by Sabrina York
A smile spread across her face and with a stretch, she fell back into the comfortable soft mattress. Aaron had been…fantastic. Her memory treated her to an instant replay of the night before, all his sexy moves burned into her mind forever. He’d woken her three times in the night, each time to take her to greater heights before letting her fall back to sleep a little before dawn. With a pleasant soreness in some very intimate places, she was tired but happy. She poked at the emotion and the smile broadened. She’d have to remember to thank Barr for his intervention. The night had been wonderful.
Music filtered in from the main room. Frowning, she recognized the song as a recent release from one of the big rock bands on the radio all the time. Lyric Dogs or something…she didn’t know, didn’t much follow them. Only recognised it because one of the volunteers on the dig liked the radio on.
But…it sounded odd. Just the singer and one guitar, rather than the heavy metal backing sound she usually heard. Perhaps they’d done an acoustic version? If so, she needed to get the album. There was something hypnotic and familiar about the singer’s voice, the husky note one she knew but couldn’t quite place.
Sliding from the bed, she slipped Aaron’s shirt on and headed in search of him and the music. Her partial nakedness not bothering her in the slightest. After the things they’d done the night before, that he’d done to her and had her to do him, she’d never be embarrassed around him again.
Finding the main room empty, she padded through it, confusion filling her before she spotted the balcony door ajar. They’d entered the bedroom the night before through the other balcony entrance. Smiling, she stepped out into the early morning sun. Aaron was into rock music, perhaps he’d know if that band had done an acoustic version of the song—
She stopped dead. No radio played—instead, Aaron sat on the couch, a guitar cradled in his arms. His long, strong fingers moved over the instrument with the same ease that they’d played her. The warm breeze lifted the loose strands of his hair and his voice swelled in the air around her. In a trance, she took a few steps forward. He drew out the last note, softer than the howl she recalled it ending on and his gaze locked on her.
“Y-you’re one of the Lyric Dogs,” she spluttered.
Setting the guitar aside, he stood and approached her with a male grace that had her heart pounding.
“Hounds. Lyric Hounds.” Reaching her, he stared down with heat in his eyes. “And yes, I am. Does that bother you?”
She wrinkled her nose. How the hell did he look so good that early in the morning? Wasn’t there some kind of rule that said rock stars didn’t get up until after noon?
Taking her hand, he studied her smaller fingers entwined in his. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Everything within her stilled at the gravity in his words, written into the set of his shoulders.
“You’re really a hairdresser, aren’t you?” she teased. “Or a party clown? All this…” She motioned to the leather and the guitar. “It’s a front.”
It started slowly. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, then a curve and a smile until he threw back his head and laughed. A sound of joy she’d be happy to listen to all day, all night…for the rest of her life.
She frowned. Yeah…she wanted more. More than one night. More than a few nights.
He pulled her close and hope curled in her breast. “Kitten…Melody…I’m a werewolf. Which means that I rely on my senses a lot. Particularly my sense of smell.”
“Oh, my God. You’re gonna tell me I stink or something.” She clasped her other hand dramatically to her heart, the beat rivalling any heavy metal track as he dropped to one knee in front of her.
He chuckled. “No. Quite the opposite, you smell fantastic. Unique. Perfect. To me that is…. Every wolf goes through life searching for the perfect, irresistible scent on that one person. The one they’re drawn to, who they can’t stay away from. It’s how we know our soul mate…the person who completes us utterly.”
Instead of the normal, smart comment, she held her breath, waiting.
“As soon you walked out onto the balcony last night, I knew.” He shook his head and met her eyes, hope and something else she couldn’t identify in his own. “I know this is quick, and you’re human, but…you’re my soul mate. I’ll only want you, as long as I have breath left in my body.”
Soul mate.
The words resounded in her head then wrapped around her heart. Something deep inside moved like the barrels of a lock, sliding it into place.
“Until death us do part…like marriage?”
He nodded. Warmth rushed through her. Standing, he pulled her into his arms and the beginnings of what she knew was a sappy smile spread across her face.
“Our version, yeah. We’ll take it slow, but please…this can’t end here. If you don’t want to travel, we’re about at the end of this tour. Which means we’ll be in the studio for the next couple of months. In one place, and I pick the place…we can pick the place. If you’ll have me?”
She nestled against his chest, every cell in her body in tune with him. Safety and security rolled through her. I’ve come home. “Just you try and stop me. Someone has to keep you bad boy rock stars in check. Stop you corrupting the local populace.”
He smiled. The hard bulge of his arousal pressed into her belly and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “And I suppose you’re the woman for the job?”
“Damn right, I am. Now, Mr. Lyric Dog, take me to bed and corrupt me all over again.”
He laughed, the sound carefree and happy, and scooped her up, heading toward the bedroom. “Yes, ma’am. One lifelong corruption, coming right up.”
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Mina Carter was born and raised in Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England). After a slew of careers ranging from logistics to land-surveying she can now be found in the wilds of Leicestershire with her husband, daughter and a cat who moved in and never left.
Suffering the curse of eternal curiosity Mina never tires of learning new skills which has led to Aromatherapy, Corsetry, Chain-maille making, Welding, Canoeing, Shooting, and pole-dancing to name but a few.
A full time author and cover artist, Mina can usually be found hunched over a keyboard or graphics tablet, frantically trying to get the images and words in her head out and onto the screen before they drive her mad. She's addicted to coffee and Nutella on toast.
You can visit with Mina at:
www.mina-carter.com
The Marquis and the Mistress
The House of Lords - Book 2
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Dominique Eastwick
~Dedication~
Dedicated to all the readers who take the journey with me in every book I write and every book they read.
Special thanks to Val and Kate for pulling the very best from me and to Dawn, Tam, Emmeline, Dwayne, and Patty for always loving me
As always thank you to Nadine who always pushes me to stop procrastinating.
Chapter One
“I’m out.” Lord Simon James Winston, 7th Marquis of Breckinridge threw his cards down and shoved his chair from the table. He could not beat Foxhaven. The damned duke was on one of his winning streaks.
Simon and Wolfe Thane, Duke of Foxhaven, had known each other since before they’d been in long pants, yet some things never changed. When boredom struck Wolfe, he never lost. Whether at cards like this evening, a foolish dare in college, or fisticuffs, which could happen if Lord Railey didn’t shut his trap soon, nothing bad befell his grace.
Unfortunately, the other men of their party weren’t quite as smart picking up the clues. The indications were laid before them like a map. First, Wolfe’s lack of interest in the near brawls at Parliament earlier in the week, which he’d walked out of when asked to interfere. Followed by being nowhere to be seen at his mother’s annual ball. Simon finally found him in the library, alone, reading a book about planting in the Colonies. But the true sign la
y at the gym; no one would go against him. After men left the ring black and blue, at least they’d gotten that message.
Although the men didn’t appear to understand his I could not care if I win or lose attitude this night, a sure sign they were about to lose every shilling they had on them.
Lord Andrew Masterson, Earl of Windenshire, studied his cards before turning his attention to Simon as if debating what to do. Surely, he had something in his hand to keep him in another round. But if the earl wanted to throw in some blunt, who was Simon to care? Of all the men in their group, the earl had held his title the longest. In fact, at a mere week of age, he’d become the ninth earl of Windenshire, as his father died shortly after Andrew’s birth. As the eighth earl had been close to ninety, it had shocked everyone that he had made it as long as he had, and that he’d procured an heir to boot. But, according to rumor, Andrew was the spitting image of the previous earl in his younger years, leaving no one to question paternity. “I’m out, too, damn it.”
That left Viscount Jonathon Railey, whose father ruled his lands, servants, and his family with an iron fist. It was rumored, half in jest, he would never die because he was unwilling to give up any of his power to anyone. All the while, he’d been so concerned his title would pass to his brother’s family, he kept breeding until he had his heir and nine spares. The man was nothing if not thorough in making sure his line would carry on. For most men, two sons would have been enough. But not for the Earl of Stockton, who had harped on everything from the Black Plague’s return, to the possibility of another war with the Colonies, this time with an invasion of England. Between war and disease, his boys were sure to all die gruesome deaths. Unfortunately, ensuring such security in the line led to a shortage of money to spread to all the siblings. Jon had money, but the younger the son, the smaller the allowance. Simon suspected Jonathan had been taking care of his younger siblings while the older ones tried hard to make a living the only way the aristocracy could. So, he had more reason than most to throw in his cards unless he held the perfect hand. But like always, the man goaded Wolfe into playing higher and higher. This had been the pair’s modus operandi since their days in Eton.
“Oh, the puppy is playing hard tonight.” Wagging his eyebrows, Jonathan picked up his cigar and puffed.
“Jon, keep your head,” Simon warned.
Wolfe hated being called a pup. Even the future duke wasn’t immune to the bullying handed out to most youngsters on campus. Give someone a name like Wolfe and it added fodder to the fire for jealous second and third sons who had no certain future.
Wolfe grinned, showing his white teeth. “Don’t warn him now. This is the most fun I have had all night. Hell, all week.”
Ah, bollocks. Simon downed the remaining brandy, alerting the servant who appeared ready to fall asleep on his feet that his glass was empty. “Refill all the glasses, William, and then take yourself to bed. We can manage without you for the night.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The hands kept going, the bids higher and higher. Andrew rose long enough to bring the brandy to the table. When Wolfe pushed all his coins into the center of the table, Simon choked on his drink. Jonathon waited a second before pulling out a letter still closed with a rich royal red seal. Unfortunately, between the angle and lighting, Simon couldn’t make out the insignia.
“What, pray tell, is that?” Wolfe demanded.
“An exclusive evening with a woman chosen specifically for you by Madame Eve.”
“Who?” Wolfe asked in typical bored, droll manner.
But Simon heard something like pique in his voice. He doubted it had to do with the item as much as the reason Jonathon might have purchased it.
“Madame Eve. She arranges the perfect mates for people for an evening. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of her, Your Grace,” Andrew said, adding fuel to the growing fire already annoying Wolfe.
He glared at Andrew. “I have never needed to hire someone to get laid, unlike others in this room.”
“Yes, well some of us weren’t blessed being a duke, either,” Jonathon muttered.
“Throw your date in the kitty then, and show your hand.”
Jonathan smiled, tossing down four of a kind. Reaching in to take the winning pile, he paused when Wolfe placed each card in his own hand, one by one, face up on the table. “A royal flush.”
Andrew roared with laughter. “And that is why, when Simon throws his cards in, so do I.”
“It appears your perfect date is going to spend the night of her dreams with me—you know—the duke.” But Wolfe didn’t reach out to grab the pot, in fact, stayed put, staring at the envelope as if it might bite him.
Simon sat at the round table long after the last cigar was snuffed out and the last of his friends stepped into their carriages. The four of them had been meeting for a weekly card game for the last seven seasons, providing they were all in town. Over the last two seasons, it had been his habit to leave immediately after his friends. No matter what the hour of his arrival at the townhouse he’d bought for their liaison, his lover waited for him. He ached for a woman’s touch, but not any woman would do.
He tapped the cigar cutter on the table. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on anything but the soft curves of the widow Chandra Mallory, his former lover of the last two years. She’d finished things weeks ago and refused to speak with him. He only knew she hadn’t been at any social event in weeks and when he had his driver ride by her place, the knocker was no longer on the door, a proper indication she wasn’t at home. Which left him unsure where she would go, as the lands of her late husband had been entailed to his nephew, Marcus Mallory, who had promptly thrown Chandra out on her bottom.
But the Mallory London townhome she and her late husband had lived in hadn’t been entailed. That and a small allowance kept her, if not in extravagance, at least in comfort. It took every amount of willpower not to shove his fist down the nephew’s throat each time Simon saw him in Parliament. The half-wit had somehow managed to get elected to his uncle’s seat in the House of Commons. Forcing the simpleton into Simon’s proximity.
Hearing Mallory talk about the swiftness with which he’d cleaned his house once it had been determined the widow wasn’t carrying an heir had taxed Simon’s already-thin patience. But unless he wanted to raise eyebrows and cause tongues to wag, Simon had to play it close to the cuff. Yet every time a conversation had ended with her wistful, sad voice about the house that had been her home for a decade, he’d wanted to land his knuckles, with great force, on the jerk’s nose. Chandra had once told Simon about the humiliation of having to prove she wasn’t with child, and when the heir had announced she was no longer welcome in his home, he’d given her that day to get out.
Simply thinking about her made Simon hard, forcing him to adjust in his seat. This has to end. But no other woman seemed to do, though he’d danced with other women at various balls since, walked with them in the gardens at those balls, hell, even kissed a few. Not one of them brought his cock to attention.
Perhaps contacting Madame Evangeline might prove just the thing. If she found a woman to arouse him for even one night, he could move on with his life. And as long as no one but he, his date, and the elusive Madame Eve knew about it, no one would be the wiser. Time to try something new. Anything to get the images of Chandra out of his dreams and purge her from his heart would be a welcome addition. Decision made, he threw the cigar cutter onto the table.
***
Chandra walked around the table one more time. The beautifully laid dining table had been set with the finest bone china. Elegant silver and crystal sparkled in the candlelight and held every delicacy she loved, from oranges to chocolate sweets. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she should have eaten the food Cook had put in front of her that afternoon. Instead, she’d sat at her desk, debating sending the letter she had written to Madame Eve, declaring she could not make her date that evening.
But in the end, her had decision changed again.
While strolling through the park, she had caught a glimpse of her ex-lover, Lord Breckinridge. As always, he’d dressed in the highest fashion: well-tailored clothing that even from across the park showed his muscular physique. Memories of him making love to her had forced her to sit on the nearest bench for fear her legs would go out beneath her. From the safety of seat, she had watched him. It was doubtful he had seen her, but if he had, he’d done an admirable imitation ignoring her. Yet, he had stopped and chatted with every marriage-mart mama and their slew of young daughters. The eligible marquis would make a fine husband to any young miss.
Chandra knew only too well how fine a catch he was. Well-read, well-versed in the arts and in bed, he made a woman believe herself a Greek goddess. He’d worshipped Chandra’s body and played to her deepest emotions and darkest fantasies. She placed a supporting hand against her corseted belly as if she could hold back the emotions thinking of him caused. Simon was in the market for a wife; the time had come for him to create an heir; and as surely as Chandra knew that, she also knew she would never be his marchioness.
No matter how much she wanted to be.
Chandra had sold some jewels Simon had given her as a parting gift, the memory of receiving them too painful. So, it only seemed fair to use the proceeds of that sale to allow herself one night of pleasure to forget him. When an unmarked coach had pulled in front of her home at precisely eight that evening, she had entered, head held high, and ridden to a townhouse procured by Madame Evangeline for her date. But no one else knew where Chandra had gone tonight. None of her inner circle, at any rate. Not her staff, her friends, and most certainly not her sister, who had married a pastor.
