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

by Anna Campbell

  “One step at a time, Your Grace,” she said archly. “I need to make a few purchases myself at the haberdasher and candle maker, then we’ll go to the linen-draper for your cloth. I hope you are prepared for a fast stroll, because my footmen are well used to marching behind me, even when weighed down with boxes and parcels.”

  “More than prepared. Eager, in fact.”

  Delilah rolled her eyes at the double entendre, but couldn’t help smiling. “A word of warning: be discreet with your money purse. Apart from the occasional tavern brawl Cheapside is a very safe place, however no street is entirely immune from a wily pickpocket.”

  “Duly noted.”

  After the carriage halted, a footman opened the door and unhooked the small step. Tunbury climbed out, then turned and offered his hand, and moments later they stood side by side amidst a crowd of men, women, and children, wrapped up warmly against the chill wind.

  Delilah went up on her toes, inhaling deeply of the familiar sights and scents of her birthplace. “Well, Ben the clerk. I bid you a warm welcome to Cheapside.”

  Observing Delilah shopping was a lesson in itself.

  Bennett choked back a laugh as yet another shopkeeper fell prey to her most potent weapon: a steel trap mind for negotiation cunningly concealed behind a charming smile. The men never stood a chance, and yet for the entire transaction thought they held the upper hand until Delilah strolled out the front door with exactly the goods she wanted in exactly the quantity, for a much reduced price. Her footmen trailed behind them, already laden with ribbon in several colors, cards of lace, peacock feathers, six carefully wrapped fine china plates, and a large sack of beeswax candles that had been dyed for the festive season; cochineal for red and pink, saffron for yellow, indigo for blue, and spinach juice for green. To her delight and his dismay, the candle maker had also added scent, and their small procession smelled alarmingly like a walking apothecary’s stillroom.

  She was a woman like no other, bold and clever and sensual. He could only count himself fortunate that her charity extended to him, for Delilah had even assisted with his own purchases. Back in the carriage, carefully guarded by the driver who had been bribed with hot meat pasties and a large mug of chocolate, were yards of crisp linen for new handkerchiefs, plain and patterned calico for dresses, and buckskin for breeches. Delilah had been a marvel, educating him on a fair price and what constituted good and sturdy fabric under the guise of asking his opinion, and now he stood ready to evolve from Ben the clerk to Ben the linen-draper.

  All they had to do now was purchase sweets, then they would begin a quite different education on that three-mile journey back to Golden Square. Since she would accept no payment for her assistance, he wanted to learn exactly how she liked being pleasured to express his gratitude.

  Shivering in the cold, Delilah curled her gloved hand around his upper arm. “The confectioner is just up here; around the corner onto Milk Street and about thirty paces down.”

  Bennett nodded, doing his best to stroll and not run in the freezing temperature, even worse than when they’d left the Temple. Her comfortable carriage with those delightful hot bricks seemed a distant memory.

  Outside an old gray stone building, a simple wooden sign said Wickham’s Confectionery. But inside, he stepped into a childhood fantasy: a brightly-lit paradise with wall to wall glass-topped cabinets filled to the brim with colorful sweets. God, the scent of the place! Never had he inhaled such a blissful mix of burnt sugar, bitter chocolate, and slow-cooked spiced fruit. How was this shop currently empty of patrons? How could anyone walk past and not be lured in to spend every last coin they could scrape together?

  Delilah cleared her throat. “Ben.”

  He blinked and straightened from where he’d been staring worshipfully at a tray of toffees shaped like bows, entirely appropriate with St. Mary-Le-Bow church so close. His shopping companion’s eyes positively glinted with amusement. “Yes?”

  “May I present Mrs. Naomi Wickham, proprietor, and my oldest and dearest friend. Naomi, this is Ben—”

  “Innsworth,” he said quickly, inclining his head as the neatly-dressed, pale-skinned redhead bobbed a curtsy. “Ben Innsworth. Forgive me, but I couldn’t help admiring your selection of sweets. Toffee, sugared almonds, lemon drops, licorice, caramels, and marzipan…”

  “Yes, sir. Also sugar plums, butterscotch, Turkish delight, and candied fruit. Would you like to try some samples after I’ve taken out some chocolate for Delilah’s footmen?”

  “Very much so.”

  When the men outside were happily sipping mugs of steaming chocolate, Mrs. Wickham returned to the largest counter. Using some long metal tweezers, she carefully placed an assortment of sweets onto greased paper, and as the first tangy square of lemon-flavored marzipan melted in his mouth, Bennett’s leather money purse practically yanked itself open. But before he made his purchases, it would surely be dreadfully impolite to leave the sugar plum, hard caramel, toffee bow, and candied fruit resting on the paper, so he quickly ate them as well. Really, it was a good thing he’d already traded his best kept secret for a beefsteak. God only knew what he would have revealed for sweets such as these.

  Delilah laughed as he stared forlornly at the now-empty paper. “Delicious, aren’t they? Wickham’s Confectionery is indeed the best in London.”

  “Unquestionably,” Bennett replied, as he brushed sugar from his fingers. “I want each and every sweet here.”

  Mrs. Wickham grinned. “Tis always a difficult choice in the end…I am ashamed to have this many options, however business has been a bit slower since two more confectioners opened nearby. We like the space here; the children sleep safely upstairs and the kitchen is excellent. My husband is in there now creating spun sugar masterpieces, little figurines shaped like cats and so forth. Also cocks. Delilah sends a regular order for those.”

  “Spun sugar cocks to suck and marzipan breasts to nibble,” added Delilah with a wink. “I must give my patrons what they want.”

  His lips twitched. “I’ll leave the risqué items to my shopping companion here, Mrs. Wickham, however I refuse to choose, so I shall purchase everything else.”

  The confectioner stilled and stared at him, her eyes widening. “Everything?”

  “Yes. I have, er, a large family. And I know they would greatly enjoy a wide variety. Perhaps you could wrap and box the sweets to aid in transportation?” Bennett finished, before reaching into his money purse, withdrawing a gold guinea, and placing it on the counter. “For your trouble.”

  Mrs. Wickham pressed a hand to her chest. Then she turned to the doorway behind her and bellowed, “Mr. Wickham!”

  A brawny black man wearing a full-length white apron over his clothing came running out. When he saw Delilah, his alarm eased into a smile.

  “My second favorite businesswoman. How wonderful to see you on this chilly day. But who is your friend here?”

  “Save the Papa Wickham interrogation for later,” said his wife. “I need paper and boxes. Mr. Innsworth is buying all our sweets. For a guinea.”

  “Oh! I see.”

  With expert efficiency, the couple prepared Bennett’s order. Yet they continually bantered back and forth, sometimes offering suggestions or praising the other’s work. It made his heart hurt, for years ago his own parents had shared a similar closeness. Nowadays Mother preferred to stay in the country, and with Judith married, he didn’t have anyone in the townhouse to talk to like that. Which wasn’t a bother, of course. He didn’t need a life companion. Just a wife for heirs and to escort to balls…

  Bah. You want far more than that. More days like today, strolling arm in arm with Delilah while you teased and talked for hours; a woman you can confide in without feeling like a fool.

  Bennett frowned under the guise of adjusting his borrowed spectacles. Where had that nonsense thought come from? He admired Delilah, wanted her with an urgency that kept him awake at night, but nothing beyond that. Certainly not feelings of a tender nature. T
hese sensibilities could only be blamed on the Wickham’s too-perfect sweet shop. Or perhaps wretched December. Christmastide looming closer. The shocking weather.

  Probably all of the above.

  If he could just get back to the carriage and be alone with Delilah, slake the fervent lust that had sparked in her parlor, everything would return to normal. All these jumbled thoughts about himself, his family, the trustees, and the marriage list, would untangle and become clear as a mountain stream.

  “Here you are, Mr. Innsworth,” said Mr. Wickham, thankfully interrupting his reverie as he placed a large stack of stamped boxes on the countertop. “From my family to yours, we wish you a happy and blessed festive season.”

  “Much appreciated,” said Bennett, as he picked up the stack with Delilah’s assistance, and they departed the confectioners. Two of her footmen immediately stepped forward to relieve him of the boxes; all he could do was re-wrap his scarf and offer her his arm.

  “To the carriage?” she asked huskily.

  He nodded, his cock beginning to harden. “To the carriage.”

  It wasn’t discreet. It certainly wasn’t sensible. But her entire world had been reduced to one excruciating need: pleasure.

  Wordlessly, Delilah allowed Tunbury to assist her into the carriage. When they were seated and it began to move, she gestured to the velvet curtains on the left hand side. “Would you close those ones there?”

  Soon, it felt like they were in their own little rocking, swaying cocoon, both able to shut away the rest of the world for a while. Across from her, the duke leaned back on the squab, his fingers drumming a casual beat on his knee. She might have thought him relaxed, apart from his burning hot silver gaze and the bulge straining against the fall of his trousers.

  “I owe you a great deal for today,” Tunbury said gruffly. “Both for your knowledge and generous assistance. So I ask you this, madam. What would you have me do to express my gratitude? A kiss? Or perhaps…something more?”

  She shuddered, wetness bathing her aching pussy. “A kiss to begin.”

  “Then you must come closer and straddle my thighs.”

  Once again, that appealing hint of command. He might be a virgin and younger than her, but it seemed like once this delicious duke had taken instruction and regained the confidence stolen from him by those trustees, he would assume full control in the bedchamber. Gracious. Even the thought made her whimper. While she delighted in being top of the tree in business, in bed she’d always craved something quite different. To not have to make the decisions, but be taken again and again by a lover who knew her desires and preferences and wouldn’t rest until he’d forced several orgasms from her.

  Shrugging away her pelisse and then hitching up her gown, petticoat, and chemise with one hand, Delilah braced her other hand on the opposite seat and carefully moved forward until her knees rested either side of his.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she said, leaning down to brush his cheek with her lips.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Forbes,” he rasped, his big hands settling on her hips and partially curving around her backside. Not fondling, just acting as a welcome further safety measure. “Your mouth, if you please.”

  Teasingly, she removed his spectacles before licking his lips. “Are you proficient at kissing?”

  A growl rumbled in his chest, a sound she felt all the way to her core. But soon she had her answer, when his mouth captured hers.

  Oh.

  Tunbury’s lips were warm and firm, exploring gently to start then as she responded eagerly, increasing the pressure to a masterful crush. Mind awhirl, Delilah gripped his shoulders tighter and when the tip of his tongue flicked her lips to demand entry, she could only surrender and invite his tongue to twine with hers. In no time at all they were both panting, and the duke pulled back a little.

  “Proficient enough?” he asked, nipping at her neck.

  “You’ve done this before,” Delilah replied breathlessly, as she tilted her head to allow greater access.

  “Yes. Many times more with my hand than a woman, though, while following the instructions of a thankfully detailed little book.”

  “I must send the publisher a note.”

  Tunbury grazed her earlobe with his teeth, making her shiver. “I’m sure they would appreciate an endorsement from the Mistress of Sin.”

  Unable to wait any longer, her pussy near screaming to be stroked, Delilah reached back and took his right hand, tugging it until it rested on her leg. His fingers near-scorched her skin, but the wicked man didn’t move, merely flexed his hand so his fingertips traced tiny circles on her bare inner thigh.

  “Touch me, damn it,” she said hoarsely, her need far too great for niceties. “Your thumb on my clitoris. Your finger inside me. Hurry.”

  With agonizing slowness, his hand moved closer to her throbbing center, tormenting her further when the backs of his fingers smoothed the crisp bush of hair between her legs, yet delved no deeper. Just when she was ready to beg, one fingertip parted the hair and lightly stroked the tender, petal-soft flesh beneath.

  Delilah moaned.

  “You are very wet, Mrs. Forbes,” he murmured. “Do you need to come?”

  Pure excitement jolted through her body. With her hands on his shoulders for balance in the moving carriage, her thighs spread wide by his legs, she was near helpless. In fact, it felt like she was held upright only by the big hand on her hip, and those questing fingertips teasing her pussy. “Please.”

  “Not yet.”

  Not yet?

  She almost unleashed a frustrated wail, her breathing ragged as Tunbury continued to stroke her under her gown, his brow furrowed in concentration as he explored by touch alone. Perversely though, it only aroused her more knowing that he controlled their play and would decide when she orgasmed.

  With more willpower than she thought possible, Delilah held herself rigid, not giving in to the tremendous temptation to grind against his hand and obtain the reward so tantalizingly close. Her virgin duke was learning. But oh, how difficult it was. Each time his thumb nudged her clitoris she gasped, pushed a little further toward the cliff edge of ecstasy.

  “Now?” she pleaded, as his fingertip found the entrance to her pussy, slicking itself in her wetness.

  Tunbury didn’t reply. Instead, that blunt finger pushed inside her, penetrating deeply, and Delilah muffled a cry of delight in the crook of her arm so it wasn’t heard by the driver or footmen. Overcome with need, she began circling her hips and rocking against his hand. He took pity on her and permitted the use of it for her own pleasure, cupping her mound firmly while his thumb pressed against her clitoris. But when he added a second finger to her pussy and pumped them in and out, the storm that had been building exploded at last into waves of exquisite sensation.

  Delilah fell forward and burrowed her face in his neck as she surrendered to the violent orgasm, her inner walls pulsing around his fingers. How long they stayed like that she couldn’t say, but when he carefully removed his hand from between her legs, she mewled in protest.

  “I must,” said Tunbury, caressing her hip as though to soothe. “We cannot be far from the Temple now, and closed carriage curtains in the afternoon will only invite gossip.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, rising from the solid warmth of him with great reluctance, and settling herself back on the opposite seat. When all the curtains were pulled, Delilah smoothed her gown and patted her hair. “But what about you?”

  The duke cleared his throat. “Entirely your decision, Mrs. Forbes. I can exchange my clerkish costume for my own clothing and be on my way. Or, if you have the time and inclination, you could invite me to your bedchamber so I might undertake further educational exploration. Kiss you between your legs and taste the musky honey that smells so good. I know what it’s like to have my fingers inside your wet warmth when you come, but I’d like the same for my cock.”

  “My wet warmth? Do you mean my pussy, Your Grace?”

  “Ah. You wish
me to use explicit slang terms. I’m afraid I don’t know many.”

  “Could you say pussy?” Delilah whispered, yearning to hear blunt sexual words from his refined, aristocratic mouth. “And tell me exactly how we’ll fuck?”

  Tunbury nodded as he adjusted the huge bulge between his legs. “There are two options, Delilah. The first is I change clothing and depart. The second, we retire to your bedchamber and…I kiss your pussy until you come in my mouth. As to how we’ll fuck…it won’t be gentle I’m afraid, but rough and hard and deep. The way I’ve been dreaming about since we met.”

  “Option two. Please,” she replied, quivering and unashamed to beg. “Don’t make me wait anymore, Ben. I need it. Please.”

  He stilled at the name, then his eyes glittered like stars.

  “Very well.”

  Chapter 5

  Never before had Bennett felt like this, such a primitive, feverish need to conquer.

  After years of anxiety and confusion about his desires, to discover they weren’t wrong or shameful but most welcome with the right lover, was quite frankly life-changing. When he’d held Delilah in his arms and learned to make her come in the carriage, sheer triumph had surged through him. But to then have the freedom to use long-forbidden words, and know the exultation of hearing his name as a needy plea…hell. Magical. Yet now he’d had a taste, he wanted it all. To see her naked before him, a banquet for his senses, to plunder that soaking wet pussy with tongue and cock.

  Somehow Bennett managed to perform the tasks of a gentleman; climbing out of Delilah’s carriage first, turning, and offering his hand. “Mrs. Forbes.”

  She shuddered, the movement causing her pelisse to part briefly and reveal the imprint of taut nipples against her gown bodice as she descended the carriage step. Something else he needed to see, her bare breasts. What color would her nipples be when he undressed her? Palest pink? Rose? And what color after he’d sucked them? There were far too many questions requiring answers, and he wouldn’t countenance any delays. Neither would Delilah it seemed, as her heels near-skidded across the entrance hall to keep up with his longer stride, each intent on reaching the stairs that led to the second floor.