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

by Anna Campbell

  She was remarkedly unfazed by their situation and what had transpired the past twelve hours. He cradled the wood, not sure what to do or say in the circumstances. Should he apologize? Assure her they would be fine? She seemed to require neither.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Her eyes flared. “Did you see evidence the men followed us?”

  “No,” he croaked out. “I fear I’ve taken advantage of you.”

  She slammed the sugar tin on the table and propped her hands on her hips. Without the added bulk around her middle, the dress hung loosely. “If you would like to distribute blame, then I must bear the majority. After all, it was my hand in your breeches, was it not?”

  “You harbor no regrets?”

  Without answering, she took the wood from his arms one log at a time and stacked it by the hearth. Then she stepped into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “None whatsoever. Do you?”

  He lay his cheek on top of her head. “Only as it pertains to the future.”

  “Are you worried about what Father will say?”

  He jerked back to look her in the eyes. “What he will say? He can never know about our… indiscretion.”

  Her eyes turned as hot as the blue part of a flame and singed him. If that wasn’t indication enough that he’d said the wrong thing, her icy tone confirmed his idiocy. “What was I thinking? Of course he will never know about this indiscretion. This was merely a hump. A screw. We swived. It was a way to pass the time that was a bit more satisfying than a game of hazard.”

  She dropped to her haunches and stoked the fire with the poker. Sparks erupted and snow sizzled. Steam was rising from the black kettle hanging over the fire.

  Part of him wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of her diatribe and ask where she’d learned such words, but her feelings were too raw for teasing. When she rose, he took her arms, but she stared at the middle of his chest. Was she attempting to eviscerate his heart with her gaze?

  “Your parents want you to marry a gentleman of means. Someone who can take care of you.”

  “You take care of me.” It felt like an accusation.

  He clenched his jaw. Didn’t she know if he could, he would present himself to Sir Hawkins and offer his hand in marriage? But that was the problem. Marriage was all he could offer. He had no grand house or servants. His profession was dangerous and unpredictable.

  “Yes, I can fend off men who would do you harm, but I can’t buy you frocks at the best modiste in London. I can’t furnish you with a lady’s maid. I don’t know if I could even afford your book habit.”

  She waved a hand. “None of that is important.”

  He caught her hand and brought it to his chest. “It is, Victoria. You don’t know because you’ve never experienced hunger or poverty or privations. I have, and it only takes a week, a day, an hour to be cast out with nothing.”

  She curled her fingers around his hand and shook her head, her mouth tight. “Happiness must be worth something, and you care about me, don’t you?”

  “I would not have you cast out of your parents’ house and society. You would come to hate me for it, and I couldn’t bear it. That is why what has happened here must stay a secret between us. But know this, I will forever hold the memory close to my heart.”

  The moment of her capitulation reflected in the slump of her shoulders and the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she looked toward the fire. Even though it was for the best and what had to happen, it still hurt. It was not the pain of a punch that would fade, but the ache of a wound that would fester and never heal.

  “What will we do now?” she asked in a small voice bereft of her usual bravado. He hated that he had stripped her of any of her confidence.

  “We will have our tea and then head to the village. There we will seek news and sustenance and decide our next move.”

  In silence, they drank the bitter tea from chipped earthenware mugs. The sugar added a slight sweetness but also an unpleasant grit. Victoria didn’t complain.

  “May I suggest you reassemble your disguise?”

  She gave a sharp nod, tied the padding around her waist and hips, then presented her back so Garrick could help tighten her stays and fasten the sturdy, plain dress. He was careful to make minimal contact with her skin, afraid he would be too weak to resist laying kisses along the path he covered. By the time he finished, his fingers trembled like a drunkard denied blue ruin.

  They put the cottage to rights for the next man or woman who might seek haven there. Cloak pulled close around him, he stepped into the snow. Victoria hesitated in the doorway. She was likely to end up cold and damp before the day was done, but there was no reason for her to start with sodden hems.

  “May I?” He held out his arms.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice.”

  She rolled her eyes, signaling the return of a portion of her spirit, and harrumphed. “A Banbury tale if I ever heard one. Women have limited choices, and ladies even fewer.”

  She gestured him closer, and he swept her into a cradle hold. Her hurt had turned to anger. He preferred her spitting fire. His shoulders relaxed despite the burden he carried—both physical and metaphorical. He trudged through the snow toward his horse.

  “Someday you’ll thank me,” he murmured.

  She bucked in his arms. The movement caught him off guard, and he half dropped her, thankfully not headfirst, into the snow. “I will never thank you for being a coldhearted arse.”

  Anger was one thing. What radiated off Victoria was pure fury.

  Garrick was not sure what to say, so he said nothing. If her jerky movements as she mounted behind him were any indication, he had chosen poorly, but any explanation he bumbled through now was bound to make things worse.

  They plodded toward the village. Garrick tried not to focus on the simmering, silent woman sitting close behind him. Danger stalked them. His job was to protect Victoria, not to offer something she couldn’t accept and he couldn’t afford. Like his heart.

  The woods were silent, their horse’s hoof falls muffled. They cleared the tree line, and the village of Upton Heath came into view. It boasted a blacksmith, a baker, and a large common house with an inn. It was on a well-traveled thoroughfare and was a common post for changing horses for the coaches. It reminded him painfully of the small village he had grown up in.

  His destination was the baker. The man also responsible for maintaining the cottage. He dismounted and helped Victoria down, running a critical eye over her. The dowdy dress and padding were in place and offered some camouflage, but without the veiled hat, she was pretty enough to draw notice. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and curly wisps of hair framed her face. They couldn’t tarry longer than necessary else someone was sure to note her passing.

  “I’m sure the inn offers a suitable breakfast and perhaps even passable coffee.” She looked longingly in that direction.

  “I’m sure it does.” He ducked into the baker’s and took a deep breath.

  The baker’s wife in his childhood village used to hand out overdone buns and bread from the back door to the village children. He remembered tearing off the burnt edges and devouring the still-warm treats before running off to play. His heart crimped.

  The baker emerged from a back room. His apron and hands were dusted with flour, and his face flushed with the heat from the ovens. “What can I do for you and your missus, sir?”

  “A loaf of white and two sticky buns,” Garrick said. The man nodded, but before he turned away, Garrick added. “London is harsh this time of year, is it not?”

  The innocuous comment wiped the smile from the baker’s face. Without replying, he disappeared into the back room. When he returned, the bread and buns were wrapped in paper. Garrick pressed coins into the baker’s palm. The man didn’t bother to count them, only slipped them into a pocket on his apron.

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “Nothing. Thank you for your service.” Garrick and the man
exchanged a nod on Garrick’s way out the door.

  “Let’s find out how passable the coffee is.” He led them to the inn. The common room was warm and smoky and welcoming. Even better, the coffee was better than passable. The strong, hot brew sharpened his senses.

  Garrick passed Victoria a sticky bun while he bit into his. It was delicious. Smoothing the wrapping, Garrick ran a practiced eye over the message written in tiny coded letters along the side. It wasn’t a difficult cipher. Garrick crumpled the paper and tossed it into the flames, watching it flare.

  Something didn’t feel right. He had expected to come across evidence of men tracking them, but even on their headlong rush through London to the cottage, he hadn’t sensed anyone following them.

  “Your father received my warning but found nothing amiss at the London residence. As a precaution, your parents have set off for the house party a day early, and I’m to deliver you to them at Danbury. From there, you will travel to the Barclay’s manor with no one the wiser.” He took a sip of coffee and looked at her over the rim of his cup.

  “No one the wiser to the attack or the fact we engaged in carnal relations?”

  He sputtered on a swallow, the coffee burning his lungs.

  She smiled sweetly before taking a bite of her roll. A dollop of glaze was at the corner of her mouth, and she swiped her tongue over the bit of sweetness. His knees felt unsteady even though he was sitting.

  “You mustn’t say such things,” he whispered.

  “Pardon me. I forgot we were ignoring it ever happened.”

  Her needling worked to make him feel even worse. “You understand why it must remain our secret.”

  She popped the last bite of sticky bun into her mouth and stared him down for what felt like an eternity. “Of course. Our secret.”

  “I’m going to see about transportation.” He stood and made his escape.

  The cold air was a slap in the face. He had ruined everything. Things would never be the same between them. She would become another man’s wife, and he would be forced to watch it unfold from outside Sir Hawkins’s study door. His life would be a living hell. A sickly combination of anger and despair churned his stomach.

  One thing became clear. He must leave Sir Hawkins’s employ. With Sir Hawkins’s backing and the coin he’d saved, Garrick could buy a commission and become an officer on the front lines instead of a shadowy figure behind the machinations. The simplicity of charging into battle to kill or be killed held its attractions.

  After shaking himself out of his stupor, he spoke with the stable master. The sun was bright overhead, and the sound of melting snow dripping from eaves was all around them. The yard had turned into a slushy, muddy mess. According to the stable master, the roads were worse, and progress would be slow in a coach.

  Garrick didn’t want to remain in the village any longer than necessary, and traveling in a slow-moving carriage would make them easy targets. The only option was to proceed on horseback. Luckily, Victoria was an experienced rider. The weather would make the journey miserable, but she had borne worse with little complaint.

  While the stable master readied a sturdy mare for hire, Garrick returned to collect Victoria. Lost in thought and unaware of his approach, she stared into the flames of the hearth, her profile solemn.

  The urge to draw her into a comforting embrace made his muscles twitch. Instead, he cleared his throat. “The snow is melting, albeit slowly.”

  “What is the condition of the road?” She didn’t favor him with a glance.

  “A combination of mud and slush. Coach travel will be difficult. We’ll have to continue on horseback. A mare is being saddled for you now.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been thinking.”

  He braced himself. “About us?”

  Now she turned the full force of her attention on him, sitting back in the chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “As a matter of fact, no. About the men who tried to take me.”

  Garrick took the seat next to her. “What are your thoughts?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you only pretending to be interested in what I think to placate me?”

  “You are your father’s daughter. I don’t underestimate the quickness of your mind, and I’m interested in everything you have to say.”

  She blinked rapidly then let her hands fall to her lap. “You must quit saying such things. It only makes it more difficult.”

  “Why? It’s the truth.”

  “Because no other man of my acquaintance—not even Father—cares about what I want and even less about what I think.” She sighed. “But I will lament over that when I have the luxury of time for a good cry. Right now we must concentrate on why those men wanted to abduct me.”

  “To get to your father.”

  “To blackmail him into doing something against the Crown’s interest?”

  “That would be a solid assumption.”

  “But how did those men know I would be leaving the town house yesterday evening? Alone. I only decided on a plan of action that afternoon after I visited Eleanor.”

  “I assume you went through the mews to visit Lady Eleanor as I didn’t see you.” At her nod, he asked, “Who crossed your path, even if it was for a moment?”

  “A groomsman. Annie accompanied me of course.”

  “Of course she was involved,” he said dryly. “I assume you trust her implicitly?”

  “I do, and so do you, or she wouldn’t be employed in our household.”

  While Victoria was correct, anyone could be turned if offered the right incentive. “Does she have a suitor? Perhaps a handsome footman placed in a nearby household swayed her with pretty words and cajoled information without her even realizing she was betraying you.”

  “Is that what you are trained to do? Cajole women out of their secrets?” The jab was well-placed, with the force of enough truth to sting.

  “What prompted your hastened visit to Lady Eleanor?” he asked.

  “A note from Lord Berkwith passed to me through the milliner.”

  “Why her?”

  “It was at Lord Berkwith’s recommendation. A lady visiting the milliner raises few suspicions. I was most often the go-between because I am afforded far more freedom than Eleanor.”

  “That’s because even in your schemes, you exhibit a certain amount of care. Usually.”

  “I was careful this time. I went well disguised.”

  “Not careful enough.”

  “So it seems.” She ran a finger along her lower lip, and he followed the path with his gaze, wishing he could lean in and do the same with his tongue. Then he’d—

  She whipped around and caught him staring at her mouth. He averted his eyes and picked at the dirt along his cuffs as if he actually cared.

  “What does Father preach?” she asked finally.

  “Never leave a man alive who can recognize you?”

  She sputtered unintelligible words before saying in a shocked whisper, “I’ve never heard him say such a thing.”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I think our lessons might have covered different topics. What wisdom did your father impart to you?”

  “Don’t assume anything.”

  Garrick had heard Hawkins utter the words so many times they hardly registered anymore, but now he applied them to their situation.

  “All right, let’s toss the assumption the attempted abduction has anything to do with your father. Do you have enemies? A gentleman scorned? A lady jealous?”

  She barked a laugh. “None that I know of. I’m not lofty enough to gain such notoriety nor pretty enough to attract notice from anyone of import.”

  “Balderdash. You are beautiful and intelligent and any man who isn’t besotted with you is an idiot.” He took one of her hands in both of his and caressed the back with his thumbs.

  It was exactly the sort of gesture he should be avoiding, because it made him want to touch her everywhere. He dropped her hand and rubbed his palms down the legs of his bree
ches, as if he would ever be able to erase the feel of her skin on his. His little speech was not helping him lock his heart away. He was basically gift wrapping it and offering it on one knee.

  “Or maybe not,” he said mulishly.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe they aren’t idiots? Or maybe I’m not beautiful and intelligent?”

  An apology stumbled out of his mouth, but when his gaze met hers, her eyes were twinkling with a teasing merriment that was dearly familiar. Some of his dread dissipated. Their second moment of insanity—perhaps hour of insanity was more accurate—hadn’t destroyed their friendship.

  Garrick didn’t have many boon companions. Any boon companions. The men and women who worked under Hawkins were chess pieces, never fully realized as people. Garrick was as unknowable to them. He was merely Hawkins’s shadow.

  To trust was to commit a sin. Nonetheless, Garrick trusted Victoria. Yet another sin he’d committed with her.

  “If you have no enemies, it brings us back around to our original theory.”

  “Not quite.” She tapped her forefinger on her lips. “It was, after all, Eleanor who was supposed to be there. However, the likeliest suspect in her abduction would be Lord Berkwith, and he was incapacitated by the men.”

  “Unless he wanted to make it look like he hadn’t hired them.”

  “But why would it matter at that point? If Eleanor had made an appearance, his assumption would be that she was willing to elope.”

  “Except she wasn’t, was she? If you hadn’t taken her place, she was planning to deny him, correct?”

  “I suppose, although I believe he could have swayed her to accept him.” She shook her head. “What a tangle.”

  “We can work on unraveling it while we travel. Are you ready?” He rose and tugged on his gloves, considering her. He took his hat and dropped it on her head. “Wear this. I will be cannon fodder if I return you to your mother sunburned.”

  They ducked into the cold sunshine. The mare was waiting next to a mounting block. Victoria adjusted the bulk of her padding and hauled herself into the sidesaddle. Their horses trudged along the muddy lane. The winds were calm under the sunny skies, and while it was cold, it wasn’t brutally uncomfortable. He attuned himself to their surroundings, but nothing seemed amiss.