Stefan's Scandal [Lords of Hawksfell Manor 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)
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Lords of Hawksfell Manor 8
Stefan’s Scandal
Scandal has dogged Stefan Hawk, Viscount Constantine, all of his life. He learns his father was the late Earl of Hawksfell and is warmly welcomed by his brother, the new earl. He finds another brother and the family he never knew he wanted.
Madeline Crowley wants excitement in her life. More than that, she wants the love and passion her brother and cousin Millicent have found. When she goes to Hawksfell Manor she finds all that and more with the newest Hawk and handsome footman Hugh Stanhope. Though untried, she wants them both.
Hugh was forced to trade on his looks in London before becoming first footman at Hawksfell. He doesn’t want to lose his position and tries to fight his attraction to both Stefan and Madeline, but the three of them ignite.
Will they find the strength to risk everything to be together? Or will scandal rear its head and pull them apart?
Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 29,169 words
STEFAN’S SCANDAL
Lords of Hawksfell Manor 8
Josie Dennis
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
STEFAN'S SCANDAL
Copyright © 2014 by Josie Dennis
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-203-4
First E-book Publication: August 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
About the Author
STEFAN’S SCANDAL
Lords of Hawksfell Manor 8
JOSIE DENNIS
Copyright © 2014
Chapter 1
Yorkshire, England 1913
Stefan Hawk, Viscount Constantine, pushed away from the desk. Groaning, he ran his fingers through his hair. His mother’s papers were in a mess and the latest packet from the solicitor only served to muddle what little he’d discovered so far. They seemed to be papers of a more personal nature, according to the accompanying correspondence. Love letters, of all things. No man wants to know anything quite so personal about his own mother. At least money wasn’t a concern. Not for him.
He turned his head to stare into the fire crackling behind the grate. It was cold on this February night, but Constantine Abbey was quite comfortable. Thick carpets and fine furnishings. Brandy and liquor at his disposal. His late mother’s estate provided for the staff but it was his own luck with money that kept the holding well turned-out. He was a Hawk, after all, blessed with money if cursed in other ways. On cold nights like this he knew his curse would compel him once he gave up his fruitless search. Again.
“What the devil were you up to, Mother?”
He had no answer from the flames, of course, and he doubted one would come from any other direction either. His mother was dead, drowned and frozen with the other poor souls on the Titanic nearly a year ago. He hadn’t even known she’d booked passage on the great ship, but that wasn’t so unusual. She never shared her escapades with her only child. He supposed he mourned her a little. It was fitting, since he knew her to precisely that same degree.
She’d been absent from his life as far back as when he was still in the nursery. As for his father? Who the hell knew who that man was? Maybe this latest collection of his mother’s jumbled writings would shed some light on that subject as well.
He believed his father was just some nameless Hawk who, like so many over the past generations, spread their seed and abandoned their offspring. It was common in Yorkshire, or so he’d been told by his faithful servants over the years. He avoided a hint of scandal at all costs and didn’t seek out the torrid tales of his antecedents. The servants were his family, really. The only warmth he’d ever known was from these loyal people. It never escaped his knowledge that they were well paid for their services, though.
His beast stirred as he fought down his frustration. Lust rose even as he knew he should focus. The Hawk curse would soon rear its head, so to speak. He’d kept his urges at bay for nearly a fortnight now, just about as long as he’d ever managed since reaching manhood. The oppressive winter weather and the irritation over his mother’s letters in her loopy, scattered scrawl caused his head to spin. His body would happily join in the fray at any moment. He knew he’d soon sport an erection so hard it would ache until he found release. The devil knew he couldn’t find that pleasure from his own hand.
He’d tried, curse be damned. Years and years ago. Aside from gaining no release he’d had sharp pains in his stomach and a relentless erection that lasted for hours. Now he didn’t dare attempt to use his own hand.
As luck would have it, his housekeeper always found a way to staff the hall with a plethora of maids and footmen only too eager to earn a bit of extra silver to assuage his lust.
His housekeeper also made certain that all members of the Constantine staff didn’t carry tales to the village, either. She knew he abhorred gossip. He could still remember catching snippets of tales of his mother’s questionable behavior when he was a child. It wasn’t as though he abused a one of his staff, though. In fact, most times he assured their pleasure before taking his own. A footman’s mouth, a groom’s ass, a maid’s pussy. His beast didn’t care. Passion was passion.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and welcomed the heat when it came. His breath quickened as he anticipated letting his beast rule for a brief time.
His cock throbbed now, ever insistent, so he unbuttoned his trousers. The blood rushed so quickly to his shaft he was nearly lightheaded. He had to get someone in here quickly before he was too far gone to moderate his actions.
“My lord?” a feminine voice asked to his left.
He opened his eyes and turned his head a notch. As if summoned by his needs, a maid stood in the doorway. He didn’t recognize her but she was pretty, as all the maids and footmen were. She was blonde, which had always been his preference. The images of glistening golden hair fisted in his hand as he fucked a tight pussy from behind or blonde strands tangled in his fingers as he came in hot spurts into an eager mouth were ones he quite relished.
“What is your name, girl?” he asked her, his voice rough.
“Jane, Lord Constantine,” she answered.
Her voice didn’t waver in the least. Good. He wagered she knew the way of things, then.
“You’re quite fetching, Jane.” He swiveled his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. His cock surged forward, even harder, and he gasped in a breath. “Shut the door, damn it,” he bit out.
Her lips parted and she hurried to do his bidding. She returned, coming close to his desk. “What do you need, my lord?”
“I trust you’ve been schooled in what is occasionally required of the staff?”
She nodded, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. It was like a hand grasped his shaft hard and he cursed again. He knew she would serve him quite well tonight. At least he knew he wouldn’t have to puzzle over his mother’s life or his father’s identity for the next several minutes.
“You have a lovely mouth, Jane. Come closer and use it on me.”
She nodded again and came to her knees before him.
* * * *
Madeline Crowley pouted as she held in an exasperated gasp. Talk at the dinner table was excruciatingly boring tonight, but she shouldn’t be surprised. Crowley Park wasn’t known for its animation these days. Not since her brother Michael and their third cousin Millicent went on that fateful drive through Yorkshire last summer. They’d found adventure and romance, something sorely lacking here in Scarborough. She missed them both most keenly.
Her mother droned on about an upcoming assembly to their guests, the reverend and his wife, but she only paid the conversation scant attention. Balls and assemblies in the village were very dull indeed, despite the fact that her mother was eager to marry her off. She was only twenty-one, for goodness’s sake! Millicent had been given far more leeway regarding a husband hunt, but then again her future had been all but set in stone. Madeline was not that fortunate.
“Michael and Millicent will not attend, of course,” her mother said.
“What is that?” Madeline asked, at last drawn out of her thoughts.
Her mother sighed, patting her golden curls so like Madeline’s and Michael’s. “Your brother and Millicent, Madeline. They will no doubt stay in Yorkshire with Millicent’s earl. It won’t do to have talk bandied about.”
Madeline nodded absently, her mind already on Millicent’s husband, the mysterious and enigmatic Earl of Hawksfell. She’d heard tales, of course, from the servants when they thought she wasn’t within hearing. That was one benefit of living in a large estate house, the opportunity to eavesdrop and overhear the most delicious tales. And oh, these were quite delicious indeed.
Dark tales of the handsome Hawks’ unrelenting urges. Stories of the earl prowling his ancestral manor on the gloomy moors as he demanded his pleasure from his well-paid and eager staff. She stifled a shiver as she imagined what Millicent must feel with all of that masculine attention focused squarely on her now. She had both the earl’s passions and Michael’s devotion.
“How fortunate for Millie,” she murmured.
Her mother gasped. “Really, Madeline! Your brother was affianced to Millicent. People are still talking about her defection to Yorkshire! She had no business straying from her destined course.”
“Her destined course to marry Michael and keep her money in the family?” Madeline countered. “Really, Mother. She had the right to marry where she wished.”
Her mother eyed their guests, who pretended to study their coffee cups very closely.
“And what of Michael?” Her mother harrumphed. Her eyes, a much cooler blue than hers and Michael’s, rounded. “Why does he stay in Yorkshire with the both of them?”
Madeline could wager an answer, but she feared her guess would turn her mother’s blonde curls quite white. She could only imagine what their guests’ reactions would be. As talk continued at the table she pondered just what kept her brother in Yorkshire.
She’d witnessed the passion between her brother and Millie one night last spring, when they’d thought her abed. True, it had been just the once, and she hadn’t seen much, but she’d heard her brother make sounds she’d never heard before. And hadn’t Millie looked quite pleased with herself the morning they’d left for their fateful drive into Yorkshire? Passion like that didn’t fade away. In fact, perhaps Millie…Her head spun as the most illicit images filled her mind.
“No, that can’t be!” she gasped aloud.
“What is that, Madeline?” her mother asked.
The reverend and his wife both gaped at her.
“Your face has gone quite pale, dear,” the reverend said.
In a flash, heat suffused her cheeks and she knew that condition had changed.
“It’s nothing,” Madeline rushed out, waving her hand. “Please, do not attend me.”
“Are you ill?” her mother asked.
“No, no.” She came to her feet. “I am a bit tired, however. Would you all excuse me?”
The reverend and his wife nodded vigorously, making sounds of sympathy as they stared up at her. Her mother, however, narrowed those Crowley blue eyes on her. Dipping her head, Madeline hurried from the room and into the very library where she’d witnessed Michael and Millie’s love secondhand. She could run and hide in her rooms, but even her gothic novels held little appeal tonight. Her heart was just too jittery to let her mind settle.
She sat herself at the little desk set near the fireside, staring at the settee where Millie and Michael had their rendezvous. Her chin resting in her hand, drumming her fingers against her cheek, she wondered about passion, like she did every day of her dreary life here at Crowley Park. She longed to feel a touch of the heat she’d seen that night.
No young men in the village, or in London for that matter, held her eye for more than a moment. Was she destined to end on the shelf or to marry a man who failed to rouse as much as her temperature, all for the sake of keeping more talk away from the lauded Crowley family?
She had to get away, but it was the dead of winter. Her mother would never agree to go to London for the little season in any event. The woman abhorred the city when it was clogged with soot and ice. Well, there was no way on God’s green earth that Madeline could wait until Easter to get out of Scarborough. If she didn’t find a way, she would just bust!
Snapping her fingers, she brightened. She would appeal to the one man who never failed her. She opened the center drawer and withdrew some paper, then grabbed a pen from atop the desk. She would write to h
er devoted big brother, Michael.
Her pen scratched swiftly over the paper as she wrote her entreaty. Her brother and his Millie would take her in at Hawksfell Manor. They just had to. She was nervous about meeting the dark earl, but no matter. Like a heroine in one of her beloved novels, she would seek romance and adventure on the moors, and perhaps find her own adventure in the process.
* * * *
Hugh Stanhope arranged the articles on the dressing table. His day had been long, serving at table while seeing to Mr. Crowley’s needs. He’d been a footman for only a few months but he felt as though the family was pleased with his performance. And now he was first footman, an enviable position to be sure.
His predecessor, Cabot, had left in a flurry of excitement two months ago. Apparently he’d so impressed a visiting Hawk relative that he and his lady love desired his service at their home. At least that was the official tale of Cabot’s leave from Hawksfell. Hugh knew better, though.
The legendary Hawk magnetism had been palpable in Victor Hawk. Hugh hadn’t been immune. There was no question they could have anyone they wanted. Why, just last month the countess’s lady’s maid was seduced away from the manor as easily as Cabot had been. And Trevor Hawk had been a visitor here a scant fortnight. He’d taken both her and the earl’s personal valet when he’d taken his leave!
So now Hugh had to see to his footman duties as well as serve as valet to Mr. Crowley since the earl took Mr. Crowley’s valet. There was no doubt the man would secure the services of another valet for just his care soon. In any event, there was no lack of opportunity for advancement at Hawksfell Manor. If Hugh was too tired at the end of his day to do more than fall into his bed alone, so be it. At least as first footman he had a room to himself now.