by Suzan Butler, Emily Ryan-Davis, Cari Quinn, Vivienne Westlake, Sadie Haller, Holley Trent
“You’re not serious?”
“Have you forgotten how we got together, baby?”
“No. But that’s us. That’s not Van, Cole and us. Plus she’s…female.”
His mouth quirked. “So if she was another he, you’d consider it?”
Heat blasted up her neck and into her cheeks. “No,” she said primly. “I am in a committed relationship. Therefore, I have no need for threesomes, foursomes or moresomes. You are all I want.”
“Glad to hear it and ditto.” He pushed back her hair and she smiled, rubbing her cheek over his palm. Thank God this conversation was over.
“But, you know, that doesn’t mean we can’t ever experiment. Just as an one-off thing.” His nonchalant tone didn’t fool her for a minute.
She looked up at him, unable to hide her shock. “You really want to do this? You want to see me and Cole…again? And you want to…with Van? Maybe even me and Van—” She couldn’t even speak around the embarrassment clenching her throat. As far as they’d come in the past year, she still had her shy moments. This qualified. “I’m not a lesbian.”
“No one said you were,” he soothed. “You can do what you want, honey. I’m just saying, if you wanted to try something new, I’m game.”
“Of course you are,” she muttered. Damn, men were all the same. Complete horndogs.
She, on the other hand, was not getting the least bit wet at the idea of getting to be with Cole again. With Des watching. Even with Van watching.
Maybe she was a freak.
“It wouldn’t change anything with us. One night, then it would be back to business as usual.” He tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “Maybe then Cole and Van would finally stop filling this place up with so much frigging sexual tension. It’s really distracting.”
“Only if you’re a pervert at heart. And y’all are, every one of you.”
Des brushed a kiss over the top of her head. “You aren’t? What the hell are you doing with me?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “I love you.” She swallowed and lowered her gaze to the small heart promise ring she wore on her left hand. They were engaged to be engaged, as he’d said. She looked at that ring so much it was a miracle the diamond hadn’t popped out yet from the force of her stare. “I want to make you happy.”
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He cupped her face in his palms, his sea-colored eyes steady on hers. “You do. Every day. Every minute. You’re more than enough for me. Forever.”
Hearing that, believing it, made it so much easier to pursue the things she was curious about, even if she couldn’t quite admit them to him—or herself. “It’s the same for me.”
“I know, baby. That’s why there isn’t anything we can’t try together. Nothing will harm what we have. It’s not possible.”
Wendy lowered her lashes. “Maybe Cole won’t want to.”
They both laughed at the ridiculousness of that statement. Yeah freaking right. Cole was up—literally—for everything.
“Okay,” she whispered, meeting Des’s gaze. Every emotion she needed to see resided in those warm blue-green depths. Affection. Trust. Love. “Talk to Cole.”
Coming early 2015:
Stripped, the story of Cole and Vanessa,
with special naughty guest appearances by Wendy and Des.
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Titles by Cari Quinn
Lost in Oblivion: Twisted (with Taryn Elliott)
Lost in Oblivion: Rock, Rattle and Roll (with Taryn Elliott)
Lost in Oblivion: Rocked (with Taryn Elliott)
Lost in Oblivion: Seduced (with Taryn Elliott)
No Promises Required
Drawn Deep
Proving His Worth
Guarding His Heart
Protecting His Assets
Shadowboxer
Tempted By His Best Friend
No Romance Required
Nailing His Target
Dirty Distractions
Love Bites
Melt
Need Me
Test Shot
No Flowers Required
Cowboy Lust: Riding Double
Virgin Territory
Heart Signs
No Dress Required
Unwrapped
Hot Text
Bad Kitty
Provoke Me
Insatiable
Reveal Me
Personal Research
Ex Appeal
Full Disclosure
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn saves the world one Photoshop file at a time in her job as a graphic designer. At night, she writes sexy romance, drinks a lot of coffee and plays her music way too loud. When she’s not scribbling furiously, she’s watching men’s college basketball, reading excellent books and causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.
Visit Cari at www.cariquinn.com to sign up for her brand new newsletter! And for sexy excerpts, book teasers, mancandy and lots of contests, feel free to join her Facebook reader group WORD WENCHES with Taryn Elliott! https://www.facebook.com/groups/346424552124487/
A MARQUESS FOR CHRISTMAS
Vivienne Westlake
Copyright
A Marquess for Christmas
Copyright © 2012, 2014 by Vivienne Westlake
Edited by Lorena Streeter
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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 author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
LICENSE NOTES
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the original vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to Kara and Lisa for their endless guidance, support, and unconditional love.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the prodding of Eden Bradley, who convinced me that I needed to write a Christmas book.
Thank you to my editor, Lorena Streeter, and the people who beta read this book for me: KB Alan, Marie Hall, Suzanna Medeiros, and Lia Sebastian.
To the ladies at Romance Divas, thank you for your support, advice, chat challenges, and the wonderful friendships I’ve made. I am also grateful to everyone at Write Chat. You were there with me as I wrote most of this book.
Jax Cassidy, you are always there for me and I am so thankful to call you my friend.
Thank you to Linda H. and Sofia Harper, who read my many emails and are always willing to give me input on blurbs, excerpts, and cover drafts. We’ve grown so close this year and I am glad to share this journey with you.
A special thanks goes to Gemma Halliday and Amanda Brice who have generously shared their knowledge of indie publishing with me and many others.
Thank you to all the fans of Lady Northam’s Wicked Surrender; you’ve in
spired me and reminded me why I write.
Lastly, I want to thank Elizabeth Lowell and Beverly Jenkins. Reading your books made me want to touch people in the same way that your words touched me. It was so nice to meet you at RWA conference and I will be forever grateful to you for all that you have given to the romance community.
Chapter One
England, November, 1815
A fist nearly rammed the side of his face, but Daniel, Marquess of Kittrick, managed to give it the slip with a swift turn of his torso. He could see the fraying strands of cotton from the strips of cloth taped around Freddy’s hand. An inch or two closer and he’d have a black eye. Kit shifted to resume his fighting stance, bracing his legs apart and raising his fists, watching for a tell-tale sign of his opponent’s next move. Freddy merely stared back, his blue eyes betraying nothing.
They were covered in perspiration, both shirtless to the waist, despite the drafty room and ominous clouds outside. Kit would’ve been happy to fight out in the cold, but Freddy had said he didn’t want to box in the rain. Not that there’d been a single drop as far as he could tell. But the duke insisted on fighting indoors.
Freddy had blamed foul weather, but Kit knew the truth. The duke was hiding from his wife, not the storm.
“I could tell Isabella about this afternoon’s excursion,” Kit warned. She’d given them leave to go riding and pursue their sports, but Bella would scream if she caught them boxing again. Though she’d find out sooner or later given the red patches forming on Freddy’s light skin. He’d be purple and blue tomorrow.
“I should think the duchess would applaud me. You deserve a good thrashing. And you know she’s been wanting to give you one ever since you were a babe.”
He grimaced. Of course she had. His sister couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking for himself—or worse, ruining the family name—so she’d taken every possible opportunity to correct him, which inevitably meant torturing him until he gave in to her demands.
“She may have good reason, but you surely do not.”
Freddy’s eyebrows waggled. “Are you sure?” He kept moving them until Kit couldn’t help but laugh, and then he threw a cross punch. Kit’s cheek stung with the burn of a hundred needles, but he shook it off. He should’ve seen that coming.
“So what is your grievance against me?”
“Do I need one to defend my wife?” He flexed his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side, but kept his fists at the ready. They hadn’t fought in six months, but obviously Freddy had been practicing.
“Bella is the one haranguing me. What have I done to offend Her Grace?”
The grin his brother-in-law gave would have convinced a nun to run off to Gretna Green. It made Kit want to jab him. “You insulted Miss Hargrove. And you made improper suggestions to Miss Glenworth.”
Freddy could care less if Kit insulted half the debutantes in town. This was merely an excuse to box him and avoid his wife’s punishment.
“I told you both yesterday that I wouldn’t marry Miss Hargrove if she had diamonds coming out of her arse.” The woman was a petite blond shrew with striking elven features who seduced men with her looks, then skewered them with her sharp tongue. If he took her to wife, Miss Hargrove would send him to Bedlam in a fortnight.
Behind his muffled hands, the duke’s grin widened. “If I was not married to your sister, I’d jump at the chance to marry a chit with diamonds coming out of her arse.”
Kit laughed and while his brother-in-law chuckled, he jabbed and cross punched him in the ribs. Unfortunately, the cross punch opened up Kit’s guard and Freddy undercut him in the side, beneath his armpits.
“Damn it, Freddy.”
The Golden Duke shrugged. “You are slacking today. I have not seen you this piss poor since that day against the ugly Flemish kid back at Eton.”
“I would be doing much better if I hadn’t lost a thousand pounds to you at hazard.” Though it was his own fault for drinking Scotch and throwing dice. Kit knew better, but he could only spend so much time with his sister before he was downing whiskey like a parched man in the desert.
“Do not play what you can’t afford to lose, brother.”
Of course Freddy would throw that back in his face. Kit had said that to him often enough, when the duke got too deep in his cups and gambled a little too freely. Since when had they switched roles?
“Tomorrow, it’s picquet and I’ll double the bet.”
“Then I shall be two thousand richer. Maybe I’ll buy Bella a new coach and a team of horses.”
Kit never took his eyes from his opponent, waiting for him to drop his hand or narrow his stance. Freddy could be quite chatty, especially when he thought he had the upper hand.
“I think Bella would be happier if you bought me a new wife. Perhaps she should start offering a dowry for me instead of the other way around.”
“Ha! What should we sell you for? I do not think there is a high market for battered and bruised marquesses who care more about games of hazard—and breaking other men’s noses—than they do about Court and the manners of good society. What do you think? Five hundred? A thousand?”
Kit raised his chin, throwing his nose in the air. “Do you not mean a handsome, rich blueblood with five estates and a good bedside disposition?” He grinned. “What woman could resist that? You should ask for ten thousand.”
Freddy laughed and took a swing. Kit dodged him this time, ducking low. They squared off a moment, each getting in a good punch, before they clinched arms around one another—preventing either from getting a good blow in.
Freddy loosened his hold and they resumed their fighting stances.
“You know that you will end up giving in to Bella. So why do you resist? Pick a pretty marchioness, stick her in the country and be done with it.”
They’d been over this countless times. Kit had no desire to marry. At least not now. He didn’t want some innocent, proper miss without the sense of a sow and he certainly didn’t want a nagging harpy like his sister.
He would never consider dropping his bride off in Essex or Dover and seeing her twice a year, when duty required him to. He’d seen the damage that could do. His aunt had spent her last years lonely and embittered because she’d loved a man who only cared enough for her to send a letter at Christmas and Easter. The infernal reprobate had not even visited her when she was on her deathbed.
To hell with a frosty, vacant marriage. He did not need the money and he could care less about gaining political connections. “No. I like my life as it is.”
He had his companions. Courtesans and actresses for the most part—or the occasional widow. His women never expected more than a few months of frolic and fun. When it was over, they kept their baubles and he kept his freedom.
“If you wait too long, you’ll be so scarred and unsightly no decent woman will have you. By then your prick will be limp and stale and incapable of siring an heir.”
He might as well be talking to Bella. “If you had not used the word ‘prick’, I’d swear that you were my sister in disguise.”
Freddy raised his eyebrows. “But we are right. You are thirty-three for Christ’s sake. How long are you going to keep throwing your face in front of any fist that will have you?”
Kit got the opening he wanted. “You wish you were me.” He punched Freddy in the jaw so hard that the duke staggered back, blood running down his lip.
Do not feel guilty. He begged you to fight him. Kit said nothing, but grabbed a cloth from a table and handed it to Freddy. As he cleaned up, Kit went to the wooden bench, where their clothes were still strewn about, and sat down.
“No, Kittrick. I wish no such thing.”
When Kit gave him a pointed look, his brother said, “You think marriage is such a trial and your sister the biggest trial of all. But I love Bella. Faults and everything.” Freddy sat down at the table. “Your problem is that you have little care for anyone but yourself.”
A warm hand rested on Kit’s shoulder and Freddy shook his head. “I don’t doubt that you love me and Bella in your own way. But the first person on your mind is always you, Daniel. When was the last time you went out of your way for someone else?”
It was not true. Had he not come to Oakfield Manor to spend the winter with his family? Because he could think of a hell of a lot more interesting things to do than spending six weeks in the country with Bella and Freddy. But Bella always had a hard time with the holidays. It reminded her too much of the death of their parents.
“Mind your own bloody business, Frederick.”
“Take care of yours and I will.”
* * * *
Violet glanced up at the amber and amethyst sky, knowing that time was not her friend. Frost covered the nearby trees and the ground was thick with snow. She needed to get back home before the next storm hit. She’d lingered too long at the Crofts’ farm.
“Can you travel more speedily?” she asked the driver.
“My lady, the ground is slippery. It is not safe to travel any faster.”
She bit her lip. It was her own fault, not Hinkley’s, but she had no wish to be out in the midst of a storm.
Crossing her arms, she bundled herself against the cold afternoon air. As she adjusted her pelisse, the curricle came to a halt and jerked her forward.
When she looked up, there was a man standing in the road, but his face was shielded by the shadows of his top hat. His clothes were well-made, but frayed at the edges, and obviously cut for a different frame.
“My good lady, if ye wish to pass, ye’ll need to pay a toll.”
This was no fine highwayman of legend, despite his polite words. She could see now that a few of his teeth had rotted and his face was scruffy and weathered.