Longmead Woods Trilogy Read online

  Longmead Woods Trilogy

  Alpha/Omega Mpreg

  Colbie Dunbar

  Copyright © 2018 Colbie Dunbar

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designed by Silver Heart Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Longmead Woods Trilogy: List of Characters

  The Rogue’s Secret

  1. Frederick

  2. Nathaniel

  3. Frederick

  4. Frederick

  5. Nathaniel

  6. Frederick

  7. Nathaniel

  8. Frederick

  9. Nathaniel

  10. Frederick

  11. Nathaniel

  The Rogue’s Baby

  1. Frederick

  2. Nathaniel

  3. Frederick

  4. Nathaniel

  5. Frederick

  6. Nathaniel

  7. Frederick

  8. Nathaniel

  The Rogue’s Dilemma

  1. Nathaniel

  2. Frederick

  3. Nathaniel

  4. Frederick

  5. Nathaniel

  6. Frederick

  7. Nathaniel

  8. Frederick

  About the Author

  Also by Colbie Dunbar

  Longmead Woods Trilogy: List of Characters

  The Extended Family

  Frederick Trenton, The Duke of Longmead, owner of Longmead Hall

  Lord Nathaniel ‘Nate’ Elgin, younger son of the late Marquis of Sibley and brother of the current marquis

  Lady Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Trenton, Frederick and Nate’s daughter

  Lord Cuthbert ‘Cuddy’ Trenton, Frederick’s younger brother

  Lady Eleanor Ainsworth, formerly Lady Eleanor Trenton, Frederick’s younger sister

  Viscount Henry Ainsworth, Eleanor’s husband

  The Honorable Henrietta ‘Hetty’ Ainsworth, Henry and Eleanor’s older daughter

  The Honorable Amelia ‘Mellie’ Ainsworth, Henry and Eleanor’s younger daughter

  Jasper, Cassie’s spaniel

  Hammond Manor

  Mr Harvey, owner of Hammond Manor, a salon

  Longmead Hall Staff

  Winters, Frederick’s steward

  Mrs. Markham, the cook

  Samuel, the porter

  Ned, Mrs. Markham’s son

  The Court

  King Edmund, Frederick’s childhood friend

  Queen Rosamund, Edmund’s consort

  Princess Matilda, Edmund’s younger sister

  Queen Caroline, Edmund’s grandmother

  King Harold, Caroline’s husband

  King Richard, Edmund and Matilda’s father

  Sir James Clifton, Edmund’s chancellor

  Sir John Atherton

  The Monastery

  Friar Joseph, an elderly monk

  Copyright © 2017 Colbie Dunbar

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designed by Silver Heart Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  Frederick

  Frederick Trenton, better known as the Duke of Longmead, hated what he was about to do.

  The duke sat astride his stallion, Vulcan, and stared down the gravel drive. Hammond Manor, a large gray mansion surrounded by a formal garden, lay at the end. Candlelight flickered at the windows teasing at what lay behind the curtains, while servants holding lanterns greeted a carriage as it drew up to the entrance and ushered its occupant inside.

  Despite the cool air, sweat covered Vulcan’s flanks as Frederick had ridden him hard along the winding road that skirted the woods which bore his family’s name. The duke rubbed the horse and whispered, “Well done,” as the porter stumbled from the lodge, held up a lantern with trembling hands and shone it in Frederick’s face.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  A whiff of sour ale wafted over Frederick and he scrunched up his nose before inclining his head. “Thomas.”

  “We have not seen you here in many a month, Sire. I was wondering where you had got to.”

  “I have been… otherwise engaged.”

  The porter paused and shuffled his feet. “I heard about your father. My condolences. He was a true gentleman.”

  “He was.” The duke’s mouth was set in a hard line and though he’d known the old man for years, he was in no mood for idle chit chat.

  Thomas bowed and trudged over to the huge gates and released the bolt on the heavy, intricately carved metal barrier with its swirls of wrought iron surrounding an ancient family crest. The elderly man groaned as his arm, clad in its black uniform, wrenched one half of the gate open, and the metal creaked and complained as he dragged it over the driveway.

  Frederick placed a silver coin in the man’s palm and tipped his hat. “Night, Thomas.”

  “Your Grace.”

  But as Vulcan passed through the gate, a scent so intoxicating and overwhelming hit Frederick with the force of a musket blast to his chest, and the reins slipped from his grasp. The odor was musky and primitive, and it wrapped itself around him as he struggled to get air into his lungs. His arms flailed as darkness swarmed over him, encircling his body in its wispy fingers while its feathery breath sniggered in his ear.

  Vulcan snorted and slowed his pace before trotting onto the grass as the duke gasped and clutched his throat and the world spun around. But the shadows won the battle, and Frederick slid off the horse and tumbled onto the manicured lawn.

  He lay on his back and gazed at the stars until they stopped dancing and returned to their correct celestial order, but he couldn’t pause his thoughts as they whirled in his head. It is happening again. That aroma. It cannot be. Not here at the salon in front of the other alphas. I cannot bare myself in front of my community and peers—and the omegas.

  The duke rubbed a lump on his cheek and grimaced as a sharp pain stabbed at his forehead. Vulcan sniffed and nuzzled him, and Frederick relished the fragrance of hay as it muffled the other heady aroma.

  He brushed grass from his waistcoat and jacket and fumbled in the darkness for his hat. His hands shook as Thomas’ did and yet he was half the porter’s age and not inebriated.

  As he scrabbled for his belongings, a trail of wavering lights led from the summer house to the back of the main house as servants held lanterns aloft and led the omegas into the building.

  One omega, taller than the rest and outlined against the inky sky by the fluttering light, swaggered across the lawn and froze. His head snapped to the side as he gazed toward the duke. There was a full moon, but it flitted behind clouds and even though Frederick was cloaked in darkness, he ducked behind his horse.

  But the duke couldn’t avoid the enticing fragrance wafting across the drive and gooseflesh spiked at his skin. Drool pooled in the corners of his mouth, so he leaned against Vulcan and gulped in the familiar perfume of manure and straw.

  With his head buried in his hands, Frederick fought the urge to have Vulcan gallop over the gravel toward the main entrance. He imagined flinging himself off the horse and dashing into the house, ignoring the other alphas who stood in the drawing room sipping their port or brandy and making polite conversation while glancing over their shoulders as they awaited the omegas’ arrival.

  But the duke didn’t tear along the driveway like a highwayman chasing a carriage in t
he middle of the night. He glanced at the gate and then to the house. Leave. That is the sensible option. Do not make a fool of yourself, Frederick. But as he twisted back toward the mansion, the tug of the omega’s presence and scent lured him forward. Blood thundered in his veins and his cock twitched and swelled in his trousers.

  Instead of a gallop, horse and master trotted over the shingle and each crunch of Vulcan’s hooves sent Frederick’s pulse racing and bile rising in his stomach. The two opposing sides of his nature—one ancient and raw and the other modern and rational—fought for dominance. He put his family and community first and in these uncertain times, he had always pushed his own needs aside. But not tonight.

  Centuries ago when his ancestors roamed the woods, they had the ability to shift from beast to man. But as they evolved, they lost the connection to their former selves and lived much as other men did—with a few notable exceptions.

  The horse shivered, perhaps sensing his master’s discomfort.

  “Good boy. There is a bag of oats and a warm barn waiting for you.”

  As Vulcan cantered toward the manor house, the duke’s thoughts drifted to the events of the past autumn and winter. The engagement he had mentioned to Thomas was an audience with the king. Frederick’s father had died during the previous harvest and after the mourning period had ended, the new duke presented himself to the monarch.

  King Edmund, who was seven and twenty—the same age as Frederick—and his consort had no children as his wife could not carry a baby to term. The king’s only sibling, a younger sister, Princess Matilda, had been married to a foreign prince, but wedlock was not to the princess’ liking, and the union was nullified.

  While waiting in the palace’s great hall for the king to receive him, the new duke had strolled through the crowd of petitioners, hangers-on, courtiers and newly minted aristocracy all desperate to meet the monarch. The stench of unwashed bodies and the babble of men and women gossiping echoed around the room and drifted up to the ornately carved ceiling.

  The crowd was corralled by the king’s guard—soldiers returned from a war—who held back the masses with their beefy arms.

  Despite the crush, the large room was chilly, and Frederick shivered and pushed toward a fireplace on the far wall. He nodded at an acquaintance and glanced at the door to the throne room with the king’s insignia embellished in gold and wished he could stride in and announce himself.

  But as a page opened the door, and the crowd surged forward, a mud-caked boot stamped on Frederick’s toes. He groaned and twisted his head and a pungent scent swept over him. The odor gripped his insides, and he envisioned that smell curling through the depths of the forest, entangling the ancient trees in its grasp.

  He made a fist as it needled and beckoned him like a siren luring a sailor to his doom. A growl rumbled in his chest and he clutched his jacket as he lurched toward the throne room, but a guard shoved him back, telling him to wait his turn. He staggered through the crowd, being pushed and pummeled searching for the source of the intoxicating fragrance.

  At over six foot, Frederick was taller than most of the horde and his eyes darted around until they spied a head of dark wavy hair and a pair of green eyes observing him from beside the hearth. The gentleman leaned nonchalantly against the wall with playing cards frozen in his fingers. The man’s companion was cussing and flung a coin into his hands before stomping away. But the green-eyed stranger’s mouth gaped and a slight flush stained his cheeks as he made no move to pocket the silver coin.

  Frederick’s body swayed as the odor overpowered him and his vision blurred. His cock bulged and as he floundered, he brushed against a woman’s hip and his engorged length nudged her bottom.

  “Filthy beast,” she spat at him and slapped his face.

  Strangled thoughts tore through his head as sweat dotted his brow and upper lip and he rubbed his cheek, stinging from the woman’s palm. Does she know who I am? What I am? Or is that her usual way of scolding men?

  Ignoring the censure, he pushed through the throng desperate to reach the enticing green eyes, and he battered the bodies that got in his way. His ceremonial sword smacked against legs and hips, and he was greeted with grunts and swearing. A fist jabbed at his lip, tearing the skin, and a sharp metallic taste flooded his mouth. He plowed forward, and the stranger with the tousled hair bobbed in and out of his sight.

  But as he scuffled with the crowd, and his arms extended, desperate to reach the stranger, rough hands grabbed his shoulders.

  “No! Please, God no.”

  His fingers scraped at the soldier’s cheeks and he raked them over the man’s livery, tearing at the braids, his nails ripping the delicate stitching until another pair of hands yanked him away and shook him.

  “The king is requesting your presence. But he will not abide any drunkenness.”

  Frederick struggled out of the man’s grasp and searched the crowd for the head of unkempt hair, but the soldiers shoved him toward the door. He was taller than them, but these men were brawny with wide shoulders and muscular, battle-scarred forearms. As he eyed their missing teeth and uncompromising expressions, his shoulders sagged.

  “But I… “

  The guards hustled him toward the throne room and the crowd harangued him and muttered they had been waiting longer. They kicked him as the men propelled him forward and knocked the breath out of him. He bent over panting, trying to force air into his chest.

  “Move or I will toss you into the muck with the pigs, Your Grace.”

  The crowd guffawed as the guard spat on the floor. They sense who I am. They would never treat a nobleman this way otherwise.

  With one final glance toward the fireplace, where a group of women warmed their hands and glared at him, Frederick adjusted his waistcoat and wiped the sweat from his face. His cheeks flamed, and he was thankful his dark trousers and long jacket hid his arousal. As his breathing calmed, he strode into the throne room and bowed.

  “The Duke of Longmead, Your Majesty.”

  “You may kneel.”

  Nathaniel

  Lord Nathaniel Elgin lounged in the parlor at the Hammond Manor summer house and hated what he was about to do. He ran his fingers through his disheveled curly hair as he glanced outside at the lengthening shadows.

  The omegas had been sequestered for a day and night at Hammond Manor, the establishment owned and run by Mr. Harvey. An elderly midwife who had attended many omegas as they gave birth, had observed them and felt their foreheads for any sign their heat was imminent. Allowing an omega into the salon during his cycle with a group of alphas would be foolhardy at best, and possibly catastrophic by putting everyone at risk. And Mr. Harvey’s name and business would be ruined. The man prided himself on providing his clients an evening of pleasure—not commitments.

  The other omegas wandered through the building gossiping about which nobleman might spend the night with them. Nathaniel, or Nate, as his family called him, spent his afternoon ensconced on a chaise longue playing cards and dice games. He won a few farthings from the omegas foolish enough to place a wager and challenge him. Not enough for his art supplies, but the coins would keep him supplied with tobacco.

  As the sun sunk over the trees, the men hovered near the windows, eager for a glimpse of the alphas. Wealthy men in carriages or astride magnificent steeds had them fantasizing they may find a mate. Nate shrugged at their daydreams. These evenings were about sex, money and power as in any similar establishment.

  But as the omegas eyed the arrivals, pageboys ushered them from their hideaway toward the servants’ entrance in the main house. As they hurried through the deepening dusk, a stallion halted at the manor gate, and Nate stopped dead.

  His head fell back as he sniffed the air and cold shivers prickled his arms. The aroma was earthy, which reminded him of freshly plowed fields, bold like a wild animal, and elusive—overpowering and yet invisible. He reached out his hand as if to capture it, but the scent battered his chest and sucked the air out of him. r />
  Nate panted like a wild animal, so he bent over and fiddled with his boots as the other omegas grumbled and shoved him aside. A flush stained his cheek, and he wrenched the necktie from around his throat while the servants complained and hustled the rest of the group around him. His hands shook and sweat dribbled from his brow over his chin and plopped onto his shirt.

  The cool, early spring breeze did nothing to calm him and he dabbed his face with the necktie. The full moon slid behind a cloud and after a final glance into the gloom, where everything was still in the inky blackness, Nate hurried after the others.

  But Mr. Harvey’s steward waylaid him. “Lord Elgin. What is the matter? Are you ill?”

  Not trusting himself to speak, Nate shook his head and strode inside the building. His heat cycle was not due for another two weeks, so maybe he was ill. That must be it. I am coming down with a cold. I am not in heat. And I have no connection, no particular bond with the gentleman on the horse.

  Nate shoved his concerns to the back of his mind and accepted water from a servant. Slinking to a corner of the room, he dunked his fingers into the glass and patted his cheeks while glancing over his shoulder hoping no one was watching. He could not afford to miss the meager amount of money he would earn from this evening and be thrown out. Not to mention being in a room with a group of alphas and have his cycle begin. He shivered, but from terror or lust he wasn’t sure.