It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal: 3 Steamy Christmas Historical Romances

by Reid, Stacy

“It may not. But I feel as if I want to do something. I have a passion in me to write about the effect that I witness. How it took something as gruesome as war to lower the social barriers that we hold on to so rigidly.”

  “As my wife and the future Duchess of Harcourt you will be able to do all you desire,” he promised. “If you wish to write, write. Our family has many contacts with the newspapers and publishers.”

  Her heart jerked, and warmth unfurled as, for the first time since his proposal, she allowed herself to imagine being his wife. His unshakable support of her desires had always enthralled her. She turned her head to look at his patrician profile fully.

  “Thank you, Marcellus.”

  He gave a curt nod. “Is there nothing that you yearn for, Emmeline?”

  Still facing him, she prevented the tumble of Maxwell’s name from her lips and really thought about it. She wanted more from life. She needed to be more than just a young lady seeking a suitable marriage connection. In the new fabric of the world being formed, she wanted to have more influence, to make more of an impact. Unable to voice the thoughts that bubbled inside her, she shifted her mind to a lighter topic.

  “To hear you call me Emily even once,” she teased.

  The low laughter that pulsed from him curled through her. She realized that she hardly ever heard Marcellus’s laugh.

  “You tease me, Emmeline?” he drawled her name with such sensuality she swallowed.

  He sounded pleased.

  “There are days I see shadows of dissatisfaction in your eyes. I know you grieve for Max, but what I see is not grief, Emmeline.”

  Her breath hitched. Marcellus saw into her so profoundly. “Sometimes I ache for the freedom of dancing, to be swept away by the rousing strains of the waltz or to indulge in the decadent tango. I yearn to run on the beach, feeling the sand beneath my feet, to go on a picnic and play croquet. Then I feel guilty for having such desires because I realize how unimportant it is when so many are suffering.”

  A sharp pang went through her heart, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She looked out the windows, taking in the beauty of the rolling countryside, wanting to escape the words she had just uttered. After she could stand the silence no more, she twisted her head toward him. He did not look at her, only quirking his lips in that smile that created a flutter of need in her.

  “Thank you for sharing with me, Emmeline. There is nothing wrong with feeling such desires, to yearn for the comfort and the simple joys of life. In fact, I believe it is needed as a balance to cope with all the pain you have endured. Never feel guilty for any desire or passion you feel.”

  Never feel guilty for any desire or passion you feel.

  She smiled, contented, and leaned into the seat of the car, her gaze roving the countryside as it purred with cautious speed along the roads. She’d never imagined that, after their night, she would have felt so comfortable to be in his presence. A sharp pang went through her heart at the realization that, for some reason today, she hurt for Maxwell a little less.

  * * *

  Emily looked at the dress on the bed and the note in her hands. Excitement unfurled inside of her. The dress was scandalous. It was an elegant gown of emerald silk that shimmered. She could not fathom that Marcellus would even send her such an article of clothing. She glanced at Anna’s carefully schooled expression, smoothing her hands on the silk. Emily would not meet him. As she had the thought, she glanced at the last line of his note.

  If you are not in the ballroom by seven, I will come for you, dress you, and deposit you there.

  She was not sure if she should be amused or offended by his audacity. That had always been his way. Marcellus gave orders, and if they were not obeyed, he took actions to ensure compliance. She had hardly seen him for the past two days. She knew he had an enormous responsibility managing several estates, and she was relieved that some space existed between them. Since their ride to the infirmary at the old rectory in the village of Brompton, he had not touched her. Before she exited the car, he had gripped her nape and ravished her mouth. He’d released her as she started to sink into his kiss. She had been a bundle of flustered nerves as she visited the soldiers and tenants, yet Marcellus had not come to her since. He’d not been at the evening dinner, and to say she was shocked to see the dress and his note waiting for her in her chamber would be an understatement.

  “Help me dress, Anna,” she said, her hands shaking slightly at her daring.

  “Yes, milady.”

  The hour passed in a blur of anticipation and preparation. Emily could not fathom where he had received such a dress in two days’ time. It was shockingly provocative. She gazed at herself in the mirror, and her eyes widened. The dress clung to her frame and had a scandalous slit from her knee down. She was certainly accustomed to wearing mid-calf-length skirts and dresses, but nothing that bared her to her knee. It was deceptive because it was long and even had a slight train. Her shoulders were sensually bared, and the long sleeves clung lovingly to her arms.

  “Milady!”

  She ignored Anna’s shocked gasp and slowly slipped her feet into the matching shoes provided. The heels on the shoes were curved elegantly and higher than what Emily normally wore. They gave her ankles the most graceful look. Oh my, Emily thought, dazed. She could not account that she was wearing such items. She walked down the stairs wondering if she was acting with good sense and after a few minutes entered the smaller ballroom.

  She ground to a halt. A four-man team of musicians raised their violins, and the haunting note of a waltz rose in the air. She smiled at the hundreds of candles that lit the room and stepped fully into the ballroom. Desire speared through her as she observed Marcellus waiting for her in the center of the room. He was garbed in a black tuxedo with a silken white dress shirt and a white silk cravat. He was so handsome and intense, arousal started to pool low in her womb.

  Something hot traveled through his eyes as she walked toward him, and she felt painfully exposed. As if impatient he strolled toward her, meeting her in the center of the room.

  “Marcellus, I…”

  He dipped his head low enough to skim her lips, and she inhaled, glancing at the musicians. The musicians were not even looking at them, and their expressions were enraptured as the violins came alive under their ministrations.

  “They are not here. Only us. Feel the music. Tonight, we tango,” he murmured against her mouth before pressing a soft, quick kiss to the corner of her lips.

  Excitement surged through Emily as he drew her into an extremely close embrace, where they connected chest to chest, her hips nestled into his upper thigh. The rousing notes ignited a sweet feeling of delight as she and Marcellus glided with sharp yet sensuous movements. He wrapped her in a strange kind of sensuality, and invisible strings of lust seemed to weave them together.

  “Why are we dancing?” she asked somewhat breathlessly. Too breathlessly.

  “Tonight, we only feel, Emmeline. We do not talk. We leave the cares of the world behind and live in this moment.”

  She smiled and relaxed into him more, her nipples beading into hard points from being pressed against his chest. Somehow, she knew he did not refer to sex. The intensity she felt from him was different even though she did not understand it. It was as if the notes themselves ran though her, heating her blood with decadence. The tension slowly eased, and joy pulsed through her as she followed his command while he swept her around the floor. He seemed to be everywhere. His vitality burned, caressed, and even sheltered as she stepped with him. He led; she followed. He commanded, and she submitted.

  For the first time in months Emily relaxed, her mind freed from the turbulence of the world as she sank into Marcellus’s embrace. She was not sure what was happening, but she felt as if this moment was a pivotal point in their relationship. She was unsure if the sensation that tightened her gut was fear or intrigue. Her lips formed a sensual smile, and even though it frightened her, what she felt was undoubtedly intrigue.


  Chapter 4

  June 20, 1917

  Dearest Emily,

  Your letter brought happiness into my heart. I almost died when I heard of the air raids in east London. I waited in agony for a letter from you or Marcellus. Mother’s letter arrived first, and I know you have been spared the devastation. We hear of the hundreds that were injured, the dozens that died, and we fight with more vigor to end this horrific war. I know the agony that tears at you to know that our children, women, and men were so mercilessly taken. Your tears and nightmares do not make you weak, my love; it shows your humanity that cannot be stifled. I applaud your decision to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment. There is a great fear in me for you to be touched by the horrors that you will see at the hospital. But I fear more those that need your generosity, the brightness of your smile, and your tender touch will not know your joy in these turbulent times. Your father may be distressed, but I am proud of you.

  Your love, Maxwell Wynwood

  Three days passed in a blur of activities as Emily planned the several days of festiveness for the villagers and a winter ball with the duchess. Several evergreen spruce trees had been cut, and the largest one had been placed in the parlor. She and the duchess had started decorating the trees with flower garlands. Emily thought daily of Marcellus, and her nights were filled with dreams of him. The ache for Maxwell slowly muted, and the craving for Marcellus flowered, which petrified her. There were times when her dreams interchanged the brothers, and she woke with either name trembling on her lips. Those were the nights that shame burned through her. Those were the nights she delved into her vagina with her fingers, and her mind-fevered fantasy was filled with them both.

  Since their night of dancing, she had carefully avoided Marcellus. The level of hunger he had roused in her startled her. Guilt ate at her that she wanted Marcellus and still loved Maxwell. She needed time, and she prayed she could communicate that to Marcellus without succumbing to his lust.

  She had shored her courage to dine with the family in the evenings. There had been nothing in his gaze to indicate the way he had loved her as they laughed and conversed, or when they retired to the parlor and played chess or simply read. He had been the same at the evening meals, cutting meats and placing what he thought she should eat on her plate. She had blushed profusely after realizing how inappropriate it seemed. Yet neither the duke nor duchess nor his uncle had seen anything wrong with his actions. She’d made a notable effort to put a significant portion on her plate that was pleasing to him each night since their dance. She’d been humbled at the depth of how he had taken care of her when she wanted to die from grief.

  She dismissed her maid and waited in tense anticipation. Something about tonight’s meal had been different. She had felt that intensity that always made her frightened of him caressing her skin, and knew he would come to her tonight. The same intensity kissed her skin the night they’d danced, but he had not even kissed her. Tonight, she had mumbled excuses when he invited her to play whist in the library and fled to her bedchamber. Emily knew she had to turn him away. What she felt was too riotous. She wanted to stop thinking about Maxwell before she could even begin to be comfortable with what she felt for Marcellus.

  She sat with false calm in the center of her bed, her legs folded beneath her. The door eased open gently, and he stepped in, still dressed in his dinner wear. The logical speech she had planned fled and words rushed from her lips. “It was a mistake. When we are married, we will be together. Until then the other night was a mistake. I need more time. We were both lonely, and we acted on it.”

  She saw something hot and dangerous flash in the depth of his gaze, and his mouth tightened. He closed the door with a soft snick and thumbed the latch. She scrambled from the bed, clutching her night rail tight to her body. She steadfastly refused to look at his trousers. Not that it helped much; the memory of his hardness shuttling in and out of her brought a delicious pulse between her legs. The wet evidence of her desire seeped from her center. How could she ache for him so much without a touch? She fought to ignore the traitorous reaction of her body to his presence and could not.

  “Emmeline.” His low drawl had her meeting his eyes, and she trembled beneath his sensual gaze.

  His gaze gleamed with satisfaction as it roved over her shivering body, her swollen breasts, and her hard nipples, which yearned to be touched.

  “Say the words and I will leave,” he ordered.

  Emily opened her mouth, and the words would not come. Something shifted in the depth of his eyes, and her heart slammed in her throat. It was pain. Fleeting, but she had seen it. It shook her to realize he dreaded rejection from her. And the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Marcellus. “Stay.”

  Relief and hunger flared in his eyes, and he walked farther into her chamber. She bit her lips hard as he removed his jacket, shirt, trousers, and assorted unmentionables until he stood naked before her. She remained rooted to the spot, held by the fiery chains of desire.

  All her earlier affirmation melted as she looked at his body. She had hardly gotten a chance to observe him before. He had loved her until the fireplace died, and neither of them had moved to switch on the lamps. They had feasted by touch, taste, and scent. Now she stared. His body was hard but graceful and intensely masculine. His chest was broad and muscled. He was fully aroused, and his penis jutted out, thick and long.

  He strode to her and without speaking drew her night rail over her head. He placed a hand underneath her buttocks and lifted her high, his mouth clamping down on her breast. She moaned, pleasure scorching her. He sucked her nipple hard while using his other hand to shift her foot around his waist. She instinctively wrapped both legs around his hips, and his strong arms held her on him. He released her nipple, gripped her buttocks, and positioned her over his erection. She cried out, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he breached her soft opening with his rigid thickness.

  He twined her hair in his hand and tugged, lifting her face to meet his gaze. His gray eyes were dark and hungry. “Do not ever think to turn me away again, Emmeline. You want me as much as I crave you, and we know life is too precious to ignore the fire between us. This is a passion we do not deny.”

  He placed a hard kiss on her lips, then plunged his hips in a short, powerful thrust that seated him halfway in her. “You are so hot and tight,” he growled against her lips. “So wet for me, Emmeline.”

  She moaned, shuddering in his arms. He took her like that, holding her gaze, her hair fisted in his hand, the other underneath her buttocks. After a few hard jerks, he stumbled with her to the wall, his eyes narrowed in lust. He pressed her against the wall, hooking his arms underneath her thighs, opening her wider. He pushed into her, stretching her almost unbearably until he seated himself to the hilt.

  Emily wailed, caught in the maelstrom of pleasure that engulfed her. Every thrust ground him against her clitoris. With each inward plunge lightning sizzled between her legs. Wildness overtook her, and she gripped his hair, pulling it from its clasp, then pushed her fingers through its silky thickness.

  “I needed this,” she confessed brokenly.

  She pulled his mouth to hers, frantic with hunger for him. He slanted his head to deepen the kiss, and she curled her tongue around his, sucking and loving his taste.

  “What did you need?” he asked, nipping her lips.

  “You…”

  “Say it,” his words were punctuated with hard lunges of his hips that had her whimpering as he balanced her on the edge of pain and exquisite rapture.

  “I needed you, Marcellus. I have been dreaming of you, every night. Riding me, pleasuring me, comforting me, loving me,” she gasped.

  With a groan he took her lips in a raw kiss, his tongue fucking into her mouth in time with his cock shuttling into her wet core. The rich scent of his masculinity engulfed her, spicy and evocative. He rode her to the sultry beat of the rain that drummed outside. He pumped his hips over and over, and sensations gathered and coiled tight in
her womb. It crashed into her, and ecstasy erupted in her core. She felt herself exploding, fragmenting into hundreds of pieces. He swallowed her cries, and a guttural sound burst from his throat as he spent inside of her.

  He stumbled to the bed, twisting so he landed on his back with her on him. Emily shivered and tried to pull away from him.

  “No.”

  She stilled at his command. He said it softly, but she knew it for what it was. Her mind was still hazy from passion, and she tried to think around the drugging effects of being loved by him. She doubted she had ever felt such blinding desire before. Being in his arms was nothing like she had ever imagined. As soon as she had the thought, she froze. Pain thundered through her. Oh, God. She feared the memory of Maxwell loving her had been replaced by Marcellus’s. It had been so much easier when she only had Maxwell’s touch. She struggled to recapture those feelings, and tears of misery rolled from the corners of her eyes and onto Marcellus’s chest.

  His muscles locked when he felt the splash of her tears. “Emmeline?”

  He shifted, easing himself gently from her body. He loomed over her, his mien shuttered as he searched her face. She wanted to stop crying but could not. The loss of something that she treasured so much was unbearable. She and Maxwell had only had the one night together, and it had been everything to her. No…was everything to her. How could she easily forget after only being with Marcellus twice? How could she even think that he gave her more pleasure than Maxwell? Her beloved had taken her with love and tenderness. Marcellus only rode her hard and rough.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  The concern in his voice had her heart stuttering.

  “No.”

  He brushed a thumb across her bottom lip with such gentleness she only cried harder.

  “Why do you cry?”

  “Maxwell.” She did not have to say anything else.