Lords of Desire (Naked Nobility)

is an anthology containing novellas by four authors. Among those is Sally MacKenzie's The Naked Laird which is the fifth story in the Naked Nobility series. The other three are stand alone stories headlining with Virginia Henley's Smuggler's Lair. The other two stories are Victoria Dahl's Lessons in Pleasure and Kristi Astor's Swept Away.
==Book Description==
Times bestselling author Virginia Henley sizzles with three of romance's hottest talents. . .
Virginia Henley, "Smuggler's Lair" 
Victoria Carswell will not be bound by society's dictates. She'll even risk skinny-dipping in view of an abandoned castle. At least, Victoria thinks it's abandoned, until a dashing smuggler lures her into an adventure that defies every rule. . .
Sally MacKenzie, "The Naked Laird" 
The viscount's house party promises to be one of the season's highlights, and Lord and Lady Kilgorn are delighted to attend. If only the long-estranged couple had realized they were both invited--and assigned to the same bedchamber. . .
Victoria Dahl, "Lessons in Pleasure" 
Newly married to her beloved James, Sarah Hood should be blissfully happy. . .yet close proximity to a man fills her with anxiety. But James plans to awaken Sarah to pleasure, in order to forge a true union of body and soul. . .
Kristi Astor, "Swept Away" 
Vivacious Christobel Smyth is a gentleman's daughter, while brooding, proud John Leyden comes from a family of northern mill owners. The two could not be more different, yet as passion flares at a country party, Christobel finds he may be her match in every way. . .
(Description from SallyMacKenzie.net)
==Excerpt==
From The Naked Laird:
Nell swirled her fingers through the bathwater. What would her life have been like if she hadn’t lost the baby? 
She’d have a daughter--or a son--now, a sturdy youth of ten, a child with quick strong limbs, a ready smile, and a sharp wit who’d spend hours climbing trees and swimming in Kilgorn Loch. She smiled. Surely she’d have other children as well--two or even three more. She and Ian-- 
What was she thinking? She detested the man. He’d never mourned their poor bairn--he’d just wanted to get busy making another. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time after she’d left finding another female to warm his bed. 
Well, all right--not his bed at the castle. He hadn’t brought a woman into his home, but that was a distinction without a difference. He’d visited plenty of Sassenach beds in London. He was a man--he’d only one thing on his mind.
She rubbed the soap vigorously. He was just like Pennington. That cod’s head had had his arm around her waist when Mr. MacNeill had barged into the library. For once the butler had actually seen something of note--ha! The old man’s eyes had just about popped out of his head. She’d wager an entire month’s pin money he’d never run so fast as he did that night to send a message to Ian about her supposed flirtation. 
Pennington wasn’t the first amorous male she’d had to elude--Mr. MacNeill had had plenty of grist for his rumor mill over the years. Some men seemed to take her odd marital situation as a challenge--but Mr. Pennington? He owed his employment to the man he apparently wished to cuckold! 
She glared at the soap cake. Not that Ian cared, of course. If the gossip in the newspapers were true, he’d already selected the Earl of Remington’s widow as her replacement--and given the woman a thorough interview between his sheets. 
Well, to be fair, he had just turned thirty. The succession must be on his mind. He needed an heir, and to get an heir he needed a wife--a real wife, not the girl he’d married too young.
She sunk lower in the tub. Oh, God, what a mess.
She should write him today. This had gone on long enough. They were adults now, even if they hadn’t been when they’d married and then separated. Surely they could solve this...problem in a sensible fashion. He was not malicious. 
The door opened and closed. Annie, her maid, must be back with the tea. Nell splashed water on her face. If her eyes were red, the girl would only suppose she’d got a little soap in them.
“Did you see the blue-eyed footman, Annie?” 
“Blue eyed--what the hell?”
Her heart stopped. 
Oh God, oh God. That voice. Even after ten years, it slid around her heart as no other ever had. After all the tears, all the pain, it reminded her of laughter, of lying on sun-warmed heather with a summer breeze blowing cool off the loch. Of twisted bed sheets, slick flesh, heat and damp and...
No, it couldn’t be. 
“I-Ian?” She struggled to her knees, turned to grasp the back of the tub. It was Ian. He’d changed, of course. The slender, wiry lad had broadened. His features were more chiseled; there were lines around his mouth and eyes that hadn’t been there before. His eyes themselves were the same, though, the same turbulent green of a storm-whipped sea. They were staring at... 
She looked down. Water dripped from her naked breasts.
“Ack!” She leapt for the towel, but it was a little too far and the tub was a little too slippery. She pitched forward. “Ow! Aaa!” 
The edge of the tub smacked her knee and shin hard, but the floor was going to smack her face harder.