The Ghosts of Christmas Past (Scandalous Seductions, #6)

By Madelynne Ellis

On a bitter Christmas Eve, former lovers Vaughan, Marquis of Pennerley, Viscount Lucerne Marlinscar and Miss Bella Rushdale are reunited in thought as they reflect on the past, present and future of their turbulent relationship.

Still driven by his obsession, Vaughan takes an icy plunge to retrieve a precious object, while Bella seeks love beneath the mistletoe, and Lucerne contemplates marriage.

Through a series of vignettes, the Ghosts of Christmas Past reveals compelling new details and layers to their complex relationship.

Please note that this is not a standalone title. It is best enjoyed as part of the ongoing series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madelynne Ellis
• Release date: Dec 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519925916

Madelynne Ellis

Madelynne Ellis is a multi-published British author of erotic romance. Her novels and short stories have been published by a variety of houses both in the UK and US. She is best known for her Regency set novels for pioneering British erotica publisher Black Lace, but also enjoys writing contemporary and paranormal settings. Her aim is to deliver scorching, character-driven stories that enchant, torment and don’t shy from darker aspects of life. Madelynne lives in the UK.

Book preview

THE GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST

(Scandalous Seductions)

By

Madelynne Ellis

www.madelynne-ellis.com

About the Book

THE GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST ~

On a bitter Christmas Eve, former lovers Vaughan, Marquis of Pennerley, Viscount Lucerne Marlinscar and Miss Bella Rushdale are reunited in thought as they reflect on the past, present and future of their turbulent relationship.

Still driven by his obsession, Vaughan takes an icy plunge to retrieve a precious object, while Bella seeks love beneath the mistletoe, and Lucerne contemplates marriage.

Through a series of vignettes, the Ghosts of Christmas Past reveals compelling new details and layers to their complex relationship.

Other Books in the Scandalous Seductions Series:

#1 A Gentleman’s Wager

#2 Indiscretions

#3 Phantasmagoria

#4 Three Times the Scandal

#5 Her Husband’s Lover

To discover more about Madelynne’s books, sign up for her newsletter.

ONE

Christmas Eve 1800, Lauwine Hall, Yorkshire.

Catch me, Lucerne. Catch me.

A smile tugged at the corners of Viscount Lucerne Marlinscar’s lips, as he turned on the spot, boots slipping on the polished wooden floor of the long gallery. He opened his arms out wide, but there was no wild, moorland sprite to catch, or swing about his arms, nor anyone to lure beneath the mistletoe. Instead the portraits of his ancestors leered down at him with stern faces and soulless black eyes.

Dead and gone relatives made for very poor company.

Having regained his footing, if not his balance, Lucerne continued along the gallery. Absence of folk to care for was definitely the problem. His parents and brothers were long in their graves, and the friends and lovers he’d looked to for affection were lost now too. No wonder he was filling the void with ghostly voices.

Lost? You deserted us, and you know exactly where we are. If you want us, you have only to reach out.

He turned again, but he knew there was nobody there, least of all the man who rightly or wrongly made every part of him tingle with need.

Damn, he was letting his imagination get the better of him again. This last week his former lovers had both inveigled their way into his consciousness, and tormented him ruthlessly whenever he was alone.

Lucerne spent a lot of time alone.

His neighbours didn’t come calling, and there were no guests here except one.

You want nothing more than to feel my breath on your neck, Vaughan whispered to him.

You’re not real, Lucerne claimed aloud, and his words echoed. In any case, how would he ever even be able to feel a breath on the back of his neck through a severely starched collar and an abundance of cravat?

Both are easily removed. Admit your mistake, Lucerne. Casting me aside was the most foolish thing you’ve ever done.

It hadn’t been a mistake. It’d been essential for the preservation of his sanity. Yet he was holding his breath, almost willing himself to feel Vaughan’s breath on the back of his neck. The hairs there were already standing on end as he anticipated that brief flash of heat, followed by a tingle that spread through his scalp and out to the rest of his extremities. The physical sensation was only a fraction of what such a caress meant though. Its real power was in foreshadowing what came next—a touch, a kiss? Perhaps being spun around, bent over, or spread for pleasure.

There was a cabinet not four steps from him that he’d mercilessly pinned Vaughan to in the early days of their relationship. He remembered every moment, holding him there, pushing inside of him, listening to him curse even when he came. It ought to have been plain to him back then that things were never going to be straightforward. And yet, he’d come to accept both Vaughan’s moods and his jealous nature. What he’d never expected were the changes of heart that had taken place, or the fragility of his own sense of worth.

I couldn’t take any more of you fighting and using me as a bolster, he told his absent lover. You drove me away. It still astonished him that he could have been so blind to what was going on. All that time, he’d thought Vaughan and Bella were squabbling over him, but the truth was that they’d been desperate for one another’s affections, but just too stubborn to admit it.

In all likelihood they still hadn’t admitted it.

Perhaps they never would. It was no longer his concern, because he was no longer part of their lives. He’d been cast aside. He hoped they were happy with one another.

Except, fuck! No he didn’t.

He wasn’t happy, not even slightly. Therefore they ought to be miserable too.

Lucerne?

The sound of a real voice calling him caused Lucerne to resume his journey towards the upper parlour. It had become customary for he and Wakefield to meet there of an evening and while away the hours in largely silent companionship. Neither of them every found much to say once they’d exhausted the subject of the weather.

Wakefield was already pouring a drink when Lucerne arrived. The smell of the nursery lingered on his friend’s clothing.

Is all well with your daughter? Lucerne asked. Wakefield had skipped both dinner, and welcoming the carol singers into the house to share figgy pudding and punch. You’ve lingered late in the nursery this evening.

Yes, she’s well. Blissfully sleeping now, though she did not want to part with her papa. I’m sorry I didn’t join you downstairs, Lucerne. I admit, when I saw you making preparations earlier, I didn’t expect anyone to venture this far out of the village in such inclement weather.

They’re hardy folk hereabouts. A few small flurries of snow doesn’t deter them, especially when there are free victuals in the offering. And in any case they’re obliged to come. It’s common sense to keep the man responsible for the roof over your head happy, and wishing him good will and cheer at Christmastide is an inexpensive way of doing it.

Wakefield considered this remark with a stony frown. You’re hardly the sort to turn them out over failure to adhere to some archaic rule.

Perhaps not, but I think you’ll find the locals see less good in my soul. They consider me a black-hearted rogue.

The hell they do.

I’m a social pariah, Wakefield. Everybody knows it. I’m barred from every drawing room between here and Richmond.

That’s an exaggeration if ever I heard one, Wakefield huffed, and then sank into his favourite armchair. He fidgeted a moment, until he was settled comfortably with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and his port glass balanced upon his chest. You isolate yourself from the local society by turning down every invitation you receive. The people of Yorkshire don’t hate you; you just choose to believe they do. They have no reason to hate you. All of them know Bella Rushdale was a wild and wilful miss, and in any case, word is out now that it was the Marquis of Pennerley she ran off with, not your good self. She’s openly living as his mistress. Several of the broadsheets have reported it.

And you believe that reportage?

Why should I doubt it?

Lucerne bowed his head, not really caring to spell out the truth, which he was quite certain Wakefield knew and was choosing to disregard.

Just because you were friends with him, Lucerne, doesn’t make you accountable for his crimes. You need to stop punishing yourself.

Joshua Rushdale knows perfectly well that his sister fled to London with me. Hell, Bella had written and told him as much. The fact that she was now living with Vaughan didn’t acquit him of his crimes. I’m sure Joshua would gladly open me from nave to chaps if afforded the opportunity.

Aye, he might, Wakefield conceded with a nod. But only because presently he can’t lay his hands on Pennerley. And that right foul bastard wouldn’t demonstrate an ounce of honour even if confronted. That’s not true of you. I know you intended to make good of the situation. You loved her. Circumstances thwarted your pursuit of happiness. I understand that, and I’m sure in his heart Joshua does too.

Your faith in me is entirely misplaced. Lucerne patted his friends shoulder. Touching though. He circled Wakefield’s chair. He was too agitated to sit. Besides, it was easier to think while he was on his feet.

How is it misplaced? Wakefield adopted a less slouched position as he followed Lucerne’s movement. "Are you saying you wouldn’t have married her? I