A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “Not every road leads to the same place,” he said as his hands slid down to her waist, easily spanning her narrow ribcage. “Don’t you want to know if it would still be the same between us?”

  Her fingers curled inwards, nails biting into leather as the flicker in her belly threatened to grow into a flame. “That’s precisely what I don’t want to know.”

  “Ah, Georgie,” he whispered achingly. “You always were a bad liar.”

  When he kissed her she tried to resist. She truly did. But she knew from the moment he pushed her back against the tree and his mouth slanted over hers that the battle was already lost. So why fight when she could simply enjoy? They’d gotten so many things wrong seven years ago. But this...this was something they’d always gotten right.

  He swallowed her moan of surrender as his tongue slipped between her lips to taste and tease and torment. The heat was instantaneous, wrapping her in a fiery glow of pulsing desire that started between her thighs and spread upwards to her breasts, causing her nipples to tingle and swell against the confines of her bodice.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers sinking into taut muscle as he deepened the kiss. With one easy yank he removed her bonnet and ran his hands through her hair, freeing the dark curls from their pins until her mane tumbled down her back in an ebony waterfall of silk.

  “Beautiful.” He lifted his head to study her, his eyes as black and savage as she’d ever seen them. “You’re so damn beautiful. Why the hell did we-”

  “Stop talking and kiss me.” Clenching a handful of his shirt, she yanked his mouth back onto hers. She didn’t want regret. She didn’t want recriminations. She just wanted passion. Raw, unapologetic, sinful passion. The sort she’d never had with James. The sort she’d never had with anyone.

  Except for Sebastian.

  From their very first kiss he’d awoken something inside of her. Something she’d spent seven years trying to quell. But all it took was one glance, one touch, one taste to remember what it had been like.

  The way her heart had started to race whenever he’d met her gaze across a crowded room. The slow, seductive smile that had turned her knees to jelly. The fleeting touches - her hair, the small of her back, the nape of her neck - that had left her trembling for more. And then the fireworks when they finally managed to find themselves alone. Oh, the fireworks, more bright and brilliant than a thousand lights exploding in the night sky.

  If only fireworks weren’t so fleeting.

  “That’s enough.” She turned her head away, her entire body going rigid as she remembered what had come after the seductive smiles and fleeting touches and bright lights.

  Nothing.

  Nothing had come after, and she’d nearly been destroyed because of it. Which was why she wasn’t about to let the same thing happen again. For a moment in the sun, no matter how wondrous, wasn’t worth seven years in the shadows.

  “I said that’s enough.” Jabbing her elbow into Sebastian’s gut, she spun to the side and ducked under his arm when he staggered back with a grunt.

  “What the devil was that for?” he growled, brows heavy over flashing black eyes.

  “I came to my senses,” she said simply. Her hands went to her hair, fingers busily twisting the heavy length into a simple chignon as Sebastian’s scowl deepened.

  “The hell you did. That-”

  “-was a mistake.” She picked up her bonnet and dusted it off before setting it back on her head. “A moment of weakness, if you will. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

  “Is that what you think?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice that had the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end.

  “It’s what I know. Whatever we had between us...it’s gone, Sebastian.” Her own voice was flat and steady with nary a hint at the myriad of emotions that rippled just beneath the surface. “I don’t know why you are trying to revive it. Boredom, I suspect. But I am not the same naive girl that I was, and I will not be falling for your twisted games. Not again.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “This isn’t a bloody game. It never was. If you’d let me explain-”

  Her cynical laugh cut him off. Once she would have listened to whatever he had to say. Worse, she would have actually believed him. But not anymore. “There’s no possible explanation you could give that I would ever want to hear. What’s done is done. You chose your path. Now leave me to mine.” She tried to brush past him but he caught her by the wrist, thumb and index finger easily overlapping around the delicate bones. Her sigh was deliberately loud.

  “Let go, Sebastian.”

  “You still want me.” Any other woman - or man, for that matter - would have been terrified of his fierce stare. Georgiana did not so much as blink.

  “Maybe I do.” Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “But I learned a long time ago what I want and what I need are two entirely different things. You taught me that.”

  Something flickered in the dark depths of his eyes as he released her. He didn’t say another word, but the heavy weight of his gaze on her back as she returned to the tent spoke volumes.

  Whatever he’d started between them wasn’t over.

  It was just beginning.

  Chapter Six

  After breakfast Sebastian didn’t see Georgiana for the rest of the day, which was just as well. He needed time to clear his damn head...and to come up with a different strategy. For as much as she might have still looked like the girl he’d wooed in the mist and the moonlight, she wasn’t the same. The years had changed her, just as they had him. But after their most recent encounter he was pleased to note at least one thing still remained indifferent to the passage of time.

  Their desire.

  Georgiana heated his blood like no other woman before or after her. And given that he’d not exactly led a saintly life, that number was probably higher than it should have been.

  Sebastian had slept with some of the most stunning women the ton had to offer. Mostly widows and expensive courtesans, a few married to men old enough to be their grandfathers. All of them well versed in the art of loving a man. And yet none of them had ever come close to Georgiana.

  They had never been intimate - even he drew the line at despoiling young virgins - but she’d given him enough pleasure with just a single kiss for him to know that if they ever did sleep together the results would be nothing short of cataclysmic.

  Their passionate exchange this morning by the stables only confirmed his suspicions. The blinding heat that had sizzled between them seven years ago was still alive and well. He’d felt it. She’d felt it. Hell, the entire estate had probably felt it. Yet despite their unmistakable chemistry she had still turned away from him.

  Not that he could blame her.

  Nodding at a nearby servant to top off his glass of brandy, Sebastian wandered over to the extensive book collection taking up one entire wall of Swiftmore’s private study and stared blankly at the leatherbound bindings, his thoughts as far from the history of Egyptian symbology as the earth was from the sun. The rest of the guests - excluding the females, who had retired to their respective quarters to freshen up after a heavy dinner of savory lamb - milled around smoking cigars, drinking spirits, and indulging in idle conversation.

  Like a pack of dogs that found themselves in the presence of a wolf they left Sebastian alone, which was just fine with him. After all, he hadn’t come to the house party to make friends.

  He’d come to make amends.

  ‘I learned a long time ago what I want and what I need are two entirely different things.’ Georgiana’s voice echoed in his mind, as did the loathing in those sharp fawn colored eyes. Eyes that had once gazed up at him as if he’d hung the moon and the stars were now filled with nothing but hate. And it was all his fault. ‘You taught me that.’

  Yes, he reflected darkly as he tipped his glass back and took a swallow of brandy. It burned its way down his throat like liquid fire, warming the cold stone of re
gret lodged in the pit of his stomach. He had taught her that.

  Despite his many transgressions and misdeeds, there weren’t a lot of things Sebastian genuinely regretted. Not going with his parents and sister on holiday was one of them. Breaking Georgiana’s heart was another.

  That the two were directly connected hadn’t occurred to him until his self-imposed seclusion at Warwick Lock. He’d been in his study brooding (as he often was) and thinking about Georgiana (as he often did). Wondering where she was. If she had children. If she still thought of him as he thought of her. And he’d wondered what the hell had possessed him to toss her callously aside in favor of a woman he neither loved nor, truth be told, liked all that much.

  At the time he had been able to rationalize his actions. She’s too good for you, he’d told himself. You’re too dark for her. Too depraved. She deserves to be with someone who doesn’t have demons nipping at their heels. And all of those things had been true. But they weren’t the real reason he’d ended things between them. No. The real reason was much more simple...and much more difficult to admit.

  He didn’t want to suffer through the pain of losing someone he loved ever again.

  Because he had loved her. As much, if not more so, than he’d loved his parents and sweet little Anne. And when they were taken from him...when they were taken from him he wished for nothing less than his own death, for surely the fiery pits of hell were better than the raw, aching emptiness of being forced to live when he had nothing left to lose.

  For nearly half a decade he’d been consumed by the guilt of what might have been had he gone with his parents on their ill-fated voyage to Spain as he should have instead of getting foxed in a pub the night before and missing the boat by thirty goddamned minutes.

  Thirty minutes.

  What a bloody kick in the teeth.

  So he had made himself a promise. A promise that he would never care for anyone else as much as he had cared for his family. And for a long time it was a promise he managed to keep. Lover after lover. Mistress after mistress.

  Until the night he met Georgiana.

  Of course, besotted fool that he was, he didn’t know he was in love with her until it was too late. For both of them. Which was why he did the only thing he could think of: he broke her heart to save his own.

  To date, it was the second most selfish act he’d ever committed.

  There was nothing he could do to bring his parents back, and he’d made peace with that. But he’d be damned if he lost Georgiana as well. Not when he knew in his heart, in the depths of his dark, wretched soul, that they belonged together.

  “A man with a glass of fifty year old brandy in his hand shouldn’t look so miserable.” Flanked by two mutual acquaintances from their days at Oxford, Swiftmore approached and followed Sebastian’s gaze to the heavy tome on Egyptian symbology. “Looking for a bit of light reading?”

  “Just looking not to be bothered,” Sebastian said with a purposeful glance at Swiftmore’s companions.

  “Jolly good to see you again Warwick,” the one on the left muttered.

  “Jolly good,” the one on the right echoed before they both turned on their heels and hastened to the bar. Swiftmore sighed.

  “Must you be such a prickly bastard all of the time?”

  Sebastian lifted a brow. “What did I say?”

  “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. This is a bloody house party, mate. One my wife went to great pains to arrange. It wouldn’t kill you to act personable.”

  “I didn’t come here to make friends.”

  “Really?” Swiftmore said dryly. “You could have fooled me.”

  Sebastian sipped his brandy. “What do you-”

  He was interrupted when the study door suddenly opened and Ginny stepped inside. Waving her hand to clear away some of the cigar smoke, she regarded her guests with a brilliant smile. “All right, gentleman! Our Poor Pussy has been selected and it’s now up to you to find her. Our butler, Mr. Bentley, will distribute the blindfolds. The rules are simple. Whoever finds the Poor Pussy first and correctly identifies her will win a prize. If you think you’ve found the Poor Pussy but it turns out to be someone else, you’ll be eliminated from the game and must return to the study. The boundaries extend to the first and second floors. Outside is off limits, as is the kitchen. Are there any questions?”

  A viscount towards the back of the room raised his hand. “Aye,” he leered. “Whose pussy are we searching for?”

  Sebastian blinked. Was it his imagination, or did Ginny look straight at him before answering the viscount’s lewdly phrased question?

  “Our Poor Pussy of the evening is none other than my dear friend, the Dowager Countess of Hebron. Good luck hunting, gentleman.” Once again her gaze flicked to Sebastian where it lingered for several seconds before shifting away. “You’re going to need it.”

  This was officially the last time she allowed Ginny to talk her into anything. Scowling at her reflection in the mirror, Georgiana straightened the tiny felt cat ears she’d been forced to put on when she - quite literally - drew the short stick.

  “You’re so lucky!” Lady Tremaine said enviously. A petite blonde with a high-pitched voice and propensity for ending every sentence with an exclamation mark, she’d nearly burst into tears when her stick was long. “I’ve always wanted to be the Poor Pussy!”

  “The job is all yours if you want it.”

  “Oh no!” Lady Tremaine exclaimed, looking aghast that Georgiana would even dare suggest such a thing. “That would be against the rules!” Sidling closer, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, my husband is the jealous sort. He wouldn’t like other men...well...you know!”

  Yes, Georgiana did know. This wasn’t her first time playing Poor Pussy. The game was harmless enough, if a bit naughty, which was probably why the older guests had retired early for the evening. What wasn’t harmless?

  Warwick.

  She had no way of knowing if he was playing, but if he was...well, he wasn’t the sort of man who came in second. An involuntary tremble made its way down between her shoulder blades as she imagined his hands on her body. Fingertips tracing the contours of her face before trailing lower, and lower…

  “Can someone open a window?” she asked irritably. “It’s bloody hot in here.”

  Lady Tremaine’s eyes widened. “You really shouldn’t curse, you know. It’s not becoming of a lady!”

  Georgiana’s stare was nothing short of withering. “We’re about to run around the house while blindfolded men pin us in corners and try to guess our identity by using their hands. I think cursing is the least of our ladylike concerns.” Sweeping past Lady Tremaine who - thankfully - had been struck speechless, she stepped out into the hallway to find Ginny walking briskly towards her.

  “There you are. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want-”

  “Too late!” Ginny declared breathlessly, blue eyes bright with excitement. “The hunt has begun!”

  Chapter Seven

  Excited giggles, squeals of delight, and husky shouts of laughter echoed throughout Swiftmore Manor as the frivolity spilled out into parlors, broom closets, and bedrooms. From her lofty perch on a second floor balcony Georgiana did her best to block out the noise as she lifted her glass of red wine and took a long, triumphant sip.

  Let Warwick try to find her here. With the glass doors firmly shut and the heavy curtains drawn, she was all but invisible while - technically speaking - still within the set boundaries of the game.

  The bedchamber she’d slipped into was vacant, and although she’d heard footsteps pounding past on more than one occasion no one had yet to bother to even open the door. As was typical of their species, the men were content to go after the easy prey first.

  A cool breeze stirred, lifting the downy hairs at the nape of her neck and causing her grip on the light shawl she’d draped over her shoulders to tighten. She did so love this time of year when the days were hot and the nights were c
old enough to sleep with only a single linen sheet. Or - even though it was utterly wicked - no sheet at all.

  From the balcony she could just make out the silvery reflection of moonlight rippling across the pond and hear the throaty croak of bullfrogs as they called to their mates. It was hard to believe in just a few short months the pond would be frozen over and the frogs would be buried deep in the mud, not to be seen again until spring. But then such was the passage of time. It marched to its own steady, consistent rhythm and nothing - not man or machine or even God himself - could stop its inevitable passing.

  Heavy thoughts, Georgiana reflected, for a game of Poor Pussy. Although her thoughts had often been heavy as of late, and had only grown heavier with Warwick’s unexpected arrival.

  She took another sip of wine, this one longer than the last as she ordered her mind to focus on the weather, or the Prince Regent’s latest scandal, or even Eleanor’s menagerie of hedgehogs...anything but Sebastian. Of course, her mind didn’t listen. Not that she expected anything less after the way it had betrayed her this morning.

  What in heaven’s name had she been thinking, kissing him again? For most a kiss was a harmless, insignificant thing. She didn’t doubt there weren’t quite a few of those kisses happening tonight, all of which would be easily forgotten in the light of day. But there had never been anything harmless or insignificant about her kisses with Sebastian, and the one by the stables was no exception.

  If only time had dimmed the heat between them. But one sweltering kiss - one sweltering look - was all it had taken to ignite the flames of an unbridled passion she’d long hoped gone.

  Except it hadn’t been gone at all, had it? Just dormant, like a volcano in the long span between eruptions. An apt description, as their desire for one another seven years ago had very nearly destroyed everything in its path...including them. Which was exactly why she couldn’t - she wouldn’t - permit herself to kiss Sebastian again. No matter how tempted she was.