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

by Anna Campbell

  “The choice is already made.”

  “What?”

  “I actually sold the business the day we met; the new owner moves in on January first. I’ve loved my time here, but I yearn for a new life now. I want to be more than the Mistress of Sin, and I know they are trifling things, but to sleep rather than work at night; to have my own home with a garden rather than a few rooms; to travel and see the country, because I’m almost ashamed to admit I’ve never been outside London.”

  “I’ll escort you wherever you wish to go. England, Scotland, the continent…as far as you please. And your hard-earned fortune will always be your own. I’ll sign documents to that effect. I do not wish to take from you, only add.”

  Delilah wrapped her arms about Ben’s waist and rested her cheek against his chest, enjoying the solid strength of him while the fire warmed her back. “A businesswoman makes bargains, Your Grace,” she said slowly, as the critical words to her future happiness formed in her mind. “Here is an offer. We marry by special license. For a year we just enjoy each other, visit your various estates and see the countryside, travel to Dublin, Edinburgh, and Paris, even Brussels. The following year…we try for a child.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Agreed.”

  “Agreed?” she said in mock-horror, leaning back to look up at him but unable to stifle her laughter. “Aren’t you even going to try and negotiate? Have I taught you nothing?”

  Ben smiled, but his reply was tenderly solemn. “You have taught me everything, madam, as you well know. And freed me from the chains of rigid propriety and shame. I’ll be forever grateful for that, and your love. As for negotiating…why would I do so when your offer is exactly what I desire? With the proviso that should you wish to start another business venture or further your charitable works, I will support the decision. The title of duchess is not a cage to confine you, but to inform all in the realm that I could not imagine a world without you at the center of it.”

  Joy warmed her to the tips of her toes and brought tears to her eyes. “Well then, my duke. I suppose there is nothing left to do but ask for my hand in marriage. I’ll warn you though…I have a stand-in Papa, Mr. Wickham, who will want to ensure your intentions are honorable.”

  He grinned. “I’ll certainly purchase more sweets before that conversation. So…Delilah Forbes. My sweetheart. Will you marry me and be my Christmastide bride?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Epilogue

  Christmas Eve

  A collection of England’s most powerful currently stood in his drawing room; peers and their wives, politicians, ambassadors and diplomats, Almack’s patronesses, even a few members of the royal family. All were sipping drinks as they stared at him with rampant curiosity and speculated sotto voce, for he’d made no public comment on the front page scandal but instead invited them to an afternoon soiree, his first as host.

  Bennett gulped. He’d been tempted to don a suit of armor to face the wolves, but there were at least a few friendly faces in the crowd: Judith and Preston, Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, and his mother had returned from the country. While Hurst, Fletcher, Sir Giles, and the Prince Regent had not made the guest list, he’d deliberately invited a wide spectrum of people; those he liked and disliked, those who frequented the Temple and those who would never set foot there. Everyone needed to hear the truth from his lips; that he’d found the love of his life and Humdrum Tun would be no more.

  And here it was. The moment of truth.

  He clapped his hands together to gain their attention.

  “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” Bennett began. “You are welcome in my home, and I thank you for accepting an invitation on Christmas Eve. Even the weather decided to be amiable, graciously providing a hint of blue sky and frost rather than the traditional bleak rain. I’m sure you are wondering at the purpose of my soiree, when I have not entertained here previously…”

  Almost as one, the guests leaned forward.

  Wolves indeed.

  Stifling a shudder, he clasped his hands behind his back. A speech in the House of Lords would never be as intimidating as this. “First, I would like to address a certain front page that included words like corrupt, debauchery and violence. It is all true. Humdrum Tun was reformed so perfectly, so completely, by the loving care of a wonderful woman that he has disappeared forever.”

  Noise exploded in the room; outraged shrieks, fans snapping open, excited chatter at such juicy gossip, a few laughs, a few cheers and stomping feet, although none of those were loud enough to drown out Judith yelling ‘Huzzah!’

  Bennett’s lips twitched. Perhaps there were occasions when having a sister who could not hold her peace was a good thing. After the din eventually died down, he continued, “So I stand here before you as Duke of Tunbury, hopeful and eager for the future…because I will have a clever, spirited, kindhearted woman at my side. Some know her as the Mistress of Sin. Others as Mrs. Forbes. But to me, she is Delilah and entirely beloved. Sweetheart?”

  As they’d prearranged, the drawing room door swung open and Delilah strolled in, looking absolutely stunning in a gown of cream silk overlaid with gold muslin, the Tunbury diamonds at her throat, and because she loved the festive season so much, a fresh sprig of holly tucked into her coiffure. Escorting her was a dear man he’d known since childhood, the clergyman who had led his father’s funeral: Charles Manners-Sutton, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Today the longtime friend and confidant of the Innsworth family would officiate his wedding.

  Gasps echoed around the room, murmurs reached feverish levels, necks craned and quizzing glasses were raised, as Delilah walked directly to him and sank into a deep curtsy.

  Bennett took her hands and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I am the most fortunate of men.”

  She smiled, her eyes shining. “My duke.”

  The Archbishop beamed at them indulgently, then turned to the gathered guests and lifted up his bible. “Yes, dear friends, you are the fortunate ones who shall be witnessing the marriage of Bennett David Charles Innsworth, Duke of Tunbury, and Delilah Marie Forbes today. Let us begin with a prayer of thanksgiving…”

  The ceremony passed in a blur, but he must have said the right words when necessary, for some time later, they were pronounced man and wife. His family, the Wickhams, and some who were regular Temple visitors cheered loudly, and soon more and more guests joined in, applauding or raising their wine and brandy glasses.

  Bennett exhaled heavily and squeezed Delilah’s hand as men and women surged forward to offer congratulations. While he knew only some were genuine; that others were counting the seconds until they could sprint away and gossip until their tongues fell out, or that certain hostesses were already crossing him off their invitation list forever, he had no regrets. Whatever happened, they would always have each other, and family or friends who cared for them.

  For hours they talked and drank and sampled the six-course wedding banquet created together by his chef and the Temple’s Frenchman, who had decided to accompany Delilah to her new household. But eventually the last guests departed, leaving Bennett and his new wife blessedly alone.

  He took her hand and kissed it. “What would you care to do next, Your Grace?”

  Delilah grinned impishly. “Good gracious. That’s me.”

  “It is indeed.”

  “Can a duchess inquire if it is too early for bed?”

  “A duchess may do as she pleases. And in answer to your question…not at all too early,” he replied, as lust jolted through him. “It is growing dark outside after all.”

  They had never walked faster to a bedchamber. Rather than be interrupted by staff, he and Delilah played valet and lady’s maid for each other, although on this occasion they did take care with the garments.

  His wife pulled back the quilts and linen sheets, and leaped into bed. “I must say, that wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it might be. Your mother, Judith, and Preston have been so welcoming,
and today the Archbishop was gracious, and the guests mostly polite. Of course it helps that you are a duke, and everyone wants our money for their causes. But still. A good first step…brrrr it’s freezing. Hurry up and warm your Christmastide bride, husband.”

  “I really need to install a proper bathing area with a permanent tub, like you had at Golden Square,” he mused, climbing into bed beside her.

  “Yes. You do. I would happily forgo the Tunbury diamonds for a bath we can relax in. We are, after all, a very modern couple.”

  “We are indeed,” he said, leaning over to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “A duke and a pleasure club madam who wed for love on Christmas Eve. Almost enough for me to change my mind about December being the worst month of the year.”

  “Almost?” said Delilah with a laugh. “Do you require further coaxing, Your Grace?”

  Bennett nodded solemnly. “A great deal, I’m afraid.”

  “A lot of love.”

  “All you have to give,” he murmured, settling himself on a pile of pillows, then lifting her onto his chest. “And that’s non-negotiable.”

  Delilah rubbed herself against him. “So masterful. I may have taught you too well.”

  “Hardly masterful, I’m practically a virgin. Decades of practice required before I could even think about claiming such a lofty level of expertise.”

  His wife rolled her eyes, then squeaked as Bennett turned her onto her back and kissed her thoroughly. Never would he tire of this closeness, this wonderful intimacy. How laughable that he’d even considered marrying without love or passion. But each day was better than the last, and he couldn’t wait to show her the world. Well, Great Britain and France at least.

  They would be remaining in town for the next few months while he attended to his duties in the House, and Delilah settled all final matters with the Temple, then they would undertake an extended tour of his estates. He’d promised her Paris in the spring, Dublin and Edinburgh in summer, and even though he’d visited them before, he couldn’t wait to see the magnificent cities through her eyes. No doubt Delilah would have a list of risqué or even downright wicked sights to see.

  “I love you,” she whispered, twining her arms about his neck as his caresses grew bolder. “So much.”

  “My Delilah,” he said, both humbled and elated at winning the heart of the perfect woman for him.

  His to love, forever.

  Nicola Davidson worked for many years in media and government communications, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing erotic historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes dessert—even better!

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  A Scandalous Secret

  by Laura Trentham

  Chapter 1

  Thomas Garrick stood sentinel outside Sir Hawkins’s study. His stance was deliberately casual, but he remained on alert at all times, even in the London town house Sir Hawkins and his family called home. He didn’t try to be intimidating, yet the young scullery maid gave him a wide berth on her daily chores. He’d made the mistake of smiling at her once. She’d acted like he was planning to gobble her up and spit out her bones.

  He was often stationed outside Sir Hawkins’s study in case he was needed to confer on operations, deliver sensitive messages, escort Sir Hawkins to and from Westminster, or less often these days, safeguard Lady Hawkins or Miss Hawkins on their errands. Garrick was the only man Hawkins trusted with his family, life, and secrets.

  The Hawkins’s only child, Victoria, traipsed down the stairs in a long-sleeved frock of buttercup yellow, glowing like she had swallowed the sun on the chilly winter day. Her unruly black hair had been braided and pinned up, but sprigs had escaped to curl around her temple and nape. Her complexion was rosy and betrayed her forays into the garden without her bonnet even as the weather had turned colder.

  Watching her from under his lashes, Garrick remained perfectly still so he could study her unawares for as long as possible. A pensive expression had settled on her features, but it was not truly at home there. Victoria’s disposition was usually as sunny and optimistic as her frock. What was she considering with such focus that she still hadn’t spotted him only an arm’s length away as she took the last step?

  “Good morn, Miss Hawkins,” he said formally.

  She jerked away from him as if she expected an attack, her hand at her throat. He straightened and touched her elbow, surprised at the vehemence of her reaction. She grasped his forearm and moved closer to him. It was his turn to stifle surprise.

  The touch was intimate, and she didn’t let go, not even when their gazes clashed. He found it impossible to plumb the depths of her dark blue eyes for her thoughts. She had been a mystery to him since the day Sir Hawkins had brought him into his home like a stray puppy. His interactions with the opposite sex had been nonexistent at the orphanage, and memories of his time before tragedy befell him had faded.

  Since reaching manhood, his experience had broadened, of course, but she was still more fascinating and complicated than any woman of his acquaintance. Her nature was in turns bubbly and introspective. The superficial facade she presented to her callers was often undercut by wry observations that reminded him of her father, whose intellect and logic made him a formidable weapon as England’s spymaster.

  Only inches separated them. For his own sanity, he’d done his best to keep his distance the past two years. She was a lady whose mother expected her to marry into the ton to broaden and expand the family’s connections. The orphaned son of a blacksmith did not qualify.

  While it was winter outside, her scent was summer—honeysuckle and heat. He cursed the leap his heart made into a faster rhythm. Victoria was off-limits. Sir Hawkins was his employer. No, he was more than that. He was both mentor and a father figure. Sir Hawkins had plucked him out of poverty and deprivation. It was not being melodramatic to say Garrick owed Sir Hawkins his life and livelihood.

  The cynical part of Garrick that had blossomed in the orphanage understood the way Sir Hawkins had saved him meant his loyalty to the man knew no bounds. It was a wise, if cold-blooded, ploy on Sir Hawkins’s part.

  Would Sir Hawkins mourn if one day Garrick lost his life in service to Crown and country? He thought so, but Sir Hawkins would replace him within the week nonetheless. Garrick alternatively admired and despised the pitiless mentality Sir Hawkins possessed.

  Victoria released his arm and stepped to the opposite side of the study door. He opened and closed his hand, flexing his forearm, the ghost of her touch branding him and applying a spark to the tinder of attraction simmering between them. As usual, he ignored it.

  Victoria smiled. Not a polite, simpering smile. He wasn’t sure she even had the skill for such. Her smile was one of such warmth and energy that blood hummed through Garrick as if he’d downed a carafe of Arabian coffee.

  Had Garrick ever seen Sir Hawkins smile out of simple happiness? He stifled a guffaw at the thought. Sir Hawkins was not a sunny, happy man. And neither was Garrick. He didn’t have the luxury of happiness. Life was a struggle and mostly unfair, and nothing in his recent experience had contradicted that theory.

  Yet Victoria’s mere existence proved there was light and goodness and beauty in the world. How some London dandy hadn’t snapped her off the marriage mart was a great mystery of the universe.

  He resumed his stance of casual alertness, and she mimicked him, propping her shoulder against the wall and crossing her arms. His gaze dipped to her décolletage, which her arms framed rather deliciously even though her bodice was modest. He snapped his attention back to her face.

  “Thomas.” No one called him T
homas but her. “You were lurking.”

  Her voice held a sultry, husky quality that hinted at a passion barely constrained by her innocence. How he envied the man who would have the honor of unleashing her ardor and nurturing her natural curiosity. The intimacy should not be allowed, yet he did nothing to correct her.

  “I apologize for frightening you.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “However, I wasn’t lurking. I was standing here clear as day, but you were woolgathering.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Father would be disappointed in me.” The look she cast him through her lashes was unintentionally flirtatious. Or was it intentional? His ruminations on the possibility were interrupted when she asked, “Has Father tasked you with holding up the wall for the duration of the day?”

  “I shall endeavor to keep it from toppling upon your head.”

  “That seems like a waste of your considerable talents.” Her gaze flicked across his shoulders and chest, and his muscles tensed in response. “But I imagine you will do an admirable job.”

  What did the gleam in her eyes mean? Was she comparing him to the foppish men who came to call on her in their tailored frock coats? Most of them had never known a day of real labor. How did he measure up against the gentlemen of her acquaintance?

  In his line of work, brawn was an asset, and while Garrick hadn’t been gifted with breeding or luck, he had brawn in spades. He was taller than most men, many inches taller than Victoria, and held no illusions as to his looks. His nose had been broken his first day in the orphanage as a welcome from the older boys. Every time he stared into the looking glass, the crook was a reminder of how quickly happiness could be snatched away.

  Unlike some of his comrades, he would never be called upon to don proper attire and pass for a gentleman. He was known as Hawk, the silent protector.