20150618 A Midsummer Night's Kiss epub final

by And Then the Moon) (epub)

Alasdair kept his thrusts slow and deep, delighting in the way Willow clung to him, and the sweet moans spilling from her throat. Passionately, she yielded to him, and he took it all. It was a feast of the senses as they licked and explored each other. Every touch was an imprint, a brand across his soul. Every sob of pleasure that slipped from her chained him deeper into need. He had to give her everything.

  Her delicate fingers skimmed across his brow. “I desire to be your wife, Alasdair.”

  He stilled his thrusting and peered down at her.

  Joy, wonder, and lust suffused her face. She lifted her mouth to his, and he succumbed to the need burning inside of him. She did not wrest his control from him, he willingly surrendered it at her declaration, trusting her to meet his passion.

  He nudged her legs open wider, pushing her knees back toward her shoulder and sank into her with stunning strength. Her cries wrapped around him, soothing and encouraging.

  She gripped him with sublime tightness, a litany of love spilling from her lips as he rode her with deep hard thrusts. She clawed at his back, undulated her hips against his strokes, taking him, chaining him to the desire that flowed between them.

  He swallowed her moans, smothering his shout of satisfaction, as she rippled over his cock tighter than anything he had ever felt, drawing his release from him. He tumbled with her into more than pleasure.

  He dived into love and the promise of happiness with her.

  Epilogue

  Fifteen months later

  “Our daughter has your features. Beautiful dark hair, the greenest of eyes and the palest of skin. I can see I will have gray hair before my time.”

  His sweet wife chuckled, delight chasing her features.

  “And our son?” she asked, glancing toward his voice.

  Alasdair gaze shifted to the babe cradled on Willow’s left side. “A perfect little man, but he has more of my features.”

  She had only given birth a few hours ago, but she glowed with love and excitement instead of exhaustion.

  “Aren’t they perfect?” she crooned, dipping to inhale their scent before placing gentle kisses unerringly on the tops of their heads.

  The past year had been filled with passion and adventure. Willow still played the pianoforte every morning, but also added horse riding as a part of her routine. At first, she had been hesitant in how far she rode Daisy, and Alasdair had been with her every step of the way, guiding and helping her. Within weeks, she had been galloping across the plains of the estate, trusting him and her horse, recalling her former skill as an expert horsewoman. He had not been surprised when only after six months of marriage she had become with child. He made love to her every night and at least twice in the day.

  She ran Westerham Park better than even his mother could have imagined. They had become fast friends, and Willow had implored her to live with them at the estate and not retire to the dowager house. His mother had joyfully complied, and he had watched the growth of the relationships between his marchioness and his mother and sisters with avid fascination. At first, Willow had been diffident, then she had blossomed. She charmed them with her strength and her vivacity for life. He had witnessed his mother’s wariness swell into admiration, then respect, and then love.

  The Duke of Milton had insisted on settling Willow’s dowry on them, and since Alasdair had no longer needed her money since his investments had returned tenfold, he had placed the dowry into a trust for his wife and children. Her father had shook his hand and gruffly told Alasdair he had waited a damn long time to return for her.

  “We did well, didn’t we,” Willow murmured in awe, when their son stirred and let out a small cry.

  Alasdair climbed onto the bed beside her, gently gathering her close, careful not to disturb the twins’ comfort as they lay upon her chest suckling. His mother had thought it unfashionable Willow refused to employ a wet nurse, but she had insisted on providing for her babes herself, wanting to be as close to them as possible.

  “We did brilliantly my love,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss her lips softly. He breathed in deep, loving her fresh, clean scent that was peppered with the right hint of lavender. Warmth poured through him as her lips curved into a smile and unguarded happiness filled her eyes.

  “I love you, Lady Westcliffe,” he whispered.

  “And I love you, Alasdair, I think nearly as much as I love our twins.”

  “I will have to lock you in the clock tower like a jealous ogre until you promise you love me most,” he teased.

  “It is far too noisy to sleep in the clock tower.”

  “I doubt if it is noisier than the twins in full cry,” he leaned over and kissed her even deeper, and his son, and heir, let out an annoyed scream in complaint. They laughed together as Willow replaced her son and he went back to contented guzzling.

  Alasdair thought life was as perfect as his marchioness…

  Acknowledgment

  I thank God every day for allowing me to find my passion.

  To my husband, whom I adore. Thank you for being my biggest fan and supporter.

  Massive thanks to fellow authors Ally Broadfield, Nicola Davidson and Lily Maxton. You guys did not hesitate to jump on board with this anthology, and it has been amazing working with you all.

  Thank you AuthorsDesigns for the amazing book cover design and formatting your team did on A Midsummer Night’s Kiss!

  Thank you to Gwen Hayes and Gina Fisovera for their wonderful and invaluable editing.

  To you wonderful readers, thank you for picking up A Midsummer Night’s Kiss and giving us a chance! You guys rock.

  About Stacy

  I am an avid reader of novels, with a deep passion for writing. I especially love romance and adore writing about people falling in love. I live a lot in the worlds I create, and I actively speak to my characters (out loud). I have a warrior way: “Never give up on my dream.” When I am not writing, I spend a copious amount of time drooling over Rick Grimes from Walking Dead, watching Japanese anime, and playing video games with my love, Dusean. I have a horrible weakness for ice cream.

  I am always happy to hear from readers and would love to connect with you via my Website, Facebook, and Twitter. To be the first to hear about my new releases, get cover reveals, and excerpts you won’t find anywhere else, sign up for my newsletter, or join me in The Riot

  Happy reading!

  Other books by Stacy

  Scandalous house of Calydon series book one

  The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding

  Victorian Era England…

  As far as rash decisions go, it was formidable. But Lady Jocelyn Rathbourne’s will remains strong. If the only way to save her family’s estate and reputation is by aiming a small pistol at the Duke of Calydon, then so be it. For Lady Jocelyn demands satisfaction – and she will have it at any cost. Even if it means demanding the hand of the intense and foreboding Duke himself…

  But she’s made the first move against a very dangerous opponent…

  For Sebastian Thornton is no stripling to be trifled with. The lady has played her hand. Now it’s his turn. For Sebastian is in need of a wife. And to find a wife with spirit and fire – even if she means to only marry for his money – would be a great prize indeed. And he intends to thoroughly take his pleasure with her… and demands his own satisfaction in return.

  Scandalous house of Calydon series book two

  The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell

  With a longing for adventure, the last thing Phillipa Peppiwell wants is to marry. After a painful betrayal by a man she trusted, she is wary when she unwittingly catches the attention of roguishly handsome – and sinfully tempting – Lord Anthony Thornton. Forbidden desires she secretly yearns for threaten to crumble her icy facade and reveal a past scandal best kept buried.

  Dissatisfied with his empty life, Lord Anthony seeks a deep and last
ing connection… and finds himself intrigued by the Ice Maiden of the haute monde. Undaunted by Phillipa’s aloof nature and her distaste for the idea of matrimony, he sets out to thaw the bewitching beauty by enticing her with adventures of the most sensual type. But he, too, hides a scandalous secret… and if it’s discovered it could rip them apart.

  Scandalous house of Calydon series book three

  Sins of a Duke

  She would be his perfect revenge…

  All of the young ladies whispered about the Duke of Mondvale in hushed tones, their eyes following his tall, dark figure with barely disguised lust. For the newly-ostracized Lady Constance Thornton, he is magnetic and altogether desirable. Irresistibly so. Since her reputation is already ruined in London society, why shouldn’t she be impudent and dance with the scandalous “Lord of Sin”?

  Little does she know of his plans.

  The beautiful and innocent Lady Constance is no mere plaything for Lucan Wynwood. She will be his revenge. By ruining her, he will have his vengeance against her brother. Except that the Lady Constance is full of surprises… and now she could well be the ruin of him.

  Letters to Emily

  Two years have passed since Lady Emily’s beloved Maxwell went to fight in the war. With only letters and one hot night of loving to keep her warm on the coldest of nights, she tries to embrace the future after learning of his death at the Third battle of Picardy. One way to forge forward is to marry his twin brother, Marcellus Alexander Wynwood, The Marquis of Blackthorn, a man she does not love, but one who rouses dark needs in her.

  Marcellus wanted Emily from the first moment he saw her two years ago, but had watched from a distance as his brother Max charmed her into falling hopelessly in love with him. In her state of grief over Max, Marcellus ensures her needs are met, breaking down her barriers, tormenting her with wicked erotic loving as he slowly binds her to him.

  Despite this, he fears he will lose her once it is revealed that her beloved Maxwell lives. Marcellus prays Emily can surrender to his needs and soul deep desires.

  Remembering Yesterday

  Remembering Yesterday is part of the awesome Winter Rain collection of romantic stories where rain is a key element!

  Ava Kane has lost twelve months of her life—her memory of that time stolen in a car crash. Then she has a chance encounter with Devlin Calhoun. Visions taunt her—of being his lover, of being happy with him. She’s left with questions only he can answer, fears only he can allay. Determined to unveil her past, she travels to his ranch and encounters a fiery passion that redefines everything she believed of herself.

  Midnight Wish

  Heiress Jane Cartwright wants a suitor who likes her instead of her dowry. Her parents want a titled son-in-law. When a stranger falls out of a tree and lands at her feet at the Midsummer Ball, she’s intrigued with this charmingly awkward, science-minded man. She thinks her deepest wish has been answered when she finds out he’s titled. But Jane learns that wishes can be fickle, and her whirlwind romance might just be too good to be true…

  Copyright © 2015 by

  Lily Maxton

  For my grandparents.

  Prologue

  London, 1814

  Last Summer

  Jane Cartwright searched desperately for a place to hide. She’d learned only recently how exhausting being an heiress was—not that she had become an heiress recently. She’d been an heiress for about half her life—this was simply her first London Season.

  At two and twenty, her age was somewhat advanced for a debutante, but her parents had wanted to groom her to perfection, as though she were a prized peacock to strut around before their guests, showing off her glorious feathers. Which, she mused, as she recalled the deportment lessons, the dancing, the watercolors, the pianoforte—all skills meant to be showcased for others—was exactly what she was.

  Jane the blasted peacock.

  For the past few years, her parents had been on the fringes of high society, slowly working, slowly wheedling, slowly moving closer and closer to the center.

  And now here they were, attending the Duke and Duchess of Milton’s annual Midsummer Night’s Ball.

  Or in Jane’s case, trying to escape the ball. The cavernous room was magnificent, decorated with wildflowers and ivy and moss, as though they’d stepped inside and actually been transported to a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But the din of the crowd and the sweep of the orchestra sounded loud in her ears. Bodies crammed together turned the air stifling. She skirted the edge of the ballroom, and in her haste to leave, nearly collided with a man whose head swiveled about as though he’d lost something. Then he noticed her. And smiled gratefully.

  A pang of dismay went through her. The lost object had been found.

  “Miss Cartwright, there you are! I’ve been searching for you. One could be irretrievably lost in a crush like this.” He shot her a charming smile full of large white teeth.

  She tried, unsuccessfully, to smile back. She recognized the man but couldn’t remember his name—she thought he might be an earl, but his face blended into the faces of all her other suitors. Really, there were too many to keep track of.

  “I do hope you have a dance saved for me?” he asked, seemingly unaware that she was trying to think of his name.

  She glanced down at her dance card. Unfortunately, she did have an opening. Just one country dance—the rest were full.

  This was where Jane was supposed to do her part. She was supposed to dance with the most eligible men. She was supposed to be charming. She was supposed to ignore the fact that they probably looked at her and saw heaping bags of gold guineas in place of a person.

  But her feet hurt from dancing, and she was rather tired of conversations which all seemed the same after a while, and she didn’t want to pretend anymore. She just wanted to be herself.

  “Miss Cartwright?” the man nudged.

  “No,” she said, stowing the card away. “I’m afraid all of my dances are taken.”

  As his face fell, she slipped past him without another word and got lost in the crowd. Eventually, she reached one of the tall, sash windows leading onto the balcony. There was a bit of an open space in the crowd near the windows; she glanced back and saw her parents, dressed in the type of fine clothes only worn by the cream of society, speaking with the Duke and Duchess of Milton.

  This was everything they had ever wanted.

  Sometimes, to Jane, it felt like an almost unbearable weight.

  A breeze drifted in from the open window. Fresh summer air and freedom beckoned. Seclusion and the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers.

  And then she was gone.

  Jane gasped as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The gardens of Hadley House were just as lavishly decorated as the ballroom. Torches lit the stone balcony, and past the balcony, strung along winding gravel paths, were round oil lamps in different colors that gently illuminated the grounds.

  She walked down the steps and into the fairy gardens, alone.

  As she took one of the pathways at random, she noticed a shimmering up ahead and stopped to stare with delight. The ethereal glow came from hundreds of candles. Each candle rested in a small glass jar, dangling from the overarching tree branches by a string.

  She walked forward, hand outstretched as though she sought to hold the tiny ethereal flames in her palm. But the gesture was halted when muttering drifted to her from a smaller path branching to the right.

  Jane hesitated. She was curious, of course, but low mutterings in the dark of night were not exactly something one sought out. But then, the choice was made for her, because as she narrowed her eyes and peered through the leaves, she saw him…a man, a full grown man in formal evening attire…climbing up a tree.

  She moved closer silently as he leaned out to stare at one of the jars. She frowned, wondering what on earth had captivated him so, w
hen the fluttering of small wings caught her attention—a moth. The man took a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and reached forward, gently trying to move the moth away from the flame. As soon as he removed the obstruction, the moth was back.

  The man grimaced. “Ridiculous addle pated insects,” he said vehemently, looking like he was as likely to crush the creature as save it.

  Jane pressed her hand to her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle a snort of laughter.

  His head swung toward her. A flash of white as his eyes widened. And then, he lost his grip on the tree and fell to the ground with a large thud.

  “Oh, good God!” Jane cried, rushing forward. She stared at the silent heap on the ground. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Was he dead? Should she run to the ballroom and have someone fetch a physician? Or an undertaker, perhaps?

  As she leaned close to peer at him, he shot to his feet and nearly gave her an apoplexy in the process. She pressed her hand over her thudding heart and assessed the situation—the dead man seemed to be alive and well.

  “Are you injured?” she asked tentatively, not entirely trusting that he wouldn’t collapse at any second.

  He glanced down at his body and then back at her. “I don’t believe so.”

  She surveyed him—his coat had leaves and dirt on it, but she didn’t see any broken bones protruding. While he adjusted a pair of small round spectacles that had been knocked askew, she studied his face. Calm gray-blue eyes shone past the glitter of the glass lenses. His hair was thick, though a rather ordinary shade of brown, and tousled from the fall. His forehead was a little too broad, his nose long.

  He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but there was something about his eyes that she liked.