Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  “Ethan. I don’t want to be here anymore,” Cornelia pleaded. “We can ask the duke what he knows tomorrow. We can bring twenty lamps down here to see what we’re doing. Make a proper study—when I’m wearing proper clothing!”

  Burnell brought his arm around her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Taking the lamp, he held it over the sarcophagus. “I suppose we ought to close this up. If we just—” He paused, peering into the dark space.

  Cornelia wrinkled her nose. This was what she got for hanging about with an archaeologist. Burnell thought nothing of poking about where the dead were taking their rest. The next she knew, he was reaching deep inside.

  “Really, Burnell! That’s going too far!” Cornelia hefted Minnie higher on her shoulder.

  However, what he held up to the light made her catch her breath. Dangling from his fingers by a golden chain was the largest ruby Cornelia had ever seen. Burnell turned it over in his palm, studying it intently.

  “It is beautiful, but oughtn’t you to put it back?” Cornelia didn’t want to look at the remains of whatever was inside the funerary vault but she could read the script upon the lid easily enough:

  Lady Violetta Studborne, beloved wife of Algernon

  1851-1882

  “It doesn’t belong here.” Burnell closed his fist around the jewel. “I don’t know how it found its way into the coffin, but it wasn’t owned by this Studborne duchess.”

  Cornelia searched his face. “What are you saying Burnell? How can you possibly know?”

  His face was suddenly weary. “The last time I saw this pendant my mother was wearing it.”

  “Your mother?”

  He nodded grimly. “On the day my father sent for me, twenty years ago.”

  Chapter 16

  Burnell laid the necklace carefully on Cornelia’s dressing table, then propped the chair from the small writing desk against the panelled wall.

  “No more adventures tonight, huh, Minnie.” He passed his hand wearily through his hair.

  The fire was nearly out.

  Resting the lantern on the mantel, he set to laying some extra kindling, fanning until it caught, then balanced three smaller logs on top.

  All the while, Cornelia watched him, though her gaze wondered to the chaise.

  Such a short while ago, she’d lain under him and they’d almost…

  Now, she felt awkward. What did one say?

  I know you don’t love me, don’t want to marry me—don’t want to marry anyone—but I’m offering you this anyway, because everything I said about not being willing to compromise was a lie. I’m exactly the sort of hussy everyone believes I am, and I’m putting myself forward for whatever lovemaking you’d like to bestow upon me.

  Lovemaking.

  It wasn’t the right word.

  What did one call it when there was no genuine ‘love’ involved?

  Copulating? Fornication? Coitus?

  Fucking.

  There was a word; one ladies weren’t supposed to know, let alone use.

  A wicked word for all the wicked things she wanted him to do.

  She knew it wouldn’t be like the times Mortmain had exercised his husbandly prerogative. Even without love, she had a feeling there would be more tenderness and care with Ethan than she’d ever experienced in her marriage.

  His kisses told her that.

  There would never be another night like this.

  There would never be another Ethan.

  She’d been gazing at the chaise, imagining herself there, right where they’d left off—imagining how it would begin.

  She knew exactly what would happen, if she let it.

  Skin to skin.

  Not just his arms around her, but his whole body; every delicious inch, from his abdomen and the hardness of his chest to his thighs and the roughness of his stubbled jaw. She wanted that cheek to graze every soft and sensitive part God had given her.

  She knew just how glorious his body was, but she’d only looked—never touched.

  And how she wanted to.

  Even if she never lay with another man again, she’d have this memory.

  She wanted to let him strip her bare and thrust inside her, so that she wasn’t herself any more but part of him.

  Wiping his hands on his trousers, Burnell stood. “Are you alright, Nellie? You’re pale. Here, let me take the dog.”

  Cornelia realized she was still clutching Minnie, asleep in her arms. Lifting the terrier, he deposited her gently on the chaise.

  Burnell brought the back of his hand to her cheek, then took her hands, frowning. He blew against them and rubbed her fingers between his own. “You’re like ice.”

  “Warm me.” Even as she said it, she let the shawl fall from her shoulders. The invitation could hardly have been more explicit.

  His arms came about her instantly, pulling her into his heat. She saw the flame in his eyes, just for a moment, before his mouth found hers.

  Raw and sensual, the kiss was everything she needed. His hands slid down her back, finding her bottom, pulling her against him. He kissed her harder and she was aware of his arousal, of the hardness against her belly.

  Breathless, she tugged at the front of his shirt. “Take this off.”

  Shrugging away his jacket, he pulled the shirt’s hem from the waistband of his trousers. Once lifted over his head, he shook it down his arms, then stood, very still before her.

  Her gaze slid over the broad chest and taut torso, to the trail of hair leading downward, and he looked back at her all the while.

  Somewhere deep in her belly a warm ache was growing.

  He must know what I’m thinking; what I want.

  She laid her palm over his heart. Did it always beat this desperately, or was this just for her?

  Brushing her fingers over his chest, she reached his nipple and teased lightly with her nail, then pinched the flat nub.

  “Jesus, Nellie.” He sucked in his breath. “Don’t do this unless you mean it. Once we begin, I won’t be able to stop.” His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them.

  As she stepped back, she was trembling, but she wanted him to see. She let the shawl drop then untied her robe, letting the pale silk pool at her feet.

  Burnell had been looking fixedly into her face but, as she slipped her nightgown from her shoulders, baring one breast, then the other, his gaze fell lower.

  Brazenly, she touched the swell of her bosom and rubbed her thumb over the peaks. Cornelia felt a thrill of power. She wasn’t just surrendering; she was showing him what she wanted. This was her choice. Still, she held her breath as she eased the gown over her hips.

  Even Mortmain had never seen her like this; utterly naked, every part of her exposed. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cover herself.

  “Make love to me, Ethan.”

  In a single stride, he lifted her into his arms again. This time, there could be no doubt, and he was too aroused to go slowly.

  Reaching the bed, he laid her upon it.

  Her eyelids fluttered but she made no protest as he pressed his body across the length of hers.

  That she had laid herself bare, vulnerable to him in every way, inflamed him beyond all reason. There was something gloriously illicit about having her naked beneath him, her feminine curves yielding to his hands, while he remained half-clothed.

  He wanted to fuck her, of course. Good, hard sex, buried to the hilt and thrusting deep. He’d been thinking about that since the first evening they’d met. And he wanted to watch as she unravelled for him; to make her cry out and writhe, and to know he was responsible.

  He wanted to see that as much as he wanted his own climax, and he knew how to take her there, yet part of him also feared hurting her. She wasn’t a virgin, but how long had it been since she’d lain with a man?

  He pressed kisses to her brows and lids, and to her nose; brushed his mouth to hers. “You trust me, Cornelia?”


  She nodded, her eyes wide.

  He trailed kisses downward, his hand firmly on her hip, pulling her pelvis to rub against his arousal. He wanted her to feel that hardness, and know it was for her.

  She sighed and whimpered as he brought his mouth to her breasts, suckling and teasing, and she parted her legs to him, wrapping one knee to the back of his thigh, so that his hard ridge was drawn to the seam of her sex.

  Ethan groaned.

  He had only to unbutton his trousers and sink into her. He might find his release with a few urgent thrusts, but he wanted to give her more than that.

  He took his kisses over her belly to her mound and, clasping her bottom, pulled her onto his mouth, penetrating her with his tongue.

  “You mustn’t—” She gasped, pushing him away, but then her hands were tangling in his hair, holding him tight while he fell upon her greedily. Twisting and clinging, she rubbed against his stroking tongue, and her breaths came ragged.

  With his fingers, he parted her, wanting to see the cream spilling over the velvet petals and the engorged pearl of her desire; dark red and swollen ripe.

  He took the bud into his mouth, suckling as he had her nipple. When she cried aloud, he entered her with two fingers and felt the shuddering pulses course through her body, her inner muscles gripping hard.

  Her eyes were wild and reckless, from that other place and he needed to be with her there, to feel those same spasms not around his fingers but his cock.

  Divesting himself of his trousers, he kicked them away and knelt above her. Taking his girth in his hand, he gave three long strokes, letting his readiness prick wet at the tip, then raised her palm to circle him.

  He wanted her to feel how hard he was; for her to feel what would be hers.

  When he lowered to enter her, even in her readied state, she flinched, but he pushed through her tightness. Her parted lips and hands upon his back told him she didn’t wish to stop.

  He moved slowly at first, but she felt so good, hot flesh surrounding him; and her fur, soft against his abdomen. He entered her mouth with his tongue while his thrusts became more urgent.

  She gasped, making a sound he couldn’t interpret, of pain and need—but her nails were raking his back, and she was arching to meet him.

  Her hands dropped to his buttocks and he wasn’t being gentle anymore. The harder his thrusts, the more fiercely she clung, her cries growing louder. He stifled them with more kisses and then she was shuddering again, and he could no longer hold back.

  Rough and possessive, he lifted her hips and gave his final strokes.

  His desire had driven him to this place of thundering blood, and it was all for her. Everything he had, was hers.

  Except for one thing.

  For the vow he’d made on the night he walked away from his father remained: there would never be a child, and the Burnell name would die with him.

  He would give Cornelia everything, but never that.

  With an anguished cry, he withdrew, spilling on her belly.

  Chapter 17

  Early Morning, Christmas Eve

  Cornelia slipped out from the sheets. The chamber was dim but, wrapping herself in the blanket from the bottom of the bed, she walked to the window and pushed back the curtain, just a little.

  Somewhere off to the east, the sun was streaking pink. It was very still, the lawns faintly luminous, reflecting back the last light of the dipping moon. No more snow had fallen and the sky was clear. With any luck, a warmer day was coming.

  Burnell was still asleep, one arm cast behind his head, his broad shoulders visible above the quilt. In the dark hours, Minnie must have jumped on the bed, for she was there now; on Ethan’s side rather than on Cornelia’s, her head resting on his foot.

  All these years, she’d told herself she wasn’t the sort to inspire grand passion. She was not made for romantic nonsense; was too sensible to fall in love. She’d only sought someone dependable, someone who would consider her feelings.

  But, last night, her body had told her what it wanted.

  Last night.

  Nothing had seemed real, yet she’d never felt more alive.

  Ethan’s warmth and strength, and his voice—that low growl, deep and caressing; words uttered from soft lips, carrying to her in the dark, touching her skin, making her tremble.

  Ethan’s hands were not like Mortmain’s. They were large and strong and coarsened by manual labour, with palms roughened by stone and the tools he’d worked with. Calloused against her softness, but gently masterful, hands roving her body, powerful and demanding and intensely male.

  It had been wonderful. Breathtakingly, miraculously, overwhelmingly wonderful. She’d never dreamed… No one had ever told her…

  Every exquisite inch of his manhood had been hers, velvet smooth, thick and hot in her palm. Then thrusting, feverishly faster, until everything around her had burnt up, and she was pure sensation.

  Melting, molten, breathless and burning.

  He’d been inside as Mortmain never had. Not just his fingers and his tongue, and his hardness. Inside her in another way—seeing inside her.

  When Mortmain had touched her, it had felt like an invasion—something unwanted she’d had to endure. With Burnell, she wanted all of it.

  It was as if he understood the years wasted, and what she’d dreamt of without being fully aware.

  Slipping back into the bed, she curled on her side, nestling to the heat of his body. Shamelessly, she pressed her bottom to his groin. She wanted him to wake up feeling her right there—to know that she didn’t regret anything.

  Pulling his arm over, she rested his hand to her cheek, then moved it to her breast, right where her heart was beating.

  He mumbled and one heavy leg laid claim to her, moving over her thigh.

  “Ethan, are you awake?”

  In response, the hand squeezed gently and the rod nestled against her behind gave a small leap.

  He nuzzled her ear. “There’s a storm coming, Nellie. You can’t indulge in this much sin without there being an almighty scandal.”

  Cornelia twisted about to face him. “No one need find out. We could carry on pretending.”

  At a pinch, they could brazen it out—proclaim they’d only been jesting the day before, when Mrs. Bongorge and Lord Fairlea had been treated to that barrage of audaciousness.

  “Is that what you want?” He pulled her closer.

  “I don’t see another way. Unless…”

  “Unless you become Mrs. Burnell.” The lips so close to hers smiled.

  “But, you don’t want that.” Her voice was very small. “You want to be free.”

  In answer, he rolled onto his back and pulled her atop him, her thighs straddling his pelvis. The part of him that had given her so much pleasure nestled between her legs.

  His eyes, half-closed, regarded her appreciatively. “I might be changing my mind. A man has to know when he’s beat. I’ll never be free—not now I’ve met you.”

  One warm hand moved up her leg, coming to rest on her hip. “Could you do it, Nellie? Saddle up beside me, and take your chances with what comes next?”

  Wrapping her fingers around his girth, she drew the pad of her thumb across the head. She stroked gently before rising above him, wriggling a little, angling herself, then gave her own smile of satisfaction at Burnell’s sharp intake of breath.

  She was ready to ride.

  Lady Studborne was not in the morning room, nor in any of the reception rooms on the ground floor of the abbey. At last, Ethan tracked her down in the duchess’s bed chamber, sitting on the rug before the hearth.

  “What a clever dog you are, Binky. Five beautiful puppies!” Lady Studborne was bending over a large basket, containing a heap of variously-hued fur.

  As Cornelia and Burnell stepped forward, there was a distinct growl from somewhere close by.

  “Oh, hello both of you!” Looking up, the duchess gave a beaming smile, then turned sternly to the proud father standing guard.
“You’re wonderfully brave, Hercules, but no growling please.” She stroked the Jack Russell under the chin and he responded with a respectful lick.

  “You’ve been busy, I see, but you shouldn’t be crawling around the floor, Rosie.” Offering both his hands, Burnell carefully brought her to her feet.

  The duchess sighed. “Binky started having her babies soon after dawn. Thankfully, all passed off pretty easily, and the pups are doing well. Aren’t they charming?”

  “I take it your hunch about Hercules was right.” Burnell surveyed the contents of the basket. “Same shades of cream and tan.”

  The duchess nodded mischievously. “Lord Fairlea will be disappointed, but I’m not. Benedict has agreed to me keeping them all.”

  “Please do sit down, Lady Studborne, and let me order some tea.” Cornelia couldn’t help but notice how tired the duchess looked.

  “You’re very kind.” Lady Studborne allowed herself to be helped into an upright armchair. “There are a hundred things for me to do today. The children want to give their little nativity performance this afternoon, and the staff are joining us for carols around the tree afterwards—not to mention herding everyone into the kitchen for the stirring of the Christmas pudding. Benedict has promised to help but he’s dreadful at sneaking off. Some nonsense about a new system of classification for his fossils.” She rolled her eyes. “I ask you!”

  “Don’t worry about Studborne.” Burnell went to stand by the fireplace, leaving the other seat for Cornelia. “I’ll rally him into helping. Between us, we’ll get the hordes organized.”

  He glanced at Cornelia, then back to his sister. “We’ve come to quiz you on something, Rosie.” From his pocket, he pulled the necklace, dangling it for her to see. Twisting on its chain, the facets of the ruby caught the light, making it sparkle.

  Lady Studborne’s hands flew to her face. “Dear God! Ethan! Where did you—what have you been doing? I haven’t seen that since—”