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

by Anna Campbell

  Roger nearly choked on air at his brother’s insinuation. “Have you gone mad?”

  Angus chuckled, the loud, unrestrained sound drawing the attention of Miranda’s friends. The women watched them with curious eyes, and Roger wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow him. Angus’s lack of tact and couth never ceased being an embarrassment.

  “Play coy all you like,” Angus teased. “I can see what you’re about. The woman’s husband left her a fortune—more than enough to aid Emily with plenty enough left over to settle our debts. She likes you, you know. I can tell. You’ll have her at the altar in no time flat.”

  With an exasperated shake of his head, Roger turned away from his brother. “Stay out of my affairs.”

  Refusing to glance back, he continued on his way toward the women, who had watched the entire exchange from a distance. Forcing a tight smile, he offered the ladies a bow when he drew near, though his gaze never left Miranda.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Rodingham, Lady Hughes, Mrs. Portemaine, Mrs. Durbin.”

  He was greeted with a chorus of ‘good afternoons’, before Miranda stepped forward to take his arm.

  “How were the card tables this morning?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

  Roger glanced down at her, following the spiral of a loose curl along the slope of her cheek. “Dull. I decided I needed some air.”

  They had walked far enough from the others not to be overheard, but still near enough to remain in everyone’s sight. The children went on pelting each other with snowballs, heedless to the intrigues of the adults nearby.

  “You are looking well this morning,” she said, the brim of her hat tipping back as she met his gaze.

  Roger found it far too difficult to hold on to the belief that there was nothing more than lust and a contract between them. Her eyes were clear and bright and seemed to invite him to drown in their depths. His gaze fell to her lips, puckered and pink and so kissable he nearly fell into her then and there.

  “As are you,” he murmured.

  She smiled, but then her gaze flickered past him as if something had distracted her.

  Roger followed her gaze toward the children. “Which one is Ursula?”

  “She’s wearing the pink coat and matching bonnet,” Miranda replied with clear affection in every word.

  He spotted her right off, finding her to be a spitting image of her mother, even from this distance. As she giggled and screamed at the splatter of a snowball against the front of her coat, he took note of a round face and messy strands of dark brown hair falling from beneath her bonnet.

  “She’s beautiful … just like you.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath, as if he’d said something wrong. Roger tensed, but then relaxed when he found her looking up at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

  “Thank you,” she replied in a low, almost imperceptible whisper.

  Roger opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a sharp wail and a gasp from Miranda. Ursula lay in a heap of pink velvet and muslin in the snow, arms flailing as she cried out as if in pain. Her bonnet had fallen off, tumbling across the ground.

  Miranda lifted her skirts and took off in the child’s direction, and Roger followed, his heart pounding. He knew this feeling well—had nursed and coddled Emily through any number of falls and scrapes over the years. Miranda’s anxiety became his own as his long legs overtook hers. He reached Ursula first, going to his knees in the snow and staring down at the little girl.

  “Ursula,” he bellowed to be heard over her shrill cries. “Ursula, show me where you’re hurt!”

  Miranda reached his side just as he gingerly took hold of the girl’s arm and helped her sit upright. Face reddened and her hair covered in a light dusting of snow, Ursula sniffled. Fat teardrops raced down her face. Despite being a bit mussed, she didn’t seem to be seriously injured.

  “Ursula,” Miranda cried, crouching beside him and reaching for her daughter. “Oh, my darling! Are you all right?”

  Roger glanced around them, finding that the warmer weather had begun turning the snow to slush. She had likely slipped, and the impact with the cold, hard ground had knocked the wind from her.

  Ursula climbed into her mother’s arms with a broken sob. “I fell, Mama. And I … I lost my bonnet.”

  Roger glanced about, coming to his feet once he spotted the lost hat. He reached it in a few quick strides and took it up, shaking it free of snow and inspecting it. Like Ursula, the bonnet had escaped unscathed.

  He returned to mother and child to find Ursula’s face buried in her mother’s bosom and Miranda making soft, cooing sounds while stroking her hair. The sight made something lurch within him, a powerful desire to call something like this—a woman and a child—his, and his alone. It seemed the need increased with each passing day and was only exacerbated by the presence of Miranda.

  “She seems to be just fine,” she told him as Roger went down on one knee before them. “The fall simply scared her.”

  “I can imagine,” he murmured, before turning his attention to the girl. “Pardon me, Miss. I found something that might belong to you.”

  Ursula’s cherubic face appeared from its haven, and a pair of big blue eyes met his. Her lower lip trembled, but her tears seemed to have ceased for now. Her expression brightened when she noticed he held her bonnet.

  “Ursula, this is my good friend, Mr. Thornton,” Miranda urged, helping the girl to her feet. “What should you say to him for returning your bonnet?”

  The girl sniffled and then offered him as graceful a curtsy as a four-year-old could manage. “Thank you very much, Mr. Thornton.”

  Still on one knee before her, Roger settled the bonnet on her head, careful to tuck her mussed locks into it. Then, he gingerly tied a perfect bow at an angle beneath one ear.

  “There now,” he murmured with a smile. “Lovely. Are you all better now?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Very good. I am glad to see you aren’t hurt.”

  She offered him a smile, showcasing a gap between two of her lower teeth. Roger extended his hand, and she placed her tiny one in his palm. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the air above it as if she were a grand lady, producing a spurt of giggles.

  Roger then came to his feet, dusting the snow off his breeches. Just then, one of the governesses approached, offering Miranda a swift curtsy.

  “I am so sorry about the fall, my lady. She wandered away from me but a moment, and next thing I know she’s on her back.”

  Miranda waved off the governesses worry and smiled. “It is nothing to trouble yourself over. Children will tumble from time to time. No harm was done.”

  “Now then, little miss,” the governess chirped, reaching for Ursula’s hand. “It is time to say good-bye to Mama until this evening. We are to have tea, and then a nap so you’ll be bright and chipper for Christmas supper!”

  Ursula brightened, slipping her hand into the governess’ without a fuss. “Do you think there will be jam tartlets with tea?”

  “There might just be, little miss. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Roger suddenly found those large, blue eyes turned on him again.

  “Do you like jam tartlets, Mr. Thornton?”

  He couldn’t help a smile at the earnest curiosity in her question. “I do. In fact, I am particularly fond of raspberry jam tartlets.”

  “Off with you now, Ursula,” Miranda cut in as the other nurses began herding the rest of the children back to the house. “Say good-bye to Mr. Thornton.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Thornton!” she called as she walked away.

  “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Ursula.”

  When Roger turned back to Miranda, he found her watching him with a slack jaw and a disbelieving expression.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked when she merely stared without speaking.

  She gave her head a little shake. “Nothing. It’s just … you were marvelous with her.”
>
  He shrugged. “She’s a darling girl, just like you said.”

  “You ran to her side faster than I could when she fell.”

  He frowned. “I thought she had hurt herself and was concerned. I apologize if I overstepped.”

  Placing a hand on his arm, she grinned. “Of course you didn’t. I’m the one who is sorry. I simply wasn’t prepared for you to … well, to be so kind to her. You are not obligated to want to meet her, or know her or …”

  Roger took hold of her hand and squeezed before letting it go. “Miranda, I like children. I wish to have some of my own someday. I have experience with little girls thanks to Emily. Being kind to her was no hardship.”

  Her smile widened and she inched closer to him, bracing both hands on his waist. Roger flinched and looked about, but found that her three friends had pointedly turned their backs and begun the trek back toward the house. It appeared they were completely alone on this side of the house.

  “You were very sweet,” she said, coming up on tiptoe and pressing her body against his. “And did you notice? You didn’t stammer once.”

  “Children are easier to talk to than adults,” he replied. “They are kinder and less likely to judge someone based on their flaws.”

  Tipping her head back in a clear invitation of a kiss, she held his gaze. “From where I stand, you seem all but perfect to me.”

  Roger bent to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. She melted into him, parting her lips and offering her tongue with a coy, teasing sweep against his bottom lip. He drank from her with long, lingering presses of his lips and deep plunges of his tongue, drunk on the intimacy of being so close to someone—so unrestrained and free. To be with someone and feel safe being himself, not holding back, and finally having an outlet for his desire, seemed like a dream come true.

  They parted and simply stood there holding one another for a while, the mist of their breaths on the cold air mingling together. He couldn’t afford to dream, not about Miranda. Perhaps about some other faceless woman he could pursue when he was ready—with the confidence he could learn with Miranda for practice. If he kept reminding himself of that, he wouldn’t allow himself to feel things he ought not.

  He was her courtesan, nothing more. What would a confident, experienced courtesan do with free access to his keeper and a bit of privacy? Probably seduce her right here on the snowy ground, or up against a tree.

  But, just now, Roger didn’t want to be a good courtesan. He simply wanted Miranda’s company, which he’d been craving all morning. The woman had tied him in knots in a matter of days. He ought to run, put some distance between them until tonight when he would inevitably find his way to her bedchamber.

  Instead, he offered her his arm. “Walk with me for a little while.”

  Accepting his invitation, she clung to his forearm and let him guide her farther away from the house. For a few minutes they said nothing, though the silence felt comfortable. Typically, Roger found himself forced to make light, easy conversation to keep others from wondering why he hardly ever spoke—saying just enough to avoid suspicion. Miranda had put him at ease, and he didn’t feel the need to perform with her.

  “You want to be a father.”

  Her sudden statement startled Roger, and he gave her a bewildered look. She offered a shy smile and shrugged.

  “You mentioned it earlier, and after seeing you with Ursula and knowing how much affection you have for your sister, I think you would be a wonderful papa.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean it. I also think you would make some woman a wonderful husband.”

  He drew them up short, nearly tripping over nothing at the impact her words had on him. When he looked at Miranda, he could see she realized she’d stepped into dangerous territory. She avoided his gaze, cheeks flushed as she toyed with the edge of one glove.

  “You are charming when you wish to be, and handsome, and I enjoyed myself with you last night. You also desire children and come from a good family. There are many women of the ton who would put one another’s eyes out to nab a groom like you.”

  Roger wrestled with feeling flattered as well as leery. Surely she was simply being kind. The things he’d revealed to her last night had painted him in a vulnerable light, and she wanted to reassure him. It couldn’t be anything more than that.

  “You flatter me,” he murmured, running his fingers through his hair.

  “It is not flattery, but simply the truth,” she murmured, still avoiding his stare. “Would you ever try to court someone with the intent to marry? I understand your trepidation, but you’ve managed to charm me. Why not someone you could wed?”

  With a sigh, he leaned against a nearby tree, hands buried in the pockets of his greatcoat. “I think I could, for the right woman. Someone who made me feel comfortable speaking to her freely. Someone who doesn’t think a stammer makes me an idiot. And … and I would hope a child wouldn’t be born with my … my problem.”

  She finally looked at him then, understanding softening her expression. “It cannot be passed down that way, can it? Your siblings do not stammer. Did either of your parents?”

  “No.”

  “There, you see? And besides, all children are worthy of love and affection … even the ones with stammers. A woman who cared for you would not care, and would love your children with all her heart.”

  Deep down, he had always known that. The problem had always been working up the nerve to settle on a woman with the hopes she wouldn’t reject him the way Iris had. Her scorn had changed him profoundly, and not necessarily for the better.

  “What of you?” he asked, wanting to turn the attention away from himself. Her words made him poke and prod too deeply into his own inner workings, exploring things he wasn’t ready to think of yet. “Would you ever marry again?”

  “I would, but only under certain circumstances.”

  “I see.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I know it might be foolish for a woman of my age, but I want more out of my second marriage, if there is to be one. I cared for Lord Hughes. He was a good, kind man and he treated me well. But he made no attempt to try to know me outside the bedchamber. When he died, it occurred to me that I was mourning a virtual stranger. If I am to marry someone else, it will be for love. Passionate, fiery, real love. I want someone who knows me like no one else does, and someone who will let me know him. I want to cherish and be cherished, and I … I would very much hope the person I choose might not die and leave me all alone. I think I should like to marry someone I could grow old with.”

  Once she finished speaking, Roger realized he had forgotten to breathe for several seconds. He released the air in his lungs in a rush, feeling as if he’d been hit over the head. Every word she’d just said spoke to the parts of him that wanted those same things. It was as if she had reached into his chest and pulled out the deepest desires of his heart.

  “I think you deserve exactly that,” he said, his voice low and strained due to his tightened throat.

  “So do you,” she said.

  Chapter 9

  Within one week after Christmas Day, Miranda had come to see Roger as the perfect companion. The festivities of the house party seemed more like a nuisance when all she wanted was more time alone with him. There had been a bit of tension following their conversation on Christmas Day, but the familiar ease between them had made itself apparent again by the time they joined the other guests for dinner. It should have startled her to think of how completely she had bared herself to him, surrounded by snow and trees and the quiet of winter. The longings of her heart had been nursed silently in the depths of herself, and she hadn’t even expressed them to her friends.

  However, thinking back over the moment she had spoken the truth about her desires for a loving marriage and a true husband, Miranda could feel nothing but relief. Roger’s quiet demeanor proved an asset, as he never spoke unless he had something meaningful to say. When he wasn’t spea
king, he was listening, and Miranda hadn’t realized how sorely she’d needed someone to hear her. Conversation with Lord Hughes had been light and banal. They had never spoken of their deepest fears or greatest desires. Roger, however, seemed curious about her, and said curiosity led to probing questions and insightful observations. The fact that he rarely spoke to anyone had apparently left him overflowing with things to say.

  They spoke of their childhoods and the follies of their youth. She’d learned that his favorite color was brown, and that he owned an extensive collection of books—his one concession to lavish spending. He was a fabulous rider, a fact that had been proven during the Boxing Day hunt. He shared her love of the theater and opera, and spent many evenings chaperoning his sister to some performance or another. There was nothing more important to him than family.

  Having expected to simply revel in the physical attentions of a lover, Miranda was surprised to realize that she enjoyed Roger’s company out of bed as well as in it. As a lover, he was attentive and eager. Never ashamed to ask her what she wanted or if she liked what he was doing, he often made her forget that she was the first woman to make love to him. He had confessed to having read several books on the subject of intercourse, as well as descriptive erotic literature. His face had flushed adorably while describing a collection of lurid paintings depicting several carnal acts. Watching him discover how it felt to experience such pleasure, to share intimacy with someone, gratified her as much as his kiss and his touch did.

  Their days were spent trading secretive looks and sneaking murmured conversations when no one was paying attention. Every evening, Roger came to her and subjected her to hours of his amorous attentions. Each night, they would lie in a tangled heap of limbs and mussed bedclothes until they fell asleep together. Roger had an uncanny ability to awaken at just the right time, kissing her good-bye before sneaking back to his own room.