Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection

by Lana Williams

  “Wh-what do you mean?” she gasped. “We are not wed yet. I cannot lie with you!”

  “I’m not asking you to, Lydia. There are other, less hazardous ways to give a man relief. I have already shown how I can pleasure you with my hands, now I want you to do the same for me.”

  “You wish me to stroke your…your privates?” she asked.

  “Yes, Lydia” he answered in a tight voice. “I want you to fondle my aching…” He grasped her hand to demonstrate, bringing it to his crotch. Lydia recoiled, squirming beneath him in an effort to retreat, which only seemed to annoy him. “Bloody hell!” he groaned. “It doesn't have teeth! If you won’t touch me, at least allow me to rub against your body. I must have release!”

  “Release?” She froze under him. "With our clothes on?"

  “Yes! With our bloody clothes on if that’s the only way to cease this infernal throbbing.”

  “It’s painful?” she asked.

  “Bugger the questions, Lydia! It’s just damnably uncomfortable.” Marcus took a deep, calming breath. “You enjoyed the friction when you moved against me. I enjoy that too. I can use it to come to completion.”

  “Completion?” she repeated, still not quite understanding. “But—”

  “Enough!” Marcus groaned and stemmed her flow of questions with his mouth.

  Unlike his gentle hands, his kiss was hard and demanding, matching the urgent thrust and grind against that hidden place of exquisite sensation that made her body thrum. Lydia soon met his rhythm, angling her hips until her body racked once more with rapturous ripples of release. Marcus followed with shudder and collapsed atop her. They lay for several minutes in stunned silence, punctuated only by their ragged breaths, until Marcus helped her back to her feet and escorted her wordlessly back to the house.

  * * * * *

  Lydia went to bed in a daze. The evening that had portended such disaster had somehow transformed into a rite of passage from girlish innocence to awakening womanhood. It had been a night of many firsts for her—the upswept hair, the silk gown, the taste of champagne, but the most remarkable of all was her initiation to passion.

  Her hand swept her body and her lips curved at the remembrance of how Marcus had looked at her with desire in his eyes and the rapture she’d experienced. She closed her eyes with a sigh, her virginal qualms now replaced with true eagerness for her wedding night with Marcus.

  Chapter One

  Bloomsbury Square, London—1748

  MARCUS, LORD RUSSELL, slumped in a chair indolently paring his nails while his

  former school chum, now personal secretary, attended to his correspondence.

  “You’ve a letter from Cotesfield Hall,” said Mr. Nicholas Needham.

  “Do I?” He answered in a bored drawl. His brows then furrowed his brows in a fleeting frown. “I must say it’s been a very protracted interval since I heard from Miss Trent, but if she’s learned of my return to London, she’ll no doubt be importuning me to set a date. Will you fob her off for a while longer, Needham? Just use the stock excuse.”

  Nicholas rolled his eyes heavenward, answering by rote, “That to your everlasting and abject dismay, urgent business of State must take precedence over any private matters, regardless of your personal inclinations, etcetera and etcetera.”

  Marcus smirked. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s one of the chief perquisites of the Foreign Service, Needham; it gives one a valid excuse to ignore all domestic responsibilities, or at least to put them off until a more convenient time.”

  “But what if she’s already aware of your return? It has been well over a month.”

  “You’re right, Nick. No doubt she’s already got wind of it from Mother.” Marcus gave a resigned groan. “I suppose there’s no avoiding her this time.”

  If given a choice, he’d have postponed the reunion indefinitely. He’d not seen Lydia for six years—not that he’d had any burning desire to do so. When Marcus had departed for the Foreign Service on the heels of their engagement, she was still far too young to wed. Although he had left with every intention of honoring his troth within two or three years, three had turned to four, and four became five. As time passed, it became easier not to think of Lydia at all. Now, the idea of facing her as a husband-to-be seemed altogether impossible.

  “What does she write?” Marcus asked. Nick broke the seal and scanned the contents. He looked up at Marcus with a chuckle. “Why, it appears you may get your wish for perpetual bachelorhood after all. She wants to end your engagement.”

  Marcus started from his chair. “The hell she does! What’s possessed her?”

  “Perhaps she realizes your extreme reluctance to tie the knot after waiting…what is it? Five years since your betrothal announcement?”

  “Six,” Marcus snapped, his impatience growing with his agitation. “But who’s counting.”

  “Perhaps Miss Trent?” Nick needled with a quirk of his lips.

  Marcus returned a dark look. “Read it to me, Nick.”

  “By all means.” His secretary cleared his throat. “‘My Dear Lord Russell, I pray this finds you in good health.’” Nick paused. “I say, my lord, that’s quite a moving salutation from your beloved.”

  “Enough of the commentary,” Marcus growled. “Just read the damned thing!”

  “‘I was indeed in expectation of your answer after sending our melancholy news six months hence, but I quite understand the unreliability of foreign mail service and am thankful that my last letter found you safely, given your extensive foreign travels.’”

  “You see, Needham? The caprice of foreign mail. It’s an excuse that works every time.”

  Nicholas looked up from the page. “Indeed? Yet, I almost detect a hint of skepticism in her words.”

  Recalling her adoration, Marcus' lips curved into a smug half-smile. “From Lydia? Don’t be absurd.”

  “Nevertheless, she’ll surely expect a prompt reply this time, given our own English mail suffers no such erratic service. Shall I continue?” Nick asked.

  Lord Russell nodded, abandoning all of his prior affectation. “Go on then. What else does she say?” He dropped his head back and shut his eyes as Nicholas read.

  As you must know, we have had both full hands and heavy hearts here at Cotesfield Hall following dear Papa’s unanticipated demise. Although he had wished to see you and I settled before his passing, as I am yet unmarried, the estate will now fall to Cousin James, whose wife seems somewhat eager to see me settled…elsewhere.

  I must also confess to the same desire, but given your continued reticence to set a firm date for our nuptials, I am confident you will have no reservations regarding my respectful appeal to release me from our marriage contract.

  I look forward to your reply and am…

  Sincerely yours,

  Miss Lydia Albinia Trent

  Nicholas rose and dropped the letter into Marcus’ lap. “Succinctly written, and she hardly appears to have spent any tears over it,” he added in a drawl.

  “Damn the impudence of the chit!”

  “But I thought you had no desire to marry her.”

  “That’s not quite the case, Needham. I actually have no particular aversion to Lydia.” Nick regarded him blank-faced, forcing Marcus into an exasperated explanation. “You see, my friend, it’s not the idea of marriage that repels me, just the reality of it.”

  “Then where’s the rub? She has set you free.”

  “But you don’t understand at all. I was more than content with Lydia as my betrothed, just not as my wife. She has been my shield all these years, don’t you see? Only my attachment to her has protected me from all the ambitious mamas who only seek ties to a dukedom, even if remote ones. If I am freed, my life will become a purgatory of simpering debutantes.”

  “Surely a living hell,” Nick replied.

  “Precisely.” Marcus answered, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “Don't you think taking a wife would be expected at such a point in your
career?” Nick asked.

  “I suppose you are right.” Marcus heaved a martyr’s sigh. “Should I release Lydia, God knows how long it could take to find another suitable prospect, let alone one so acceptable to my family.”

  “I can see the dilemma. The Duke of Bedford would hardly look favorably upon any of his family matched with some merchant chit.”

  “Nor does my uncle wish to see me living indefinitely out of his pocket. I need a bride, Needham, and to be truthful, I haven’t the inclination to expend the effort of wooing another.”

  “But you never truly wooed the first time,” Nicholas corrected.

  “Precisely.” Marcus smiled. “Thank God I was saved that indignity. Our families arranged the entire business. I just showed up for the celebratory toasts. Poor thing was barely out of the schoolroom at the time, though she did hold some promise.”His mouth quirked at the hazy memory of the young girl, whose blushing innocence he'd corrupted under the tree swing.

  “I had hoped to postpone the dreaded deed, but perhaps I am only kicking at the pricks.” He gazed down at the delicate feminine script and his smile altered into an exasperated grimace."Damn it all! I can’t afford this kind of distraction right now. If I ever wish to advance beyond the post of undersecretary, I must accompany Lord Sandwich to Aix-la-Chapelle for the peace congress. It’s an opportunity I can’t afford to miss. If I'm not chosen, the consular position I’ve worked so hard for will surely fall to some far less deserving sod.”

  “But now you have little choice in the matter. The lady herself is calling it off.”

  Marcus replied with a scoffing laugh. “No, Nick. I beg to differ on that front. She has asked to be released. ‘Tis quite another thing.”

  “I hate to gainsay you, but she’s clearly breaking it off. She was only providing you an opportunity to save face and bow out with grace. But it hardly matters. The world at large knows it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

  “Then I’ll just have to change it back,” Marcus said.

  “How?”

  “You will write… No, wait.” Letter in hand, he leaped from the chair. “On second thought, since this is a matter of considerable delicacy, I’d best handle it myself.”

  Needham gave him a dubious look.

  “What? I’m a damned statesman, aren’t I? What kind of diplomat would I be if I can't even make peace with my own betrothed?”

  “I only question your ability to sound suitably contrite. Humility has never been your strong suit.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Marcus drawled. “Lydia will be begging me to wed her when I am finished with her.”

  “Indeed? And just how do you expect to achieve such an about-face?” Nick asked.

  Standing at the mantel mirror, Marcus fussed with his lace cuffs, adjusted his cravat and paused to admire his reflection. “I’ll beguile her with the full power of my persuasive charm.”

  “And should that fail?”

  Marcus turned to his secretary with a slow, devious grin. “Why, Nick, I’d have thought the answer obvious. I’ll just have to ruin her.”

  Chapter Two

  Derbyshire, England—1748

  “HA! WHAT ABSOLUTE TARADIDDLE!” Lydia laughed.

  “What is it, Lyddie?” Her cousin Mariah looked up from her book.

  “This letter from Lord Russell,” Lydia replied.

  “So he’s finally deigned to answer you after all these months?”

  “Yes,” Lydia said, “but only after I wrote a second time, requesting an end to our engagement. It’s probably only fear of his mother’s wrath that even prompts his response.”

  “Wait!” cried Mariah. “Did I hear correctly? You actually wrote to break it off with him?”

  “I did.” Lydia gave a firm nod of resolution. “He has left me in quite an untenable state.” Although no one had expected an early wedding, neither would any have believed over half a decade would pass with no move on Lord Russell’s part to enact the promised nuptials.

  “But I thought you loved him madly,” Mariah said.

  “Yes. Loved. Past tense. When I was a girl, I believed him the most handsome and dashing man in the universe, even after he showed up foxed to the gills for our betrothal party.”

  “But no more?”

  Every night Lydia had replayed the memory of the moonlit garden in her dreams only to awaken breathless and aching with frustration. Marcus had initiated her to passion only to leave her to her own devices for six unfulfilled years. She shook off any remaining wistfulness in her reply. “No, Mariah. His extended absence has been the cure for my madness. My mooncalf days are long expired. I shall wait upon Marcus Russell no longer.”

  “I still can’t believe you decided to break it off with him after waiting so very long.”

  “Neither can Lord Russell fathom the notion, if this preposterous reply is any indication.” Lydia chuckled. “It must be more than his vanity can bear. The man is truly an incontestable cad. Do you know I never even received a word of condolence from Marcus upon Papa’s passing? Laughably, he now thinks to atone with some flimsy excuse about his duties abroad and the Continental mail service.”

  “Well, what does he say?” Mariah implored.

  “I may as well share it with you. I daresay you’ll find this highly diverting.”

  Lowering her voice an octave and assuming a tone of great self-importance, Lydia read.

  My dearest Miss Trent,

  It is with the most abject desolation that I have learned of Sir Timothy’s demise. Please believe I am deeply grieved and utterly chagrined that you have attended me so long unanswered.

  While my position as undersecretary to the Plenipotentiary General has kept me inordinately occupied with urgent matters of State, even this should not have delayed my response, had I not been at the mercy of the accursed, unpredictable foreign mail service. Having now offered up such a pitiful explanation, I ask that you please accept my most heartfelt condolences at your loss.

  Lydia exhaled an exasperated huff. “Can you believe he expects me to swallow this honey-coated tripe?”

  “He does sound sincere,” Mariah remarked.

  “Of course he does! He’s a diplomat. It’s his job to hedge, evade, dither and dissemble.”

  “Well, if this letter is representative of those dubious talents, he should have quite a promising future.” Mariah grinned. “What else does he say?”

  Lydia continued.

  Regarding the further contents of your missive in which you requested an end to our betrothal, nothing, dear Lydia, could be further from my wishes. While I daresay my extended absence might be perceived as apathy to any lady of the least sensibility—let alone one in a heightened state of bereavement—pray believe such an assumption would be far from truth.

  While stationed abroad for my extended tour, I dared not even think of you for the torture of my heart, but as the day of my return approached, you ever occupied more of my thoughts and animated my dreams.

  Lydia paused. “I’m beginning to fear my stomach may expel my breakfast if I continue.”

  Mariah pealed with laughter. “But you can’t stop now. You’re just getting to the good part!”

  “What does he think I am? Some lifeless, languishing lack wit? Does he believe I’ve locked myself away all this time, just awaiting the day he would deign to honor his troth? Lackaday, Mariah!” she cried in vexation. “His conceit is beyond credence!”

  “But what more does he say of your betrothal?” Mariah prompted.

  Lydia scanned the next page. “I can hardly decipher through all this ludicrous flummery. Ah, here it is at last.” She paced the room as she read.

  There is nothing I look forward to with greater anticipation than my return home when I shall call immediately upon you. I live in the confidence that any perceived differences between us will promptly be resolved. Until that hour, dearest Lydia, I remain…

  Your most humble and willing servant,

  Marcus, L
ord Russell

  “Humble? He doesn’t know the meaning of the word! Can you believe the pure gall of the man?” Lydia finished with an unladylike snort.

  “One can’t but remark on his confidence,” Mariah laughed.

  Lydia spun around to face her cousin who had knowingly fueled the fire. “Lord Russell is completely deluded if he thinks to placate me.”

  “What will you do now, Lyddie? How will you answer him?”

  “Regrettably, not as I wish. I would send him straight to the devil but for his darling mother. She was like a sister to my own dear Mum. The two of them conspired this match the day I was born, you know. It would have broken Mama’s heart to know what a feckless rogue he turned out to be. Papa lost patience as well. He spoke more than once of calling Marcus to task—to bring him up to scratch, so to speak.”

  “So you would now do so yourself?”

  “Ha! I wouldn’t have him now, were he gilded!”

  Mariah looked shocked. “Isn’t emasculation a bit harsh?”

  “Not gelded, dearest. Gilded, as in covered in gold, although gelding might well be what he really deserves! No, Mariah,” she replied. “My feelings for Marcus Russell are long dead. No matter what he may say or do, I shan’t be the least moved.”

  Chapter Three

  Dearest Lydia,

  Though my duties at this time preclude any travel outside the capital, I beg that you would accept my most humble invitation to town, where we might discuss this most grievous and distressing misunderstanding. I have taken the liberty of notifying Mother, who has already prepared a set of rooms at Russell House in anticipation of your arrival, where you may be assured of every comfort and accommodation as our most honored guest. The family carriage will be dispatched with all haste upon your reply. Until then, I eagerly await and constantly remain…