The Middleton Box Set: Regency Historical Romance Series

by Tanya Wilde

  She had it wrong, all these years—the best relationships are not those that are created from wild fantasies but from the love that sizzles between two people.

  Holly felt that sizzle now.

  Her arms swept around his neck, and she pulled herself closer to his chest. Through the thin material of her gown, she felt her skin begin to dampen. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “Kiss me, Brahm.”

  His arms closed around her, his eyes blazing before his head bent low, their lips barely touching. “I hated the feeling of thinking I might have lost you.”

  Then his lips brushed over hers. Achingly tender. His tongue danced with hers in ecstatic rhythm while his hand stroked down her back, past where the laces of her gown had yet to be fastened, and skimmed over her backside.

  “You shall never lose me,” Holly murmured against his mouth. She bit down on his lip teasingly. “Well, unless a mad duke kidnaps me again,” she teased.

  “Not even then. It took nearly ten years from my life when I found you gone.”

  “You’ve not aged a day.”

  He pulled her in for another swift kiss. “Holly, you are so much more than I ever imagined. I will never leave your side again. And if I do, feel free to clobber me over the head.”

  His words, the raw desire in his voice, struck her right in the chest. Never had any man made her feel so wanted, so cherished. She did not care that they had guests waiting below. Or that she would not get her garden wedding. All that mattered was the man standing before her.

  “I want you, Brahm, here, now, forever.”

  His eyes darkened. “You can’t take that back. I won’t allow you to.”

  “Oh, you are quite stuck with me.”

  “Thank God.”

  An answering grin curled her lips. He looked magnificent, with his dark eyes and disheveled hair, his gaze boring into her with so much emotion. Heat pooled low in her belly.

  His eyes never left her as he pushed down her gown. One finger at a time, Holly let the material slide from her fingers. His eyes feasted on her, and Holly felt herself flush beneath his hot gaze. Dexterous fingers tugged on her chemise until that, too, pooled at her feet, and she stood naked before him.

  A gasp drew from her lips.

  Holly couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. The emotion flickering across his face held her paralyzed. Fiery shivers traveled the length of her spine.

  He sunk down to his knees before her, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside, the muscles in his arms rippling with each movement.

  It was unbearably arousing.

  Everything inside her ignited into a heated blaze. His chest was solid, smooth. She wanted so desperately to touch him. So she did. She brushed her palm across his heart, entranced by the feel of his skin.

  He trembled at the contact, and she had no more chance to explore. Powerful arms swept her up high. She was dimly aware of passing furniture before she felt the surface of the piano beneath her.

  Her lashes fluttered as she lifted them to meet his gaze. “This is so wicked.”

  His lips captured hers. He kissed every inch of her mouth. And as promised, he made his way down the soft arch of her neck, his tongue skimming over her collarbone before outlining the tender curve of her breast. A half-strangled moan left her lips as she felt him take a hard bud into his mouth and begin to suckle, his free hand kneading her other exposed breast.

  Her head fell back. The movement thrust her breasts forward, and his low groan tickled against her skin.

  “You are so soft,” he responded in a strained whisper, retaking her mouth in a rapturous kiss.

  The warm scrape of his tongue enticed a low moan from her, and she writhed against him, seeking more. In answer to her silent plea, his hand left her breast to explore her body further, caressing her skin as his mouth trailed kisses from her bottom lip down to her neckline. It was almost too much for her. Her entire body was alive with need. A burning sensation wound up deep inside of her.

  And then his hand was between her thighs, the place no other man had ever touched. He stroked her tender flesh with his thumb, a finger slipping inside of her moist heat.

  Moaning, she curled her fingers desperately into his hair. Tension wound tight in her core. All her life she had searched for someone to share the perfect life with, the perfect man and the perfect circumstances, never quite knowing that perfect was the last thing she hungered for.

  Her whole body felt ablaze. She wanted him inside her, needed him inside her, had to become one with him.

  His finger flexed, gliding in and out, while his thumb stroked the most sensitive part of her. His mouth moved from one breast to the other, his teeth grazing a nipple.

  “Brahm, please,” she pleaded.

  “I love how you are so ready for me, sweetheart.”

  “Are you done?”

  Laughter stirred in his chest. “No.” His eyes pinned her to the piano. “I will never be done.”

  He pulled his hand from between her legs and unbuttoned his breeches, pushing them down.

  Holly had seen Brahm naked before, but this, this was entirely different. It seemed bigger than before. And much harder. “Oh! But that is . . . I . . . you . . .”

  He smiled in a way that made her heart stutter.

  “I love that expression on your face.”

  He leaned over her and captured her parted lips in a kiss, the head of his member pressing into her slick entrance. He pushed gently at first, so lovingly, and Holly wriggled her hips to urge him on.

  “Hurry.”

  His teeth grazed the lobe of her ear. “It will hurt the first time.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Sure enough, his cock burned inside her as he pushed deeper, her muscles clamping around it, but Holly didn’t care. She clasped her legs around his waist.

  “Holly,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.

  She sucked in a startled gasp when, with one deep thrust, he passed the veil of her innocence, her body stretching to accommodate him.

  “Are you all right? Should I stop?” Brahm stared down her, his eyes bright in his flushed face.

  “Do not dare.”

  She reached around his back and pulled him tighter against her. He groaned and began to move, and at first, there was a slight pinch of pain, but the discomfort soon receded. His thrusts grew stronger and deeper, setting a slow rhythmic pace, and she clasped his massive shoulders for support.

  His breathing was labored, and Holly knew it took all his strength to be gentle with her. A rush of emotion assailed her. She tightened her hips and flexed, meeting his pace with the same urgency she felt in him.

  He growled and dragged her bottom closer to the edge of the piano and spread her legs wider, pushing her harder as his pace turned to quick, urgent thrusts.

  Holly had never imagined anything so erotic. Not even in her wildest dreams, her most vivid fantasies, had she envisioned such wondrous pleasure. Every moment in her life paled in comparison to this one with Brahm. She gripped his shoulders tighter, her nails biting into his skin, her breasts arching against his chest, hungrily searching for the fireworks that he’d made her feel before.

  His grip on her waist tightened as he drove them higher with hard, insistent strokes. She bucked wildly against him. A thousand sensations exploded inside her all at once. The climax was stronger than her first one, a wave of pleasure slamming into her with such an unexpected force that she cried out his name.

  He let out a hoarse cry, plunging deeper into her heat, and then he held. Shudders rocked him, and he gathered her into his arms, his breathing ragged in her ear.

  Tenderly, Holly stroked his back with her fingers, resting her head on his shoulder. It took a moment for the thrills of their climax to pass and their breathing to ease.

  Then, without warning, he lifted her up into his arms and moved to the sofa, his arm snatching out to grab a forgotten coverlet draped over one of the chairs. Rain poured down in an en
dless stream outside the windows as they settled into the soft pillows.

  “Do you think they started the celebration without us?” Holly murmured, tracing a finger over the damp droplets on Brahm’s chest.

  “Please tell me you did not invite the whole of London.” His lips drifted over her face.

  “Only a few select friends and family.”

  “Good, then it doesn’t matter what they do.” He kissed the edge of her jawline.

  Holly raised her hand to the dark bristle of his cheek. “No doubt everyone will be beside themselves when they learn of how the bride and groom disappeared for hours before the ceremony, only to get married all sweaty from their steamy lovemaking.”

  “Do you care what they think?”

  “Not in the least, but I do hope they leave us some cake.”

  A frown knit his brows. “This isn’t the wedding you deserve or the one you imagined as a little girl.”

  “No,” Holly agreed. A rush of love nearly overwhelmed her at the regret she heard in his voice. She never wanted to hear that tone from him again. “It’s even better.”

  Brahm’s chest rose and fell in a long, deep breath.

  In the distance a door crashed against a wall and a flurry of activity erupted from somewhere in the house. Their gaze locked.

  “Do you think that is the duke?” Holly asked.

  Brahm rolled her over and covered her body with his, bracing himself on his forearms and staring down at her.

  “I think I don’t care.” He kissed away the lines that appeared on her brow. “It will be a cold day in hell before he rips the woman I love from my arms again.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. She could feel his heart pounding against her ribs. “I do so love the sound of that.” She kissed his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “I so love you.”

  Brahm grinned and nuzzled her neck. “Woman, you have thoroughly corrupted me.”

  “Well, it is about time someone took it upon themselves to do it.”

  He chuckled and pulled the coverlet down to her waist.

  “What are you doing?” Holly asked, startled when he kissed her between the legs, his hands holding her in place. “You cannot do that!”

  A knock on the door halted any further protest.

  “Holly?” It was Poppy. “Is everything all right?”

  Oh, dear Lord!

  “Yes,” Holly croaked, her eyes widening at Brahm as she tried to wriggle away from him. His arms tightened. “We will be right down,” she called, breathless as his tongue kept licking over the folds of her sex.

  Holly whimpered.

  “Holly?”

  Her fingers tightened in Brahm’s hair. “We are just discussing some of the, er, finer points of our union.”

  “Right,” her sister said through the door. “Well, I will inform Willow that you will be down momentarily, then.”

  He slid a finger inside her.

  “Brahm. We ought to—attend—wedding,” she stammered but did not attempt to stop him when, drawing her legs farther apart, he licked and sucked until he found the spot that made her jump and focused there. Heat pooled between her legs, and she could feel herself nearing the peak of unbound pleasure again.

  “Brahm,” she breathed, just as she splintered into a thousand exquisite pieces.

  They did not attend their wedding until much, much later.

  The Perks of Being A Duchess

  Tanya Wilde

  Chapter 1

  When a Middleton caused a scandal, it was never by half measures. In fact, they usually engaged in the exact amount of caution one would when casting one’s fate entirely to the wind. And this was certainly the case with Willow Middleton, who had thrown every bit of care into the mid-May breeze.

  Willow inhaled deeply, smoothing her hands over the soft pink silk wedding gown with a growing sense of resolve. It was often said new relationships held the promise of a bright future, a future with love, happiness and prosperity.

  Whoever said that ought to be run through with a blade, Willow thought darkly as she and her father reached the edge of the aisle she was about to walk down. As far as promises go, she was not feeling any kind of promise—except the promise of infamy.

  But there was one memory that came to mind in this moment.

  Willow had once advised her sister, Poppy—quite teasingly—whenever the day should come where she lost her marbles, she ought to take care to wear her best gown for the occasion.

  Willow had never thought a day would come when she’d be the one following her own advice. She smoothed her hands over her skirts. Well, nearly following it. This was not her best dress, after all—it wasn’t even her dress to begin with.

  “So much for that then,” she muttered under her breath, dropping her gaze to regard the exposed flesh of her ankles. It wasn’t as though she had planned, or even prepared, for this to be the day she descended into madness. It had come on rather suddenly, a wild impulse that had replaced all common sense.

  And this was by far the craziest, most impetuous and reckless thing she’d ever done. Far bigger than the odd prank she’d played here and there. Colossal even, for it entailed handing over the oh-so-small thing called her life and pledging it to another.

  The Duke of St. Ives.

  The man her sister had deserted at the altar only moments ago.

  Beside her, her father stood tall, proud. Her rock. Willow hoped he would still be that proud after today was through. But for better or worse, there was no turning back now.

  “Are you ready, dear?” Her father’s soothing voice tugged at her twelve-year-old self—a time where her only thought had been colorful ribbons and pretty bonnets.

  As ready as I will ever be.

  In answer, she took a resolute step toward her fate just as the wedding march struck up, each chord slamming into her chest with the subtlety of a nail driving into a piece of wood.

  But there was peace in knowing she was saving her sister from ruin at least, particularly seeing as she had her own selfish reasons for wedding the duke.

  That was the true secret—the reason for her impulsive actions. She could fool everyone—her family, St. Ives, and even the guests—that she wed the duke to save her sister. But she could not fool herself.

  In her chest, a cauldron of emotions churned.

  Willow knew that she had quite willingly descended into this madness. She was walking down the aisle because she wanted to, because her sister had provided her the perfect opportunity to do so.

  Truth be told, she wasn’t even sure her actions would save Holly’s reputation. She may very well worsen everything with her efforts this day. But she took another step forward anyway.

  Madness. Utter madness.

  Willow clung to that madness like a lifeline. It was the only way she managed to put one foot before the other. So much was at stake.

  But for every step she took, her heart stuttered to a stop and then charged into a full beat again. The duke could still discover her deception, even though she wore a veil thick enough to obscure her face.

  She was, after all, a few inches taller than her sister—a fact made obvious by the length of the dress. For anyone looking closely, it would be a telltale clue that duplicity was underfoot. Willow prayed the duke only saw the shortened dress as a final rebellion on his fiancée’s part.

  In truth, his reaction upon finding a different bride under the veil was the real cause for concern. Would he be humiliated beyond belief? Would he annul the marriage?

  Willow supposed the worst that could happen was that the duke marched off in a fury upon the discovery, leaving her and her fleshy ankles to the mercy of the wolves. But even as she considered that, she felt the combination of the duke’s arrogance and male pride would demand he go through with the wedding regardless. At least, she hoped that would be the case.

  Darting her eyes to the row on her left, then to her right, Willow became aware of curious eyes dropping to her slippers, whisper
s reaching her from all sides.

  Willow’s ears burned.

  Fortunately, her father hadn’t seemed to notice either of her fashion faux pas. Not only was the shortened skirt an issue, but it was also rather out of fashion to wear a veil. She also sensed her father’s worry for her—or rather for Holly, the “her” he thought she was—since the wedding had been hastily patched together. They had all been worried, in fact, but Holly had insisted she had found her true love.

  That proclamation had lasted all but four days.

  Nevertheless, her father still believed Holly to be madly in love with St. Ives, which is why he was presently walking the bride down the aisle and not dragging her away from it.

  Speaking of which, her bridal march was nearly over. Just six or so steps away, the intimidating figure of the duke loomed. She straightened her spine and prepared to face the man who would soon be her husband.

  He stood impossibly tall, his face clear of all expression, hands clasped behind his back. He was as unbearably handsome as he’d always been with his sandy hair artfully arranged over his forehead, though that did not tame the natural wildness of his locks.

  Willow understood why Holly had fallen hard and fast. Had it not been for his eyes—which ruined the perfection of his Adonis-like features in her opinion—she might have fawned over him as well.

  She could not see them now, but if she closed her own, she could envision those soulless black pools, filled with nothing but fathomless indifference. A chill passed through her.

  Think of your goal.

  Think of your family. The scandal.

  Remember he is a tyrant.

  The last was a sobering thought, reminding her of the demands he would make of her, the demands which had caused her sister to fall right out of love with him.

  But Willow could handle one duke. There would be a scandal all the same, but this way, at least, Poppy would have a fighting chance of finding a respectable husband. And Willow would get what she truly wanted—a child.

  Grand adventures of falling in love? She’d leave that to her sisters.