by Gill, Tamara
A Midsummer Kiss
Kiss the Wallflower, Book 1
Tamara Gill
Contents
Keep in contact with Tamara
Sign up to my newsletter to claim your free ebook!
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
Epilogue
A Kiss at Mistletoe
Lords of London series available now!
Feed an author, leave a review
Also by Tamara Gill
About the Author
Copyright
A Midsummer Kiss
Kiss the Wallflower, Book 1
Copyright © 2019 by Tamara Gill
Cover Art by Wicked Smart Designs
Editor Grace Bradley Editing, LLC
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieval system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.
Keep in contact with Tamara
Tamara loves hearing from readers and writers alike. You can contact her through her website or email her at [email protected].
Sign up to my newsletter to claim your free ebook!
To claim your FREE copy of Tamara Gill's, To Sin with Scandal, a Regency naughty nibble, simply follow this link.
By signing up you’ll get subscriber-only giveaways, contests, preview chapters and the chance to receive advanced reader copies of new releases. Be assured Tamara will never spam you, as she too hates those emails, and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Dedication
For those who love Summer and kisses.
Chapter 1
Miss Louise Grant folded the last of her unmentionables and placed them into the leather traveling case that her closest friend and confidante the Duchess of Carlton—Mary to her close friends—had given to her as a parting gift. Louise slumped onto the bed, staring at the case, and fought the prickling of tears that threatened.
There was little she could do. Mary was married now and no longer in need of a companion. But it would certainly be very hard to part ways. They’d been in each other’s company since Louise was eight years of age, and was sent to be a friend and companion for the young Lady Mary Dalton as she was then in Derbyshire.
The room she’d been given in the duchess’s London home was now bare of trinkets and pictures she’d drawn over the years, all packed away in her trunks to be soon shipped north to a family in York. Six children awaited her there, in need of teaching and guidance and she just hoped she did well with the new position. She needed to ensure it was so since her own siblings relied on her income.
Surely it should not be so very hard to go from a lady’s companion to a nursemaid and tutor. With any luck, perhaps if they were happy with her work, when Sir Daxton’s eldest daughter came of age for her first Season, perchance they may employ her as a companion once more.
Certainly, she needed the stability of employment and would do everything in her power to ensure she remained with Sir Daxton’s family. With two siblings to care for at her aunt’s cottage in Sandbach, Cheshire, it was paramount she made a success of her new employ.
Mary bustled into the room and stopped when she spied the packed trunks. Her shoulders slumped. “Louise, you do not need to leave. Please reconsider. Married or not, you’re my friend and I do not want to see you anywhere else but here.”
Louise smiled, reaching out a hand to Mary. “You do not need me hanging about your skirts. You’re married now, a wife, and I’m sure the duke wants you all to himself.”
A blush stole over Mary’s cheeks, but still she persisted, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. Dale wants you to stay as much as I. Your brother and sister are well cared for by your aunt. Please do not leave us all.”
Louise patted her hand, standing. As much as Louise loved her friend, Mary did not know that her aunt relied heavily on the money she made here as her companion. That without such funds their life would be a lot different than it was now. “I must leave. Sir Daxton is expecting me, so I must go.” Even if the thought of leaving all that she’d known frightened her and left the pit of her stomach churning. Mary may wish her to stay, but there was nothing left for her here. Not really. Her siblings were settled, happily going to the village school and improving themselves. Sir Daxton’s six children were in need of guidance and teaching and she could not let him or his wife down. They had offered to pay her handsomely, and with the few extra funds she would procure from the employment, she hoped in time to have her siblings move closer than they now were. A place that no one could rip from under them or force them to be parted again.
The memory of the bailiffs dragging her parents onto the street…her mother screaming and begging for them to give them more time. Even now she could hear her mother’s wailing as they threw all their meager belongings onto the street, the townspeople simply looking on, staring and smirking at a family that had fallen low.
None of them had offered to help, and with nowhere else to go, they had moved in with her mother’s sister, a widower with no children in Cheshire. The blow to the family was one that her parents could not tolerate or accept and her father took his own life, her mother only days later. Their aunt had said she had died of a broken heart, but Louise often wondered if she’d injured herself just as her papa had done.
Within days of losing her parents, Louise had been placed in a carriage and transported to Derbyshire to the Earl of Lancaster’s estate. Having once worked there, her aunt still knew the housekeeper and had procured her a position through that means.
She owed a great deal to the earl’s family, and her aunt. She would be forever grateful for the education, love and care they had bestowed upon her, but they had done their part in helping her. It was time she helped herself and started off in a new direction, just as Mary had done after marrying the Duke of Carlton.
“Very well.” Mary’s eyes glinted with unshed tears and Louise pulled her into a hug.
“We will see each other again and I will write to you every month, to tell you what is happening and how I am faring.”
Mary wiped at her cheek, sniffing. “Please do. You’re my best friend. A sister to me in all ways except blood. I would hate to lose you.”
Louise picked up her valise and placed it on top of one of her many trunks. “Now, should we not get ready for your first London ball this evening? As the newly minted Duchess of Carlton, you must look simply perfect.”
“And you too, dearest.” Mary strode to the bell pull and rang for a maid. “You’re going to look like a duchess as well this evening. I have not lost hope that some gentleman will fall instantly in love with you as soon as he sees you and you will never have to think of York or Sir Daxton and his six children ever again.”
Louise laughed. How she would miss her friend and her never-ending hope that someone would marry her. But the chances of such a boon occurring were practically zero. She was a lady’s companion, no nobility in her blood or dowry. Perhaps she would find a gentleman’s son in York, a man who would love her for the small means that she did possess—a good education and friends in high places. A man who would welcome her two siblings and their impoverished state and support them as she was trying to do.
“One can only hope,” she said, humoring her. “I will certainly try, if not for my own sake, then definitely for yours, Your Grace.”
Mary beamed. “That is just what I like to hear. Now, what should we do with your hair…”
Chapter 2
The first balls of the London Season had been taking place all week, and the Duke and Duchess of Carlton’s was one of them. An event for the senses, with hot-house flowers upon every surface the ballroom could tolerate. Hundreds of candles blazed in the four chandeliers that ran the length of the room. The floor was so highly polished that one could see their own reflection in it. Nothing was spared to make Mary’s debut in town as successful as the new Duchess of Carlton.
The ball was a crush, which was just what one wanted when hosting such a party. Louise stood to the side of the room, a little behind Mary, and watched as her friend and the duke stood greeting those who attended, the duke’s hand never leaving the arch of her friend’s back.
She smiled at their love and turned to watch the ton at play. As much as she had to think of her future, her brother’s and sister’s future and security, she would admit that she would miss this life. Being a companion did have its advantages, and she rarely did menial work that would normally be required of the position. Mary would not have it.
When she reached York she doubted she would ever have a moment’s peace with six children underfoot. But, if that was the price she had to pay for keeping her own family safe, fed and clothed, then that is what she would do.
The strings of the first waltz sounded and the duke took Mary’s hand, leading her onto the floor. Louise stepped forward, taking Mary’s champagne. “Enjoy,” she said to her friends, content to simply watch.
A tittering flittered through the bystanders and Louise turned to see the Marquess Graham, the Duke of Carlton’s closest friend, bow to Lady Clara Quinton, eldest and only daughter to the Duke of Law. The young debutante waved her silk fan with a floral design before her face, her eyes coy as she pretended to make up her mind to dance with him or not.
Louise rolled her eyes. There were few who would not dance with the marquess, herself included. The man was beyond handsome, he was almost too pretty in fact for her palate. If such a thing were possible. His dark hair was unfashionably long, set atop his shoulders on the few odd occasions he wore it down. Tonight it was tied back with a little black ribbon and her fingers itched to pull the thread, watch it fall so she too could feel if it was as soft as she’d always imagined it.
Lady Clara gave in and placed her hand atop his, stepping out to join the waltz.
Louise watched as he pulled the young woman into his arms with expertise and in the scandalous way that had the ton tittering that he was going to ask for the woman’s hand in marriage. They were certainly very comfortable with each other and Lady Clara was unquestionably a catch. An heiress with breeding that went back five hundred years, or so she’d been told numerous times by her ladyship’s own companion at events such as these.
She sighed. How delightful it would be if there were men who looked like the marquess in York. It would indeed improve the outlook of her life if she could at least dream of one day marrying such a handsome man and be happy.
Due to the maddening crush, two women standing beside her shuffled closer to Louise. They both turned to glare at the offending people who were the cause of their annoyance. Their conversation drifted to Louise and for a moment she broke her own set of rules and listened. It was her last night in London after all, what harm would it do to eavesdrop for a moment or two?
She cast a furtive glance their way and recognized the widow, Lady Margaret Scarboro and her friend whose name escaped Louise at present. Her ladyship’s tone was seething, low and trembling as she spoke of Lady Clara who danced with the marquess.
Her ladyship’s friend bestowed on the dancing couple a cold stare and it stood to reason that she too disliked the marquess’s choice of dance partner as much as her ladyship did. Louise wondered over it a moment. Lady Scarboro was a widow, and so it could be surmised that she’d harbored a tendre toward Lord Graham. Certainly if her ladyship’s verbal assault was any indication, his lordship should not waste his time with such feeble and innocent women who’d likely bore him to death within a month of marriage.
Heat bloomed on Louise’s cheeks at the insinuation of such speech. She flipped open her fan, idly cooling herself. Although she was unsure of the exact particulars Lady Scarboro spoke of, it was not hard to surmise what her words had meant. Louise stepped away, distancing herself lest anyone think she was part of such conversation.
She didn’t need anything to stand in her way of leaving for York in the morning, and she certainly didn’t need to leave London with the ton gossiping that she’d taken part in the blighting of one their brightest stars. Lady Clara smiled up at the marquess, an amused glint to her blue eyes. The young woman was in love with him, it was obvious to all who chanced a look in their direction. Certainly the gossip must be true. It would only be a matter of time before they were wed and she wished them well in their endeavors.
Chapter 3
Luke Ashby, Marquess Graham stumbled along the corridor of the Duke of Carlton’s London home, counting the doors as he went. His eyes watered from too much whisky, and the passage swam like a pendulum in a clock. He halted, clasping the wall for support as the world threatened to turn topsy and fell him on his ass.
He took a deep breath, the thought of the delectable widow Lady Scarboro who awaited him in a room keeping him on his feet. All night she’d teased and touched him, the heat in her eyes enough to singe his skin at times. The candescent touches on his person left him with little doubt as to what she wanted. Her one good, hard stroke of his cock as they were seated at supper, hidden by the table top, even now made him throb.
Luke took a calming breath, forcing himself to feel up to the challenge of making her ladyship’s introduction into his bed one that she’d remember for years to come, and possibly therefore allow him to do it again.
He smiled at the thought, walking on and thankfully, coming to the fifth door from the stairs, just as she’d instructed him. He glanced up and down the passage, hoping no one would miss him from the ball that was still in full swing downstairs.
A small twitch of conscience plagued him at the thought of bedding a woman in one of his friend’s bedrooms, but the thought of her wrapped about him, taking him into her willing, hot body expelled such doubts.
Without knocking, he entered the designated room, and closing the door, stood at the threshold a moment, willing his eyes to focus in the dark space. He could faintly make out the shape on the bed, a dark presence in the room. No candle burned to light his way, nor was the fire stoked high enough to allow him to see clearly.
Damn it, he’d break his neck walking to the bed.
“Margaret,” he whispered, creeping closer with caution. “Margaret,” he said again, louder this time. Luke ran a hand through his hair. “Do not tell me she’s fallen asleep,” he mumbled. If that were the case his reputation for a libertine would be shot to hell and he’d never be able to face his friends at Whites ever again.
To have a woman fall to sleep on him was scandalous!
“Are you asleep? I thought we had other plans.” He dipped his voice, shuffling out of his superfine coat and throwing it aside. Quickly he rid himself of his waistcoat and reaching behind his head, pulled his shirt from his person.
He reached out, grappling for the bed, and finally feeling the soft textures of
the blankets, he climbed atop it. His lips quirked and his cock swelled at the slight form, lying in wait beneath him. He ran his hand along her leg, squeezing it a little and enjoying the long lines of her body.
Margaret rolled onto her back, a delectable little sigh escaping from her lips.
“I’m here, darling. Do wake up, we have games to play.” Luke crawled over her fully, feeling his way to kiss her.
The moment his lips touched hers—the softest lips he’d ever felt in his life—his alcohol-confused mind recognized that something was wrong. Dreadfully not right.
The woman beneath him stilled, her lips puckered tight without an ounce of give in them. He frowned, pulling back. “Do not tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
A scream rent the air, piercing in its intensity. He stilled, shocked at the deafening sound and lifted himself back, trying to make out who the woman screaming bloody murder was underneath him.
Luke scrambled backward, unable to get off her quickly enough. The door flew open, slamming against the wall with its force and he swore. The light from the hall beyond threw visibility into the room. The duke and duchess stared at him in abject horror and to Luke’s dismay, disappointment clouded his friend’s eyes.
