The Perfect Gift
Ladies of London
Book 3
Raven McAllan
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Perfect Gift
Copyright© 2012 Raven McAllan
ISBN: 978-1-77101-865-4
Cover Artist: Victoria Miller
Editor: Shyla Colt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.
Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com
Dedication
To Shyla, Victoria, all at Breathless Press, and my crit group U C W.
And to my lovely sister-in-law Sue for her faith in me, and her help with all things Yorkshire.
CHAPTER ONE
“So, it seems we are now to host the Duke and Duchess’s Christmas house party for them,” Stephen, Viscount Pelham told his housekeeper. He tried to ignore the itch in his shoulder blade that intimated all was not as it seemed. “There is illness in their village, and Amanda feels ‘tis not proper to ask guests to visit in the circumstances.”
Or so she says. Why do I have no faith in Amanda’s pronouncements? He wondered if Harry, his sister’s husband, knew her reasons for the change in venue. Whether he did or did not was immaterial. The house party would now be at Carrland Hall.
He stretched his long legs out. The gleam on his immaculate hessians shone in the firelight. Why did he not think he had been given the whole story? Due to the inclement weather, it had taken Loggins, his groom, longer than normal to ride to the posting office to collect the mails, and the short winter evening was rapidly drawing to a close. Tonight, the fog and damp so normal to this area seemed twice as deep as would be expected.
A swift perusal of the impressive missive from his sister, crossed and re-crossed, had his normally placid temper rising. Why, with a Peer of the Realm to frank her letters, did she deem it necessary to write so? The writing was illegible. It was as if a spider had dipped its legs in ink and walked over the paper. The patterns the loops and swirls created made him think of silken ropes crisscrossed over a smooth female body. His cock tightened in response to the images in his mind. With a ruthlessness he had cultivated over the years, he quelled his erection and cleared his mind. He could not speak to his staff with a horn such as he had.
Once his prick and balls had relaxed enough for his trousers to fit and not threaten his ability to procreate if he ever chose to, he reread the missive.
It caused him to roll his eyes and then ensure he rang the bell to summon Mrs. Clegg, his longtime employee. She smiled when he mentioned Amanda, who had always been her favorite. He knew once he uttered the magic word ‘Amanda’ everything possible would be done to guarantee his sister and her guests would enjoy all conceivable comforts.
As he finished speaking, she nodded. “Now that will be a treat for us all, my lord, I’m sure. Does Miss Amanda, I mean the Duchess, say how many chambers need to be prepared?”
Stephen perused the paper in front of him. “She says the enclosed is for you, to give you all the information required, and the first guest will arrive on the fifteenth.” He handed a package over to Mrs. Clegg. “Good grief, that is but five days hence. Can you manage, Cleggy? She has, I fear, been her usual thoughtless self.”
“Bless you my lord, ‘tis no trouble,” Mrs. Clegg said. She spoke as if she were comforting a child. Much as she had when, as a young boy, he’d scraped his knees or had a whipping from his tutor. “Miss, I mean her ladyship, knows we are able to cater to her desires and needs.”
Hmmm. It was that he was afraid of. However… His mind veered off at a tangent. Needs, desires. Stephen made a mental note to ensure the tower rooms were secure and locked, and the door to its secret stair secure and hidden. It was one thing to be confident in your own skin and your own preference, another to shout those predilections to all and sundry.
“She was so sure I would agree, the minx. I wonder how she got Harry to agree,” he asked. It was a rhetorical question. He knew fine well what wiles a woman could employ to get what she wanted. To delay the delivery of this diktat—for it was a command however the words were penned—until the day before he had been due to leave for the long ride south was one of them. He knew some of the guests would already have set out to undertake the arduous trek north to Yorkshire.
However, a thought struck him. “Does she say Lady Judith Gresham is to be one of the party?” To his secret and wry amusement his heart pounded as he waited for his housekeeper’s reply.
Mrs. Clegg perused the letter and a smile hovered on her lips. “Yes, my lord. She asks we prepare the Crimson Suite for her.”
Stephen groaned, his cock twitched, and he strove to keep the unwanted reaction contained. What maggot in her brain had made his meddling sister decide to house his nemesis in the room next to his quarters?
“And Lady Mallins?” he asked with little hope his desires would be accommodated.
His housekeeper colored in a delicate manner, as delicately as a fifteen stone matriarch who ruled her staff with a rod of iron could do. The obvious disapproval in her eyes was enough to deflate his ardor and his balls to shrivel. Mrs. Clegg had been more of a mother to him than the one who gave him birth, and her approval meant a great deal to him. He crossed one ankle over his leg and shifted slightly. The look she gave him was much too knowing.
“Ah, the Gardenia Suite my lord.”
His heart sank, though he gave a brief smile at his sister’s machinations. He was well aware of Amanda’s disapproval of his intentions towards the fair lady.
Now it all made sense. His sister had no time for the voluptuous blonde, who, with a little more coercion would, he felt certain, agree to be his mistress rather than a casual fuck-amour. Several dedicated evenings of seduction had given him hope in that direction. He had hoped the next step would be for her to accept him and him alone as her paramour. Sadly, he knew her inclusion in Amanda’s party was not, however, on his behalf. Lord Mallins was a renowned expert on prime horseflesh, and a well-known raconteur, invited to all the best houses. It was, many ladies agreed, a pity his wife had to be invited as well, because she had no compunction in trying to take a little light dalliance with any man around to a higher level of intimacy. And, it was whispered, she used wiles and powers not of the norm. Those he had no idea about, but Stephen knew she would have no effect on him. His heritage was well-hidden but highly developed. It was his choice not to use it. Something he realized he needed to address and soon. His time to accept or deny it outright was almost upon him. He dragged his mind back to the problem of his guests and their accommodations.
For all their lack of interest in each other, the Mallins arrived and departed from all such parties together. What they did in between was not mentioned. The Gardenia Suite was as far as possible from his rooms, and in a different wing of the house. He wondered where Amanda had chosen to house Lord Mallins, but deemed it not politic to ask.
“Perhaps those ladies could be accommodated elsewhere?” he suggested, with little hope of agreement, for he knew his sister too well. “Swap rooms for instance?” The thought of Judith, so close and yet so far, and he thought with dawning horror, so close to that staircase to heaven, was unbearable. He foresaw more than one solitary session to sate his needs. If he cou
ld access those stairs without fear of discovery. One untoward noise, and if the occupant of the adjoining bedchamber heard, he would be undone.
Mrs. Clegg looked flustered. “Oh my lord, my lady is most insistent that where she has placed everyone should stand. She says she has taken considerable time and forethought to ensure everybody is accommodated as is best for their situation. She begs me not to alter her arrangements. I cannot upset her ladyship, it would never do.”
Stephen sighed and nodded his acquiescence; it was as he thought. Amanda had long held an unconscious dislike for the fair Lady Mallins. He remembered his sister once describing her as akin to a piranha. His lips quirked. In his experience of her, the lady in question was somewhat voracious, and did nip and bite rather well. Whether she would have bowed to his more extreme requests had yet to be determined. Alas, it did not look if he would find out over this festive season.
As the housekeeper curtsied and left the room, he wondered what it was that meant Judith was most suited to being accommodated next to him? Not for the reasons he most desired, he was sure. His sister knew nothing of them. If his brother-in-law did, Stephen knew there was no circumstance under which Harry would divulge such things.
He sat, thinking.
Lady Judith Gresham. The one person he lusted after in vain. He was too old, too extreme, and in his justification, he decided, too set in his ways to take the virtue of a young, untried girl. Stephen hoped he was wise enough to see and deflect a juvenile crush without deflating the innocent bestowing her affections. At eleven years her elder, he had known from the first time he set eyes on the fresh young debutante she could be his for the taking. But Stephen was no seducer of virgins of any age, had no inclination to marry, and moreover, he enjoyed the life of a single man. To say nothing of what I want from a relationship, which I dare not hope would be acceptable to her.
For three years, he had succeeded well enough; making sure they were never alone, behaving with polite courtesy, and acting in the same vein he treated his young cousins, almost father-like.
Until the last ball he had attended. Slipping into the gardens to smoke a rare cigar, he had been unaware she had followed until her hand rested on his arm, and he felt the soft sweet pressure of her breasts against him.
“How long are we playing this game?” she asked him, her lips tilting up at the sides in a mischievous grin. “I want you. You want me, why are you dissembling?”
He experienced a tight hard throbbing in his groin as he responded to her presence in his usual predictable way. Stephen forced himself to breathe in as even a manner as possible, and shifted to ease the sudden pain. He curled his hands into tight fists to stop himself reaching out and running them over her throat, biting the soft, milk-white skin of her breasts and making her his.
Of course she had noticed. When did she ever not?
“Hell, is it not?” she asked in a soft undertone. “When your body responds even though your mind dictates it should react in an indifferent manner?”
He had no answer to that; not even when, for one brief moment, he felt her soft hand burning through his breeches as it cupped his shaft. Judith laughed so softly he had to strain to catch the breathy sound.
“You may deny your reaction, but your body gives lie to any statement of denial, my lord. One day perhaps you will listen to it. Perchance then we will both benefit.” She paused and once more he heard her deep, throaty, arousing chuckle. “Or perhaps not. Who knows if by then I may have grown weary of my lonely wait and moved on to pastures new. For now, I am untried and waiting to be taught all I need to know—by you.” She paused and for a brief moment he could swear he saw tears in her eyes.
“All, Stephen, listen well to my words. All of them. You think you are alone? I know, Stephen, women gossip. I know.” She stopped speaking; even the air seemed to still as she waited for his reply.
Stephen swallowed the lump in his throat; he dared not introduce her to his needs. Nor did he believe she really knew. Have ideas, wonder, but not know. That would crucify one so innocent as her, surely? He didn’t know how to answer her, so stayed silent.
Judith blinked rapidly and her somber expression cleared.
“Ah well, if you wish not to be my tutor?” She shrugged her shoulders and he saw her breasts move under the silk of her gown. “Well, then I may need to find one who does.” With one last caress she left him. Her long strides, so unlike the dainty genteel lady of the ton she portrayed, carried her away from him posthaste, before he had time to give voice to his thoughts of denial.
Over my dead body!
Aroused, aching, he was unable to return to the ballroom until he had sought a quiet, unoccupied corner of the garden, and taken matters in hand. Now he groaned at the thought. Having to relieve an aching cock at a ball was not the way to conduct oneself in polite society. Nevertheless, she had reduced him to behaving so. He would like to show her just how it felt to ache, to want and need release, only to have that release denied. But, he told himself once more, that was not on his agenda. Judith could not be for him. He must not, would not subject such an innocent to his dark desires and demands.
Now she was to be housed next to him for the best part of three weeks. Stephen shuddered at the idea. For twenty long days—and nights—he was to have temptation at close hand, and his fuck-amour as far away as it was possible to imagine. Stephen wondered not for the first time what long-lost misdemeanor of his had decreed he be bestowed with such a mischief-maker for a sister. How Harry kept her in check he had no idea, indeed he shuddered to think. Unless, well no…he changed his train of thought. That was his sister he was wondering about.
Gloomily, he wondered about Judith, what her modus operandi would be this time. How the hell would he be able to withstand her? Nevertheless resist her he must. Eleven years difference in age was too much. He would not introduce such a sweet young thing to his somewhat individual appetites. She needed someone younger, less jaded, and more amenable to the delights of town.
Stephen’s visits to town were infrequent, usually to win at cards and scratch an itch. The first was indulged—to their disgust—by various cronies in his clubs. The second at certain very discreet addresses where his presence was neither mentioned, nor acknowledged. Or, to their mutual pleasure, by Lady Mallins, whose husband was, in general, conspicuous by his absence from her side. Stephen knew he should get no pleasure from screwing the former senseless betting-wise, and the latter senseless sex-wise, but shamelessly he did. Mallins was an old fool, caring little for his wife, and much more it was rumored for his cattle and his tiger! Stephen had no doubt that Mallins would accompany his wife to the Christmas house party, but he would be found in one of two places for most of the hours in a day. The games room or the stables.
None of which helped Stephen in his avoidance of Judith. The damned rooms Amanda had allotted her even shared a common lounge with his quarters if required, for goodness sake. A lounge with secrets. He made a mental note to seek out the key to that room and his bedchamber and keep it firmly turned within the lock. That would be a first; he wondered if there even was a key after so many years.
Stephen’s heart sank. He would not be able to banish Judith from the lounge. It would be an insult to deny her the comforts of her own sitting room.
This is going to be the most uncomfortable few weeks of my life. His one relief was that neither the chambers he used, nor the crimson suite next door, was designated as a master suite. Those were situated on the north side of the house and were so gloomy Stephen had refused point-blank to use them. He chose instead to house himself on the warmer southern side, overlooking the formal gardens and the woods beyond. The secret stair played no small part in his decision.
The stair. How can I cope knowing she is but a few steps from there?
However, the crimson suite was better than the master suite. To have Judith ensconced in the accommodation allocated to his Viscount’s lady and know she would never be such, would be beyond cruel. For once
he could give thanks to the fates that had decided his bedchamber for him.
He made his way up to his apartments, passing his sister’s letter from hand to hand. As he reached the top stair, he saw something slip from within its leaves. Puzzled, he picked it up from where it had landed on the floor, and studied the outer sheet. It was inscribed in a hand he didn’t know.
My lord.
His curiosity aroused, he slit the seal. He noted it did not have a crest to denote its origins.
There was one page, sparsely covered with elegant script. Unlike Amanda’s missive, he had no problems reading it.
My lord. Let the battle commence.
You wish to play games? So do I. But be warned, you may be the overall winner of the battle, but I my lord, well, I will win the skirmishes. Are you ready?
He thought at first there was no signature, but then he saw inscribed in tiny letters at the foot of the page:
I am not my lord, your obedient servant, I am however your willing partner. In all manner.
Judith.
‘All’ was underscored in heavy black ink.
It seemed battle lines had been drawn. In spite of his worries, Stephen threw back his head and laughed.
CHAPTER TWO
Judith stared at her companion and sighed. It was true, machinations were so much effort and angst she wondered if it was all worth it.
“Are you sure this will work?” she asked, not for the first time. “What if he suspects we have plotted? ‘Tis a long way to travel to be told no room at the inn. The stable, I fear would not be welcoming. I am allergic to horses for a start.”
Amanda laughed. “Oh you of little faith,” she said and mocked Judith for her worries. “He has no idea, and is too much a gentleman to turn you away. And once he realizes how we have plotted, you will be ensconced anyway. He would no more turn you out and cause a scandal than strip you naked and have his way with you on the billiard table.” She colored and giggled, making Judith wonder just what thoughts made her friend blush so. The picture Amanda’s words had created made Judith’s clit clench and her cunt damp.
The Perfect Gift Page 1
