Seduction of a Duke (Love And Devotion Book 3), page 1
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PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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SEDUCTION OF A DUKE
JR SALISBURY
CONTENTS
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
Preview: The Making of a Duke
Prologue
Also by JR Salisbury
About the Author
1
Lady Cora Keats rose, alongside her father, the Duke of Dover. Together they eagerly watched his racehorse, St. Elmo’s Fire, take the lead. He roared past his competition with ease, as his magnificent, well-muscled back form carried him ahead by four lengths. Gentlemen began to shout, even though the race was far from over. Cora’s enthusiasm was addictive. Thoroughbred horses were in her blood. For her, it wasn’t just about the possibility of winning. To Cora winning was secondary. It was all about these magnificent creatures, watching them blossom from wobbly foals to training and on to racing.
Leaving her father's side and making her way to the rail, she stood at the edge. As she leaned forward over the rail, a large, flashy chestnut began to challenge her stallion. Oh, hell no! This would never do. Whoever this was, he'd better have stamina, because her horse had racing in his blood, with the endurance and speed of three horses.
She began shouting. "Come on! Come on! Move your bloody arse!"
Not one to lose, St. Elmo's Fire made his way to the finish line in a second burst of speed, leaving the chestnut several lengths behind.
Smiling she turned to find her father watching her from the edge of the box, a stern look on his face. Her gaze turned back to the rest of the boxes and found a gentleman with wavy dark hair, the color of ink, watching her. His skin appeared bronzed from the sun. Too bad he wasn’t closer so she could get a better look at him.
She loved the track at Sandown Park. Located in Surrey, it was an easy ride from their London home. The course itself was fast, and if she ever had a hunter ready for racing, this was the perfect course to start one on.
Cora got so absorbed in the race she forgot herself and who her father was. Words would fly from her mouth that she normally only used at the farm in Scotland.
Lanarkshire was located not far from Edinburgh in the Scottish Lowlands. The castle, appropriately named Keats Castle, had been in the family for over four hundred years. It was where Cora had spent most of her childhood, and where she fell in love with horses. At the tender age of four, she was given her first pony. From there, she was a constant figure in the stables. If she wasn’t riding, she was asking questions of the grooms or stable master.
Her first racer had been a hunter named Lancelot. A white thoroughbred, he was quick and nimble, especially going over the walls and fences throughout the estate. By then, her father indulged her when she approached him at age fifteen about training a three-year-old piebald named Warrior, omitting the small fact that she was going to train him to race and hunt. Her dream was becoming a reality.
She’d always known what she wanted. She was confident, self-assured, and at times outspoken, never believing in keeping her opinions to herself. The majority of her time was spent in the stables, where she trained flat racers, and as St. Elmo’s Fire’s victory proved, she was quite good at it.
Her mother’s death from a respiratory disease struck Cora especially hard; grief had overwhelmed her. She and her mother had been extremely close. Her death left her feeling empty and alone. Her passion for horses became her life. A way to escape her grief. Cora merged herself further into her horses. She would honor her mother by being the best at whatever she set her mind to.
Now here she was, not so very many years later, being escorted by her father to the winner’s area once again.
"Move your arse! Move your bloody arse!"
Sebastian Steele, Duke of Hightower, watched in fascination at the young woman standing at the rail yelling and making a fool of herself. Fascinated, because he'd never seen a woman get so animated about a horserace. It was undignified, and certainly unbecoming of a lady. Where was her husband?
Though women did attend horse races with their husbands, they never behaved like this. She appeared to be a peer, well dressed and mannered, except for this outburst. Could it be her husband’s horse she was carrying on about?
She continued watching the race, cheering them on. In the sun, red hues sparkled off her mahogany hair. She wore a dark green dress with charcoal piping, along with a peplum jacket and skirt. The collar hugged her chin and was trimmed with black lace. The jacket closed with small black buttons on the front.
He turned his attention from the dark-haired woman to the race, which was winding down. The horses were headed into the homestretch, and his own entry, Apollo's Gold, was proving once again to be a disappointment, holding at a good distance behind the winner. The stallion had shown great promise up until the last two races. Something was missing. He needed to send Apollo to someone who could salvage this horse's future before he ruined it.
"Better luck next time," Crispin Allgood, Earl of Yorkshire said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"There isn't going to be a next time, if I don't figure out what's holding him back," Hightower grumbled.
"Perhaps you need a new rider."
"I switched riders the last race and the results were no better. Something else is going on."
"Have you ever considered sending him off for training? Perhaps he needs a fresh pair of eyes guiding him. You're too close, Hightower. You've raised him from an orphaned colt. I understand the Duke of Dover uses one of his estates in Scotland exclusively for training and breeding. His trainer is supposed to be excellent. You saw the result just now."
Hightower jerked his head to the rail. She was gone. He turned back to Allgood. "Who's his trainer, do you know?"
"I can't recall offhand. Just heard he runs the Duke's entire operation there, and like I said, the man's excellent," Allgood replied.
"I need to make inquiries."
"Indeed. Are we off to town, or do you want to go to the stables first?"
"Stables. Make sure Apollo is readied for the trip home. I think a week or two running the meadow might help his state of mind while I contact Dover's trainer, don't you think?"
"I agree. After, perhaps we can make our way to White's for a drink and an early dinner."
"I certainly could use a good snifter of brandy after this disappointment," Hightower said.
Hightower's own stable was relatively small. With three generations of Irish Thoroughbreds, some crossed with Arabians, his breeding lineage was becoming known.
Apollo's Gold had been orphaned at birth, his mother dying shortly after having him. Hightower had personally taken an interest in maintaining the colt’s feeding schedule at night, allowing the stable boys some much-needed time off. Many nights, Hightower slept in the colt’s stall.
Now a three-year-old, the flashy chestnut colt had proven he had what it took to race like the wind. Until two races prior. Despite all the small changes with riders and feed, nothing changed. Apollo’s Gold seemed more lethargic and uninterested. He merely went through the motions. If Hightower couldn’t figure out what was going on with the colt, he would have to retire him from racing and find another use for him. Or worse yet, find another owner, though Hightower knew he could never part with the chestnut. He’d made him a promise that first night, as he fed the youngster in his stall, that they’d always be together.
Before making any decisions, he would look into sending him off for further training. His friend was right. Though the youngster had the heart of a racer, Crispin was right, he was too close to the colt.
It was said the Duke’s farm employed a most unusual and competent trainer, who had led the Duke's horses to victory on the track. The trainer was also known to know horseflesh and breeding better than most, which could prove interesting. Perhaps he might learn something new from this man. Tomorrow he would make inquiries and see about visiting the Duke of Dover's training farm in Scotland.
They climbed into Allgood's carriage, heading for White's. "You said you couldn't tell me much about the Duke's trainer. Tell me what you have heard."
"Only that he's done remarkable things over the years improving the Duke's bloodline. So much so, I hear the Duke sold a young colt to some European royalty r
"I think I'll contact the Duke and make an inquiry about training."
"Excellent idea because they might not be accepting outside horses right now. You might have to be scheduled."
"Precisely. Perhaps I can temp the Duke to meet me at the farm and introduce me personally to his trainer. Do you know where it's located?"
Allgood smiled. "It's located in Lanarkshire. In the Scottish Lowlands. I do not have the interest you do in horses and racing and such. I'm sure you can find out easily enough. Simply make some inquiries. Tattersall's might be a good place to start. I understand some of the Duke's lesser quality horses go through there."
"It sounds like Dover keeps everything rather exclusive and quiet."
The carriage came to a stop in front of White’s. A footman opened the door to let them descend the carriage. Hightower followed his friend. His interest was even more piqued now.
"Do you have any plans for the evening?" Allgood asked.
"Nothing that can't wait. Why?"
A footman appeared and took their drink order after they sat down in a couple of leather chairs off to one side. Hightower ordered whiskey and the Earl did the same.
"I thought we might have steak here and then proceed on to The Tortoise and Hare," Allgood smiled. The Tortoise and Hare was a supposed gentlemen's club. One that discreetly offered their clientele women to satisfy their needs when a wife or lover could not.
"Hyacinth not at home?" Hightower asked with a smirk.
"No. She's visiting her sister in Manchester. She won't be home for another fortnight."
"Really?"
Allgood nodded. "Her sister is with child and is about to give birth. It's her first, and Hyacinth thought she should be there for the blessed event."
Hightower took the glass from the footman who'd returned with their drinks. "You really need to get yourself a mistress rather than frequenting gentlemen's clubs."
"Says the man who is celibate."
"I've just not found a woman worth keeping as a mistress. As far as your question about this evening? I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass. Not to my taste."
"What has gotten into you, Hightower? You've gotten to be quite boring, you know." His friend grinned and upended his drink.
Knowing his friend's fondness of whiskey and brandy, Hightower motioned for a footman and ordered two steaks, along with more drinks. He didn’t need to accompany Crispin tonight. The last time he did, it took him a week to recover fully.
If it hadn't been a marriage arranged by both families, Hightower was sure his friend would have never married. At least not yet. Crispin enjoyed whoring around far too much. Which was why he had no mistress. A mistress would be too confining, and he had a wife for that.
A couple of hours later, after drinks, dinner, and brandy afterwards, Hightower called it a night. He left his friend at his carriage and found a hansom to take him home. He wanted to see how the colt fared. He had been brought to the mews behind his London home rather than make the trip back to the estate, as Hightower was thinking a good night's rest was more of what Apollo needed.
The streets were busy in this section of Westminster. Carriages lined the street, taking their occupants to the theater or social affairs. He was thankful to be on his way home, though his country estate was more to his liking. Coming to Town was a necessary evil, and he would just push through it.
As long as he limited the social engagements he attended, the more likely he might be left in peace. The only way he saw he could avoid the anxious mothers wanting to make sure their daughters got an introduction with him, or better yet, that he would dance with one of them.
He knew he needed to marry at some point, start a family, and produce the next Duke of Hightower. But he would not be forced by his sisters or anyone else into marrying. Marriage would be on his own terms. Beatrice, Theodora, and Matilda were all still single, and all were of marriageable age. What he needed to be doing was seeing they were married first. Then he would put himself out on the marriage mart.
He arrived back home, met by his butler, James, who took his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. He went down the hall to the library. A book about the Roman empire sat where he'd left it the night before. The book was dry reading, but his fascination with ancient civilizations held his attention, letting him immerse himself in some long-forgotten battle.
Pouring a brandy, he settled onto one of the settees his mother had furnished the room with years ago. He took a thoughtful sip of the dark amber liquid before opening the book to where he'd marked it the night before. After reading and rereading the third page, Sebastian picked up the brandy and finished it off, not understanding why he was unable to focus.
His mind kept going back to Apollo and the astounding loss the colt suffered earlier. Beyond that, he recalled the dark-haired beauty yelling at the rail. As enthusiastic as she was, he wondered if the horse belonged to her father or husband. The only other reason for her acting in such an unladylike fashion would be that she'd simply bet on the horse and had gotten carried away as the colt blew past all the others, winning by at least a half-dozen lengths. Apollo could do that easily. He was more than capable to outrun every horse he'd been against today. He just failed to deliver. Something was terribly wrong, and somehow, by hook or by crook, Sebastian was going to figure it out.
2
Hightower pulled the covers up over his head as the heavy forest green draperies opened, revealing a bright, sunny morning. Damn Titus—the majordomo knew not to wake him before eight unless it was an emergency. An emergency constituted the house on fire or some other dire and dreadful disaster. Anything else could wait until he awoke, dressed, read the newspapers, and took a light breakfast.
"Good God, man! This had better be good!"
"I can assure you it is," Allgood replied, a mocking tone to his voice. "Besides, you're wasting a perfectly good day lying about in bed.
Knowing he'd get no peace from his friend, Hightower reluctantly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Whatever it is you find so damn important to wake me."
Allgood flopped into a chair. "I have information about the Duke of Dover's trainer for you."
Titus entered the room, silently laying out Hightower's clothes. The man had been with the Duke since he attended Oxford, and by the look on his face, the majordomo was not pleased with Allgood’s unannounced visit.
"Let me see, the Duke's trainer resides on his estate in Scotland and is quite mysterious."
"I wouldn't say mysterious. The man simply runs a tight ship, and doesn't wish people, particularly strangers, coming to visit and disrupt his schedule."
Hightower shook his head. "Are you going to tell me anything new? If not, I'm going to finish dressing and go down to my study where I'll write Dover a letter inquiring about putting Apollo in training with his trainer."
"Did I mention that the Duke is a cousin of my wife's?"
"No, you did not mention that. How would that help me out?"
The corners of Allgood's mouth pulled up. "I had completely forgotten they were related."
"Come on, are you going to make me drag this out of you?" Hightower asked, as Titus finished with his cravat.
"Okay, okay. Let us not get testy, old man. I may have mentioned to Hyacinth's brother last evening your bad luck with the colt, and you were looking to ship him off for training. That's when he reminded me, he and Hyacinth were cousins of the Duke, and that he would be happy to send a letter of introduction on your behalf."
"That could be huge. I must thank him."
"You can do that tomorrow evening. Peter has invited the Duke and his daughter to dinner at my home tomorrow."
