Helena’s smile faded as her gaze narrowed. He looked so familiar, although she was almost positive they’d never met. Surely she would have remembered his face, all rawboned and filled with angles. It was saved from gauntness by a sturdy jaw cloaked with a short layer of bristle. His nose was long and slightly crooked near the middle, the only imperfection in an otherwise flawless countenance. He had thick, slashing brows and sweeping black lashes that were longer than any man deserved to have. Then she focused on his eyes, his piercing blue eyes, and recognition dawned, both swift and horrible.
He was Lord Stephen Darby.
The Earl of Cambridge.
The Viscount Ware.
And her worst enemy.
“Get the hell out of here,” she hissed, advancing on him with clenched fists as her entire body started to vibrate with barely suppressed rage. Stephen was lucky she was not in possession of her pistol, because she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot him in the heart. Not that it would have done much good, because like his father before him he didn’t have a heart.
“Now, now,” Stephen said, making a tsking sound under his breath. “Is that any way to greet your benefactor?”
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.
© 2020 by Jillian Eaton
Edited by Quillfire Author Services
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Table of Contents
Description
Books by Jillian Eaton
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
The Winter Duchess
Chapter One
Description
Helena gave up on love the day she was forced to marry a lecher four times her age.
Fortunately, the Earl of Cambridge did her the great service of dying on their wedding night. Unfortunately, she was stripped of all her worldly possessions and thrown out onto the street by Stephen, her late husband’s heir, an arrogant rogue with a heart of ice and the most piercing blue eyes Helena has ever seen.
Saved from starvation by a mysterious benefactor, Helena has done her best to put her past behind her. Until her benefactor shows up in her parlor and his identity brings old feelings of mistrust and new forbidden passions swirling to the surface. Because the man who cast her out is the same one who rescued her…and Stephen has come to collect his due.
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Books by Jillian Eaton
Secret Wallflower Society
Winning the Earl of Winchester
Courting the Countess of Cambridge
Desiring the Duke of Duncraven – PREORDER!
Bow Street Brides
A Dangerous Seduction
A Dangerous Proposal
A Dangerous Affair
A Dangerous Passion
A Dangerous Temptation
Duke for All Seasons
The Winter Duke
The Spring Duke
The Summer Duke
The Autumn Duke
Duchess for All Seasons
The Winter Duchess
The Spring Duchess
The Summer Duchess
The Autumn Duchess
London Ladies
Runaway Duchess
Spinster and the Duke
Forgotten Fiancée
Lady Harper
Wedded Women Quartet
A Brooding Beauty
A Ravishing Redhead
A Lascivious Lady
A Gentle Grace
Swan Sisters
For the Love of Lynette
Taming Temperance
Annabel’s Christmas Rake
Christmas Novellas
A Rake in Winter
The Winter Wish
The Risqué Resolution
Natalie’s Christmas Rogue
Marquess Under the Mistletoe
Chapter One
“You do not like dancing either, I take it?”
Miss Helena Holton blinked in surprise when a handsomely dressed gentleman materialized out of the darkness. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, he joined her behind the large stone fountain where she’d been hiding for the better part of an hour, after Lord Glenburn trounced on her instep yet again.
And to think her mother actually considered him to be a good prospect. Another waltz like the last one and she was almost certain to walk with a limp for the rest of her life. Which was why she’d dared Lady Holton’s wrath and escaped out a side door, leaving the loud, glittering ballroom behind for the quiet privacy of the gardens. With the exception of a couple whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears on a bench around the bend, she was alone. Or at least, she had been alone.
If a young lady was standing by herself next to a fountain, did it become a man’s sole purpose to bother her?
“No, I do not like dancing,” she answered curtly, her stare fixed on the trickle of water spilling from the cherub’s mouth at the top of the fountain. The portly little fellow was completely nude save the bow flung over his back. Yet for all his vulnerability, his expression was defiant. Perhaps even a little angry.
Helena knew precisely how he felt.
“I also do not like strangers,” she added.
Unfortunately, the gentleman did not seem keen on taking her not-very-subtle hints to go away. She could feel his gaze upon her like fingers gliding through her hair before lightly squeezing the nape of her neck.
“Then let me introduce myself.” His voice was husky and deep; rough velvet wrapped in a whisper. “Stephen Darby, Viscount Ware. And you are…?”
“Not interested.”
That, at least, gave him pause.
Alas, his silence didn’t last nearly long enough.
With a soft chuckle, he joined her in looking at the cherub. “Why do you think it is that fountains are always adorned with small, naked angels?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said stiffly. Under normal circumstances Helena was much more engaging, but she was tired, and hungry, and her feet hurt. Hardly the ingredients for a harmless flirtation in the garden. Not that she was naïve enough to believe there was anything harmless about the man standing beside her.
For the first time, she slanted a glance at him as her curiosity demanded she put a face to that wickedly sensual voice. The nearly full moon was behind him, covering his profile in shadow. But it couldn’t conceal the startling blue of his eyes, or the stern set of his jaw, or the high, slashing cheekbones that revealed aristocratic blood.
He towered at least six inches above her, his body all lean muscle cloaked in an elegant tailcoat and snowy white cravat with a gold pin run through t
he middle. She couldn’t determine the color of his hair, but it was long, and thick, and swept back off his temple in loose waves as if he had a habit of running his hands through it.
He was decidedly handsome, this Stephen Darby, Viscount Ware. Almost unfairly so. But the intelligent gleam in his eye told her he wasn’t just another empty-headed dandy. Her interest unwillingly piqued, Helena’s gown swished against her ankles as she spun gracefully towards him, her hand trailing along the curved marble edge of the fountain.
“What are you doing out here, Lord Ware? I would think a man of your charms would be inside wooing wallflowers rather than skulking in the shadows.”
He arched a brow. “Wallflowers are woefully overrated, and I’ve never skulked anywhere in my life, Lady…”
“Miss,” she corrected. “Miss Helena Holton.”
“Miss Helena Holton,” he murmured, and the way he spoke her name – as if he were caressing it with his tongue – sent a share of awareness down her spine. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am sorry, however, that we did not meet before tonight.”
“Oh?” Her fingers slipped into the cool water, needing something to stave off the flames that were slowly licking their way up from her belly to her breasts. “And why is that, pray tell?”
“Because in the morning I leave for my Grand Tour.” Genuine regret flashed in his gaze, and Helena was shocked to feel a similar tug in the middle of her chest.
She knew nothing about this gentleman, except for his name and his agenda for tomorrow. Hardly enough personal knowledge to wish he would stay in London instead of embarking on a journey halfway around the world. Yet that was precisely what she found herself doing.
“Where will your journey take you?” she asked, striving for nonchalance. As if the answer didn’t really matter. As if she couldn’t care less, even as she unconsciously leaned towards him so as to not miss a single word.
“I’ll begin in Belgium, then travel by coach to Luxembourg. Austria, Milan, the Alps in Switzerland. From there…” His broad shoulders lifted and fell in an absent shrug. “I haven’t decided.”
“That is quite the undertaking.”
“Indeed.” Lord Ware slid closer. Close enough for her to feel his warmth. Close enough to inhale his scent. Close enough to see his desire. “It is even more of an undertaking now that I know what sweet company I’ll be leaving behind in England.”
“You find me sweet?” She risked a coy glance at him from beneath a thick layer of russet lashes, and her lips parted when she discovered he was staring straight at her with the hunger of a man half-starved. Everything inside of her went still. But for her heart, which was beating so fast she feared it might burst through her ribcage.
“Indeed.” Stephen reached casually between them, and she trembled when he gently lifted her hand out of the fountain and ran his thumb across her wet knuckles. “Careful. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold from the water.”
“That – that’s largely a myth,” she gasped as he brought her slender wrist to his mouth.
“Is it?” he murmured against her flesh. “Do you know what else I thought a myth until this very moment?”
“N-no.” Helena was not a woman who stuttered. Or blushed. Or lost her heart to charming scoundrels with blue eyes. But as she stood poised before Stephen with her hand in his hand and her heart in her throat, she found herself guilty of all three.
“Love at first sight.” He turned her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered fast as a butterfly’s wing.
She released a breathless laugh. “You – you cannot be serious. Lord Ware–”
“Stephen,” he interrupted. The corner of his mouth hitched in a roguish grin. “If you’re going to be my wife one day, the least you can do is call me by my Christian name.”
Helena felt as if she’d read the first page of a book, then suddenly flipped to the last. Lord Ware – Stephen – couldn’t possibly be serious. Except he was, she realized in shock when she met his gaze and saw the sincerity there. He was serious. He really did intend to marry her. And maybe it was madness brought on by moonlight, but she wanted to marry him as well.
“This is insane. I…you…I need to sit down,” she decided abruptly.
Still holding her hand, Stephen joined her on the edge of the fountain. “Is following your heart any more insane than ignoring it?”
Helena glanced boldly between his thighs, then back up at his face. “Are you certain it’s your heart that is talking to you?”
His hearty chuckle filled her with pleasure. On the rare occasions Helena dared speak her mind, she was quickly silenced by her mother or whatever suitor she’d been unlucky enough to be paired with. Their condemning glares said a woman was to be seen, not heard. A pretty cherub to sit atop a fountain for others to admire. Always lovely, always polite, always well-behaved.
Helena enjoyed being lovely. She knew her own beauty and wasn’t timid in using it to her advantage. She liked fashion as well and had the patience to sit for hours while her hair was combed and curled and pinned. Her collection of jewelry was only outmatched by the number of shoes tucked in a long row beneath her bed, and her dresses were too numerous to count.
She also, given the right situation, could be exceedingly polite.
But where she failed, time and time again, was being well-behaved.
It was most likely why her parents wanted to marry her off as soon as possible. She could only imagine her mother’s expression if she knew her eldest daughter was in the company of a viscount. Unchaperoned, nevertheless. Helena wouldn’t have put it past Lady Holton to be lurking in the bushes, ready to spring out with a wedding veil in hand.
Her lips twitching at the thought, she snuck another glance at Stephen out of the corner of her eye. He was still grinning, and her own smile deepened. He was a scoundrel, no doubt. Wicked through and through.
But then she could be a little wicked herself.
“I am afraid I cannot commit to marriage,” she said, extricating her hand from his grip. Linking her fingers together, she neatly crossed her ankles and perched her hands on the edge of one knee. The epitome of ladylike grace even as a glint of devilishness burned in her jade green eyes.
“And why is that?” Stephen leaned back until he was daringly close to the water. Helena had the most ridiculous urge to push him, just to see what would happen.
And what his body would look like wet.
“I don’t know the first thing about you,” she said with a flutter of her lashes. “Except that you’ve a penchant for bothering young women who could not make it more obvious they wish to be left alone.”
A lock of hair tumbled across of his brow as he canted his head. “Am I bothering you, Miss Holton?”
“You were.”
“And now?”
She pursed her lips. “I haven’t decided.”
“What else would you like to know about me?” Sitting up, he placed his boots flat on the stone walkway and spread his arms apart. “Ask anything you like.”
“You could lie,” she speculated. “Tell me everything I want to hear and make yourself seem like the perfect gentleman. I’ll fall helplessly in love with you. We’ll marry, and it’s only after I’ve signed away my rights to my money, and my body, and my future children, that I will realize you’re a terrible human being and I am trapped with you for the rest of my life.”
A line appeared between his brows. “You’re quite cynical for someone so beautiful.”
“I’ve found cynicism and beauty have more in common than people think.” The side of her breast brushed against his outstretched arm as she twisted towards him.
Her breath hitched. His eyes darkened.
“What can I do, then, to prove my worth?” he rasped.
“Actions speak louder than words, Lord Ware.” Slowly peeling off the glove on her right hand, she straightened the pin on his cravat, then peered up at him. “Any dandy worth his salt can spin pretty words. It�
��s what they excel at. But do you know what a dandy cannot do?”
With his eyes never leaving hers, he gave a curt shake of his head.
“They cannot kiss. Not well, anyways,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “They’re too selfish, you see. And when someone is selfish, they think only of the pleasure they wish to receive, not that which they are capable of giving.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.” As if he couldn’t help but touch her, Stephen reached for an auburn curl that had come loose from her coiffure and tucked it behind her ear. He lingered at the small, sensitive spot where the edge of her jaw connected to her neck, and her pulse leapt in response.
“If you’re asking if I’ve kissed a dandy, my answer is yes.” Like a feline, she closed her eyes and leaned into Stephen’s hand. “He was charming, like you. Handsome as well. He said all the right things.”
“But?” Stephen asked.
Her eyes flicked open. “But he did not bring me any pleasure.”
He caught her chin on his finger, tilting her head back. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” he agreed, “I’m not.”
They stared at each other.
Moonlight and madness, Helena thought. That was how she would remember this night. And she would remember. For as long as she lived, she’d never forget the scent of wisteria in the air or the shimmer of moonlight in Stephen’s hair or how alive she felt. As if all this time she’d been submerged under water, and finally, finally, she’d risen above the surface and taken her first real breath.
“Well?” she said at last. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
“Oh, I’m going to kiss you,” he said huskily. “And when I’m done, you’ll never want to kiss another dandy ever again.”
Her eyebrows arched, both amused and impressed by his arrogance. “You sound certain.”
Courting the Countess of Cambridge (Secret Wallflower Society Book 2) Page 1