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

  “The servants will talk.” Servants always talked. And even though her reputation was low, it could always sink lower. Something to remind herself of whenever her resolve began to weaken. Much like it was doing now.

  “Oh, I don’t think they will.” Colebrook gave the careless shrug of a man who had never lost a second’s sleep over what others said about him. “What do you think, Elsbeth?”

  “About what?” the German maid said innocently. “Miss Fairchild has been in her bedchamber all day. She couldn’t possibly have gone on a sleigh ride.”

  Outnumbered and out of excuses, Cadence bit the inside of her cheek again. Hard. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it. But only because I need that tree, and only if you agree to go straight there and come straight back.”

  Colebrook grinned. “I’ll get your cloak.”

  The sleigh’s runners cut effortlessly across the top of the snow as they made their way across an open field. As far as the eye could see everything was a brilliant, sparkling white topped with a clear, vibrant blue. But Justin wasn’t looking at the land or the sky. He was looking at Cadence and even though she was pretending not to, she was looking back.

  “Will you stop that?” she said finally, twisting in her seat to glare at him. An emerald green hood trimmed with white fur framed her face. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her lips red from the wind, her eyes sparkling from thinly veiled annoyance. She was angry with him, and he couldn’t blame her. Not when he’d coerced her so shamelessly into joining him. But he wasn’t sorry for it, as he had been trying for nigh on a week to get her alone and she’d managed to evade him at every turn. Vexing, quarrelsome woman that she was.

  He would have been well served to forget about her. To leave her and Wycliffe Manor all together. He’d need both hands to count the number of women in London who would have eagerly done whatever lascivious act he asked of them, and yet here he was one fixated on the one chit who didn’t want anything to do with him.

  It didn’t make any bloody sense.

  Nothing about Miss Cadence Fairchild did.

  Maybe that was why he was so intrigued by her.

  “Stop what?” He tugged gently on the left trace, guiding the matching team of heavyset bay geldings towards an opening in the trees. Going to the right would have been quicker, but he was enjoying his time with Cadence and he wanted it to last as long as possible.

  Even though he was fairly certain if she’d been in possession of a knife she would have already stabbed him in the thigh with it.

  “Staring at me as if I were a particularly scrumptious Shrewsbury biscuit.”

  He lifted a brow. “Do not be ridiculous. Shrewsbury biscuits are terribly bland. I’d rather eat chalk. No, Miss Fairchild, if you were a dessert you’d be a…Tortuga Rum cake.”

  “A Tortuga Rum cake?”

  “Indeed. Sweet and spicy. My two favorite things.”

  She pursed her lips. “If you were a dessert you’d be rice pudding. Predictable and quick to sour.”

  Vexing, quarrelsome woman indeed.

  “Do you really find me predictable, Miss Fairchild?” They’d entered the woods on a trail only slightly wider than the sleigh. Tiny silver bells attached to the horse’s harnesses rang out as the bays trotted on, happy to stretch their legs in the freshly fallen snow.

  “Exceedingly so.”

  “And how is that?” he queried, genuinely curious to know the answer.

  “You are not the first rake I have encountered, Your Grace. All of you are the same. You desire what you cannot have, and once you have it, you no longer desire it.” She stole a sideways glance at him beneath her lashes. “As I said, predictable and quick to sour.”

  “And yet you still kissed me,” he pointed out.

  “A mistake that will not happen again.”

  “Because I am predictable.” Transferring the reins to one hand, he moved the other beneath the heavy blanket covering her from the waist down and ran a single fingertip along the outside of her leg. Her breath catching, she went still as a hare caught out in the open by a hungry fox. He waited for her to tell him to stop, to remove his hand, to bugger off (all of which he would have done, albeit reluctantly) but she remained silent, caught somewhere between denial and desire.

  “What was the second bit?” he asked huskily.

  “Q-quick to sour,” she stammered.

  “That’s right.” He shifted closer to her as his finger slipped between her warm thighs. He began to stroke her through her gown and undergarments; long, slow, lazy passes of his thumb and pointer finger that had her quivering with unspoken need. “Quick to sour.” His head canted. “Do you find me sour now, Miss Fairchild?”

  Dazed blue eyes met his. “E-exceedingly so,” she whispered.

  “That’s too bad.” He watched those expressive eyes darken as he coaxed her slowly but surely towards release. Watched her tongue slide across her bottom lip. Watched her jaw tighten as he held her, held, her held her on the brink…and then sent her tumbling over the other side into blissful oblivion.

  Cadence cried out, her hips lifting off the seat as pleasure coursed through her trembling body. To Justin’s surprise he felt an answering surge of pleasure in his own loins even though his cock remained untouched and his bollocks heavy and aching.

  He’d had never considered himself a selfish lover, but he had always seen to it that his carnal needs were met. Yet as he watched Cadence float down from the high he had sent her soaring towards with a few expert strokes of his fingers he couldn’t have felt more satisfied than if he’d experienced his own release.

  Curious, that.

  Very curious indeed.

  “I apologize for being so predictable,” he said as she lifted her stunned gaze to his. “I shall endeavor to be more arbitrary in the future.” And sliding his hand out from between her thighs he took the reins, clucked his tongue, and set the horses into a canter.

  Chapter Eight

  “What do you mean, you haven’t got an axe?” Standing in the middle of a snow covered lawn with her hands on her hips, Cadence stared at Colebrook in disbelief. They’d come all this way and the great big lummox had forgotten the one thing they needed to chop down the tree! “Unbelievable,” she muttered, stuffing her hands into the fur muff stitched to the front of her cloak. “Completely unbelievable.”

  Colebrook shrugged. “I thought you were bringing one.”

  “You thought I was bringing the axe?” she said incredulously. “And where did you think I was hiding it? Underneath my skirts?”

  “I think I would have felt it there, don’t you?”

  Her mouth opened. Closed. Without another word she turned on her heel and started back towards the horses. Chuckling under his breath, Colebrook caught up with her before she’d taken more than half a dozen steps.

  “Retreating doesn’t become you, Miss Fairchild.”

  “I am not retreating,” she corrected him haughtily. “I am returning to the sleigh. It is cold, and since you neglected to bring the axe–”

  “You were the one who wanted to commit tree murder.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “I presumed you had the weapon handy.”

  “Tree murder,” she repeated. “Of all the ridiculous, absurd–”

  “I don’t believe the tree thinks it’s absurd. Don’t worry old chap,” he called out cheerfully to the enormous pine towering behind them. “You live to grow another day. I won’t let her hurt you.’

  Not knowing whether to laugh or throw up her hands, Cadence did a little of both. How could this man – this infuriating, obnoxious, magnificent man – make her purr with passion one second and want to rip out her hair the next? He reminded her of a young boy pulling the braids of a girl he fancied. A young boy who had grown into a charming rake with a heart of – well, not gold. He was far too naughty to have a heart of gold. But not so naughty and irredeemable that it shone copper.

  A tarnished silver, she decided. One that would gleam with
a bit of hard work and polish.

  Pity she wasn’t a maid.

  It was rather odd, Cadence reflected, how much her feelings towards men and marriage had changed over the past few weeks. She’d been willing to marry Lord Benfield not because of any strong emotional attachment, but because of his title and social standing and the life he could have given her. A difficult thing to admit, but it was the truth. And not an uncommon one. Love matches were all but unheard of in the ton. Marriages of convenience, on the other hand…well, those were a dime a dozen.

  Then Lord Benfield had broken her heart, or so she thought, and she went running to her sister…only to discover what a marriage of inconvenience looked like.

  Hannah and Evan’s union was not perfect. The Duke of Wycliffe was a difficult man with a difficult past. But even on their worst day it was clear they were genuinely happy. Not just happy, they were in love. And having seen the glow in their eyes when they looked at one another, that was what she wanted. Not a marriage of convenience to a boring earl with a button collection, but one comprised and built on love. True love. The sort of love that sonnets were spun from and poets wrote about. The sort of love she would never find with a rogue like Colebrook. No matter how well he kissed or how wicked his fingers.

  Which were very, very wicked.

  In the most delicious way possible.

  But lust was not love, and while it was clear Colebrook desired her, Cadence feared that was as far as his feelings went. As far as they’d ever go.

  He did not believe in marriage. He’d said as much himself. She was just a shiny new toy he wanted to play with, and once he did he’d grow weary of her and set her back on the shelf like he’d done with the dozens of women before her. Then she would know what real heartbreak was like, for she already felt more for Colebrook than she ever had for Benfield. Even though she’d rather burn her second favorite pair of gloves then tell him as much.

  “I would like to return now,” she announced. “I shall send the footmen back before it gets completely dark. With an axe. Then they can – where are you going?”

  “There’s something I need from inside,” Colebrook called back over his shoulder as he trudged through the snow towards his manor. The wind had blown a tall bank up against the front door, forcing him to use a servant’s entrance around the side. More snow began to fall lightly from the dull, grey sky as he reached the door and gave it a hard yank. Then another. Finally, on the third pull, the door sprang open.

  “Are you coming?” Colebrook shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth so his voice carried clearly across the lawn.

  “In there?” Cadence eyed the manor dubiously. Without a single candle shining in the windows, the old, dilapidated estate looked nothing short of haunted. She could see where work had been started, but the vast majority of the house was still in need of complete restoration. It would be a stunning showpiece of old architecture mixed with new when it was finished and she would have vastly preferred to wait until then to see the inside of it, but given the choice between remaining outside by herself as darkness slowly descended or accompanying Colebrook within, she was inclined to choose the latter.

  “Just couldn’t stay away from me, could you?” he said with a grin when she joined him at the door. Out of breath from struggling through the knee-high snow, Cadence could only manage a narrow-eyed glare. His grin broadening, Colebrook gestured her inside. “After you, Miss Fairchild.”

  She swept past him into a small, unadorned hallway and then waited, shivering, for him to light a candle. “Why on earth wouldn’t you leave behind a skeleton staff to tend the estate? Or at least hire a groundskeeper to shovel the pathways.”

  “Because I didn’t plan on coming back here until spring.” He held the candle up and she unconsciously leaned towards it, not realizing just how cold she was until the tiny orange flame warmed her icy cheeks. Colebrook frowned. “Poor love. You’re half frozen. Here, take my coat and I’ll start a fire.”

  “That really won’t be necessary,” she protested, but he’d already swept off his greatcoat and draped it over her shoulders like a cloak. It smelled of him, and even though she knew she shouldn’t – even though she knew it was just asking for trouble – Cadence hugged the warm garment close to her body and greedily inhaled his woodsy scent.

  They passed through the kitchens and down another hallway before entering what she could only assume was the library even though the floor to ceiling shelves had been stripped of books.

  “I had them taken to my estate in Colchester,” Colebrook remarked when he noted the direction of her gaze. “There aren’t many looters this far north, but you never know. Do you like reading, Miss Fairchild?”

  “If the most recent addition of Ackermann’s Repository counts as reading then yes, I enjoy it immensely,” she replied honestly. “Hannah’s always been the bookworm of the family.”

  “And what does that make you?” Kneeling in front of the library’s massive stone fireplace, Colebrook began pulling logs from a large metal tin and stacking them in the middle of the hearth while Cadence observed from a few feet back.

  “I am afraid I do not know what you mean.” Pulling off her hat which was beginning to grow damp from the melting snow that had accumulated on the brim, she tossed it onto a nearby chair and drew Colebrook’s coat up to her neck.

  “If your sister is the bookworm, who are you?”

  “I…I don’t know.” A line appeared between her brows as she mulled the question over. A month ago she would have answered it easily. Who am I? I am the future Countess of Benfield. Except that wasn’t really who she was, was it? A woman’s husband did not define her. Neither did their wealth or the number of shoes in their wardrobe. She used to think those things made a person who they were, but now she knew it was something more. Something that couldn’t be bought or acquired. Something that could only come from within.

  “That’s all right.” Throwing the last log into the hearth, Colebrook stood up and brushed his hands off on his trousers. “I don’t know who I am either.”

  Cadence blinked in surprise. “You’re a duke.”

  A duke who looks like an angel and kisses like the devil.

  A duke who teases me mercilessly one second and gives me his coat the next.

  A duke I am starting to fall helplessly, hopelessly, miserably in love with.

  Starting? Her lips twisted in a wry smile. She was nearly halfway there. Despite her attempts to stay away from him, despite her best efforts to forget their kiss, despite knowing it could only end in disaster, she was still falling in love with him. How could she not? He undoubtedly had his faults (lots and lots and lots of faults) but she was beginning to suspect there was more to him than what he chose to reveal on the surface.

  There was kindness in him. Genuine humor as well, not just the biting remarks he used like a sharp sword to defend himself. Although she still didn’t have the slightest idea what exactly he was trying to defend himself against. By all accounts he lived a life of great luxury. One that common men only dreamed about. Anything he wanted he could have with just a snap of his fingers. But perhaps that was part of the problem. When you could have anything you wanted, what did you ask for?

  “Aye, I am a duke.” He ran a hand through his hair. Like Cadence, he’d discarded his hat and his blond locks gleamed like gold in the flickering candlelight. “And a rake and a scoundrel and a ne’er-do-well, if the rumors can be believed.”

  “I can believe them,” she said dryly.

  “And yet here you stand.”

  “Are you trying to scare me off, Your Grace?”

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Of you?” She lifted her chin. “Not the least little bit.”

  Something flickered in his gaze. It was there and gone again too quickly for her to see what it was, but she was left with the distinct impression that it had been something meaningful. Something important. Something that showed Colebrook was more than just a rake and a scoundrel an
d a ne’er-do-well.

  Much more.

  “The fire’s ready,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. Cadence regarded the cold, dark hearth with a lifted brow.

  “Don’t you need the tinderbox?”

  “Right.” He rubbed his chin. “The tinderbox.”

  Her second brow rose to join the first. “You have started a fire before, haven’t you?”

  “Of course. I…just don’t know where the servants keep the tinderbox, that’s all.”

  “Here.” Striding past him, she stood on her toes and blindly searched the top of the mantle. When her fingers encountered an oval shaped metal box she tossed it to Colebrook, who snatched the tinderbox effortlessly out of the air. “It is almost always kept up here. Makes it easy to find.”

  “I knew that,” he said, although his blank look as he flipped up the lid of the tinderbox and studied its contents had her hiding a smile behind her hand.

  Nestled atop a square of scorched linen was everything one would need to create a fire, including a steel striker, flint, and a spunk dipped in brimstone which was used to transfer the flame from linen to logs. Cadence had never started a fire herself, but she’d seen the maids do it enough times to understand how it was done. Colebrook, on the other hand, appeared positively mystified. Not surprising, given that dukes were hardly in a position to tend their own fireplaces. Still, it was rather humorous to realize she knew how to do something he did not.

  “I can help you,” she offered.

  Colebrook scowled. “I said I’ve started a fire before and I can damn well start this one.”

  “All right.” Holding her hands up, palms facing outwards, she retreated to a large leather armchair. “I’ll just be over here. Slowly freezing to death,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I heard that.”

  “You were supposed to.” Resting her elbow on the edge of the chair and propping her chin in the cusp of her hand, she watched, with no small degree of amusement, as Colebrook tried – and miserably failed – to get the linen to ignite.