by Anna Bradley
SNEAK PEEK AT
TO WED A WILD SCOT
Some brides like it wilder…
A single lady of birth, beauty, and large fortune should not have this much trouble making a match. Yet after two failed betrothals, Lady Juliana Bernard is in a bind. She must find a husband at once or lose guardianship of her beloved niece. Her childhood friend the Duke of Blackmore is her last, best hope, but once she tracks him down in Scotland, she receives startling news: the duke is already engaged.
There is one other option. The duke’s scandalous brother, Logan, Laird of Clan Kinross is to blame for the mix-up. The least he can do is make amends. Wooing does not go well at first. But just as Juliana begins to welcome the boisterous but tenderhearted Scot into her life (and her bed), secrets come between them once more. And it will take a determined husband indeed to ensure that a marriage begun in haste leads not to heartache…but to love.
Amazon: http://ow.ly/YyEb30phemY
Except
Juliana turned in a circle, unsure what to do.
What did a bride do on her wedding night, while she waited alone in her new husband’s bedchamber for him to join her? She didn’t have an answer, so she wandered about aimlessly for a bit, until she found herself back at the dressing table.
The night rail—yes, she’d change into that. Logan could walk in at any moment, and she’d just as soon be prepared when he arrived. She stepped carefully out of her wedding gown and petticoat, slipped out of her corset, then paused, unsure what to do next.
Was she meant to wear her chemise under the night rail? It seemed silly, given that Logan would remove whatever she was wearing. Unless…would he remove it? Or was the thing meant to be done quickly, without removing one’s clothing?
She didn’t know!
She’d simply have to do what she thought best, and hope it was the right thing.
She dragged her chemise over her head and hurried into the night rail, but when she caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror, she gasped. Dear God, she could see right through it! It was so thin and sheer she could see the curves of her breasts, the darker pink of her nipples, and even the shadow between her…
Juliana snatched up the matching dressing gown. She tugged it on, wrapped it tightly around her body and studied herself in the mirror. It was a bit better, but the dressing gown was as sheer as the night rail. It didn’t hide her curves so much as reveal glimpses of them, half-hidden under two entirely insufficient layers of fabric.
Very well, then. She’d wait for Logan in the bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin. Climbing boldly into his bed made her nearly as anxious as the night rail did, but it was better than standing nearly stark naked in the middle of his bedchamber.
She rushed to the dressing table and snatched the pins from her hair, then hurried through an arched doorway, hoping to find the bed on the other side of it.
She found it, and the sight of it brought her to an abrupt halt.
It was enormous.
Juliana stared at it in dismay. Four massive posts rose from each corner. They were so tall they nearly met the ceiling, and sumptuous, dark green silk hung from a heavy, carved wood canopy. It was gigantic, imposing, aggressively masculine, and so high she’d need a step stool to get into it.
Either that, or a running start.
She was still staring at the bed, biting her lip and debating whether or not she should drag the dressing table chair over when she heard the outer door open behind her.
“Juliana?”
Logan’s deep voice sent a shiver up her spine. “I’m in here,” she called, then cringed at the telltale squeak in her voice.
She heard some rustling from the other side of the door, then Logan’s footsteps drawing closer. “Are you—” he began, but then trailed off with a rough breath.
Juliana turned to find him standing in the doorway. He’d already removed the tartan cape, his jacket and his cravat. That alone would have been enough to disconcert her, but it was the look on his face that made her eyes go wide.
He was staring at her, naked heat in his blue gaze. He’d looked at her with desire before, but this…
Juliana swallowed. He looked as if he wanted to drag her to the bed and devour her as if she were a dish of cranachan. Why was he—
Oh, no. He could see the outline of her body through the dratted night rail! The candlelight behind her was shining through the fragile muslin, revealing every curve and hollow.
Scalding heat washed over her cheeks and neck. She snatched at the edges of the dressing gown to wrap it more tightly around her, but Logan’s husky voice stopped her.
“Don’t.”
She froze, her fingers twisted in the sheer fabric.
He came across the room and stopped in front of her. “There’s no need for you to be shy, mo bhean. I’m your husband now, and I think you’re…” He glanced down her body, and his throat moved in a rough swallow. “Àlainn. Beautiful.”
“You do?”
He laughed softly and reached out to drag a finger over the narrow band of ribbon at her neckline. “I didn’t think I’d been subtle about it, but you sound surprised.”
He continued to stroke that finger over her, the tip of it brushing against her skin. Juliana’s breath quickened, and her eyelids became so heavy they sank to half-mast. She wouldn’t have thought such a big, powerful man could touch her so gently.
“Get in the bed,” he murmured. “I’ll join you there in a—”
“No. I can’t.”
Logan had been gazing down at her with sleepy eyes, but that made him frown. “You can’t? We talked about this, Juliana. The marriage isn’t legal unless we consummate it.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I mean…it’s too high.” She waved a hand toward the bed, her cheeks heating. “It looks like it was made for a giant.”
Logan’s lips curved. “My wee wife.”
Juliana let out a relieved breath. That smile, the glint of humor in his blue eyes—this was the Logan she knew, the man she’d begun to trust. “I’m not wee, though I confess I could use a little help getting—” She gasped as Logan slid an arm across her back, another under her knees and swept her up into his arms. “Logan!”
“You are wee, but I don’t mind.” He carried her to the bed, his chest and shoulder muscles shifting against her as he lay her gently on her back.
He stood for a moment, gazing down at her. “Fhìnealta. Uaine air leth-shùil bòcan,” he murmured, his blue eyes glowing.
Juliana tried not to sigh.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anna Bradley writes steamy, sexy Regency historical romance. Anna’s first book, A WICKED WAY TO WIN AN EARL, won a Romantic Times Review’s Choice Award for Best First Historical. Anna lives with her husband and two children in Portland, OR, where people are delightfully weird and love to read.
Readers can get in touch with Anna via her webpage at http://www.annabradley.net, or, for all things romance (and an occasional "hot hero" pic!) please visit Anna on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/annabradley472.
It Happened at Christmas
Jenna Jaxon
IT HAPPENED AT CHRISTMAS
‘Tis the season to be scandalous…
Exiled to Bath for Christmas, Miss Portia Willingham writes to her uncle to cheer her up. The letter lands in the lap of a stranger, Nicholas, Lord Benberry, who travels to Bath in hopes of meeting the spirited young woman he only knows by the name of “Pence.” But protocol demands they be introduced, and as they don’t know each other by sight, and Portia is prohibited from attending the dances at the Assembly Rooms, they must find a more ingenious way of turning their forbidden correspondence into a Christmas romance neither one will ever forget.
More Works by this Author
Handful of Hearts series:
A Kiss Beneath the Mistletoe (Book 1)
Heart of Desire (Book 2)
Heart of Delight (Book 3)
Heart of a Scoundrel (Book 4)
/>
Hearts at All Hallows’ Eve (Book 5)
The House of Pleasure series:
Only Scandal Will Do (The House of Pleasure, Book 1)
Only Marriage Will Do (The House of Pleasure, Book 2)
Only a Mistress Will Do (The House of Pleasure, Book 3)
Only Seduction Will Do (The House of Pleasure, Book 4)
The Widows’ Club series:
To Woo a Wicked Widow (The Widows’ Club, Book 1)
Wedding the Widow (The Widows’ Club, Book 2)
What a Widow Wants (The Widows’ Club, Book 3)
Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows’ Club, Book 4)
Other titles:
Time Enough to Love
(Betrothal, Betrayal, Beleaguered, Beloveds)
A Match Made at Christmas
Married by Christmas
It Happened at Christmas
Copyright © 2019 Jenna Jaxon
All rights reserved
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the wonderful management and staff at The Gateway Inn in Kendal, England. I spent part of my time there writing this story and they were extremely helpful and catered to all my dietary needs (with delicious food). I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas at the beautiful Gateway Inn.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to once again thank my beta reader, Alex Christle, and my editor, Danielle Fine, for making this story turn out so much better than I ever thought it would! Merry Christmas to you both throughout the whole new year.
CHAPTER 1
Bath, England
Mid-December 1820
“It is extremely difficult to be enchanted with anything when one is being sent into exile, Rose.” Miss Portia Willingham sighed and propped her hand under her chin, staring out at the slate-gray sky from which flakes of snow had begun to drift. Usually, she absolutely adored the first snowfall. But not this year. Not when she wouldn’t be able to spend the holidays with her family in Bradford Abbas. It simply wasn’t fair.
“It’s still Christmas, Miss Willingham.” Seated across from Portia, Rose Hibbert, her lady’s maid, had tried to make their journey as unobjectionable as possible, although Portia’s mood had been grim from the beginning.
“But it won’t be the same this year.” This holiday more than any other should be celebrated in the bosom of one’s family, and her own family, while not lavish in their celebration, did have certain traditions Portia looked forward to with great eagerness. “I shall not be there to help bring in the greenery to decorate the manor house, nor find the mistletoe for the mistletoe ball.” Portia poked her bottom lip out. “And the family always walks to church together on Christmas morning…”
“I’m sure it will be just as pleasant at your aunt’s house.” Rose’s cheerful attitude usually lifted Portia’s spirits. This time, however, it did not work at all.
“I do like Aunt Phoebe very much, of course, but I shall still miss Cook’s mouthwatering dishes and her fabulous mince pie.” Oh, but she could taste the savory goodness this minute. “Then playing Snapdragon with Mary and Stephen and Charles. And all the other games after dinner. That’s what makes the whole Christmas season special.”
But worse upon worst, she’d have to miss her very favorite part of the celebration: traveling the day afterward into Yeovil for the Christmas pantomime.
And all because of what she’d said within hearing of the minister’s wife. “I wish I’d just bitten my tongue. Although one would think if Mrs. Sloane was a true Christian, she would be more forgiving.”
The carriage slowed, and Portia looked out the right-side window. They were stopping before a neat, yellow-stone townhouse, with a white door and a wrought iron fence in front. Fortunately for Portia, Aunt Phoebe had remained in Bath after her husband’s death more than five years before. The city was only one very long day of travel from home and had a reputation for excellent company throughout the winter months. Thank goodness Father hadn’t banished her to Aunt Sybella, who lived at least five days’ journey away, out in the wilds of Scotland, apparently miles and miles from any human contact. Considering how dismal that punishment would have been, perhaps she could bear this one with a bit of grace.
Her father’s coachman opened the door and handed her and Rose down. As soon as her foot touched the ground, Aunt Phoebe appeared, smiling as she marched toward her. Her aunt didn’t seem to have changed at all since their last meeting five year before. Smiling from ear to ear, she had the same round face with rosy cheeks, a small upturned nose, and kind blue eyes. She was followed by several servants.
“Portia, my dear.” Aunt Phoebe bussed both her cheeks and hugged her tightly. “How wonderful to see you.” Her aunt stepped back and took her in, her smile widening. “My, but you’ve turned into such a fine young lady.”
“Thank you, Aunt Phoebe.” Portia linked arms with her aunt, and they headed into the house. “I’m happy to see you as well.” Her aunt was looking prosperous in a stylish maroon silk day gown, like a woman at the forefront of Bath society. For the first time today, Portia’s spirits rose. Perhaps her exile wouldn’t be as onerous as she’d feared.
“I only wish our meeting was under better circumstances.” Her aunt’s voice suddenly sounded grave.
The reminder of her transgression sobered her. “I do too, Aunt.”
Aunt Phoebe led her into a cozy parlor as the maid and butler entered the foyer with her trunks from the carriage. “Take those directly to the green room, Evans. You can show Miss Willingham’s maid the way.” She turned back to Portia. “Please, dear, have a seat. I’ve ordered tea, as I’m certain you’re freezing after the long journey. And some of Cook’s cherry tarts.” Her aunt’s eyes twinkled in the glow from the candles that ringed the room. “I remembered how much you liked them when you came for Francis’s funeral.”
“Thank you, Aunt.” Portia returned the smile and pulled off her gloves, her mouth already watering at the memory. “It was very kind of you to remember.” The parlor was well-appointed with a comfortable-looking sofa, chairs in a smart yellow-and-blue flowered print, and most importantly, a roaring fireplace. Portia headed directly for it, holding her hands out to the friendly blaze. “Have you been well?”
“Tolerably so.” Her aunt seated herself in the big chair across from the sofa and glanced out the window. “It’s been severely cold here so far this winter. And we seem to be in for a bit of snow today. I hope it won’t keep us from taking in the sights.” Aunt Phoebe sighed. “I want to be able to show you the city while you’re here. At least the portions not forbidden to you.”
“Forbidden?” Alarmed, Portia whirled to face her aunt. “What do you mean?” She’d never heard of forbidden parts of Bath. “Is there a dangerous part of city? Or have the city officials enacted an ordinance for some reason?”
“No, my dear.” Her aunt laughed as the butler appeared with the tea tray. “Thank you, Evans.” When the servant had left, Aunt Phoebe continued, “The city itself is as safe as ever. You, however, have angered your father greatly and he’s given me strict instructions as to what you may and may not do while you’re here with me.” She poured a cup and lifted the sugar tongs. “Milk or sugar?”
“A splash of milk and two lumps, please.” Frowning, Portia turned from the warmth of the cheerful flames, stalked to the sofa, and flounced down on it. “Isn’t being sent away from home at Christmas enough of a punishment? Will Father make it worse by restricting me to…what?” She blinked back tears. “The house alone?”
“No, my dear. Nothing as severe as that.” Aunt Phoebe patted her arm then handed her the cup. “You are not bound to the house, nor even the neighborhood. We will have plenty of things to do and see while you’re here.” Sipping her own tea, Aunt Phoebe gazed over the cup at Portia. “However…”
Gritting her teeth, Portia steeled herself for the revelation.
“He was adamant that you not mistake punishment for pleasure, and therefore has forbidden you to a
ttend any entertainments at the Assembly Rooms.”
Portia’s mouth dropped open and her hand shook, almost spilling her tea. “Not attend the Assembly dances? But those entertainments are why anyone comes to Bath.”
“Well, they come for their health as well, but yes, the Assembly Rooms are quite the social center of Bath.” Aunt Phoebe set her cup down, still gazing at Portia. “It will prove a bit of a hardship, I’m sure, as the dances during the Christmas season are particularly popular and therefore well attended. Still,” her aunt continued, “there are other opportunities for you to mingle with some of Bath’s society. We can have tea at the Assembly Rooms and attend the Pump Room to take the waters. There are some lovely gardens where, although the flowers are gone, the walks are still quite splendid. And of course, we may go shopping whenever you wish.”
“This is hardly fair to me at all, Aunt.” Tears tickled Portia’s throat. She set her cup on the table and removed her handkerchief from her reticule. “Not only am I sent away from home at the best season of the year, but I’m forbidden the one pleasure that could make exile tolerable.” She grasped her aunt’s hand. “Can you not write to my father and ask him to allow me to attend the dances?”
“I’m sorry, Portia, but he’s adamant on this point. I did write to him requesting that very thing, when he first asked me to take you.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t budge on that stipulation. I feared if I continued to prod him, he might send you somewhere else instead.” Her aunt stared at her, a knowing look in her eyes. “Somewhere without benefit of any society whatsoever.”