My Winter Rogue: A Regency Holiday Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “You don’t believe in marriage because you don’t believe in women.”

  “Don’t I?” Colebrook asked, lifting a brow.

  “No. You see us as objects to be used and discarded on a whim. You are a scoundrel through and through, and when you finally take a bride – as much as your type hems and haws and complains, they always take a bride – you’ll choose her for her obedience and submissiveness, for heaven forbid you marry a woman who sees herself as your equal instead of your underling.” Cadence drew a sharp breath. She hadn’t meant to say all that. But she couldn’t deny the truth of her words, even if some of them had been intended for Lord Benfield.

  Cobalt eyes gleaming, Colebrook leaned in close and said huskily, “Your claws are quite sharp, Miss Fairchild. Maybe you can scratch me with them later.”

  Leaning as far away from him as her chair would allow, Cadence barely managed not to snort. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “For what?”

  “For proving my point.”

  “What are you two discussing?” Hannah asked curiously.

  “The weather,” she said quickly before taking another sip of wine. “It’s colder here than in London. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “We’re further north.” It was the first time Wycliffe had spoken all night. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we had snow by the end of the month.”

  “Then you’d best do something about the drafts, old chap.” Colebrook leaned his elbows on the table. “Encountered one the other night that nearly knocked me off my feet.”

  Wycliffe smiled thinly. “You are welcome to leave any time you wish.”

  “Why would I leave when I’ve finally become friendly with the mice? I’m considering naming one of the squeaky buggers. Right nasty little fellow, but underneath all that bluff I suspect he’s soft as a marshmallow.” He blinked, all roguish innocence and devilish charm. “What do you think of Evan?”

  Cadence’s eyes widened.

  Hannah nearly spit out her soup.

  Wycliffe merely arched a dark brow. “If you’ve resorted to naming mice to occupy your time, might I suggest a hobby?”

  “Funny you should mention that.” Colebrook sat back in his chair. With his eyes sparkling with mischief and a grin lurking in the corners of his mouth, he looked like a naughty child that had just stolen the last piece of cake. “I think I’ve recently found one.”

  “I’d ask what it was, but that would imply I cared.” Wycliffe cut off a small piece of mutton. Their third course, salted mutton drizzled with a sweet sauce and paired with asparagus, had been served during Cadence’s impassioned speech. Taking his time, Wycliffe chewed. Swallowed. Set down his knife and fork. “Which we both know I don’t.”

  “Well I for one should like to know what your new hobby is.” Hannah, ever the peace-maker, smiled encouragingly at Colebrook. “Do tell, Your Grace.”

  He scratched his jaw. “I believe I am going to take up hunting.”

  “Hunting?” Hannah’s smile fell away. “I admit I’ve never seen the sport in chasing innocent animals to ground. Especially with winter coming. Will you hunt rabbit or stag?”

  “Neither.” Beneath the table his hand brushed against Cadence’s leg. The touch was so slight that she might have thought she’d imagined it if not for his devious smirk or the way his gaze lingered half a heartbeat too long before it flicked back to Hannah. “I am after much more…appetizing prey.”

  Cadence choked on her wine.

  “Are you alright?” Hannah asked, frowning with concern.

  “F-fine,” she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. Underneath the table her thighs pressed tightly together as a ribbon of heat unfurled low in her belly. Wicked, she thought silently. The duke was positively wicked. “P-perfectly fine. Just went down the w-wrong way.”

  Colebrook nodded gravely. “I hate it when that happens.”

  “Yes.” Eyes watering, she turned her head to glare at him. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Look, the dessert is here,” Hannah announced brightly as two servants walked into the room carrying a large silver tray between them. “Doesn’t it look delicious?”

  “Indeed,” Colebrook agreed, except he wasn’t looking at the dessert. “It certainly does.”

  Cadence waited until he’d lifted his gaze from her breasts. “You know what they say about indulging in too many sweets,” she said coolly.

  “Really?” he drawled. “What’s that?”

  Her glittering smile fell short of her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of the duke. A bit intimidated perhaps (she’d be foolish not to be), but not afraid. Because she did know his type. She’d seen echoes of him on every dance floor in London. Arrogant men all; ones who thought themselves better than everyone else simply because of the title that proceeded their name. Well she was tired of being seen as inferior, and if Colebrook thought to play the wolf to her rabbit he would quickly discover this little bunny’s claws weren’t just for show.

  “It leads to rotten teeth.”

  His eyes darkened. “I suppose that’s a risk I am willing to take.”

  Blissfully oblivious to the tension vibrating between her two houseguests, Hannah stood up and proceeded to serve the dessert – lemon tarts dusted with powdered sugar – on small porcelain plates edged in gold.

  “Enjoy!” she said cheerfully. And if her cheer dimmed and her smile grew tight when she placed a plate down in front of her husband, Cadence seemed to be the only one who noticed.

  After dessert everyone retired to their individual chambers. Cadence’s bedroom, easily twice the size of the one she shared with Hannah at home, was sparsely decorated with a canopied bed, matching dresser, and a tall armoire filled with cobwebs. She’d meant to ask her sister why the manor appeared as though it hadn’t been lived in for the better part of a decade, but now the question would have to wait for tomorrow. After three days of travel and an evening of sparring she could hardly keep her eyes open.

  Summoning a maid to help her change into her nightdress, she drew the covers up to her chin and rolled onto her side. Then her other side. Then her belly, and finally her back. For as exhausted as she was, sleep proved to be frustratingly elusive.

  When it finally came at half past midnight, her dreams were filled with a blond-haired duke with laughing blue eyes…and the devil’s own smile.

  Chapter Five

  Whether by accident or design – Colebrook was willing to put five shillings on the latter – Cadence managed to avoid him for the better part of a week.

  He caught teasing glimpses here and there. Salacious little glances at her trim derriere as she flitted from one room to the next, always one step ahead with nary a minute to spare. Following her sister around like a puppy dog as the Duke and Duchess of Wycliffe prepared to leave on their honeymoon, having finally reconciled their differences after they realized what everyone else already knew: they were head over heels for each other.

  Twice he’d caught Cadence by herself aned twice she’d rebuked him, her tongue every bit as sharp as her cheekbones. Their last encounter still made him grin whenever he thought of it. They’d passed each other in the foyer, he on his way out and she on her way in, white snowflakes glistening like diamonds in her dark, silky hair. Dark, silky hair he wanted desperately to touch.

  “Excuse me,” she’d said bluntly, stepping to his right. He could have easily let her pass, but then what would have been the fun in that? So he’d stepped in front of her and she had tried to go back to the left, but for a man of his stature he was surprisingly quick.

  “Can I help you?” A tiny notch marred the smooth skin between her winged eyebrows as she glared up at him. He was tempted to smooth the irritated mark with his thumb, but knowing she was just as likely to snap his hand off at the wrist as allow him to touch her he kept his arms behind his back. He enjoyed Cadence’s feistiness, but not at the expense of a limb.

  “It looks like it’s snowing rather hard.” His gaze drifted down to a thick
curl she’d tucked behind her ear. It was damp from the snow, as was her fur-lined hat and the shoulders of her wool cloak. There was more snow on the tips of her boots and a single snowflake clung to the tip of her nose. As he watched it slowly melted, proving that Cadence wasn’t as cold and frigid as she’d have him believe.

  Beneath that frosty exterior was a flesh and blood woman.

  One with desire in her eyes and passion in her blood.

  What he wouldn’t give for a taste of both…

  At least now he knew why she wanted nothing to do with him. Or why she pretended she didn’t. He’d overheard a conversation between her and her sister, not enough to fill in all the pieces of the puzzle but enough to give him the general idea of its shape.

  There’d been a broken engagement. The details remained obscure, but he’d witnessed enough ruined relationships to understand the gist of it and his only opinion on the matter was that any bloke stupid enough to let her go did not deserve her. Once Cadence finally realized the same perhaps she’d stop sulking in her room like a chastised child sent to bed without any supper.

  “It is snowing. What astute observational skills you possess, Your Grace.” Tip-tilted eyes peered mockingly up at him beneath thick, sooty lashes. “Tell me, was it the snow on my shoes or the flecks of white falling from the sky that gave it away?”

  Colebrook grinned. No female had ever set him back on his heels quite like Miss Cadence Fairchild. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had challenged him as she did. Which was probably why he was so intent on winning her favor. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was not getting what he wanted.

  And he dearly, dearly wanted Cadence.

  To what extent, he couldn’t say. He knew he didn’t want a wife, and Cadence was not the sort of woman a man tupped and then forgot. She’d make a fine mistress, but he wasn’t after stealing her future unless she gave it to him willingly, and why would she do that when she could have any man she desired? Well, any man aside from the Earl of Benfield. The bloody fool.

  For now he’d settle for a kiss…although he suspected that once he tasted the sweet nectar of her lips he wouldn’t be satisfied until he tasted them again. And again. And again…

  “A little bit of both. You’ve jewels in your hair, you know.” Unable to keep his hands to himself even though he risked another slap, he reached out and brushed his knuckles against a silky tendril. Her eyes softened for the briefest of moments before she bared her teeth and jerked her head to the side.

  “Have you already started drinking?” she asked suspiciously. “It’s not yet noon.”

  “And when has the time of day ever dictated when a man can and cannot enjoy a nice glass of brandy?” Colebrook wanted to know. “But to answer your question, love, no, I’ve not had a drop of alcohol since…” He racked his brain. “Last night at dinner.”

  “You poor thing,” Cadence said dryly. “However will you survive?”

  Impertinent wench, he thought with no small amount of amusement.

  “I am going to meet with a new architect. Would you care to join me? We can take one of Wycliffe’s carriages.”

  “I’d rather attend a ball at Almack’s in last Season’s gown.” Nose in the air, Cadence sailed past him and up the stairs. Justin waited patiently at the bottom, for he knew what would happen when she reached the top. They’d done this dance enough times over the past weeks for him to know every single step.

  She would turn and look down at him after she’d crossed the uppermost stair, her plump lips pinched in a scowl that didn’t quite match the gleam of interest in those intelligent eyes. Their gazes would meet and hold. Then he would bend at the waist and blow her a kiss, just like he’d done the very first day they met.

  Three steps to go…Two steps…One…

  Her hair tumbled down her back in a waterfall of rich mahogany silk as she spun around and rested her gloved hands on the bannister. She blushed when he brought his fingers to his lips – she always blushed – and then she was gone without a word, back to her rooms where he imagined she spent her afternoons eating chocolate and pining after a man not fit to lick the mud from her shoes.

  Justin had come to enjoy their little cloak and dagger interactions, but he didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed them until one afternoon when he found himself waiting in the parlor in hopes she’d walk past.

  The Duke of Colebrook, waiting for a woman so he might engage in a war of words before blowing her a kiss as she marched away from him. It was nothing short of absolute lunacy. And yet here he was, stretched out on a velvet chaise lounge pretending to read a magazine article detailing the migration habits of gold crested swallows.

  How utterly embarrassing. If his mates in London could see him now they’d piss themselves laughing. He hadn’t been this distracted by a woman since Jessica, and God himself knew how much of a bloody debacle that had been. Thinking about their tumultuous affair all these years later still made the back of his skull ache. It was also a stark reminder of why he only engaged in cheap, meaningless relationships. Ones based on pure, unadulterated passion and nothing else.

  No feelings. No emotions. No manipulations.

  It was easier that way, he’d discovered. Easier to feel nothing than to feel too much. Easier to languish in pleasure than to drown in pain.

  That’s all he wanted from Cadence. A bit of pleasure, and then he could forget about her. A little passion, and then he could move on. A harmless kiss or two, and then he could go to London, tup the first comely wench that crossed his path, and forget Miss Cadence Fairchild had ever existed.

  Or so he told himself.

  “Going back to your room to mope about and eat more chocolate?” he queried when she walked past the parlor. She hesitated, and he could all but see the gears in that clever brain of hers spinning round and round as she tried to decide whether to stop or keep going. To his delight, she stopped.

  No feelings, he reminded himself when she peered in the door and frowned at him. No emotions. No manipulations.

  Oh, but what he wouldn’t give for a taste of that plump bottom lip.

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

  If that’s true, little lamb, then why are you talking to me?

  Chuckling under his breath, Justin sat up and kicked his long legs out in front of him, a mocking grin curling the edges of his mouth. “Poor Miss Fairchild. Ever the brokenhearted damsel in distress. Do you know the best way to get over someone you used to love?”

  She regarded him warily. “What is that?”

  “Kiss someone you don’t.” His grin fading as his stomach muscles clenched in anticipation, Justin slowly uncoiled his lanky frame and stood up. “Come in and close the door, Cadence.”

  It was the first time he’d used her given name. It tasted sweet on his tongue and he wanted to say it again when her eyes were dark with desire. He wanted to whisper it in her ear when she was writhing beneath him. He wanted to growl it against her skin when she clenched hot and tight around him. He wanted, and he yearned, and he waited, breath held deep in his lungs, for her to turn on her heel and flee up the stairs just like she’d done a dozen times before.

  But this time was different, because she didn’t turn.

  She didn’t flee.

  Instead she walked into the parlor…and closed the door.

  I’ve lost my mind, Cadence decided when she heard the click of the door closing behind her. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.

  Because obeying Colebrook’s command made about as much sense as a lamb stepping into the lion’s den. Which was to say, no sense at all. And yet here she stood, all wide eyes and soft fleece, waiting for the lion to do with her what he willed. No, not waiting. Wanting the lion to do with her what he willed.

  Wanting was better than waiting. She’d waited for Lord Benfield, and what had that gotten her? Splashed across the front of the gossip pages, that’s what. Maybe they hadn’t used her name – they never use
d names – but everyone knew precisely which ‘ebony-haired, coyly smiling baron’s daughter’ Lady Prudence had been referring to in her latest column.

  Coyly smiling.

  What a bunch of rubbish.

  She wasn’t coyly smiling now, was she? While she waited for Colebrook to take the next step in the complicated dance they’d begun on the day of her arrival she wasn’t smiling or frowning. Her lips were flat and relaxed. The corners of her eyes were devoid of crinkles. Her cheeks were neither red nor pale but a pleasing pink that complimented her dark hair. By all outward appearances she was calm and completely collected…save the butterflies that were flying madly around in her belly.

  Thankfully, the duke couldn’t see those.

  “Well I am here and I have closed the door,” she said when she couldn’t bare the silence any longer. Not with him staring at her with those intense eyes that were the same deep, rich color of her favorite sapphire earrings. “What do you propose we do next?”

  Mouth curving, he beckoned her forward with a crook of his finger. “Come here, love, and I’ll show you.”

  The devil himself couldn’t have tempted her any more than Colebrook did. She knew in her head that he was wicked. She knew in her head that he was wrong. She knew in her head that kissing him would lead down a road from which there would be no easy return. But she wasn’t listening to her head. For once, she was listening to her heart. And it was telling her if she didn’t kiss him she would regret it.

  For her entire life Cadence had followed the rules. She’d been the perfect daughter, the perfect lady, the perfect almost-fiancée. And what had all of that perfection gotten her?

  Nothing.

  It had gotten her nothing but a besmirched reputation and an addiction to chocolate. So why shouldn’t she dance with the devil? If she was already ruined then she might as well do something worth ruining herself for. And who knew? Perhaps wickedness would bring her what perfection had not.