The Perfect Gift

By Raven McAllan

My lord. Let the battle commence.
You wish to play games?
So do I.
But be warned, you may be the overall winner of the battle, but I, my lord, well, I will win the skirmishes.
Are you ready?
He thought at first there was no signature, but then he saw inscribed in tiny letters at the foot of the page—
I am not, my lord, your obedient servant. I am, however, your willing partner. In all manner.
Judith
​​​​​​​
Judith knew Stephen had extreme tastes. Tastes he thought not suitable for one so innocent as her.
However she had other ideas. How could he know, how could she know, if he didn’t share them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight
• Release date: May 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9780369503695

Raven McAllan

After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled. With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list. Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cros stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit. Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2021 Raven McAllan

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0369-5

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: CA Clauson

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To the late Doris O'Connor who told me once that this story was her idea of the perfect gift!

THE PERFECT GIFT

Raven McAllan

Copyright © 2021

Chapter One

So, it seems we are now to host the Duke and Duchess’s house party for them, Stephen, Viscount Pelham, told his housekeeper. Who on earth wants a house party when the weather is so unpredictable? We could have a heat wave or a snowstorm this early in spring. He tried to ignore the itch in his shoulder blade that intimated all was not as it seemed. According to my dear sister, there is illness in their village, and she feels ‘tis not proper to ask guests to visit in the circumstances.

Or so she says. Why do I have no faith in Amanda’s pronouncements? He wondered if James, his sister’s husband, knew her reasons for the change in venue. Whether he did or did not was immaterial. The house party would now be at Carrland Hall.

He stretched his long legs out. The gleam on his immaculate hessians shone in the firelight. Why did he not think he had been given the whole story?

Because I am well acquainted with Amanda and her meddling. I suspect that for some reason unknown this is another example of it.

Due to the inclement weather, it had taken Loggins, his groom, longer than normal to ride to the posting office to collect the mails, and the short winter evening was rapidly drawing to a close. Tonight, the fog and damp so normal to this area seemed twice as deep as would be expected.

A swift perusal of the impressive missive from his sister, crossed and re-crossed, had his normally placid temper rising. Why, with a Peer of the Realm to frank her letters, did Amanda insist on crossing her letters as if she had to get more words on to the paper than anyone could easily read? The writing was illegible. It was how he imagined it would appear if a spider had dipped its legs in ink and walked over the paper. The patterns the loops and swirls created made him think of silken ropes crisscrossed over a smooth female body. His cock tightened in response to the images in his mind. With a ruthlessness he had cultivated over the years, he quelled his erection and cleared his mind. He could not speak to his staff with a horn.

Damn Amanda. His mouth softened. He could not damn his baby sister, she meant too much to him, but he could sometimes wish she chose to focus on their younger brother, Archie, instead.

However, Archie was on the other side of the world in Barbados, and out of reach of Amanda’s machinations.

Lucky bastard.

Once his prick and balls had relaxed enough for his trousers to fit and not threaten his ability to procreate if he ever chose to, he reread the missive. It caused him to roll his eyes and then ensure he rang the bell to summon Mrs. Clegg, his longtime employee. She smiled when he mentioned Amanda, who had always been her favorite. He knew once he uttered the magic word ‘Amanda’ everything possible would be done to guarantee his sister and her guests would enjoy all conceivable comforts.

As he finished speaking, Mrs. Clegg nodded. Now that will be a treat for us all, my lord, I’m sure. She is so missed around here these days. Does Miss Amanda, I mean the Duchess, say how many chambers need to be prepared?

Stephen perused the paper in front of him. She says the enclosed is for you, to give you all the information required, and the first guest will arrive on the fifteenth. He handed a package over to Mrs. Clegg. Good grief, that is but five days hence. Typical Amanda, no thought how much needs to be done. Can you manage, Cleggy? She has, I fear, been her usual thoughtless self.

No doubt that is intentional.

Bless you, my lord, ‘tis no trouble, Mrs. Clegg said. She spoke as if she were comforting a child. Much as she had when, as a young boy, he’d scraped his knees or had a whipping from his tutor. Miss, I mean her ladyship, knows we are able to cater to her desires and needs.

Hmmm. That was what he was afraid of. However... His mind veered off at a tangent. Needs, desires. What about mine? Stephen made a mental note to ensure the tower rooms were secure and locked, and the door to its secret stair secure and hidden. It was one thing to be confident in your own skin and your own preference, another to shout those predilections to all and sundry.

She was so sure I would assent to her scheme, the minx. I wonder how she got James to agree, he asked. It was a rhetorical question. He knew fine well what wiles a woman could employ to get what she wanted, and Amanda was an expert. He had the scars to prove it. The apple tree, Lord Dyson’s chicken coop, the bramble bush in the lane. All had contributed due to Amanda’s pleas.

To delay the delivery of this diktat—for it was a command however the words were penned—until the day before he had been due to leave for the long ride south was one of her tricks. He knew some of the guests would already have set out to undertake the arduous