The Winter Duke (A Duke for All Seasons Book 1) Read online

  Forbidden passion burns the hottest…

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Cadence said crossly.

  Chuckling under his breath, Colebrook sat up. “Poor Miss Fairchild. Ever the brokenhearted damsel in distress. Do you know the best way to get over someone you used to love?” he asked.

  Ignore him, Cadence ordered herself. Ignore him and keep walking.

  “What is that?” she said with a jaunty toss of her head.

  “Kiss someone you don’t.” His smirking grin fading as he stared at her with eyes that were dark with lust and some other emotion she couldn’t quite decipher, he slowly uncoiled his lanky frame and stood up. “Come in and close the door, Cadence.”

  Cadence wasn’t naïve. She knew what would happen if she did as he asked. Just as she knew there were a hundred – no, a thousand – reasons why she shouldn’t.

  She swallowed.

  Hard.

  And then she walked into the parlor…and closed the door.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 by Jillian Eaton

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  Description

  Can two wounded hearts find the courage to love again? Find out in this must-read winter romance from best-selling author Jillian Eaton!

  As snow falls outside the manor…

  After being rebuffed by her betrothed, Cadence flees to her brother-in-law’s remote estate in the English countryside to escape the humiliation of getting left at the altar. She intends to spend the winter locked away in her room with chocolate. Fortunately for her, the Duke of Colebrook has other ideas…

  Things are heating up inside of it…

  Renowned throughout London for his long string of lovers, Justin Dearborn, Duke of Colebrook, isn’t looking for a wife. Having been spurned once, he has no intention of putting his heart on the line a second time. Until one passionate kiss with Cadence leaves them both yearning for more…

  Curl up with a cup of hot chocolate and enjoy The Winter Duke, the first novella in a brand new series reader are calling “FUNNY, STEAMY, and HEAD-OVER-HEELS ROMANTIC!”

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  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  A Dangerous Seduction

  Special Sneak Peek

  Prologue

  “What do you mean, you cannot marry me?” Miss Cadence Fairchild stared at Lord Benfield open-mouthed and dumbstruck as she felt her stomach drop all the way down to her toes.

  It was not a pleasant feeling.

  “I apologize,” said Lord Benfield, scratching at the back of his neck where a dull flush was slowly creeping up from underneath the collar of his waistcoat. The ruddy color washed out his pale complexion and drew unwanted attention to the extra flesh bulging out from above his cravat. Catching herself staring at his wobbly double chin, Cadence jerked her gaze upwards. Her lip curled.

  “I do not want an apology.” She placed her hands on her hips, gloved fingers digging into the embroidered lace on her skirt. “I want an explanation. Where is this coming from? Yesterday we had a perfectly enjoyable carriage ride through the park. You complimented my dress. ‘Lovely as a tulip in the dirt’ if I recall correctly.”

  Lord Benfield’s compliments, like his physique, were in dire need of some improvement.

  “Mother fears the match is not suitable,” he muttered under his breath, looking at the floor, the wall, the vase on the mantle – anywhere but at his almost bride-to-be.

  “Well it’s a good thing I am not marrying your mother!” Cadence had never liked Lady Benfield. The older woman always treated her with the same dismissiveness she displayed towards her household staff. She was a waspish old shrew who had her claws sunk so deeply into her son it was a miracle she’d ever allowed him out of nappies.

  Cadence had been counting down the days to when she would replace Lady Benfield as the most important woman in Lord Benfield’s life. Now it appeared as if she had been counting in vain, but she wasn’t about to let her future as an earl’s wife go without a fight.

  She’d worked hard for this, damn it. It wasn’t every Season the second daughter of a baron managed to catch the eldest son of a marquess. It had required countless hours listening to Lord Benfield drone on – and on, and on – about his love for antique buttons. Suffering not one, not two, but three sprained ankles (the man was a menace in the ballroom). Pretending not to notice how profusely he perspired whenever they were in close quarters. And, last but not least, putting up with his insufferable mother.

  “Lord Benfield – Harold – please.” Fluttering her long, dark eyelashes, she stepped forward and placed a hand on his forearm. “Surely there is a way we can make this work. Perhaps if I speak to your mother–”

  “No,” he said hastily. “That – that would not do. She – she has gone on holiday and I do not know when she will return.”

  “Holiday?” Cadence barely managed not to snort. “Harold, you and I both know your mother would never leave you for more than a day or two.”

  His brow furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” she said with exasperation, “that I know for a fact she hasn’t gone on holiday. What is this really about? Is it your brother? Is he not getting married after all?”

  Lord Benfield’s younger brother, Percival, had been engaged for the better part of three years. A wedding date had finally been set for the middle of October, but not wanting to overshadow his brother, Lord Benfield had told Cadence they would need to wait until after the wedding to announce their betrothment. She’d reluctantly accepted the delay – really, what else could she have done? – but there had always been a small part of her that had been secretly suspicious.

  As she gazed at the sweat dripping from Lord Benfield’s brow and the blotchy red wave that was slowly working its way across his face, Cadence realized she should have listened to her instincts.

  Harold was never going to marry her.

  Not if his mother had anything to say about it.

  “Percival and Lady Tibbetts will – will be married as planned,” he said, pulling at his collar. “Goodness. Is it warm in here, or is it just me?”

  Cadence pursed her lips. “It’s just you. I suppose this means I am longer invited to the wedding?”

  “N-no. Mother said it really wouldn’t be proper given the…well, given the circumstances.” Removing a monogrammed silk handkerchief from his pocket, Lord Benfield ran it across his forehead. “I really am sorry, Miss Fairchild. We – we can still remain friends if you’d like. I’ve just received a new button from a private collection in New York that I’d love to–”

  “ENOUGH WITH THE BUTTONS!” Cadence hadn’t meant to
raise her voice. And she certainly hadn’t meant to raise it so high that a maid coming down the stairs with a basket full of clean linens jumped a foot in the air and sent the linens sailing over the bannister in a shower of white sheets and pillowcases. But if there was ever a time to shriek loud enough to raise the dead, it was now.

  If she had to look at one more button…

  “You’ve broken my heart, Harold!” Snatching her hand away from his arm, she drove the heel of her boot into the floor for emphasis. “Snapped it right in half.”

  “Have I?” he said uncertainly. “Because you look more angry than heartbroken...”

  “And why can’t I be both?” Cadence asked shrilly. “I am angry because I am heartbroken. If you cared for me as much as you cared for your damn buttons, you would understand!”

  Lord Benfield stiffened. “I must kindly ask you to leave my buttons out of this.”

  “Oh!” Too incensed to manage more than one syllable, Cadence whirled in a flurry of indignant skirts and headed for the door. Pausing in the threshold, she cast an icy glare over her shoulder. “You’ll regret this, Harold. Buttons make poor bedmates. Very poor bedmates indeed.”

  Chin up, blue eyes glittering, she sailed out of the house…and made it all the way to her carriage before her anger abandoned her and she burst into sobs.

  Chapter One

  “Well, well, well,” drawled Justin Dearborn, sixth Duke of Colebrook, rake extraordinaire, and overall scoundrel, as he sauntered into his private bedchamber after an early morning ride through the brisk countryside. “What do we have here?”

  The two women who were sprawled naked on his bed giggled madly. They’d told him their names at his house party the night before, but damned if he could remember in the lucid light of day. All he knew was that he’d tupped the slender brunette on the left and almost tupped the curvy redhead on the right before they had all passed out from excess drink.

  “We were waiting for you,” the brunette said, drawing herself up on her knees.

  “Where have you been?” the redhead pouted.

  “Out for a ride, ladies.” Kicking off his mud-spattered Hessians, Justin slowly began to unbutton his shirt as he approached the bed. “I was going to take a nap, although now I think I’ll go for another ride instead.” Grinning wolfishly, he pounced on the brunette who squealed in delight as she was pushed back into a mountain of pillows.

  Not wanting to be left out of the fun, the redhead wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her tongue along the shell of his ear. “Let’s finish what we started last night,” she whispered, stroking her fingers through his golden, windswept hair as the brunette made quick work of his trouser fastenings.

  “That’s precisely what I had in – bloody hell!” Reacting instinctively, Justin threw himself forward and covered both women with his half-naked body as plaster rained down on them from above. When he looked over his shoulder and saw the gaping hole in the middle of the ceiling he cursed again, this time more vehemently.

  ‘A few minor inconveniences. You’ll hardly know my men are working’ the architect had said when Justin hired him to renovate his ancestral home.

  Lost by his grandfather in a card game, Colebrook Manor had sat vacant for the better part of two decades before Justin managed to buy back the deed. Unfortunately, time and neglect had taken its toll on the old girl and she was a withering shadow of the grand estate he vaguely remembered from his childhood. Which was why he’d brought in Mr. Billingsly.

  The incompetent sod.

  A bit of noise was a minor inconvenience. Having to take afternoon tea in the west wing parlor instead of the front drawing room was a minor inconvenience. Using the servant’s entrance was a minor inconvenience.

  Having a ceiling collapse mid-orgy?

  That was a bloody travesty.

  “Are you ladies all right?” Rolling off the bed, he shook off the bits of plaster and horsehair clinging to his skin. Finding his trousers flung over the back of a chair, he yanked them back on, wincing ever-so-slightly when his hands brushed against his pulsing arousal.

  Sorry old chap. Better luck next time.

  “The ceiling!” Green eyes big as tea saucers, the redhead pointed above his head. “It has a hole in it!”

  “An astute observation,” he said dryly. “I trust you ladies to see yourselves out. My valet will see to your travel accommodations. Perhaps we can pick up where we left off the next time I am in London?”

  “Oh yes,” the brunette said breathlessly.

  “We could always stay here…” Scooting to the edge of the bed, the redhead suggestively walked her fingers up Justin’s thigh. “My husband isn’t due to return for at least another fortnight.” Her hand slid upward to cup his bollocks as a suggestive smile played across her lips. “Just think of all the sins we can commit in that amount of time,” she whispered.

  Justin stiffened. “You’re married?” he said sharply as the fire smoldering in his loins abruptly cooled, leaving him with an aching cock and an unpleasant taste in the back of his mouth. He stepped back, arms folding across his chest as a dark scowl replaced his roguish grin.

  “Yes. We both are.” The redhead glanced at her companion, who lifted her brows and shrugged. “I – I assumed you knew.”

  “No, I was under the impression you were widows or otherwise unattached.” His eyes narrowed. “I do not sleep with married women.”

  “Well you did last night,” said the redhead.

  “Twice,” the brunette said coyly, cupping her heavy breasts.

  “Gather your things and go home to your husbands.” Yanking on his waistcoat and boots, Justin stalked out of his bedchamber without another word. He intercepted his personal valet in the hallway, a middle-aged man with hair that had already gone gray and neatly trimmed sideburns that framed a long, narrow face. The two had known each other for years, which was why his valet sensed at once there was a problem.

  “Is something the matter, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, Herrington, something bloody well is the matter.” An amiable sort of fellow, Justin did not lose his temper very often. It was a surly beast, difficult to control and nearly impossible to rein back in once it had been set loose from its cage. Blue eyes flashing, he clenched his jaw and snarled, “I thought I made myself clear when I said married women were not to be put on the invitation list. Under no circumstances, I believe were my exact words.”

  “You – you made yourself very clear, Your Grace.” Herrington cleared his throat. “I am not certain how it came to be that your wishes were not followed out, but I can assure you it will not happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t,” Justin growled. “And while you’re at it, make sure the two ladies in my bedchamber find their way out of it before I return.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Of course, Your Grace.” The valet hesitated. “Is there anything else?”

  “Have you seen Billingsly? There’s a bloody hole in my ceiling and I’d like to know why.”

  Relieved to no longer be the sole focus of Justin’s anger, Herrington was only too happy to give up the architect. “I believe Mr. Billingsly is in the dining room.”

  “Excellent,” Justin said, flashing his teeth in a grim parody of a smile that sent a shiver down Herrington’s spine. In that moment, a snarling wolf would have looked like a mewling pup if compared to the Duke of Colebrook. “I should very much like to have a word with him. Very much indeed.”

  “You cannot fire me.” Spit flew from the corners of Billingsly’s mouth as he stared at Justin in outraged astonishment, thick black eyebrows pulled in so tightly above the bridge of his nose it appeared as though an enraged caterpillar had taken up residence in the middle of his forehead.

  “Really?” His anger having simmered to a low boil, Justin leaned a hip against the edge of the dining room table and canted his head to the side. “Because I believe that is exactly what I just did. You told me you were the best, Billingsly.”

  “I am the best,�
�� the architect retorted, flushed jowls quivering with self-righteous indignation. “Everyone who is anyone will tell you that.”

  Justin snorted. “Then everyone who is anyone is either pandering or drunk off their arse. I’d put good money on the latter, if I were a betting sort of man. But as I never pander and I am not – at the moment, at least – drunk, I can finally see you for the charlatan that you are. I just wish I’d seen it before your incompetence ruined a perfectly good threesome.”

  “My – my incompetence did what?” Billingsly sputtered.

  “It’s really neither here nor there,” Justin said with a flippant wave of his hand. “Suffice it to say, you are no longer employed. Now take your men and your bloody scaffolding that has destroyed my grandmother’s garden beds, and kindly sod off.”

  The caterpillar wiggled furiously. “You’re going to regret this, Colebrook. You’ll see!”

  “That is where you are wrong, old chap.” Justin smiled thinly. “I don’t regret anything.”

  Liar, whispered a tiny, frequently ignored voice in the back of his head as Billingsly stormed out of the room. You regret one thing.

  Yes, he did. But not for the reasons his beleaguered conscience might think.

  It was rare that he thought of Jessica. Rarer still that he dwelled on the treacherous bitch for longer than five seconds. But this morning’s events had stirred up the past like a heavy rock thrown into muddy waters and the memories were refusing to settle back to the bottom where they belonged.

  Jaw taut, he crossed to the window and threw back the heavy drape to watch in stony silence as Billingsly gathered his men. Justin would see to it that all of the workers were paid in full. After all, it wasn’t their fault their employer couldn’t have built a simple shed if his life depended on it. But he’d be damned if he gave Billingsly another shilling. No one received a second chance from the Duke of Colebrook. A lesson Lady Jessica Stemworth had learned firsthand many years ago.