Wicked Christmas (Regency Sinners 8) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

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  About The Author

  Other books by Carole Mortimer

  Regency Sinner 8

  Wicked Christmas

  By

  Carole Mortimer

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2018 Carole Mortimer

  Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper Designs

  Editor: Linda Ingmanson

  Formatter: Matthew Mortimer

  ISBN: 978-1-910597-67-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  DEDICATIONS

  My husband, Peter

  Chapter 1

  Stonewell House, London,

  December, 1816

  “I have to admit, I shall be pleased when I no longer have to share these with our son,” Nik Sinclair, the Duke of Stonewell, murmured with satisfaction.

  And why should he not feel satisfied when his cock was buried in the heat of his wife’s cunny and he feasted on the heavy swell of her bare breasts?

  In truth, he had been rather proud of Angel’s decision to feed their son herself rather than pass the baby off to a wet nurse, and there was no doubting that Joshua had thrived on his mother’s milk. But Nik was also somewhat relieved Angel was now weaning their four-and-a-half-month-old son, and Nik would soon have these delicious breasts all to himself again.

  Angel’s fingers threaded through his dark hair as he licked and suckled her nipples and thrust his cock slowly in and out of her tight channel. “I thought you partial to the milk yourself?”

  “I was. I am,” he groaned as he sucked a little of that delicious nectar into his mouth. “But I prefer not to share. Even with our son.”

  Angelique chuckled at her husband’s possessive tone, ever thankful for the closeness and happiness the two of them now enjoyed together. A year ago, the gulf between them had seemed so wide, she had feared their marriage of three years would not survive it.

  They and their marriage had not only survived that rift but were all the stronger for it. Angelique’s adjoining bedchamber had been turned into a nursery for Joshua as she now shared her husband’s bed every night. Nik also spent many more of his days at home with her and their son since resigning from working as a spymaster for the Crown a year ago.

  They very often spent part of those days, as they were doing currently, taking advantage of their son’s afternoon nap by enjoying each other to the fullest.

  They had been in London for two weeks, Christmas shopping, and this was their last afternoon in town before they traveled back to their estate in Kent tomorrow. Returning a few days before Christmas would give them the time they needed to prepare for the arrival of their closest friends, and their wives and children, all of whom would be joining them for the Festive Season.

  Secure in her husband’s love, Angelique now readily gave herself up to the pleasure and ecstasy Nik’s lovemaking always aroused in her. She undulated her hips to meet the increasingly hard and fast thrusting of her husband’s cock deep inside her slick heat, gasping and groaning her pleasure as she felt the contracting of her pussy walls in warning her climax was imminent.

  “Come with me, love,” she encouraged, her hands grasping Nik’s bottom, her fingers digging into that muscular flesh as she felt the pulsing of their mutual climax. Bone-melting pleasure suffused her body as Nik’s seed flooded her channel.

  “Dear God, that was incredible, Angel.” Nik groaned into the curve of her neck several long minutes later. “I had wondered—” He broke off without finishing the sentence, his breath a warm caress against her skin, her red hair a silky curtain against his cheek.

  “Yes?”

  He raised his head. “I was concerned if our lovemaking would be the same after Joshua was born. But it is more. So much more,” he stated emotionally.

  “Dr. Easton—”

  “Do not mention that man’s name in our marriage bed!” Nik scowled darkly.

  Angelique gave another chuckle. “Anyone would think you did not like the good doctor.”

  His jaw tightened. “He has seen parts of you no husband wishes to share with another man.”

  “He is a doctor.”

  “He’s also too young and handsome for any husband’s peace of mind. Doctors should necessarily be born old!”

  “Is he handsome?” She raised innocent brows. “I had not noticed.”

  “Liar,” Nik scoffed.

  Angelique shrugged. “He must be aged in his early thirties, so not that young, and he has always treated me with the utmost professional respect.”

  “I do not think it respectful for him to have advised you on what positions of lovemaking were safest and would be most comfortable during your pregnancy. Or,” her husband continued as she would have spoken, “that vigorous lovemaking during your final weeks could precipitate your contractions.”

  “But was he not proved correct?”

  Nik’s brow lowered in a scowl. “That is hardly the point, Angel.”

  She laughed. “It is exactly the point. We had a whole week of ‘vigorous lovemaking’ before my pains started, and Joshua arrived only three hours later.”

  “True,” he conceded begrudgingly. “God, Angel,” he added with feeling, “if anything, you are more beautiful and responsive now than you were before.”

  “I should hope so. I had taken on the proportions of an elephant just before Joshua was born.”

  “Your body was ripe with child and utterly desirable,” he corrected sternly.

  “I was also rapacious in my physical demands,” she recalled fondly.

  “Something I will never, ever complain about.” Nik kissed her long and deeply. “I—” He broke off as a knock sounded on the door of their bedchamber. “What the hell…! I have given instructions we are not to be disturbed during the afternoons.” He frowned as he rose to his feet to pull on his robe and secure the belt about his waist before crossing the room to wrench open the door. “What is it, Gulliver?” he snapped at his butler.

  The man looked somewhat abashed. “I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but there is a…gentleman downstairs.” The curl of the butler’s top lip said the visitor was not a gentleman at all. “He insists he has come here straight from Newgate on an urgent matter.”

  Nik’s brows rose to his hairline. “The prison?”

  “Just so, Your Grace.”

  “And he is waiting downstairs to speak with me?”

  The butler’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “I asked him to wait outside, Your Grace.”

  Nik could only surmise in what condition this so-called gentleman had come here that his butler had required the man remain outside the house. “Take him to the kitchen and give him some warming broth while I dress,” he instructed tersely. “I will be do
wn shortly.”

  By the time he had closed the door and turned, Angelique had risen from the bed to pull on her own robe and fastened it. “You do not suppose this has anything to do with my mother?” She chewed worriedly on her bottom lip.

  Nik took her in his arms. “She has been dead almost a year, Angel.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts, my love.” His palms cradled each side of her face. “That part of our lives is well and truly over. She will never hurt you or any of us ever again,” he promised.

  She nodded. “Perhaps this has something to do with your years as spymaster?”

  “Perhaps,” he acknowledged noncommittally. “Whatever this man wants with me, I am sure it has nothing to do with your mother.” Nik smiled reassuringly before kissing Angel gently on the lips.

  Despite Nik’s assurances, Angelique could not help but worry after he had dressed and gone downstairs to talk to his visitor.

  The two of them had not discussed her mother this past year, or the events leading to that lady’s death, but that did not mean Angelique was not always aware of her mother’s malignant specter hovering over her shoulder, just waiting to destroy Angelique’s happiness for a second time.

  Chapter 2

  Newgate Prison,

  London.

  “Uppity French bitch!”

  “Thinks she’s too good for the likes of us!”

  “Maybe we should teach ’er a lesson she ain’t gonna ferget in a ’urry?”

  Monique cringed into the corner of the dank and foul-smelling prison cell she shared with at least a dozen other women, several of whom had taken exception to both her French name and her presence.

  As if it was Monique’s choice to find herself incarcerated in one of the Prince Regent’s most notorious and unsavory prisons!

  It most certainly was not. She would not be here at all if she had not been walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. Monique had been passing an affray on the pavement, where several prostitutes were being loaded into the back of a barred carriage, only to be mistaken for the same and bundled inside with those other women, despite her protests. Protests those prostitutes had obviously taken exception to.

  Nor, despite her name, was Monique in the least French. Admittedly, she had been born to a French mother, but in London two and twenty years ago. Her mother, an unmarried seamstress, had duly named her Monique out of an affection for her own mother.

  Unfortunately, with the end of England’s lengthy war against Napoleon only a little over a year old, that French name now condemned Monique in the eyes of even the lowest of whores.

  She had only been held a prisoner here for some hours, but during that time, the other female inmates had robbed her of her cloak, bonnet, and gown, along with her shoes. As it was December, and it had been snowing outside when Monique was taken into custody and incarcerated, and she now wore only her undergarments, she was also bitterly cold. Her face, hands, and blonde hair, as well as her few remaining clothes, were now covered in goodness knows what detritus from the disgusting substances on the floor. She had only managed to maintain what little coin she had on her because it was secreted away in a pocket sewn into her drawers.

  Even that coin was gone now, Monique having given it to one of the prison guards in the hope that, once he was off duty, he would do as she had requested and go to the only people she knew who might be able to help her.

  Might being the appropriate word.

  There was no guarantee the guard would not just pocket her money and leave her here to rot. Even if he did go to the Duke and Duchess of Stonewell, Monique had been dismissed from their employ a year ago. As such, she was unsure whether or not they would even remember her, let alone be willing to assist her in being released from this hellhole.

  “’Em’s pretty rosebuds on her chemise and drawers,” one of Monique’s tormenters noted as they stood over her menacingly.

  “I’ll fight ya for ’em,” remarked another.

  “Make it easier fa the guards to ’ave a go at ’er bare titties and cunny,” added the third before the three women descended on Monique like crows feasting on carrion.

  Even as Monique attempted to fight off the attack, she knew that if the duke and duchess refused to help her, and there was every reason to suppose they might, she feared the enmity her fellow prisoners harbored against her might result in her death long before she had the chance to appear before or appeal to a magistrate in regard to her innocence in any wrongdoing.

  “Good God, man, she’s completely naked!”

  “She were dressed when I left ’er.”

  “Really? Are you sure you are not the one who removed her clothes before you took her money?”

  “Now look ’ere, I’m not responsible for what ’appens between ’er and the other ladies when the guards ain’t looking.”

  “I do not suppose it is your responsibility either that she has been beaten near to death?”

  “I came and got ya, din’t I?”

  Monique was barely aware of the utter silence of the female voices around her. All she could hear was the conversation of the two men, one strong and confident, the other whining, as they discussed how she had been left here naked and beaten so badly by her attackers that both her eyes were swollen shut. Her bottom lip was also split and bleeding, and the whole of her body one throbbing and painful ache from the blows that had rained down upon her before she lay unmoving on the dirty floor and the last of her clothes were stripped from her body.

  Monique gave a pained groan as gentle hands now helped her to sit up before something soft and warm was placed about her shoulders and then wrapped about her before she was lifted into strong arms.

  “You will be hearing more from me about this,” her savior warned through gritted teeth as he straightened. “All of you will,” he added in warning.

  “’Ere, you can’t just take ’er out of ’ere wivout a by your leave,” the guard protested.

  “Who’s going to stop me?” her rescuer challenged. “You?”

  “Well. No. But—”

  “Then get out of my way,” he was instructed coldly.

  Monique could only assume the guard had done so, as her savior began to walk, holding her cradled carefully against his hard chest. She heard locks and doors opening at a single command from her savior before he strode through those open doorways. Monique gave a whimper as she was at last able to draw fresher air into her lungs.

  “Dear God, Nik…” a voice Monique recognized as belonging to the Duchess of Stonewell—meaning her strong and confident rescuer was the duke himself?—gasped in distress as Monique felt herself being lowered onto what she could only presume was the softness of a carriage seat. “Who did this to her? Why?” A gentle hand stroked Monique’s forehead, the only place, Monique believed, she was not bruised or bleeding.

  “A case of mistaken arrest,” the duke bit out harshly. “Which I shall deal with later,” he added grimly. “The only thing that matters now is that we get Monique back to Stonewell House and immediately send for a physician to attend her.”

  Knowing she was safe, at least for the moment, Monique at last allowed herself to drift off into blessed blackness.

  She woke again when, she assumed, as her eyes were still swollen shut, a physician examined her. Each movement of her body caused a fresh whimper of pain to escape her dry and bleeding lips.

  “Nothing appears broken, only badly bruised,” the doctor finally announced briskly. “She still has all her teeth, and I can see no evidence to suggest she has been violated, either vaginally or anally.”

  A tear escaped from beneath Monique’s sealed lids at the memory of the humiliating intimacy of the examination the doctor had needed to carry out to be able to make such a pronouncement.

  “I believe a bath to make her more…comfortable,” the physician advised with obvious distaste for her soiled and bedraggled state, “followed by complete rest and a light diet. She should be well enough to trave
l in a couple of days.” The sound of the duke’s and doctor’s voices could be heard moving away from the bed and then outside in the hallway.

  Travel?

  Monique had no plans to travel anywhere. She had responsibilities. Clients who had commissioned her to finish making their gowns in time for Christmas. She needed the money from those commissions to pay her bills, amongst them this month’s rent for the hovel she had called home for the past year.

  Having no references or a family she could turn to, things had been far from easy for Monique since she left the duke and duchess’s household so abruptly a year ago.

  Monique’s mother had unfortunately died four years ago, and if Lady Jacqueline Kingston, the mother of the Duchess of Stonewell, had not decided to employ Monique as her personal maid, she feared what might have happened to her in those intervening years. She might have ended up as feral as those vicious women who had attacked her in the prison simply because she was different from them.

  Unfortunately, her prospects had been no brighter when Monique suddenly found herself alone again in England’s capital a year ago. No other respectable household was willing to take her in without references, nor would any of the shopkeepers employ her, for the same reason. Luckily, she had managed to save a little money during her employment with Lady Kingston, and she had lived on that for several weeks.

  Then quite by accident, one of her mother’s previous clients, a lady of the aristocracy, had chanced to recognize Monique in the street and enquired if she was as proficient with a needle as her mother had once been. The answer to that was yes.

  It had only been that one commission at first, but that lady had recommended Monique’s work to her friends, so that within a few months, she had enough work to provide her with at least enough money to live on. Not comfortably, but nor was she starving or without shelter. Indeed, she had resigned herself to living that bare existence for the rest of her life.