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

by Anna Campbell

  “Roger? What’s wrong?”

  Her voice jolted him from his chaotic thoughts, and Roger realized he’d shot to his feet. He parted his lips, but clamped them shut again when he felt his tongue beginning to rebel. Speech became more impossible by the second as his mind and body warred with one another, his mouth caught in the crossfire.

  Miranda scrambled to her feet and came toward him, the empathy and confusion in her eyes making him feel two feet tall. He swallowed and tried again to speak, but could only produce a low rasping wheeze and something that sounded vaguely like, “I should go.”

  Then, he was spinning on his heel to flee without a look back, bile rising swiftly in the back of his throat.

  His first day as a courtesan and he’d bungled it. If Miranda had wanted him at all before, she certainly couldn’t desire him now. His mortifying stammer had only manifested for a few seconds, but it was long enough to remind him why he was still a virgin at the age of thirty-six—why the one time he’d come close to making love to a woman had ended in shame.

  He’d been mad to think he could do this.

  Who would ensure Emily had a dowry? If he couldn’t find his own happiness, then seeing his sister wed and settled would be enough for him.

  Only, his one sure chance at providing a dowry had just been left in that drawing room, likely wondering whether her courtesan was insane.

  What the devil was he supposed to do now?

  Chapter 6

  Miranda glanced about the crowded ballroom, unable to appreciate the grandiose decor turning the space into a winter wonderland. The entire house had been turned out with greenery, candles, and kissing boughs in celebration of Christmas Eve, while the ballroom was prepared for the event of the evening: a lavish ball. While she typically enjoyed taking in the little details that went into such an affair, Miranda found it difficult to get into the spirit of the evening. All day, her thoughts had been dominated by Roger—who she hadn’t spoken to since he’d fled the drawing room last night.

  After breakfast this morning, the party guests had spent an afternoon indulging in a variety of amusements. There had been card-making and parlor games, followed by sleigh rides across the hilly, snow-covered grounds of the estate. The children had been brought from the nursery to participate in the rides, and for a short while Miranda forgot all about Roger. Ursula had been so charming and filled with wonder as they raced over the snow, tiny flakes flying up to land on their hats and sleeves of their coats.

  Roger had been present for all the festivities, though he remained silent and withdrawn. Keeping the company of his siblings, he barely made eye-contact with Miranda, nor did he give any indication that he intended to explain his actions the night before.

  She could hardly make sense of it. The man had been as rigid as a fireplace poker at first, but Miranda managed to prod him into easy conversation. His speech was still sparse and a bit stilted, but she had noticed a slight relaxation in his demeanor. Then there had been that explosive kiss.

  A shiver shot through her, despite the stifling warmth of the ballroom as she remembered every lurid detail. Roger might present himself as hard and cold, but the man kissed with so much passion and fire Miranda was surprised they hadn’t gone up in flames. It had delighted her to learn that despite being a virgin, he did not lack in virility or prowess. The press of his hard, male body atop hers once they’d gone down to the rug had brought to life a myriad of wants and desires. The thrilling sensation of being alive—of being wanted and pursued—had washed over her, and Miranda had been ready to push the encounter further. Roger certainly seemed willing himself … until he hadn’t been.

  It took several minutes after he fled the room for Miranda to wrap her mind around what had occurred. While her body still tingled and throbbed with arousal, her mind had spun in circles trying to puzzle out his odd reaction. One moment he’d been burning hot in her arms, hard and full between her legs, and even smiling at her. Then, he’d been as frigid as an icicle.

  The longer she dwelt on it, the more confused Miranda became. By the time she arrived in the ballroom, that confusion had given way to annoyance. Here she was, a woman who had hired a courtesan to pleasure her, and she couldn’t even get him alone in a room for more than half an hour before he was fleeing. She hadn’t expected him to do all the work—Miranda had come into this arrangement understanding his lack of experience, after all. However, she hadn’t counted on her courtesan being unwilling to seduce her.

  Glancing down at the cheerful green ballgown she had donned for the evening, she wondered if it were her person he found offensive. He had claimed to be waiting for the right woman to take to bed for the first time, and Miranda had thought it rather sweet and romantic. Now, she wondered if his insistence on waiting meant he was far too discerning for his own good. Perhaps she wasn’t the most beautiful of women, and he might have had his pick of any lady he wanted. But that didn’t make her somehow inadequate to meet his needs. Or did it?

  Had Roger been a virgin for so long because he was searching for a level of perfection Miranda could never live up to? The thought only made her angry. How dare he treat her as if she were disposable, not good enough to have the honor of experiencing his precious, previously untouched cock!

  By the time the first dance began, she had worked herself into a lather—though Miranda thought she was doing an admirable job keeping her expression placid. Beneath the surface of her stiff smile she was simmering, spiraling in a morass of convoluted thoughts and unanswered question.

  Enough, she chided herself while finishing her third glass of champagne. You aren’t some witless ingenue praying for the attentions of a suitor. You are an independent widow paying a courtesan to give you what you want. If he cannot do so, he has wasted your time.

  Squaring her shoulders, she glanced about the drawing room, searching the faces in the crowd. Maud and Mary stood near the refreshment table, helping themselves to a selection of finger sandwiches. Joan was dancing a minuet, looking divine in a stunning red dress that made her look like a veritable goddess. Things seemed to be progressing well with her suitor, who beamed at her as they danced, seemingly enraptured.

  She finally spotted Roger standing along the edge of the sea of bodies clogging the room. He was austere and somber in his evening attire, a glittering tiepin adorning the stark white of his cravat. His jaw was set, and he shifted from foot to foot as if uncomfortable. If not for the fact that she was looking specifically for him, Miranda might never have noticed him. He blended in with the scenery as if he were part of the gilded wall paneling. Now she better understood why he didn’t have a bevy of women trailing after his scent everywhere he went. Roger seemed to go through a great deal of effort to make himself as bland and unremarkable as possible.

  Why?

  No, it didn’t matter, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he’d signed a contract, and thus far had done an appalling job of upholding his end of the deal.

  Threading her way through the crowd, Miranda held Roger in her sights. Head high, she kept hold of her determination. Roger seemed startled to see her, as if she’d materialized from thin air.

  “Mr. Thornton,” she said, voice clipped.

  “Lady Hughes,” he replied, giving her a bow.

  He offered no further small talk—no remarks about the weather, no compliments to her appearance, not a thing. Miranda’s gloved hands curled into fists as she stared up at him. Though, the longer he stood before her, Miranda’s ire began melting away. The familiar curiosity reared its ugly head, causing her to turn her annoyance inward toward herself.

  “We need to talk.”

  Roger spoke before the final word even fell from her lips. “Would you care to dance, Lady Hughes?”

  Miranda blinked at his abrupt question. She nearly refused him, but decided there was no reason they shouldn’t. They were at a ball. She was wearing a gown made for dancing, and he was the first to ask her. Perhaps a dance would loosen the man up eno
ugh that he would confess the reason to his bizarre behavior.

  “Yes.”

  This was madness. She had already made up her mind to take Roger to task and have done with him. Hadn’t she?

  Why, then, did she take his proffered arm and allow him to guide her toward the dance floor? The beginning refrain of a cotillion filled the ballroom, and they fell into place among the other dancers.

  Roger’s gaze locked with hers as they began to move, though his expression never wavered from its mask of implacability. It surprised her to discover he was a splendid dancer, moving with a crisp grace that struck her as fitting with his personality—or what little of it he had allowed her access to. He proved an easy partner to get lost in the dance with, and after a few minutes Miranda forgot about her tumultuous feelings and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. Beyond the whirling and spinning bodies, the ballroom was bursting with the green and red hues of Christmas—clusters of holly and hellebore bedecking the chandeliers and adorning the silver candelabras, making the room glow with soft, warm light. Roger seemed more at ease now, his expression softening as he took her hand to spin her through one of the figures.

  A cotillion had always seemed infernally long, but this one ended far too soon, and before she knew it, Miranda stood facing Roger on the edge of the dance floor, now uncertain what to do or say. The ball had only just begun, and she was in for hours of dancing with various partners and making polite conversation.

  Clearing his throat, Roger glanced about as if searching for something. “Can I get you more champagne?”

  “I think I’ve had enough for now, thank you.”

  “You … you wished to speak with me. Perhaps we could …”

  He offered his arm again and Miranda accepted it, following his lead to the perimeter of the ballroom. They went unnoticed when slipping out onto the terrace, the shadows of the night enveloping them as they drew away from the glow of candlelight.

  Miranda wrapped her arms around herself and turned to face Roger, taking a deep breath that stung her nostrils and smelled of freshly fallen snow.

  “Are you cold?” Roger asked, clear concern in his voice.

  “It is a pleasant change from the heat of the ballroom. I am fine.”

  He nodded, then ran a hand through his hair, his breath turning to white mist on the air as he issued a heavy exhale. “Miranda, I should—”

  “Do you find me objectionable in some way?” she blurted before he could finish.

  He scowled, a slash of light from inside illuminating the tight compression of his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

  She held her arms out wide as if to present herself and raised her chin. “Do you find me unattractive? Perhaps you prefer fair-haired women, or tall women, or blue eyes? Maybe I am not beautiful enough to tempt your desire, or I lack the goods to spur you to passion. Whatever it is that sends you running from me whenever we encounter one another, I’d like to hear it. Because I fail to understand how a man who is being paid to do away with his virginity with a willing woman finds himself unable to bring himself to the task, unless he is impossible to please.”

  Roger held both hands up defensively and advance on her. “That isn’t the way of it.”

  “Then what is it? I thought we were having a perfectly lovely time last night, but I must have been mistaken. You ran from that room as if you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

  “It wasn’t … I …” He ducked his head as if trying to avoid her probing gaze, pressing a hand against his throat. “It isn’t you.”

  Miranda raised her eyebrows and waited for him to elaborate, but when he merely stood staring at her for several seconds, she released a low groan of agitation. “If you want to dissolve our agreement, I wish you would simply say so. These past few days of uncertainty and guessing have left me weary of such games!”

  His hands shot out to close around her arms, and Miranda gasped when he pulled her closer, looming over her with wide eyes and a clenched jaw.

  “That isn’t what I want,” he murmured, his lashes sweeping low over his eyes as his gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Miranda’s heartbeat increased to a gallop as she breathed in the crisp, masculine scent of him—like pine and leather, and a hint of brandy. Just as they had in the drawing room last night, her knees became weak and her senses devolved into chaos. The potency of this man combined with his reticence was baffling, to say the least.

  “What do you want?” she asked, unable to help the pleading edge to her voice.

  There was no hiding it. She wanted him. He appealed to her in a way that defied her annoyance and made her willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. If the problem was simply an overwhelming shyness on his part, Miranda would be willing to work through it. The promise of his kiss told her it would be worth the effort.

  “This,” he whispered, drawing her against him and lowering his head toward hers. “You.”

  Miranda melted into him, swept away by the fervor in his sudden kiss. His hands wandered up her shoulders and neck, strong fingers cupping her cheeks as he tilted his head and thrust his tongue at the seam of her lips. She wrapped her arms around him, clutching at his shoulders to keep on her feet as he overwhelmed her with his ardor. Last night’s kiss felt like a gentle prelude to this fiery exploration, all reticence finally falling from between them.

  Roger issued a low, rough groan, his long legs propelling them both deeper into the shadows and away from the ballroom doors. Miranda’s buttocks came against the stone railing and she was relieved for the additional support as Roger overwhelmed her with lips and tongue and teeth. Her insides melted when he nipped at her lower lip, then caressed away the sting with this tongue. The man kissed like he was starving—as if the taste of her were too delectable for him to stop. The surge of satisfaction that brought her was nearly as satisfying as his kiss.

  Arousal sent heat flooding her middle and sinking between her legs. Roger pressed between her knees, urging her skirts up and standing between her parted thighs. His hand braced at her back, he pressed her against him, his chest hard and unrelenting against her tender breasts. The proof of his lust swelled against her, lending truth to his words. Whatever had stopped him from finishing what they’d started last night, it wasn’t lack of attraction.

  When they pulled apart, Miranda sucked in several deep breaths, her head spinning as she attempted to pull herself together. Roger was still standing between her legs, his hands braced against the stone on either side of her hips.

  She grew aware of their surrounding by degrees, registering the bite of cold air on her exposed legs and the hardness of the stone beneath her. The circle of light spilling from the ballroom showed no approaching shadows, easing her fear that they might be discovered. If they tarried any longer, however, they might be.

  “Roger,” she began. “Why did you—”

  “Walk with me,” he interjected.

  Backing away, he lowered her skirts and offered his hand, inclining his head toward the garden beyond. Coming to her feet, Miranda accepted his offer. She was curious over what he might tell her that she couldn’t possibly think of returning to the ballroom. Hopefully, no one would notice their absence.

  He waited until they had slipped through the wrought iron gates, enclosed in a world of evergreen trees and hedgerows. Miranda watched Roger pace away from her, once again combing his fingers through his hair. It seemed to be a habitual, nervous gesture of his. She found it charming—some hint that he wasn’t as implacable as he led others to believe.

  “Roger?” she prodded when he didn’t speak after a while.

  Turning to face her, he cleared his throat. “Speaking is … difficult for me at times.”

  Interest piqued, Miranda studied him with a closer eye. The moonlight illuminated a figure of confidence and poise. It would never have occurred to her that he was silent because he found speech difficult. Was he really so shy that conversation unnerved him?

  “I see,” she replied, uncertai
n what else to say.

  “It has been since I was a child. I have spent many years p-p-practicing and t-trying to c-control it, b-but …”

  Realization dawned as he broke her gaze, a deep sigh of frustration emitting from him. She recalled the moments just before he’d fled the drawing room. He had stammered over his words then, but Miranda had assumed he was simply overcome with nerves. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

  “Oh,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her belly. “I’m so—”

  “Don’t,” he ground out with a shake of his head. “Please d-don’t tell me how sorry you are. I cannot abide p-pity.”

  She swallowed past the sympathy welling in her throat. “Of course. Forgive me. I just … I wish I had understood you better.”

  “My fault,” he said with a shrug. “I am not an easy m-man t-to kn-know.”

  “Because you don’t like to speak in public.”

  “I’d be a laughingstock and my family embarrassed.”

  Miranda wanted to insist that wasn’t true, but Roger would know it to be a lie just as she did. They were both aware of how cruel the ton could be. Any hint that someone didn’t belong was frowned upon and regarded with suspicion.

  “It’s why I’m st-still a v-virgin at nearly f-forty y-years of age.”

  His bark of humorless laughter made her wince, for he was clearly embarrassed to have to make such an admission.

  “Surely there must have been a woman who cared for you enough to overlook such an inconsequential thing.”

  Roger scoffed. “Inconsequential?”

  “I do not mean to dismiss your pain and your experience. Never that, Roger. You are clearly witty and intelligent, as well as handsome. For my part, this revelation does not change the fact that I feel attraction toward you, and that when you relax enough to engage in conversation, you are quite likable.”

  He shook his head, hands clasped behind his back as he took up pacing again. “Perhaps, but experience has taught me different.”