Courteously Seduced By An Enigmatic Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)
Courteously Seduced by an Enigmatic Duke
A Steamy Regency Romance
Scarlett Osborne
Contents
A Thank You Gift
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Preview: Unleashed Desires of a Noble Lady
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Scarlett Osborne
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Seduced by the Brooding Duke. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Scarlett Osborne
About the Book
What does it take to survive a game fueled by lies?
Lady Hannah Bagley is not ready to meet the man who could ruin her life forever: her father’s cousin and heir to his title.
The astoundingly beautiful older daughter of the Duke of Gresham cares very little about titles, wealth or marriage. Until the day her parents bring her before the harsh reality: in the absence of a male heir, they stand to lose the Dukedom.
Born and raised in Australia, the successful sheep rancher Rowland Albertson isn’t prepared for what appears to be his inescapable destiny. Not only is he presented with an unexpected claim to the title of Duke, but also with a pair of stunning mismatched eyes.
Sudden and overwhelming, their eagerness to be together, to experience such ecstasy with each other, threatens to consume their every sense.
But the past has a way of returning, and Rowland’s comes back with a vengeance. A woman with a single letter, able to set Rowland and Hannah’s future on fire and watch it burn…
Chapter 1
The paper between his fingers crumpled slightly, Rowland’s mind drifting to places it hadn’t been in a long while. The words blurred on the pages, the very same words he had read over and over again for the past few minutes. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had sat down in his study—an hour, merely a few minutes? Lost in the recesses of his mind, time held little meaning.
Which was an odd thought, seeing that time was one of the things most prominent on his mind. How long had it been since he’d last thought of the Duke of Gresham? Was it ten years now? His brows rose on their own accord as the memory drifted into the forefront of his mind. It had been ten years now.
Ever since the Duke of Gresham fell ill from poison, Rowland had found himself in the very same position he was in now—wondering if he would have to step up as the heir to the Dukedom. Back then, the Duke hadn’t brought forth an heir for himself, and as the Duke’s cousin, Rowland was the closest to inheriting the title. The notion had been objectionable then as it was now but had ended well—with the Duke’s attempted murderer hanged and the co-conspiring Duchess taking her own life, there was no longer a threat to the Duke’s life.
And ten years had gone by since then. More than enough time for the Duke to produce his own heir.
So, what the blazes is this?
Rowland looked down at the paper once again, reading it quickly though the words had already been committed to his memory. The words hadn’t changed. It was the Duke again, urging him to come to Gresham Manor to grow into his role as heir, and one day as Duke.
How tiresome.
With a sigh, Rowland put the letter aside. Becoming a Duke was the last thing he wanted. He rose, taking the glass of brandy he had poured before reading the letter. He wandered over to the window that looked out onto the vast land in his possession. Just staring at the lush green grass filled him with pride, sheep dotted across the expanse. A simple sight but one that filled him with riches, one that put many people under his employment, people he was responsible for; one that had been borne from hard work. Life in Australia was life he was used to, one that was nothing like the one he heard about in England. It was a life that knew the meaning of reaping what he sowed. He studied, he learned first-hand, he worked.
It mattered not that he was the son of colonists, his last name known amongst the richest of them. Rowland Albertson was known to follow that generation, but his ranch had also given him his identity.
Now, he would have to toss it all aside to become the Duke of Gresham.
Rowland didn’t know much about England. Though he had been born there, he came to Australia when he was still but a babe. He hadn’t grown up in that society, but through books, he had learned quite a lot. English society was quite unlike the one he had grown up in. There was a reliance on titles and nobility, where one earned their riches through the passing of those titles. Hard work rarely paid off under such circumstances.
Will I survive?
The knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts for a few seconds. “Enter,” he said, then his mind drifted again.
The door made no sound and he heard no footsteps, but he could sense whoever it was drawing closer. He didn’t bother to turn around. Rowland continued to stare out the window, at the land he could see. There were more acres stretched ahead, just beyond the horizon. “You have another letter, Sire.”
Rowland looked over at his steward, Linton. He stood just a few feet behind him, his hands clasped at his back. As usual, with his shoulders pulled backwards and his nose held stiffly in the air, he was the picture of propriety. He had come with his family to Australia and had stubbornly held on to not only his English accent but his English manners as well.
“Rowland,” Rowland grumbled unnecessarily. Ever since Linton came under his wing as a steward, he had been trying to get him to refer to him the same way his friends did. After all, he did consider Linton a friend. But the man was adamant in his ways. “Who is it from?”
Linton didn’t bother to look at the letter when he said, “Miss Peggy Flynn, Sire.”
Rowland tried not to react, at least not outwardly. But nothing ever escaped Linton’s eyes. He watched Rowland steadily as he turned away from him and faced the window again. “All right,” he said after a long moment. “Leave it on the desk.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Again, Linton’s footsteps were silent. It had taken Rowland a while to get used to his cat-like grace, expecting to see him appear out of thin air most of the time.
For now, he simply placed the letter on the table and faced him again. “Is there anything you may need, Sire?”
“Not right now,” Rowland answered. He wasn’t in the mood for company right now. Usually, he would attempt to cajole Linton into sharing a drink with him, a feat he rarely ever pulled off. At most, he would get his stiff steward to at least take a seat and pass the time in idle chatter for a short while before Linton claimed he had to return to his duties. But, Rowland was too deep in thought to entertain anyone else at the moment.
Linton seemed to have noticed that because he lingered. “The letter you received from the Duke of Gresham,” he began. “What did it say?”
How like you, Linton.
How easily he spurted forward questions when it pleased him, then threw up walls between them when it didn’t. Rowland sighed silently. As much as the other man infuriated him, he was his oldest friend. “He wants me to visit his manor in England. He has no heirs.”
That was enough explanation for Linton. “Ah, I see. We haven’t given them much thought since the Duke’s poisoning.”
Rowland knew his tone was bitter when he muttered, “Can you blame me?”
Linton continued to point out what Rowland already knew. Rowland was well aware that Linton had family in Gresham—a sister—and that he liked being kept aware of the state of things despite traveling to New South Wales with Rowland’s father. Rowland couldn’t have chosen a better person to talk to about such a matter. “You two don’t know each other. It would be a good opportunity to learn more about your cousin.”
“I’m quite aware of that as well.”
“He has three daughters,” he went on. “The eldest came out during London’s recent Season.”
“Lady Hannah,” Rowland said. At her name, he pictured what he thought many of the ladies of England looked like—fair skin, fair eyes, fair hair. “How unlucky for me that she was not born a gentleman instead.”
“Aye,” Linton agreed absently. Rowland nearly smiled at that. He knew his steward was simply saying that because it was easier to agree than to argue when it came to Rowland. “So, what will you do about the ranches, Sire?”
“What do you think I should do?”
Linton’s response was quick, as if he didn’t have to think about it. “I can take over in your absence and keep everything running accordingly while you explore your duties as heir to the Dukedom. There’s no need to worry about your estate here.”
“Worrying is the last thing on my mind, Linton.”
“Then what ails you, Sire?”
Rowland thought about it for a moment. Having to put it into words…it was more difficult than he thought it would be. “I am comfortable with my life here. It suits me. But will I be able to do my duties as a Duke well?”
A thought occurred to him.
And what of Miss Flynn?
Rowland’s heart constricted at the thought of being away from her for too long, and he once again resisted the urge to glance at the letter sitting on his desk.
Linton thought about it for a moment. Or, at least, that was what Rowland thought he was doing. It was hard to tell with this man sometimes. “The Duke is not yet dead,” he finally said. “My sister works as kitchen help in the Duke’s manor and she tells me that he isn’t even unwell. He lives happily with his wife and his daughters, his subjects adore him, and they have been plenty blessed for the past years. For all we know, Sire, you may not have to think about inheriting the title for years to come.”
Then why does he call me now?
A tingle of worry rushed through him at the thought of leaving his ranches. He’d been the driving force behind their growth since he first started them. It concerned him to just leave.
Linton answered his unspoken question, never moving an inch. “But, the Duke is smart to put things in order. The future, as bright as it may seem, is not certain. In preparation for that, I think it is wise of him to ensure that the person who will be taking over is well versed with what to do. And it is wise of you to go, Sire.”
Rowland knew that. He knew that before Linton had to say it. He finished the rest of his drink.
There was little use lamenting over it, not when he already knew what his response would be. Linton was right; his steward was more than capable of running the ranches in his absence. He could be gone for a year or two and could come back, everything being just as he left it, perhaps even better.
He turned away from the window, looking at Linton. He raised his empty glass. “Care to share a drink or will I have to waste time trying to convince you once again?”
Linton shook his head. Not a single strand of gray hair fell out of place, the rest of his body hardly moving. “There are matters I need to take care of.”
“Right, right. Always busy, you are. Well, don’t let me keep you.”
Falling back into his role, he did a stiff bow. Rowland had long since tried to break him out of that habit, but Linton was not an easy man to break. “Sire,” he said and then made his way out the study, as silent as a cat.
Rowland watched him go, then shook his head to himself. His steward’s stiffness, as infuriating as it could be, amused him at times. This time in particular, it lifted his spirits—until he remembered why Linton had come to his study in the first place.
He looked at his desk, the letter Linton had brought placed right in the center. From this distance, he could see Peggy’s name written with a flourish and the sight of it only made him want to get another drink.
Another time, he told himself. He couldn’t think about her, nor what that letter entailed, right now. For the first time since he read the Duke’s letter, he preferred to focus on his impending inheritance instead.
Rowland didn’t look at the letter until the next day. He had decided to leave it on the desk, in the very same place Linton had put it, and forgot about it. Or at least, he tried to. But since the moment he woke up, his mind had been lingering on the letter, desperate to know what it said.
At the same time, he was much too scared to read it.
He hated the feeling of being scared. He’d never fancied himself an easily cowed man. In fact, Linton would often tell him that he was much too bold sometimes and that it wouldn’t hurt to refrain from being overly courageous in his actions. Yet when it came to a certain young lady, he was simply defenseless. He could do nothing about the way he felt and he suffered because of it.
That suffering carried him throughout the day. Rowland went about his business as usual. He visited a few of the ranches, chatting with the workers to ensure that everything was in good shape. The sheep were in good health, growing nicely, and his employees were even better. They smiled when he came around, and a few offered invitations to dinner. He politely declined them all, thinking that there was a letter waiting for him that would either fill him like a meal would or ruin his appetite entirely.
The thought followed him, though he put on a normal face. As he continued through the ranches, not all but only those closest to him, Linton’s words struck even truer. He would have nothing to worry about if he were to leave right now. No doubt visiting Gresham would be a lengthy affair, perhaps a year or a year and a half, but the ranches would be in good hands. And Linton would be there to oversee everything. He trusted the man with his life.
It should make leaving easier, but he was still torn. On the one hand, he knew that he was going, that he should. But on the other, he longed for a reason not to.
Will Miss Flynn’s letter produce that reason?
Rowland didn’t know but the thought haunted him, even more so when he finally found himself back in his study, with another glass of brandy in his hand. He stood on the other side of his desk, staring at the untouched letter. His eyes roved over the swirls of her name and his stomach cramped.
He remembered the moment he first met Miss Peggy Flynn. It was at a small ball put on by one of his father’s friends. She had been surrounded by her friends back then, twittering to each while efficiently i
gnoring all the gentlemen around her. Rowland hadn’t been the only one who had been captured by her beauty back then—her apricot hair pinned up around her head, leaving a few tendrils trailing down her neck, those beautiful green eyes the color of turquoise. He had been the only one, however, she gave her attention to, the only one she had smiled at and offered her hand to for a dance.