Or - he grimaced just thinking about it - the groin.

  She’d be polite about it, of course. Georgiana was nothing if not polite. She’d probably offer him her second best handkerchief as he bled out, then have the butler roll him up in a rug so he wouldn’t stain the hardwood floor.

  “I take it things aren’t going as you expected?” Swiftmore asked with a knowing glance at the tent. Not many men would dare speak so candidly to Sebastian, but the two had known each other since their Oxford days. They were as close as Sebastian ever allowed himself to get to anyone, although they’d only just recently reconciled after falling out of favor during Sebastian’s ill-fated marriage to Lady Abigail Waterson.

  Swiftmore had made it clear from the start that he did not approve of Abigail, and he hadn’t been the only one. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed debutante may have been stunningly beautiful, but beneath her voluptuous chest beat a cold, conniving heart. Which was precisely why Sebastian had married her.

  There had been no ill-conceived notions of love between the two of them. No illusions of happily-ever-after. Their union had been nothing more and nothing less than a business contract. It was easier that way. Or so he’d told himself at the time. Without love, there couldn’t be heartbreak. Without heartbreak, there couldn’t be loss. Which was why, even though it made him the worst sort of bastard, he hadn’t mourned Abigail after she’d died. Although he had pitied her, for no one - not even an adulteress bitch - deserved such a gruesome end.

  He’d found her sprawled on the floor of her bedchamber, blue eyes glassy and bulging. She had been strangled to death by her own lover after the poor, misled bloke discovered he wasn’t the only one tupping the Duchess of Warwick. After realizing what he’d done the murderous coward had shot himself, leaving Sebastian to both literally and figuratively clean up the mess.

  The crime scene had been obvious enough that he’d immediately been cleared of all charges by the magistrate, but that hadn’t stopped the ton’s infamous rumor mill from gleefully churning out baseless lies. Even the London Times had contributed to the gossip, running one salacious headline after another. His personal favorite?

  ‘DUKE OR DEVIL: INSIDE WARWICK’S DARK MIND’

  He’d found it amusing for a while. The nervous stares whenever he walked down the street. The hushed whispers. The flood of invitations to everything from operas to afternoon tea. A duke was popular enough in his own right, but a duke who had murdered his wife? It was a scandal the ton simply couldn’t get enough of.

  Inevitably, Sebastian soon grew weary of the constant attention and retreated to Warwick Lock, his ancestral estate of twenty thousand acres tucked away on England’s northernmost tip. In the silence and the solitude he’d begun to finally make peace with the demons that had plagued him for the better part of his life, and when he had received word that Georgiana was a widow...well, here he was, wasn’t he? Back from the wilds to claim the heart of the only woman who had ever truly mattered.

  Too bad he hadn’t counted on just how long she could carry a grudge.

  “You could say that.” He rubbed his chin. “What do you think the chances are of her mood improving over the course of the week?”

  “Not good,” Ginny said cheerfully. “You certainly have your work cut out for you.”

  “Aye,” he murmured as he watched Georgiana slip out of the tent and head down towards the stables. From this distance he couldn’t make out her features with any clear distinction, but there was no mistaking her identity. She carried herself with the elegance of a young queen, shoulders swept back and chin lifted, steps measured and purposeful. “Wish me luck,” he said, mouth twisting in a humorless smile as he set off across the lawn.

  I’m bloody well going to need it.

  Chapter Five

  Georgiana could not remember the last time she’d been this furious. Anger pulsed inside of her like a living, breathing thing, causing her breaths to come in short, uneven gasps and her hands to clench into tiny knotted fists as she stalked towards the barn.

  How dare Ginny! And how dare Sebastian. To simply show up again after all this time, as if the last seven years didn’t matter. Teeth grinding to the point of pain, she stopped in front of a small fenced paddock and scowled at the glossy black stallion prancing anxiously within.

  “Men,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? All flash and promises in the beginning, but once you have what you want you’re quick enough to change your tune.”

  The stallion whirled in a tight circle, muscles rippling beneath his sleek obsidian hide as he tossed his head and struck out at the ground with a powerful hoof. Georgiana rolled her eyes.

  “Look at you, causing such a fuss. And for what?” Kneeling, she yanked up a handful of grass and fearlessly extended her arm between the slats in the fence. “Come here. I said come here,” she snapped, delivering the command as if she were speaking to a small, disobedient dog instead of an enormous animal that could easily cause her serious harm.

  With a loud snort the stallion cautiously approached and slowly stretched his head out towards her hand. She held still as he sniffed her, and nodded approvingly when he nibbled the grass from her palm. Nickering as if to say, ‘Where’s the rest of it?’ he arched his neck over the top rail and nudged her shoulder, prompting a laugh to spill from her lips despite the tightness in her chest.

  “There, you see? That wasn’t so hard. Here, let me-”

  “Georgiana, get the hell away from that animal!” Sebastian’s terse growl caused the stallion to spook and whirl to the side. He reared straight up, forelegs slashing at the air as he towered over the fence. With a vicious curse Sebastian lunged forward and grabbed Georgiana around the waist. Ignoring her sputtering protests, he dragged her away from the paddock towards a large elm tree.

  “Let go of me, you brute!” Enraged by Sebastian’s high-handedness, Georgiana struck out at his chest, his arms, his face - anywhere she could reach, really - until he abruptly released her. Staggering back a step, she leaned against the tree’s wide trunk to catch her balance and glared up at him in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind? You have no right to touch me, let alone-”

  “You little fool,” he snarled, eyes flashing a dark, stormy black. He slapped his hands down on either side of her head, effectively pinning her in place against the elm’s rough bark. “Do you have any idea how close you just came to being killed?”

  “Killed?” she scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was in absolutely no danger. That stallion-”

  “That stallion just broke a groom’s arm! He’s as wild
as they come, and you were feeding him out of the palm of your hand as if he were a pet lamb!” He shoved his fingers through his hair, sweeping the inky tendrils off his temple. “Bloody hell, Georgie. That horse could have ripped you limb from limb.”

  She opened her mouth to berate him further, but the rigid line of his jaw and the muscle pulsing high in his right cheek gave her pause. Why, he’s frightened, she realized incredulously. She’d never known him to be afraid of anything before. And yet it was clear that fear, not anger, was the driving force behind his actions.

  “I didn’t realize the stallion was anything more than high-spirited,” she said as something within her inexplicably softened. “Had I known better, I obviously would not have placed myself in harm’s way.”

  “High-spirited,” Sebastian scoffed. “The damn animal is a menace.”

  “Well, as you can see I am not hurt.” Suddenly aware of just how close they were standing, she lifted her chin and did her damndest to ignore the tiny flicker of awareness deep in her belly. “So you can release me now.”

  “I could,” he acknowledged slowly. “But what if I don’t want to?”

  She hated that her breath caught when she saw the carnal gleam of arousal in his eyes. Hated that she quivered when he lifted his hand and gently tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Hated that she wanted to lean into his touch instead of away.

  This was his power over her. This had always been his power over her. To make her forgo all common sense. To throw rhyme and reason to the four winds. To give in to her baser instincts instead of listening to her higher intellect.

  But not this time, she reminded herself. You won’t let him play you for a fool this time.

  Her spine stiffened, the delicate vertebrae aligning one on top of the other as she struggled to resist the dark allure of his charms. “We’ve been down this road before. And we both know where it ends.”