Yuletide Happily Ever Afters; A Merry Little Set Of Regency Romances

by Jenna Jaxon

  Julian growled against her ear, “Don’t tell me that bastard never brought you to completion?”

  She blinked through the haze. “What?”

  He growled again, but this time, it was filled with passion. His hand slipped down the length of her body until it reached the heart of her desire. The moment he flicked his thumb over her pulsing nub, her hips lifted. “Again.”

  He bent down to kiss her, while his fingers worked their magic on her body. When he slid a finger into her wet core, she burst apart at the seams. She had never known a sensation like it before. If that was what he called an orgasm, it was an incredible feeling and one she wanted to duplicate.

  She didn’t have time to speak or gather her wits before he was sliding his engorged cock inside of her. She thought of all the times she’d been with Laurence and tensed slightly, waiting for the pain that would surely arrive. Instead, she moaned with the slick friction. Her joining with Julian was actually rather…pleasant. When he began to work a rhythm, her eyes widened in delighted surprise.

  Oh, this was more than pleasant.

  This was…amazing.

  She closed her eyes as sparks began to shoot along her veins. As Julian picked up the pace, she felt that now familiar rise of power beginning to build again. She bit her lip as he pounded into her until she soared to the heavens on a cry of ecstasy. Moments later, Julian groaned and spent himself inside of her, before finally collapsing.

  After a light kiss on her brow, he rolled to the side.

  Once they both caught their breath, Julian turned back to face her. He lifted his hand and brushed back a stray strand of her hair. “You’re wonderful, Mena.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her body still glowing with the aftereffects of his lovemaking.

  He grinned. “I think it’s time we went downstairs and got some sustenance.”

  “For round two?” she suggested somewhat hopefully.

  He laughed lightly. “After a brief recovery time, perhaps.”

  Once Julian had helped Mena back into her stays, they dressed in companionable silence. But when she would have wound her hair and pinned it back, he stayed her movements with a hand on hers. “Leave it down.”

  She slowly lowered her hands. “Alright.”

  As he escorted her back downstairs, she turned to him with a small smile. “I have to say I’m feeling rather famished now myself.”

  He bent down to nuzzle her neck. “Such physical activity does tend to work up an appetite.”

  A giggle escaped her lips, before Mena quickly covered her mouth with her hand. It had been years since she’d allowed herself such an uninhibited moment, but with Julian at her side, she felt like she was in the first blush of youth once more.

  After dinner, where neither one of them could barely concentrate on the delightful meal before them, they retired to the parlor. For hours they sat and talked, laughing about nothing in particular.

  Julian’s eyes were shining as he looked at her, sometime after midnight. “I suppose I should be going.”

  Mena knew it was for the best, but she was still reluctant to see him leave.

  Unfortunately, reality dared to intrude about that time. Anders appeared and held a box out to her with a polite bow. “This just arrived by messenger, my lady.”

  She sighed heavily, but took the box. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  As the servant left, she stood staring at the package for several minutes, until Julian finally intruded on her thoughts. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “I’m not sure I want to.” She walked over and set the box on a nearby table.

  He chuckled. “You’re staring at it as if you expect a snake to make an appearance.”

  Mena shrugged. “In a way, I suppose you might say that.” She turned to him. After what they had shared earlier, she felt that he deserved an explanation. “It appears that I have a secret admirer.” She waved a hand at the gift. “I’m supposed to receive twelve gifts by Christmas. At that time, my mysterious suitor is to reveal himself.”

  “Indeed?” He lifted a brow. “So what is today?”

  “I suppose it’s day seven now,” she replied evenly. “Gift number six.”

  “Well, don’t make me wait. Open it and let’s see what your admirer sent today.”

  Mena opened the box to reveal six leather-bound novels. Reluctantly, she had to smile, for she had just torn apart her library intending to replace her late husband’s boring tomes with something of more interest.

  “Books?” Julian noted. “That doesn’t seem very romantic.”

  “That would depend on what they are.” She withdrew the novels and read off the titles, “Pride and Prejudice, Northanger Abbey, Emma, Mansfield Park, Sense and Sensibility, and Persuasion.”

  “The complete works of Jane Austen,” he murmured. “I stand corrected. This fellow is a regular Casanova.”

  “And that’s not all.” Mena held a card between her fingers, before reading it aloud. “Even the most well-written novel cannot compare to the love I feel for you. Only six days remain.”

  Julian winced. “It appears that I may have a bit of competition for your attentions.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Mena put the books back in the box, along with the card. “This person is likely only playing some sort of lark.”

  He frowned. “Why do you think that? Can’t you believe that someone truly cares for you, Mena?”

  She turned to face him, her expression set. “Not a complete stranger, no. And certainly not someone who doesn’t have the courage to tell me how they feel in person.”

  “It may not be a stranger. Haven’t you considered any possibilities yet?”

  She thought of the list she’d tried to start, whereas her mind was a complete blank. “I haven’t given it that much consideration.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  Mena put her hands on her hips. “For someone who just mentioned that they had a bit of rivalry on their hands, you’re rather eager for me to find out who my possible suitor could be.”

  He dared to wink at her. “That’s only so I can pummel them for daring to outwit me.”

  DAY EIGHT

  While Mena wouldn’t have minded letting Julian linger a bit longer, and repeat their actions from earlier, she decided that it was for the best if he didn’t stay overnight. She didn’t wish to shock Marigold should she come by for an impromptu visit, only to find her mother in flagrante delicto with another man.

  At this point, she wasn’t even sure how to introduce Julian. He might have become her lover as of last night, but she wasn’t sure that was a relationship she wanted to pursue. Granted, her parents weren’t alive any longer, so they wouldn’t be here to witness how far she might have fallen from the pedestal of respectability she’d worked for years to maintain. Then again, she was actually starting to feel as if she was living her life instead of letting it pass her by.

  If Julian had taught her anything since his arrival, it was that she still had plenty of good years left. The question was, did she intend to spend them all with him as his mistress? In truth, she didn’t even know how long he planned to stay in London. She was under the impression that he was only here on business, and once that was concluded, who was to say he wouldn’t be sailing back to America?

  Until then, she still had the transformation of her townhouse to oversee. She still had the attic to complete, but at least new drapes and carpet had been ordered for the library, along with several new novels. So what was next?

  She stared at one door she’d been reluctant to enter for the past three years, although the servants went in and out of the master’s suite quite often on her instruction. There was no need for it to be ignored just because she didn’t like to venture inside. Then again, it was where she had been summoned whenever Laurence had his marital urges. After sharing a bed with Julian the night before, she certainly wasn’t comfortable reliving her years of intimacy with the earl.

  Men
a’s hand was on the doorknob, and with a deep breath, she forced herself to walk inside. The bed where Laurence had taken his last breath still looked like it did when he’d been alive. The only difference was that she didn’t dread standing here. Laurence had never been unkind to her, it was just the anxiety she felt whenever she crossed that threshold. But however awkward their couplings might have been, at least they had given her two wonderful children.

  As if drawn by Jacob’s presence, she walked over to Laurence’s dressing table and spied a miniature of their son. It had been painted just before he’d gone off to fight Napoleon. She picked up the portrait with numb fingers. “My baby boy.” Her chest still ached with the sight of his precious face. It hurt her to know that she couldn’t share any news with him, like Marigold’s pregnancy. She knew he would have been a spectacular uncle, for he’d always had a boyish charm that endeared everyone to him.

  Mena recalled that devastating moment, when Marigold had still lived at home, and they had received the message telling her that Jacob had been struck through the chest with a French bayonet. He’d died with honor on the battlefield, but Mena hadn’t cared about any of that at the time. She’d been struck with the grief that her child was dead. It had taken months for her to think of Jacob without bursting into tears.

  A single tear splashed the frame of the portrait, and Mena set the picture back down and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. Then again, there were times she still had difficulty facing the truth. He was gone.

  She squared her shoulders. And so was Laurence.

  It was time to put the past to rest and move on. That was a chapter of her life that was over. Thus, she made a mental note of what she wanted changed in the master’s chamber before she closed the door on all that pain. While it would never subside completely, Mena vowed to focus on the positive things in her life from now on. She would look to the future.

  She was about to become a grandmother, after all.

  ***

  The next afternoon, Mena’s good friend Phoebe Grant, Viscountess of Snowden, paid her call. They greeted each other with a warm embrace. She had been one of the first people who befriended Mena when she’d moved to London after her marriage. Two years older than Mena, Phoebe had also lost a son at Waterloo. Their loss had carried them through the early months when their grief had been acute. It had also brought them even closer together. There weren’t any confidences they hadn’t shared since then.

  Until now, Mena amended silently.

  After they were left alone with the teacart and a few treats, Phoebe wasted no time in clapping her hands together. “It’s so good to see you, Mena. You’re looking as well as ever. I swear you haven’t aged a bit in the intervening months Abraham and I have been abroad!”

  Mena smiled. Phoebe had always been one to embellish the truth a bit, and she was a fantastic gossip. But her friendship had always been genuine, for nothing Mena told her had ever ended up in the scandal rags London was infamous for. And with her winning smile, bouncy auburn curls, and twinkling blue eyes, it really was hard not to like her on sight. “You’re the true miracle of youth. Where did you hide that fountain?”

  Phoebe laughed. “If only I knew you could rest assured it would be transported to Abraham’s estate.”

  Mena grinned as she took a sip of her tea.

  “I can’t put my finger on it yet.” Phoebe waved her finger in front of her as if she meant to do so literally. “But there is something quite different about you. I daresay the only time I have that glow is when Abraham and I…” She stopped and her mouth fell open. “You’ve met someone!”

  Mena slowly lowered her cup. This was the inquisition she had been dreading. “It’s complicated…”

  Phoebe went on as if she hadn’t even spoken. “I can’t believe it! I’ve been here for nearly a quarter of an hour and I had to guess for myself! Why didn’t you tell me? Or more importantly…” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Who is he?”

  Mena debated on how much to tell Phoebe, but in the end, she decided that if she was looking for advice, the viscountess would be the best person to offer it, for she certainly didn’t wish to speak of Julian with Marigold. At least, not yet. “His name is Julian Solomon. I met him years ago, before I married Laurence.”

  Phoebe nearly clapped with glee. “Ooh. A secret romance. I love it. Keep going.”

  “Well, not precisely,” Mena corrected. “We were only friends.” She paused. This is where it was going to get tricky. “He recently returned to London about a week ago. I happened to stumble onto him one day while I was out shopping.” Quite literally, she thought, but did not add that bit.

  Phoebe huffed. “I doubt it was as innocent a reunion as you choose to believe.”

  Mena frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Men are treacherous creatures,” Phoebe said pragmatically. If it wasn’t for the fact she’d been happily married for twenty-five years, Mena might have thought she was speaking somewhat cynically. “They will stop at nothing to get what they want, and I have a feeling he’s returned for you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mena waved a hand and then looked down as she took another sip of her tea.

  “Am I? Tell me, has anything else transpired during the time of his resurgence?”

  Mena hesitated.

  It was enough for her friend to pounce like a cat on a helpless mouse. “I suppose it must have something to do with this mysterious suitor.”

  Mena felt her eyes widen. “How…?”

  “You’ll find that nothing escapes my hearing, even in Italy,” Phoebe returned dryly. “Come, come. Tell me the rest, for you know I will learn the truth one way or another.”

  Mena sighed. She was absolutely right. In a city like London, it was hard to keep such a secret. She was almost surprised that more people hadn’t come to her door wanting the full on dit. She explained about the packages, whereas Phoebe nodded now and then.

  When she was finished, the viscountess said rather adamantly, “They must be from this Mr. Solomon.”

  Mena circled the rim of her teacup with her finger. “I don’t know. I keep thinking it’s something of a lark. Besides,” she shrugged. “I received a package when Julian was here last night and he didn’t seem to know anything about it.”

  “Of course he’s not going to show his hand this early in the game, you peagoose!” Her companion rolled her eyes. “He wants to make sure that you are head over heels in love with him first.”

  Mena snorted. “Don’t be nonsensical. We are mature women.”

  “I am being perfectly logical and you know it.”

  “No, I don’t.” Mena set her cup down with a rattle. “All I know is that Julian is in London on business that has nothing to do with me.”

  “Are you quite sure about that?” Phoebe pointed out. “Perhaps you are his unfinished business that he has returned to complete.”

  “Alright, fine.” Mena held up her hands in surrender. “If you are so convinced that Julian is my secret admirer, then why didn’t he just declare his feelings last night when he had more than enough opportunity to do so?”

  “As if a man is thinking past a certain appendage in the bedchamber.”

  Mena couldn’t help but redden at her friend’s bold words.

  Phoebe leaned back against the settee. “Have you received anything today? By my calculations it is day number eight.”

  “No.” Mena swallowed tightly. “But they arrive at different times.”

  “In that case, there is plenty of time for you to take a ride with me in my new phaeton.”

  “You drove here?” Mena said in surprise.

  “I did, indeed.” Phoebe rose to her feet. “Can you see Abraham being able to stop me once I set my mind to something?”

  Since she couldn’t disagree, Mena stood as well. “Very well. Let’s set the ton on its ear.”

  The viscountess grinned. “Spoken like a true Englishwoman.”

  ***

  By the time they
returned to Mena’s townhouse three hours later, it was nearly five o’clock. “I daresay I’m quite famished after such a vigorous exercise!” Mena laughed as they removed their outerwear and handed it over to the butler. “I thought you were going to scare the wits out of Lady Montague!”

  Phoebe snorted. “That dragon needs some excitement in her life. All she does is gossip in the hopes of picking out the faults in others.” She waved a hand. “But enough about that old battleax. I assume you’re going to the Norrington Ball the day after tomorrow?”

  Mena nodded. “Yes, with Mari and Robbie.”

  The viscountess lifted a brow. “And here I thought you might have been escorted by your Mr. Solomon.”

  “He’s not my anything,” Mena said firmly. But just as she was about to walk toward the parlor, Anders cleared his throat. She turned around. “Yes?”

  He didn’t say a word, merely held out a silver salver with a single card on top.

  “Oh, is that what I think it is?” Phoebe asked, shooting Mena a sly glance.

  Mena ignored her and snatched the card off of the tray. It was a bit thicker than the usual notes she’d received from her admirer, but once she opened it, she realized why.

  Every day is an eternity until I see you again.

  But allow my sentiments to be expressed in the following poems.

  Even then, words do not do justice for what I feel for you.

  Mena slowly unfolded the five papers inside, all hand-written with the same, masculine hand she had come to know as well as her own over the past eight days. By the time she’d read the last one, tears had welled her in eyes, blurring her vision.

  “My. That must be some letter, indeed,” Phoebe breathed.

  With a word, Mena handed the sheets of vellum to her. Her friend read the titles aloud, “She Was a Phantom of Delight, William Wordsworth. A Red, Red Rose, Robert Burns. Fulfillment, William Cavendish. Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day? William Shakespeare. Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms, Thomas Moore.” She slowly lowered her hand, the papers still clutched in her grasp. “Whoever your mysterious suitor is, I can guarantee he wouldn’t go through all this work for a simple lark.” She paused. “This is serious, Mena.”