A Christmas Seduction: A Regency Anthology

A Christmas Seduction

A Regency Anthology

With stories from

Rachel Van Dyken, Kristin Vayden & Nadine Millard

Blue Tulip Publishing

www.bluetulippublishing.com

Copyright © 2015 RACHEL VAN DYKEN, KRISTIN VAYDEN and NADINE MILLARD

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

A CHRISTMAS SEDUCTION

A REGENCY ANTHOLOGY

TAMING THE EARL

Copyright © 2015 KRISTIN VAYDEN

CHRISTMAS KISSES

Copyright © 2015 NADINE MILLARD

MISTLETOE FOR SARA

Copyright © 2015 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

ISBN-13: 978-1-942246-78-7

ISBN-10:1-942246-78-1

Cover Art by Jena Brignola

Start at the beginning… you'll be glad you did!

Every single story is interwoven so you'll be really missing out if you skip to the end!!

Have a Merry Christmas!

PROLOGUE

“W
HEN HELL FREEZES OVER
.” Lucas Mayford, the Seventh Earl of Ashbury muttered the words and then knocked back a full snifter of brandy. Even the warm fire in the library hearth of their Mayfair townhome couldn’t break through his icy determination.

Jackson, his youngest brother coughed. “I’m quite sure that hell is the only alternative to her current plan.”

“At least it would be warm there,” Hugh, the second oldest brother added, raising his own glass of brandy.

Lucas stared into his empty glass. “As opposed to the frigid temperatures of the sure to be icy atmosphere whenever they are around.”

“Those who shall not be named!” Hugh said sagely, and Jack nodded his eager agreement.

“Does she honestly believe that we can be civil for an entire week? She does remember what happened last time she tried something of this nature.”

“If you’ll remember, she used that fire as an excuse to redecorate the parlor,” Jack added calmly, as if the house almost didn’t burn to ashes.

Not that it was through any fault of theirs.

No, that was completely on the consciences of the three hags.

Rather, the three who shall not be named.

Ever.

In fact, Lucas was quite certain that if he mentioned even one of the three names, thunder, lightning, and pestilence would cover London and send it back to the dark ages.

Yes, it was better to simply leave that stone unturned.

Of course their mother was not of the same mind.

That was probably due to the fact that she and the mother of the hags were the closest of friends. Bloody rotten luck.

It was also the reason that the Duchess of Ashbury decided to have a house party at their Wingham estate around Christmas time and invite the hags.

Lucas shuddered. May God have mercy on all their souls.

“Do you think there’s any way we can simply not show up?” Jack asked, his eyes far too hopeful for the current topic.

“Not if you value your life,” Hugh replied, chuckling darkly.

“Mother would never—”

“No. She’d not threaten you, but she would give the most perfect display of disappointment.”

“I hate that face,” Jack sighed in a most defeated manner.

“Don’t we all.” Lucas raised his empty glass then frowned as he remembered it no longer held the brandy he longed for. Striding over to the side table, he lifted the crystal container and poured himself another glass. “The unshed tears, the trembling lip… that woman is a master at manipulation.”

“If she would simply yell and stomp like a proper female—”

“Miranda is not a proper female,” Lucas interrupted his youngest brother.

“And that… is so perfectly true… being proper is vastly overrated.” He winked above his glass.

“So is whoring yourself about.” Hugh coughed.

“Be that as it may…” Jack continued. “All I’m saying is that it would be easier to dismiss our mother if she went into a fit of nerves or hysterics.”

“But she does not, so this is an obsolete conversation,” Lucas replied. “Men, we have no other choice but to attend this horror of a house party, so rather than wallow in our own pity—”

“Here, here!” Hugh interrupted.

“I wasn’t finished.” Lucas glared. “As I was saying… in the age old war between the hags and the stags, we shall create a battle plan.”

“To the stags!” Hugh shouted.

“Jack, hide the brandy.” Lucas raised an eyebrow to his youngest brother.

Jack nodded and cast an amused glance to Hugh who was still sipping his amber liquid with far too much enthusiasm.

“We will not go to this… invaded territory unarmed. But like the wise men we are, we will also expect our enemy to be armed as well.”

“Hopefully not with fire, like last time.”

Lucas twisted his lips. “Precisely. We have to be cunning, we have to be prepared. If we must attend, then let us attend and conquer once and for all.”

“Just to be clear…” Jack cleared his throat.” When you say conquer—”

“Do not finish that thought.” Lucas glared. “All conquering will be done
outside
of the bedroom—”

“You do realize that all… conquering… is not done in the bedroom.” Jack snickered.

“Jack…” Lucas warned, then bit back a grin as he approached his brother.” Do you
want
to… conquer… a hag?”

Jack’s color drained. ”Lucas… she set me on fire.” He articulated in a disbelieving tone.

“Your pretty face survived… maybe that flame started a new one—“

“Ass.”

Lucas grinned and turned to Hugh.” Do you have any questions that cannot be answered by staring at your glass?”

“No. But I rather think we should specify that any… battle… should not involve fire… for Jack’s sake.”

“Agreed,” Jack shouted.

“Agreed.” Lucas asserted. “Then let us lift our glasses to the final battle… May the stags prove their merit and emerge victorious.”

Lucas watched as the brother’s all lifted their glasses and drank.” To the stags.”

“May the hags rot.”

“M
OTHER HAS TAKEN LEAVE
of all of her senses.” Sara threw her hands up as she entered the parlor. Stomping in the most unladylike way, she flopped into a chaise lounge and sighed dramatically.

“Oh?” Meredith asked politely, wondering just what happened this time to make her youngest sister take to theatrics. Sharing an amused glance with Louisa, her second youngest sister, they simply waited for the show to begin.

“Don’t give me those looks.” Sara opened one eye and glared before rising and stealing a biscuit from the tea tray.

“Please, help yourself.” Louisa spoke with amused sarcasm.

Sara narrowed her eyes and with an annoyed grin reached out and took four more biscuits.

“So…” Meredith encouraged, curious as to what was causing their sister’s dither.

“One word,” Sara spoke, biscuit crumbs on her lips. “Wingham.”

“No.” Louisa drew out the word then shared another look with Meredith, this one not so merry.

“Yes.” Sara nodded vigorously and then stuffed an entire biscuit in her mouth as if eating would solve the problem.

“Wingham as in…?” Meredith asked, her blood starting to grow hot with simmering anger.

Sara nodded, her mouth too full to form words.

“Damn and blast.” Louisa swore.

“Louisa!” Meredith scolded, though only because she knew she ought to, not because she didn’t share the sentiment. Sara’s eyes were wide as tea saucers.

“It’s not as if you haven’t heard it before.” Louisa shook her head. “And it’s not as if the words are not entirely appropriate for the situation.”

“Be that as it may… perhaps we don’t fully understand…” Meredith turned to Sara. “Do you have any more details?”

Sara swallowed, held up a finger and then took Meredith’s teacup. After taking a long sip, she sat back down. “I was heading down to ask Father for some pin money for this lovely hat on Bond street, it’s beautiful with this pale blue that is all the rage this season—”

“Get to the point,” Louisa interrupted.

Sara glared. “Father was in his study, and the door was closed. So before I knocked I listened to make sure he was alone, and I heard him and mother talking about Christmas.” She took a deep breath.  “They accepted an invitation to the Wingham House for a week-long house party.”

“House party,” Louisa repeated.

“Yes.”

“As in more than our family.”

“Yes.”

“It’s official. Our parents hate us.” Louisa stood and stomped about the room. “Do they not remember the last time we left the Wingham House? Our hair was black with ink and we had to cut it all off! It was nothing but the miraculous grace of God that the short French hair cut was so vogue! We would have been laughed out of every London Ballroom if not for that!”

“Exactly! Which is why I barged into Daddy’s office and told him that we simply could not attend.” Sara nodded once and took a sip of tea.

“Oh, dear.” Meredith closed her eyes. “What did Father say?”

Sara mumbled quietly, “Something about him already accepting the invitation and for us to finally have the chance to prove we are ladies, not hoydens.”

“It was not our fault,” Louisa ground out.

“I hate them.” Sara glared at her last biscuit then bit it. ”
Them
… not our parents,” she clarified with her mouth full.

“When is Christmas?” Meredith asked, her mind spinning as she tried to solidify a plan. Heaven only knew what the frogs were planning. It was a war that had started before they were out of leading strings, but one that had raged for over a decade, the war between the princesses and the frogs.

They were the princesses; the Mayford brothers were the frogs. Of course she could think of a thousand more horrific names for them now, but at the tender age of seven the worst name a girl could imagine was frog. Add to that their obsession with the fairy tale of the princess and the frog, and the picture was complete.

“Christmastide is in two weeks,” Louisa answered.

“Two weeks… we can do this, ladies.” Meredith stood, straightened her shoulders. “It might be their house, but we know it better than they do. We will create a plan of both defense and offence so that we are never caught unawares. And hopefully…” She took a deep breath. “We will not need to use any of the warfare, perhaps we can simply be ladies and gentlemen—”

Louisa snorted.

Sara rolled her eyes and ate the last bit of biscuit.

“Hope springs eternal,” Meredith said in a beleaguered tone. “Regardless, we will not cower, nor will we run.”

“To the princesses!” Sara lifted the teacup and stood.

“The princesses!” Louisa repeated, a fierce gleam in her eye.

“May the frogs all croak!” they shouted together.

TAMING THE EARL

By Kristin Vayden

CHAPTER ONE