What Would a Duke Do? Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Quote

  Copyright

  Get Your FREE Digital Book!

  Seductive Scoundrels Series

  Other Collette Cameron Books

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  From the Desk of Collette Cameron

  A DIAMOND FOR A DUKE

  ONLY A DUKE WOULD DARE

  A DECEMBER WITH A DUKE

  Excerpt from A DIAMOND FOR A DUKE

  WHAT WOULD A DUKE DO?

  Seductive Scoundrels, Book Four

  By

  COLLETTE CAMERON

  Blue Rose Romance®

  Portland, Oregon

  Sweet-to-Spicy Timeless Romance®

  “I could have loved you, Maxwell.”

  I could have loved you too, my darling Gabby.

  WHAT WOULD A DUKE DO?

  Seductive Scoundrels

  Copyright © 2019 Collette Cameron®

  Cover Design by: Kim Killion

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

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By downloading or purchasing a print copy of this book, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of the copyright owner.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publish­er, except where permitted by law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

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  eBook ISBN: 9781950387236

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  A Diamond for a Duke

  Only a Duke Would Dare

  A December with a Duke

  What Would a Duke Do?

  Coming soon in the series!

  Won by a Wicked Duke

  Never Dance with a Duke

  To Lure a Duke’s Lady

  Loved by a Devilish Duke

  Wedding her Christmas Duke

  When a Duke Loves a Lass

  How to Win A Duke’s Heart

  To Love an Irredeemable Duke

  A Waltz with a Rogue Series

  A Kiss for Miss Kingsley

  Bride of Falcon

  Her Scandalous Wish

  To Tame a Scoundrel’s Heart

  The Wallflower’s Wicked Wager

  Earl of Wainthorpe

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Castle Brides Series

  The Viscount’s Vow

  Heart of a Highlander (prequel to Highlander’s Hope)

  Highlander’s Hope

  The Earl’s Enticement

  The Blue Rose Regency Romances: The Culpepper Misses Series

  The Earl and the Spinster

  The Marquis and the Vixen

  The Lord and the Wallflower

  The Buccaneer and the Bluestocking

  The Lieutenant and the Lady

  Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series

  Triumph and Treasure

  Virtue and Valor

  Heartbreak and Honor

  Scandal’s Splendor

  Passion and Plunder

  Seductive Surrender

  A Yuletide Highlander (Coming Soon)

  Boxed Sets

  Embraced by a Rogue

  To Love a Reckless Lord

  When a Lord Loves a Lady

  Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 1-3

  The Blue Rose Regency Romances- The Culpepper Misses Series 1-5

  To my fabulous, loyal readers,

  especially my beta babes: SC, TN, DF, BSB, FM, TE, KS

  Thank you!

  December 1809

  Ridgewood Court, Essex England

  Humming beneath her breath, Gabriella Breckensole practically skipped down the stairs on her way to meet the other female houseguests to make kissing boughs and other festive decorations. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity, as her hostess, Theadosia, the Duchess of Sutcliffe and one of her dearest friends, hosted a Christmastide house party, the likes of which Essex had never witnessed before.

  The event was made all that much more enjoyable by the presence of Maxwell Woolbright, the Duke of Pennington. Since Gabriella and her twin sister had returned from finishing school almost two years ago, she’d encountered him at a few gatherings. He was quite the most dashing man she’d ever met, and despite being far above her station, she thrilled whenever he directed his attention her way.

  Descending the last riser, she puzzled for a moment. Where were the ladies to meet? The drawing room, the floral salon, or the dining room? Forehead scrunched, she pulled her mouth to the side and started toward the drawing room. Halfway there, she remembered they were to meet in the slightly larger dining room. She spun around and marched the other direction, passing the impressive library, its door slightly ajar.

  “Harold Breckensole will pay for what he’s done,” a man declared in an angry, gruff voice.

  Gabriella halted mid-step, her stomach plunging to her slippered feet. She swiftly looked up and down the vacant corridor before tip-toeing to the cracked doorway. Who spoke about her grandfather with such hostility?

  Breath held, she peeked through the narrow opening. The Dukes of Sutcliffe, Pennington, and Sheffield stood beside the fireplace, facing each other.

  Pennington held a glass of umber-colored spirits in one hand as he stared morosely into the capering flames. “I shall reclaim Hartfordshire Court. I swear.”

  “You say the estate was once part of the unentailed part of the duchy?” Sutcliffe asked, concern forming a line between his eyebrows.

  Pennington tossed back a swallow of his drink. “Yes. It belonged to my grandmother’s family for generations, and after what I’ve recently learned, I mean to see it restored to the ducal holdings, come hell or high water. And I’ll destroy Breckensole too.”

  Slapping a hand over her mouth, she ba
cked away, shaking her head as stinging tears slid from the corners of her eyes.

  Oh, my God. She’d been halfway to falling in love with a man bent on revenge of some sort. Gabriella jutted her chin up, angrily swiping at her cheeks. The Duke of Pennington had just become her enemy.

  Late March 1810

  Colechester, Essex, England

  “Miss Breckensole, what an unexpected…pleasure,” a man drawled in a cultured voice, the merest hint of laughter coloring his melodious baritone.

  Unexpected and wholly unwelcome.

  Gabriella froze in her admiration of Nicolette Twistleton’s adorable pug puppy, and barely refrained from gnashing her teeth. She knew full well who stood behind her. The odious, arrogant—annoying as Hades—Maxwell, Duke of Pennington. His delicious cologne wafted past her nostrils, and she let her eyelids drift half shut as she ordered her heart to resume its regular cadence.

  He didn’t know what she’d discovered about him. That he was a dishonorable, deceiving blackguard behind his oh, so charming demeanor. And he meant to destroy her grandfather. That knowledge bolstered her courage and settled her erratic pulse.

  One midnight eyebrow arched questioningly; Nicolette threw her a harried glance before dipping into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

  Gabriella hadn’t confided in Nicolette. Hadn’t confided in anyone as to why she disliked him so very much. Quashing her irritation at his appearance and his daring to greet her as if they were the greatest of friends, she schooled her features into blandness before turning and sinking into the expected deferential greeting. “Duke.”

  He bowed; his strong mouth slanted into his usual half-mocking smile.

  “What brings you to town?” He glanced around. “Your sister or grandmother aren’t with you? Or an abigail either?” A hint of disapproval edged his observation. “Did you come with Miss Twistleton?”

  Beast. Who was he to question her conduct? She wasn’t accountable to him.

  “No, I am here with my mother.” Nicolette cast Gabriella another bewildered glance. “She’s in the milliner’s.”

  Surely, he was aware, as was the whole of Colechester, that a lady’s maid was an unnecessary expense, according to Gabriella’s grandfather. That the duke so offhandedly and publicly made mention of the deficiency angered and chagrined her.

  Pennington turned an expectant look upon her. As if he were entitled to have an answer, because, after all, he was the much sought-after Duke of Pennington.

  Edging her chin upward, Gabriella clutched her packages tighter, one of which was her twin’s birthday present. She saved for months to be able to surprise Ophelia with the mazurine blue velvet cloak.

  “Grandmama is unwell, and Ophelia stayed home to care for her.” She wouldn’t offer him further explanation.

  “I am truly sorry to hear that. May I have my physician call upon her?” he asked, all solicitousness, even going so far as to lower his brows as if he truly cared. A concern she knew to be feigned given what she’d overheard at the Duke and Duchess of Sutcliffe’s Christmastide house party last December.

  “That’s not necessary. She was seen by one only last week.” My, she sounded positively unaffected. The epitome of a self-possessed gently-bred young woman.

  Inside, she fumed at his forwardness.

  How she wanted to rail at him. To tell him precisely what she thought of his nefarious scheme. Why did he—conceited, handsome rakehell—have to be in Colechester today too? He promptly turned her much-anticipated afternoon outing sour. Freshly cut lemon or gooseberry face-puckering, attitude-ruining sour.

  And why he insisted upon trying to speak to her at every opportunity, she couldn’t conceive. Three months ago, and the few unfortunate occasions they’d come across each other since, she’d made her feelings perfectly clear—to-the-point-of-rudeness-clear.

  She’d heard him vow to the Dukes of Sheffield and Sutcliffe that come hell or high water—Pennington’s very sternly muttered words—he’d reclaim the lands that had once been an unentailed part of the duchy. Lands that had belonged to his grandmother’s family for generations.

  Property, which included her beloved home, Hartfordshire Court. A holding that Grandpapa had purchased, fair and square, from the duke’s own degenerate grandfather decades before and which, with hard work and industry, had made the estate prosperous.

  “Mama is so very pleased you are to attend our musical assembly, Your Grace,” Nicolette blurted. As if sensing the stilted silence and not understanding the reason why, but wanting to defuse the tangible awkwardness.

  Unable to contain her disbelief, Gabriella sent him a quick glance from beneath her lashes. He is to attend? Of all the dashed rotten luck. He rarely remained at his country seat past mid-March. London held far more appeal to a man of the world like him, and truth be told, she had anticipated—needed—a few months’ reprieve from his presence.

  She and Ophelia were to attend as well, but now she no longer anticipated her first social foray other than tea in two months as she had but a minute ago.

  Nicolette shifted the puppy and received a wet tongue on the cheek for her efforts. “No licking, Bella,” she admonished whilst rubbing the pup behind her ears. “It’s also Gabriella’s birthday that day,” she offered with an impish twinkle in her eye. “She’ll be one and twenty.”

  Gabriella shot her a quelling glance. The world—he—didn’t need to know she was practically on the shelf with no prospects, save spinsterhood.

  “I quite look forward to the entertainment.” Insincerity rang in his tone as he gave a gracious nod and continued staring at Gabriella. “And also, to wish you a happy day, Miss Breckensole.” The latter held a note of authenticity. His flicked he gaze down the street, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. “Ladies, would you join me for a cup of chocolate or coffee?”

  The Prince’s Coffee House was but four doors down and acclaimed not only for its hot beverages, but ambiance and scrumptious pastries. Not that Gabriella had ever sampled either.

  She’d wanted to, but Grandpapa frowned upon eating in the village. A waste of good coin, he grumbled.

  Nicolette shook her head, no genuine regret shadowing her face. After being jilted, she bore disdain for every male, save her brother, the Earl of Scarborough. “I fear Mama is expecting me inside. I only came outside for Bella’s sake.”

  “And I must return home straightaway.” Gabriella signaled her driver with a flick of her wrist and slant of her head. She’d finished her shopping before bumping into Nicolette and the newest addition to the Twistleton household.

  Amid a chorus of creaks and groans, her grandfather’s slightly lopsided and dated coach pulled alongside her. Jackson, the groomsman, climbed down and after three rigorous attempts, managed to lower the steps. She passed him her parcels, which he promptly placed inside the conveyance.

  “Please allow me.” The duke stepped forward and offered his hand to assist her inside.

  While she wanted to give him the cut by refusing to accept his offer, Nicolette was sure to interrogate her as to why she’d been so rude the next time they met. A year ago, even three months ago, Gabriella would’ve been overjoyed at his attention. Now, he was her enemy. A handsome, dangerous, cunning, and unpredictable nemesis.

  As lightly as she was able, she placed her fingertips atop his palm and entered the rickety out of fashion forty-year-old coach. Lips melded, she studiously disregarded the alarming jolt of sensation zipping up her arm at his touch. She should feel nothing but contempt for him and most assuredly entertain no carnal attraction.

  The duke didn’t immediately close the door behind her. His gaze probed hers for a long sliver of a moment, and suddenly the coach became very confining. And hot. She waved her hand before her face, having left her fan at home. “Might I call upon you tomorrow?” Is he utterly daft? “Perhaps we might take a ride? Naturally, Miss Ophelia is welcome too.”

  That latter seemed more of an after-thought. He knew she couldn’t ride out alone with
him, and he was mad as a Bedlam guest if he truly believed she’d willingly spend time in his company.

  Gabriella met his gaze straight on. Something undefinable shadowed the depths of his unusual eyes—one green and one blue. “I must decline, Your Grace. I also must ask you, once again, to direct your attentions elsewhere. I am not now, nor will I ever be, receptive to them.”

  If she never spoke to him again, it would be too soon.

  Did he really think just because he was a duke and she was the lowly granddaughter of a gentleman-farmer, she’d jump at the opportunity to spend time in his company?

  You did at one time. And suffered a broken heart when his true character became evident.

  Not. Anymore. Never again. Not when she knew his true motivation for seeking her company. How much her feelings had changed for him these past months.

  At once his striking countenance grew shuttered, his high cheekbones more pronounced with… Anger? Disappointment? “We, shall see, chérie. We shall see.”

  “What, precisely, do you mean by that?” Something very near dread clogged her throat, and the words came out husky rather than terse as she’d intended.

  Instead of answering, he offered an enigmatic smile and doffed his hat, the afternoon sunlight glinting on his raven hair. “Good day.”

  We, shall see, chérie. We shall see.

  His words replaying over and over in her mind, she remained immobile, her focus trained on his retreating form until he disappeared into the Pony and Pint instead of The Prince’s Coffee House. At one time, she’d fancied herself enamored of him. She’d been flattered he’d turned his ducal attention on her: a simple country girl without prospects.

  Firmly stifling those memories and the associated emotions, she tapped the roof. “Home. Jackson, and do hurry. Grandmama needs her medicines.”