Moaning under the mistle.., p.1
Moaning Under the Mistletoe: A Gay Regency Romance Novella, page 1
Moaning Under The Mistletoe
Copyright
Copyright © 2023 by Renee Dahlia
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No part of this book may be used for the purpose of training artificial intelligence systems. For permissions contact renee at reneedahlia dot com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual personas, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs.
Also by Renee Dahlia
BeST
Count Me In
Strum Me Hard
Cricket Slam
Captain's Knock
Desiring The Dexingtons
Love Wasn't Built In A Day
The Secret Life of Spinsters
The Widow's Modiste
Gamble Racing
Driven To Distraction
Driven By Passion
Driven By Ambition
Driven To Protect
Great War
Her Lady's Melody
Her Lady's Fortune
His Lord's Soldier
Kapow
Out of Her League
His Buxom Beauty
Craving His Spotlight
Her Pregnant Rival
Seraph's Burlesque Club
Show Up
Show Off
Show Queen
Show Time
Show Dance
The King's Book Club
Moaning Under The Mistletoe (Coming Soon)
Standalone
The Shipwrecked Earl's Bride
Watch for more at Renee Dahlia’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Renee Dahlia
Moaning Under The Mistletoe (The King's Book Club, #1)
Foreword
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
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Also By Renee Dahlia
Moaning Under The Mistletoe
Renee Dahlia
Can an unexpected Christmas dalliance become the gift of love?
AMBROSE LIVINGSTONE, EARL OF BENNINGTON, had his life all planned out. Next step: a marriage of convenience with a duke's daughter. To his shock, she rejects him publicly for a commoner with a railway fortune. Ambrose retreats to The King’s Book Club to lick his wounds but walks in to discover a Christmas party in full swing. He overcomes rejection by accepting an offer from the first handsome man to approach him. Their dalliance is incredible, and he wants more...
OSCAR MARDIN’s life had taken a surprising turn when his uncle left him The King’s Book Club. Initially he’d naively assumed it was an actual book club, not a gentleman’s club where all kinds of interesting connections were made... An tryst during his first ever Christmas party leads to spending time with a grumpy Earl to go over an upgraded menu for the club. Oscar's goal has been to find not only himself but create a life he loved. He just hadn't planned on falling in love with an Earl, too.
A grumpy-sunshine MM Regency Christmas romance.
About the author
An avid reader, Renée Dahlia writes contemporary and historical queer romance. Renée is a bisexual cis woman who is fascinated by people and loves to explore human relationships, with a side of humour, through her writing. Renée has a degree in physics and mathematics, using this to write data-based magazine articles for the horse racing industry. Her love of horses often shines through in her fiction, and she loves a good intrigue and to escape the real world in the pages of a book. When she isn’t reading or writing, Renée spends her time with her four children, usually watching them play cricket.
Foreword
Welcome to MOANING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, the first book set at the King’s Book Club. This novella is part of a multi-author collaboration called How the Rake Stole Christmas.
If you love mm romance with a grumpy/sunshine trope, a slice of hook-up to lovers, and plenty of banter, you’ll love Moaning Under the Mistletoe.
Please note this book contains the sexual coercion of a side character (off page and not by one of the main characters). There is also a parent who disowns a queer son.
This book is written in Australian English and some spelling and phrases may be unfamiliar to American readers.
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Social Media Links
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I hope you enjoy reading this book!
Renée
Chapter One
December 1829
Ambrose, Earl of Bennington, waited beside his sister Jane as his soon-to-be bride, Lady Lavinia Waterhouse, the oldest daughter of the Duke of Frinton-Travers, walked along the receiving line. He would propose to Lady Lavinia tonight, and they’d form an innately sensible union which would continue the thousand-year heritage of the Earls of Bennington. A short bald man accompanied her.
“Who is that with her?” Jane asked.
“I’m sure he’s of no consequence.”
“Bennington.” Jane’s admonishment meant nothing. He wasn’t even sure why she liked coming to society parties, since she spent all her time with the wallflowers. He ignored his sister, and everyone else, as he walked towards Lavinia with the special license folded in his jacket pocket.
“Good evening, my Lady.” He bowed appropriately, then turned slightly to her father and bowed again. “Your grace.”
“Good evening, Lord Bennington.” Lady Lavinia was the epitome of elegance, with a gown befitting the daughter of a Duke. She was this season’s finest catch, and she would be his. The perfect acquisition for the Earldom.
“If I may be so bold as to request an audience with you, my Lady?” He continued to ignore the short man.
“Anything you want to say can be said here.”
His confidence stuttered at her unexpected remark, but he quickly regained himself with a nod. He’d courted her the correct way over the last two months. She must realise that a proposal was in the offing.
“Lady Lavinia, it would be the greatest honour if you would become my wife.” He didn’t bother with any pretence of love or romance. She knew the deal.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
He started to automatically respond thanking her for her acceptance, but caught himself. “Excuse me?” A dizziness caught the edges of his scalp, and he swallowed. Everything slowed down. Lady Lavinia held out a gloved hand with a simple gold ring on her wedding finger.
“I was married three days prior to my wonderful Mr Smithson.”
“Who?” He’d been pipped at the post by a mere mister? This wasn’t to be countenanced. “But I was courting you.”
“Yes. You, a few others, and most of the fortune hunters.”
He stiffened, pride infusing his spine. “I am most certainly not a fortune hunter.” He had one of the largest land holdings in England on the best agricultural land. Unlike many of his peers, he hadn’t needed to invest in the colonies, although there had been some tempting offers for investing in New South Wales where sheep were showing strong returns. The Earldom had survived this long by not rushing into investments or marriages, and yet, here he was having done all the appropriate research and having it go wrong.
“Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t mean to make that connection. Only that you were one of many of my suitors, perhaps one of the most suitable, to be fair, and yet, I have decided to marry for love.”
“Love?” The concept didn’t align with how he viewed marriage, which was a business arrangement for the long term good of the estate. His Grace, the Duke of Frinton-Travers, surely agreed as he’d been open to his offer last week. He glanced sideways at the older man who shrugged one shoulder indulgently as if to say that he had no control over his daughter’s choice. If only he had the same options fall in love, rather than keep his focus on what was good for the Earldom.
“Yes.”
“To whom?” He regretted asking as soon as he blurted it out, because he didn’t need to know who had bested him.
Lady Lavinia nodded towards the short balding man who stood beside her and tucked her hand on his elbow. “My darling Mr Smithson.”
“Him? But I am superior in every way.” He couldn’t understand how this could possibly have happened. His union with her made complete sense. It was logical and now it wasn’t going to happen. He would have to begin again with this lengthy and, frankly, irritating p
“Perhaps from society’s viewpoint but not from mine. I do esteem you, Lord Bennington, but I have chosen Mr Smithson as my husband.”
“I see.” He didn’t. This odd pain in his chest was unfamiliar as if his heart was struggling to beat at all. “I bid you all the best with your choice, my Lady, and must take my leave.” He barely noticed the flutter of fans and the titter of gossip around him as he held his head proudly and walked slowly from the room. It was a lie. He absolutely noticed and the prickly heat of humiliation grew with every stride. She should have married him. He was the logical choice, not that ... that ordinary man. He didn’t care if she wanted to have an affair with such an unassuming character—there was no accounting for taste as he well knew—and if she waited until after she’d given him an heir, as was the usual arrangement among the ton. He ignored the lump in his stomach that showed up whenever he thought about making an heir and focused instead on how he planned to satisfy his needs outside the marriage bed. It was the point of having an arrangement like he’d proposed.
But this? This ... rejection ... was not in his plans.
It wasn’t until he’d ignored his driver and marched down the street mulling it over that he realised that the Duke of Frinton-Travers had said nothing. He must approve of the marriage to this Mr Smithson. How decidedly odd. He hadn’t heard the name. Was he that railway man? No, that was Stevenson whose Rocket had won the Rainhill Trials a couple of months ago. Smithson... It was of little consequence who the man was, because he had won society’s brightest prize, snatched away from everyone else. Ambrose had lost.
Judging by the weakness in his legs, Ambrose needed a stiff drink to reassert his position in the world. Having people stare at him while he was soundly rejected gave him the urge to hide behind a pillar. It wasn’t like him.
He walked through the streets of Mayfair into Soho towards his gentleman’s club, the King’s Book Club. He had long standing memberships to all the proper clubs too, Whites and the likes, but the King’s Book Club catered to people like him. People with unusual tastes. It was the only place in the world where he was free to be completely himself and naturally it would be where he wanted to go to lick his wounds. She had rejected him. He couldn’t believe it. For a non-descriptive untitled mister. It was completely illogical.
He nodded to Heider, the club’s butler, as he walked inside. Perhaps it was best to discover how irrational Lady Lavinia’s thoughts were now rather than after they’d married. Maybe he’d inadvertently dodged a problem. It didn’t feel like it, but perhaps a stiff drink and a little titillation might help recentre him.
One of the staff opened the door to the main receiving room and Ambrose was hit by a wall of noise. The room was filled with people cheering. Oh hell and damnation. So much for a quiet drink while surrounded by people who also searched for desires outside the accepted bounds of society. He pushed through the crowd to see a group of performers dancing around a Christmas tree in various states of undress. Men were dressed as women, women dressed as men, and several men and women dressed in almost nothing bar a mask and some cleverly adhered tiny pieces of fabric.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” A very handsome man smiled up at him. He was shorter than Ambrose, just like most people were, and had brown skin, black hair, and dark round eyes that glinted as he grinned. The man reminded him of someone, but Ambrose shook his head as he couldn’t place him. The man was young, perhaps mid-twenties, and had the look of someone from the spice trail but he’d spoken in a London merchant’s accent. The man touched him on the elbow, barely a suggestion, but in this club, with that smile, Ambrose knew what it meant, and he decided on a whim to say yes. It was nice to be wanted after being so publicly rejected.
“Wonderful?” It had to be the strangest evening in Ambrose’s life, or perhaps an opportunity to pretend the earlier ... humiliation hadn’t occurred.
“Yes. I love Christmas.”
Ambrose hadn’t given the season much thought beyond getting his staff to organise his large extended family, so he nodded.
“The pageantry of it, the festivities. Look at this. People being themselves with such freedom. It’s so wonderful.”
“The most wonderful time of the year.” He held back a sigh.
“Your tone suggests you don’t agree.”
“It is merely the time when all of one’s relatives decide to impress their presence on me with visits and expectations.” He’d really hoped that Lady Lavinia would deal with all of that in the future, leaving him alone to focus on the Earldom and his hobbies. He enjoyed breeding racehorses and aimed to one day breed a Derby winner. It would be a life’s work, and he was grateful to his friend, the Duke of Edenwick who discussed pedigrees with him.
“Family can be complicated.” The man tapped him on the elbow again and Ambrose blinked. He’d drifted off, thinking about horses, rather than deal with his unfortunate incident tonight.
“Yes.” He had too much family and they all had opinions on his life. He’d assumed that in marrying, they’d all back off and leave him alone. Now his plan had been annihilated. Damn it, now he’d have to start again and find another woman worthy of being the next Countess of Bennington.
“You aren’t much of a talker, are you?”
“No.” He needed a drink ... or a silent fuck with someone as pretty as this man who kept talking to him. Could he shut him up with a kiss?
Chapter Two
Oscar wanted to know everything about the gruff handsome man whose gaze was filled with sadness. From the moment he’d walked into the room, Oscar had been drawn to the way he held himself. Distant, apart, aloof. Or perhaps it was just the fact that he was the most handsome man in the room and in the month that he’d owned The King’s Book Club, he hadn’t seen him here before. He definitely would’ve remembered this tall broadly built man with his dark brown hair and piercing gaze. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say the man’s jacket wasn’t padded and his shoulders were as strong and broad as his buckskin clad thighs. Oscar had moved slowly through the room, smiling at his guests but grateful their attention was on the performers, until he stood in front of the man, close enough to see the gold flecks in his amber brown eyes.
“It’s Christmas. A time for enjoyment.” He repeated himself. Over the last month, he’d been able to let go of the walls he used to have, walls that had been his protection, but were now unnecessary. How his uncle knew that he was the one who needed The King’s Book Club—of all his siblings—he had no clue, because until a month ago he hadn’t known his uncle had existed.
“Enjoyment?” The man looked surprised as if having fun wasn’t something he’d ever tried.
“Yes. Look around you. People are smiling, people are ... dancing.” They were also fucking, but that was a type of dance too. When Oscar had received a letter from a lawyer a month ago informing him that he’d inherited The King’s Book Club from an uncle he didn’t know he had, his whole life had been upturned. But in the last month, he’d thrown himself into running a gentleman’s club and it all culminated into tonight’s Christmas party. The staff had been fantastic, especially the butler Otto Heider, who knew all the club members and basically ran the place without much guidance. Oscar had been able to learn quickly thanks to Otto’s competence, and the experience had been rather eye-opening. If he’d known clubs like this existed, he would’ve been a member himself, not that he would’ve been able to afford it on his meagre bank clerk wage.
“Dancing?”
“Yes. Would you like to try it?”
The man glanced at a trio of men who were kissing. “There is one type of dance I’ll do with you.” It was the most words that the man had said, and yes, Oscar understood the implication and he wanted it. Very much. Oscar leaned closer. The man was taller than him—most people were—and broader and sterner. Exactly his type. He’d spent the first week staring naively at everyone and everything, and the last three weeks exploring and learning about himself. And he’d discovered the one thing he liked most of all; being fucked by someone much bigger than him. Not that it was difficult to find someone taller than him since he was short like the rest of his family.
