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

by Anna Campbell

  “Yes, Doctor, but I’m feeling better.”

  “Let’s examine you then.” Dr. Calhoun glanced Garrick’s direction with a raised brow.

  “Uh, let me fetch Lady Hawkins, shall I?” Garrick backed out of the room without providing an answer. Lady Hawkins descended on him like a proverbial hawk before he was even two steps down the hall.

  “The physician has arrived, I hear.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Garrick stepped aside so she could pass.

  She came to an abrupt stop and turned back to him. “I do not approve, but Harold tells me I must accept your union with my daughter.”

  “I love her. I will protect her.” He didn’t flinch away from the woman’s eviscerating stare.

  Garrick had always thought Sir and Lady Hawkins an odd match, but no longer. Underneath the gracious facade she presented to the lords and ladies she wooed was tempered metal, hard and unbreakable.

  Her jaw twitched but lost its crushing intensity. “I wanted something different for Victoria than I found. I wanted her not to worry about her husband at every turn. I wanted her to marry a man unacquainted with death and danger.”

  Garrick’s breath caught. He hadn’t considered the cost to Victoria.

  “But then again, I suppose she was always too opinionated and adventurous for any of the gentlemen here.” Lady Hawkins disappeared into Victoria’s room.

  While they hadn’t made peace, it seemed they’d reached a truce.

  He loitered outside the door until the physician exited. “How is she?”

  The man spared Garrick nothing more than a glance. “She’ll have a headache and is covered in scrapes and bruises, but she’s young and strong and will be right soon enough. I’ve advised her to keep to her bed tonight. I’m afraid she’ll miss the Christmas Eve celebrations.”

  Garrick nodded and poked his head around the doorjamb. Victoria was sitting on the side of the bed, and Lady Hawkins was urging her back under the covers.

  “I’m not a delicate flower, Mother. I won’t wilt.”

  “The doctor ordered you to rest.”

  “I’m fine.” Victoria spotted Garrick in the doorway and favored him with a smile that made him want to kiss her. “Tell her, Thomas. I’ll sit on a chair in the corner, but there’s no reason for me to miss tonight’s fun. Will someone please order me a bath?”

  Garrick joined Lady Hawkins. Victoria’s dress was filthy and ripped, and she was still too pale for his liking. “I agree with your mother, actually. Although a bath and change of clothes is in order.”

  Lady Hawkins smiled at him like a coconspirator, and he could see his estimation in her eyes rise. “I’ll find the housekeeper.”

  Victoria flopped backward. “I can’t believe you betrayed me.”

  Garrick stifled a smile and leaned over her, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders. “All the commotion of a party will only exacerbate the pain in your head. You’ve been through a trying experience today. You need to recover.”

  Her chin wobbled. “I don’t want to be stuck in my room. Alone. I keep reliving it. What if you hadn’t found me?”

  Garrick should have seen through her bravado. “You won’t be alone. I care not for parties and won’t leave your side. Would you like visitors? Lady Eleanor, perhaps?”

  “Yes, please,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She clutched at his jacket and drew him down to her. He gave her what they both wanted—and what she needed—a kiss. Not a kiss of seduction, but a promise. He would keep her safe and protect her, but he would also give her freedom.

  Chapter 12

  Victoria didn’t want to admit her mother and Thomas had been right. She was drained and sore, and her head ached. The notion of lacing up her stays and getting pins stuck into her scalp to listen to subpar pianoforte playing made her shudder. After bathing and slipping on a night rail and dressing gown, she settled into a comfy armchair in front of the fire.

  Eleanor entered with mincing steps and burst into tears when she saw Victoria.

  Victoria rose, put an arm around her friend’s shoulders, and drew her toward a second chair. “Come now. I don’t look that ghastly, do I?”

  “I’m so sorry this happened, and all because of me.” Eleanor wailed the last word.

  “It wasn’t your fault. I mostly blame Mrs. Leighton, but Lord Berkwith deserves a portion of the fault. It seems as though he was stringing Mrs. Leighton along in order to continue enjoying her favors.”

  Eleanor pulled out a delicately embroidered handkerchief to daub at her eyes and nose. Victoria had never seen anyone cry more genteelly. Victoria cried like she did most things—with gusto. Her nose ran and turned red, and her eyes swelled.

  Victoria corralled her wandering thoughts. “Where is Lord Berkwith?”

  “He was called away before dawn. A sick aunt.” The forlorn note in Eleanor’s voice made Victoria shake her head.

  “Don’t tell me your feelings are still engaged? After everything he has done?”

  “You told me yourself you thought he truly cared about me.” Eleanor wouldn’t look at her.

  “Yes, but not more than he cares about himself. Or your dowry. If not for that, he wouldn’t give you a second glance.” Victoria’s ordeal had stripped away her tact when it came to Lord Berkwith.

  Eleanor gasped. “That’s a terribly unkind thing to say.”

  “You are lovely and kind and will make some gentleman a wonderful wife. I’m just not certain Lord Berkwith deserves you.”

  Eleanor rose and fiddled with the handkerchief. She was dressed in a ruby red dress that highlighted her creamy complexion and golden-brown hair. “I’m very much afraid that I love him.”

  Victoria’s headache grew worse with the pronouncement. She rose and stilled Eleanor’s hands with her own. “After all I have endured, will you grant me a boon?”

  Eleanor clutched at Victoria, the tears glimmering in her eyes only enhancing the blue. “Anything that’s in my power.”

  “Give London one more season. If at the end you are still in love with Berkwith—and he with you—then you’ll have my blessing.” Victoria was counting on Lord Berkwith hying off with an easier mark before then. Better Eleanor suffer a broken heart than a lifetime stuck with a charming bounder.

  Eleanor’s reluctance was written plainly on her face. “I suppose a few months won’t make a difference, will they? It will give Lord Berkwith more time to win over my parents.”

  “Exactly.” A soft rap sounded on the door. “Come in.”

  Thomas stepped through the door and left it ajar.

  Eleanor inclined her head. “Mr. Garrick. Thank you for rescuing my dear friend.”

  Thomas’s eyebrows quirked up, but his face remained impassive and intimidating. He didn’t reply.

  Before he could say something even less tactful than what Eleanor had already heard, Victoria led her toward the door. “Go have fun. It’s yuletide, and you’re missing all the games and food. You should see if Lord Percival requires a partner.”

  Laughter and the off-key tinkle of piano keys drifted up the stairs. Eleanor glanced over her shoulder at Thomas, then leaned closer to whisper in Victoria’s ear, “Will you be all right with him?”

  Victoria cut her smile short because it hurt her swollen temple, so she nodded. “Perhaps he is the one who should worry. I might take wild advantage of him.”

  Eleanor laughed, the tears and angst erased as easily as a sponge on slate. “Your jests never fail to amuse me.”

  Once Eleanor was out of sight down the hallway, Victoria closed the door and locked it.

  “What are you doing, you minx?” Thomas crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth set in a scowl.

  At first glance, he was an intimidating, scary brute. It’s what made him excel at his profession. Victoria knew the truth. A shiver ran through her. That scowly mouth could do unspeakably tender things, and so could his big, hard body.

  “I’m going to kiss you.” Stalking him, s
he forced his retreat until the back of his legs hit the chair, and he plopped down. She draped herself over his lap, twined her arms around his neck, and fulfilled her promise.

  She was the aggressor, plundering his mouth and wanting to tempt him into another indiscretion. He resisted, gentling the kiss until he was sipping on her lips like a butterfly. “I shan’t take you tonight.”

  “But I need you, Thomas.” The plaintive note in her voice betrayed her frayed nerves over the events of the day. “If things had gone differently…”

  He tucked her head into the warm space between his neck and shoulder. “I will not take you, but I will watch over you so you can get the rest you need.”

  She took a deep, shuddery breath. His scent was a familiar comfort. And it would be hers to savor forever. He was hers forever. The reality had yet to sink in.

  “We will marry?” she whispered.

  “With haste.”

  “But you did not plant your seed inside me.”

  His chest rumbled with what she took for a laugh. “According to my comrades, it is not a foolproof method to prevent a babe. Even so, we’ve waited long enough, haven’t we? Unless you would like a formal wedding this spring in London?”

  He shifted to see her face, but she only snuggled closer. “Not at all. The sooner I have you in my bed, the better.”

  This time his laugh was unmistakable. She hoped to make him laugh every day. Or at least every other day. “You did take my virtue in a most unladylike manner.”

  She smiled and pressed a kiss against his warm skin, her eyes falling shut as exhaustion crept over her. Her body and mind understood she was safe in his arms, and she was able to relax. “I must make an honest man of you.”

  “Indeed. An honest man who loves you beyond measure.” A hitch in his breath had her attention. “My new position will come with dangers, Victoria. Are you sure you’d not prefer to escape the game your father and I are forced to play?”

  She tightened her hold on him. “Who then would protect you?”

  He hummed and brushed his lips against her aggrieved temple. Feeling his complete capitulation, she drifted into a light sleep, dimly aware when he tucked her into the bed.

  “I’ll keep watch over you, love,” he whispered when she stirred.

  She smiled and succumbed to the rest her body craved, knowing when she awoke he would be there—and they would face the future together.

  About Laura Trentham

  An award-winning author, Laura Trentham was born and raised in a small town in Tennessee. She writes romantic women’s fiction, sexy, small town contemporaries, and smoking hot Regency historicals. Several of her books have been named to Amazon’s Best Romance of the Month list, iBooks Best Book of the Month list, and even named an NPR Best Romance of the Month.

  Want to read more in the Spies and Lovers world? Look for AN INDECENT INVITATION. Watch Mr. Gray Masterson match wits with Lady Lily Drummond. Warning: This book contains spies, scandals, naughty liaisons in houses of ill repute, men who think they know everything and women who know they do not.

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  The Christmas Courtesan

  by Victoria Vale

  Chapter 1

  London, 1818

  “Come now, ladies. You cannot possibly believe those ridiculous rumors. Male courtesans in London? Why, the very idea is preposterous!”

  Lady Miranda Hughes glanced up from the pink rosette she’d just embroidered onto her sampler. The other women gathered around her morning room had given up their work as talk of Christmas festivities was lost in favor of something far more scandalous. Dropping the sampler and needle into the work-bag at her feet, she reached for her empty teacup.

  Mrs. Maud Portemaine continued her tirade against the latest piece of gossip mentioned during their weekly tea and needlepoint session.

  “No man is so desperate for funds to make himself a kept man,” Maud insisted, staring at them over the rim of her round spectacles. She was all hard angles and sharp features, though from behind her lenses one could make out a pair of pleasing blue eyes.

  Miranda issued a sarcastic snort while refilling her cup. “Half the men of the ton are desperate for money. Why do you think the heiresses are always the first to be snapped up every Season?”

  She could attest to that herself, as a large dowry had offered her several opportunities for an advantageous marriage. Now that she was widowed, there were fewer suitors lining up to court her—though Miranda could offer no complaint. She liked her freedom, and thanks to a generous dower’s portion could maintain her lifestyle for the rest of her days.

  “Most of them do not wish to marry, anyway,” offered Lady Mary Caulfield, selecting two iced cakes from the silver tower between them. The blonde curls at her temples bobbed when she sat back in her chair and took a tiny, ladylike bite of her cake. “Why wed an heiress if you can warm one’s bed and still earn yourself a fortune?”

  Maud sputtered, goggling at Mary in astonishment. “Honestly, Mary … the things you say!”

  “She isn’t wrong,” Miranda replied. “I cannot see why it should bother you to know they exist, Maud. If a woman can become some man’s mistress and earn herself a king’s ransom in the process, I do not see why a man cannot do the same.”

  “They don’t exist,” Maud insisted. “It’s just a silly rumor.”

  “Lady Banbury told me she had an affair with one,” chimed in the fourth of their tight-knit group, Mrs. Joan Durbin. She was short and plump, her rounded cheeks always holding a rosy tint. “Why would she lie?”

  “Oh, pish!” Maud grumbled. “Lady Banbury has every reason to lie. She is in debt up to her eyebrows and tries to pass her paste jewelry off as the genuine thing.”

  “It was before her difficulties,” Joan retorted. “And I believe her.”

  “So do I,” Mary said. “I find the whole thing so fascinating! The men have had their fun for so long, while telling us to mind our manners, keep silent, and stand in their shadows. As if we do not have wants and needs of our own.”

  A sensation long forgotten slithered through Miranda’s middle, reminding her how long it had been since she’d experienced pleasures of the flesh. It was the one part of her marriage that hadn’t been lacking, as her husband had been a man of healthy appetites who hadn’t balked at teaching her the mechanics of intercourse. It might be shameful of her, but it was the only thing she missed about being someone’s wife. Outside the bedroom, she and Lord Hughes hadn’t known one another at all.

  It had been her hope that the birth of their child would bring them closer together. But, while Lord Hughes had doted on their daughter, he had remained distant from her—as if his blood connection to little Ursula resulted in a camaraderie he could never share with Miranda.

  “Hear, hear,” Miranda murmured, raising her cup.

  Maud puckered her lips as if she had just tasted something tart. “Miranda, I am surprised at you. I would expect such talk from these two …”

  “Do you like my sampler?” Joan chirped, a wicked grin spreading over her face.

  She revealed the figure of a nude man with nothing but an ivy leaf covering where his manhood should be—thereby proving Maud’s point. Mary giggled into her teacup while Miranda fought back a smile.

  “But not from you,” Maud continued, giving Joan a chiding look.

  “Surely you haven’t been widowed so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like,” Miranda argued. “Our husbands might be dead, but that doesn’t mean we have to be.”

  “I vow, Maud, it’s almost as if you’ve turned into an old prude overnight,” Mary said with a scoff. “I think it would be fun to indulge in an affair … for the sake of appeasing curiosity if nothing else. Don’t you want to know what it might be like with someone else—
someone you wouldn’t have to marry to swive?”

  “But to pay for it like some kind of … like …” Maud waved a hand through the air, lips moving as she searched for words but apparently found none.

  “When my dear Roddy died, he told me to use my inheritance for whatever might make me happy,” Mary said, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. Unlike Miranda’s polite but distant union, Mary’s marriage to the Earl of Rodingham had been a love match.

  “I am certain he didn’t intend for you to spend the money on … on whores,” Maud retorted.

  “They aren’t whores,” Mary argued. “They are courtesans. There is a difference, dear.”

  “If they even exist, which I am certain they do not,” Maud fired back.

  Joan’s expression grew smug as she bent to retrieve something from her own work-bag. Miranda’s eyes widened, Maud gasped, and Mary murmured, ‘I knew it’, under her breath as Joan held a crisp, white calling card aloft for their inspection. Two large letters were printed on it in a decidedly masculine script, with bold swirls gracing the edges.

  GC.

  “Where did you get that?” Mary whispered, almost as if speaking too loudly would make the card disappear.

  “Lady Banbury gave it to me,” Joan replied, passing the card to Miranda for inspection. “Apparently, you can only meet with the proprietor if you present this card to the modiste, Madame Hershaw—hers is the shop in Cavendish Square, you know. According to Lady Banbury, you offer her the card and say you’re looking for a special type of gown … something to be worn in the evening. When she asks what you have in mind, you say you wish to impress a certain gentleman, and what you need must be unlike anything any other woman in London possesses. When you wear it, you wish to feel like the most ravishing woman in all the world. You tell her you want it made of red satin.”

  Miranda passed the card to Maud, while Mary went to the edge of her seat, her rapt attention fixed on Joan.