Wanton Christmas Wishes

by Multi-Author

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  Excerpt - Conall

  The 93rd Highlanders series book 2

  copyright Samantha Kane 2014

  “I’M SORRY,” CONALL said, and was surprised to realize he meant it. “I didn’t mean to run him off.”

  “You didn’t,” Avril said, busy tucking her sewing things back into a small box. “I did.”

  Conall didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to know, but some perverse creature in him made him do it anyway. “Did you ask him to be your man again?”

  Avril sighed heavily as she rose from a little stool and carried the box over to a crude wooden shelf. “And how is it your business what I did or didn’t do?” she asked, showing some of her spirit despite her obvious weariness.

  Conall walked over to her and gently turned her face up to him. She wore no bonnet, just a set of ragged fur muffs over her ears. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, as if she’d been crying. And the dark circles around them made him unaccountably angry.

  “It’s my business because I care about you,” he told her curtly. “How much sleep are you getting at night?”

  She jerked her chin out of his hand. “Enough.”

  “I doubt that.” He looked around the tent, taking note of things he’d missed this afternoon. “It’s freezing in here. Why haven’t you a bigger stove?”

  A bark of laughter was her immediate response. “And where am I to be getting a bigger stove?” she asked. “And with what money?”

  “Don’t the men pay you?” he asked, vowing to have words with the men he knew came to her for things, just as Munro had.

  “That money is for passage home,” she said. “Not for creature comforts.”

  “There’ll be no home for you if you’re dead of the cold.” He swallowed and turned away as he was assaulted with memories of the men he’d seen at the hospital with frostbitten toes and feet literally breaking off in the doctors’ hands. “I’ll get you a good stove.”

  “You haven’t the right.” She stood there proud and defiant before him. He knew what she wanted. What she thought she wanted.

  “What would give me the right?” he asked, needing to hear her say it.

  “If I was your woman, you could get me a stove. You’d share it then.” She didn’t flinch from saying it, didn’t act coy or play the seductress. Her Scottish practicality and stubborn pride stared right at him, daring him to refuse again.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll make you my woman, and I’ll buy you a stove.” His heart was beating so fast it made his knees weak. He was crossing a bridge and burning it behind him. There’d be no going back. If he took her tonight, she’d be his and only his. The air felt thick with fate, as if this was a moment meant to be.

  “It takes more than words,” she said, her voice weak and breathless as if she felt it too.

  “I know,” he whispered, reaching for her. She came to him with no protest, wrapping her arms around him as he pulled her close and kissed her.

  If you enjoyed this excerpt, please go and check out more here!

  All A Mistress Wants

  by

  Eliza Lloyd

  Blog / Facebook / Google+

  Author’s Note

  Greetings Historical Romance Readers,

  How exciting it is to be part of this Christmas Anthology with such a great company of erotic historical romance writers – writers you already know and love. Fulfilled wishes are more special at Christmas and these stories will not only warm your heart, they will keep you hot all through the holidays.

  In All A Mistress Wants, you’ll meet the Infamous Foresters, one of London’s most powerful families. Five bachelor brothers determined to live life on their terms – world travelers, gamblers, womanizers, leaders – all oblivious to the charming women in their lives that they take for granted.

  It was widely known that Adam, the eldest and Duke of Sterling, had one of the greatest loves in London. Five years later, he still mourns his wife’s loss.

  Eloisa is aware that her lover can give her every luxury, only he cannot give her his love. After she breaks off their affair, Adam requests she spend one last Christmastide with him and his family.

  I hope you enjoy the first story and introduction to the Infamous Foresters.

  The other stories in the anthology are truly engaging. Thank you for allowing us to share your holidays.

  Enjoy!

  Eliza Lloyd

  Blurb

  Eloisa Larkin must make the most difficult choice of her life – give up a life of comfort with the man she loves or remain the mistress of the powerful Duke of Sterling, the man who will never love her in return. Is she a fool to walk away?

  In London, it is widely known that Adam and his first wife had a rare and great love. When she died five years ago, Adam greatly mourned her loss and everyone knows he will never remarry. But he is a man and Eloisa the perfect answer to his needs.

  Eloisa cannot bear to spend another Christmastide with his family, hiding behind the façade of family friend. She must end it now.

  Adam is shocked and his pride wounded. He demands she reconsider and at least spend one last Christmas with him and the children.

  Even dukes can have epiphanies.

  Chapter 1

  ACCORDING TO EVERYONE in London, from the lowliest housemaid at Sterling House to the bluest of blue bloods at Carlton House, there was no greater love than that of Adam Forester, Duke of Sterling, for his bride of eleven years, the beautiful and fragile Nellie Kent. The duchess bore four children, the pride and joy of the family, especially the two oldest, both strapping lads who resembled their father.

  On the night of the Prince Regent’s coronation, the Duchess of Sterling shuffled off her mortal coil after a long struggle with consumption. The duke was inconsolable, retiring to the country with the children for the length of one year.

  When he returned to London, he still bore the solemn edge of grief. Ever a serious man to begin with, the duke displayed all the haughty manners of one born to power and privilege and no one attempted to suggest opportunities that might lesson his sorrow.

  And five years later, he still wore a black armband. Some thought he would wear it until he died, for most certainly he would never remarry.

  Adam tugged at his cravat and stared down his nose at the couples waltzing in Lady Fuhrman’s grand ballroom. It was a new dance—one he had taken great pains to learn from the dance master Thomas Wilson. Tonight there was one particular lady with whom he would dance. Or she would box his ears.

  The royals had already departed London and Adam was relieved it was the last ball before the Christmas season was upon them. He had every intention of retiring from London and returning to Long Leaf to spend Twelfth Night with the children and his mother. There would be the usual assortment of guests and close family, ensuring the days would be spent with much laughter and merriment.

  Across the room, he glanced toward the grand dame, the Dowager Duchess of Sterling. She made her way toward him, fan in hand, prepared to bat away any offending creature who dared interfere with her determined footsteps.

  “Sterling, did you notice the number of young debutantes who thought they should attempt this new dance? It is scandalous,” she said.

  “I will let the patronesses at Almack’s sort it out,” he said. “Do you wish for me to escort you home? It is getting late.”

  “Are you not to dance with me later?” She appeared hurt, her rheumy-eyed gazed peering up at him while her slim, aged fingers perched on his sleeve.

  “Of course.”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, do not let me keep you if you must play cards or seek out other entertainment. I am only your mother.”

  As all sons must, he bore his mother’s long-suffering with a healthy dose of sangfroid. If he danced with her, she would complain her feet hurt. If not? Well, there was no right answer when dealing with a practiced duchess.


  “And why hasn’t Lady Carvelle replied to my invitation? She and her niece have been at Long Leaf for the past four Christmas seasons. They must be there, especially since my other sons cannot be bothered.”

  “I am sure her response will be forthcoming. We are not leaving for two days.” He wasn’t worried. They always came. His brothers? Well, they seemed more interested in exploring the world and tasting of its wine and women.

  Within a half hour, he had his mother safely bundled into the ducal carriage and on their way to Sterling House.

  He left the house at one in the morning, washed and freshly shaven, strolling toward his destination. The night was crisp and the air filled with the distinguished aroma of burning wood and heavy coal. Dark, low-hanging clouds had been prevalent for days and just as he thought of snow, a few flakes descended from the sky to land and disappear upon his greatcoat.

  By morning there would undoubtedly be a worrisome covering upon the roads. The weather had been unusually cold and snowy this year—he only hoped it did not affect their Christmas plans. He had promised the children and he did all within his not inconsiderable power never to disappoint them, weather notwithstanding.

  He arrived at the house on Fitzroy Square, a speculative acquisition he had made with hopes the development would yield a substantial profit at some point. At any rate, it was still a private place, which was his ulterior motive in making the purchase.

  The street was quiet as he approached but there were candles burning in the two front windows, welcoming him and lifting his heart a bit. He tapped on the door once and then slipped inside before locking it behind him. He was expected.

  Rather than being greeted by a footman, a savory scent wafted through the house, filling the air with cinnamon and spice. And then the hearty smell of roast and potatoes.

  She came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth and glanced up with wide eyes and a smile. Eloisa Larkin. Lady Carvelle’s niece. His lover the past four years.

  “Oh, Adam, you are early. Your Grace.” She curtsied to him, though he had assured her it was not necessary after all this time. Not when they were alone together.

  He approached. She tilted her head slightly as she took him in.

  “Let me help you with your coat,” she offered.

  “First things first,” he said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “You know.”

  He set his hands to her trim waist and pulled her into his embrace. The top of her head barely came to his chin and he turned his face to her, kissing her temple and then pressing his nose to her skin, inhaling the elusive scent that always seemed to surround her. Their embrace was quick. Eloisa pulled away, sliding one hand inside his coat over his evening jacket to settle over his heart. The warmth of her hand was enough to ignite the embers he’d stoked on the walk over.

  Finally he pressed his lips to hers, savoring what he had been craving for days.

  Eloisa was everything a man needed in a mistress, which is to say she was available, affectionate and an astounding beauty with dark, coppery hair she wore in an upsweep except when they were together in bed. Then he enjoyed the riotous profusion of fire spread upon the white linen sheets and entwined with his body.

  “My darling,” he said.

  Tonight she looked especially beautifully in her dark green gown scooped low across her breasts with a tease of lace at the edge. The tight corset drew her waist into a diminutive span and her exposed neck begged to be kissed.

  He pressed his lips upon hers again and tasted her sweetness. She pushed to her toes, wrapping one arm around his neck, the cloth she held still gripped in her fingers. He held her tighter, savoring the smell and feel of her.

  She broke their kiss and touched one finger to his lips.

  “You promised you would not eat a thing at Lady Fuhrman’s,” she lightly scolded.

  “I was true to my word. What have you prepared?”

  “Cook has prepared all of your favorites. The roast will melt in your mouth.”

  “And what is the occasion? You never said. I have not missed an anniversary or birthday, have I?”

  She laughed. “You never miss such a date. Your man of affairs would not allow it. Come, let me help you with this.”

  Eloisa hurried behind him and gripped the edge of his coat while he shrugged out of it. She draped the heavy wool over her arm and rubbed across the folds. “I’ll put this away. The fire in the library is roaring and I set out a bottle of port. Go on, I’ll be along.”

  He gripped her arm before she could whirl away and planted another kiss to her lips. “Hurry.”

  Adam stared at her swaying hips as she walked to another room. As she had said, the library was cozily warm, a welcome respite from this chill night. He reached for the port wine to see it was his favorite label, and he was reminded again why she was so perfect as his paramour.

  She could assess his mood when even he knew not what he needed. Everything she did was for him—from the scented bed sheets to the secret smiles. With the gentle, sensuous stroke of her fingertips, she could command him into handing over his fortune. If he allowed himself to be so led.

  After Nellie died, he’d been indecisive about whether he should ever remarry but the children ought to have a mother. Until Eloisa’s circumstance made it all but impossible to deny himself such an opportunity, selfish as it was. In truth, he had helped Eloisa at a most difficult time. And she proved her gratitude in many ways.

  When she returned, she sidled next to him where he sat and placed her hand upon his thigh. “How was Lady Fuhrman’s ball?”

  “Aristocratic perfection. And boring. I would have enjoyed it more had you been there. Oh, and Mother wants to know why Lady Carvelle hasn’t accepted the invitation to Long Leaf.”

  Eloisa frowned. “Hmm.”

  The sparkle in her eye was always warm for him and mischievous in general. He was not in the mood to talk about balls or the weather. He wanted Eloisa. She stared up at him, her lips parted in subtle invitation. Again, he kissed her and marveled at the sweet taste, a hint of wine upon her tongue.

  “Are you sure supper cannot wait?” he asked.

  “Perhaps a few minutes.” She caressed upward and then cupped his groin where his testes hurt and his cock ached. The first squeeze brought a grateful moan to his lips.

  Adam shifted his hips, thrusting upward into her sinful, knowing hand before he reached down and worked at the fall of his trousers. Slipping the buttons, he exposed himself quickly, and when her warm fingers touched his naked flesh, he sucked in a steady breath.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. Eloisa’s skirts swished as she knelt in front of him.

  “Be merciful,” he said, unable to bear any teasing strokes tonight. Private time together was much easier in thought than in deed, such was the life of a duke and a father.

  “Aren’t I always?” Her fingers gripped the root of his cock.

  He peeked and watched with muted satisfaction as she lowered her head over him and then took his cock deep in her mouth. She sucked at him and then swiped her tongue in long passes up and down his length, finally settling her attention upon the inflamed, engorged head of his cock.

  Eloisa caressed lower, her fingers searching and rubbing over his testes.

  He gave up any pretense of being a duke when she held such mastery over his body. She was more his master, and he her slave. But she was not so immune to his touch either.

  Gentle tides swelled and receded until he was breathless from her experienced touch. He swore. He slipped his fingers to her neck and held her head near his cock, not that she would abandon her vigorous pursuit. Eloisa was not a tease.

  Between his legs, his cods hardened and her fingers squeezed with knowing purpose. He sucked a breath between his gritted teeth, unable to stop the pleasure coursing through his body or the imminent release of seed.

  Adam attempted to pull from her mouth in response to the gathering flood. She held h
er grip, and at the first burst, she flicked her tongue against the head of his cock, passing it through the milky liquid.

  He gasped and jerked, the sight more than he could bear, the pleasure more than he deserved. Then she opened her mouth over him again. Her tongue worked, taking every drop of his seed, which she swallowed.

  In a relaxed stupor, he rubbed his fingers along her neck and into her hair. She went from her haunches to her bottom, sitting on the floor between his legs, resting her cheek against his thigh and draping one arm over his other leg.

  There they sat for peaceful minutes. Adam was in no hurry to move and Eloisa, the perfect mistress, was content to wait upon him. He stared down at her, lashes fanned against her skin, the light from the fireplace making her appear vulnerable and sweet, if not a bit sad.

  “You have no idea how much I need to be here,” he said. The House of Lords had taken up most of his time the past few weeks, and trying to see Eloisa had been nearly impossible.

  He could not see giving her up in spite of Mother’s suggestion he remarry, though he knew there was no reason to do so. Some wives, he supposed, would not mind if their husbands still kept a mistress.

  With Nellie, of course, there had never been such a question.

  Eloisa sat up, leaning her elbow against his thigh. “We can eat whenever you are ready.”

  He was content to have her draped over him, flush from the firelight, willing to pleasure him. He could not wish for anything more perfect. Except he was hungry and he had plans to spend long hours in Eloisa’s bed.

  Supper was served in the large dining room at a table meant for sixteen. Eloisa sat to his right while the lone footman served an elegant meal with all of Adam’s favorite foods. The pea soup was followed by Cornish gamecock and fall potatoes. The roast beef was served with mushroom and wine sauce and cranberries garnished the plate. Finally, a crème brûlée was set aflame, the footman crisping the edges before setting the confection in front of them.

  It was usually during meals they caught up on the mundane and the new gossip about the ton, but Adam was feeling rather well cared for and wanted to talk about the upcoming trip to Long Leaf and all they would do in the dark of the night when everyone else had gone to bed.