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

by Anna Campbell

  It seemed like the height of irony to have been married nearly ten years, but only just discover what it was like to share a bed with a lover. There was something poignantly unifying about those moments following their lovemaking, a stillness and closeness that made Miranda feel as if she knew Roger better than she ever had her husband. It was ridiculous, considering they’d only known each other for ten days. Yet, Miranda was hard pressed to convince herself that her feelings were as outlandish as they seemed.

  “You’re smitten,” Mary whispered one evening over a game of whist.

  The cards had been brought out after dinner, and Miranda, Mary, Joan, and Maud had a table near the edge of the room. The low murmurs of dozens of other conversations ensured they were not overheard.

  “I most certainly am not,” Miranda protested, though even she could hear that her words lacked conviction.

  Joan smirked while casting a glance at a table toward the center of the room, where Roger shared a table with Angus, Emily, and Lord Lovett—Emily’s prospective bridegroom. “Who wouldn’t be? The man is positively delectable.”

  Even knowing her friend had no real interest in Roger, Miranda experienced a sharp pang of annoyance at Joan’s comment. Roger was hers and no other’s.

  He is only yours because you are paying him, an insidious voice whispered in her mind.

  Miranda pushed the thought aside and forced her expression to remain neutral. There was no reason to dwell on the fact that in any other circumstance Roger might never have been hers. The reality was, she was his client and he her courtesan. He was being paid to make her happy, and thus far he’d earned his fee several times over. She was so pleased with Roger, in fact, that she could envision herself keeping him for a good, long while.

  “Miranda?”

  She blinked to find her friends staring at her, their expression varying from curious to concerned to consternated. “I beg your pardon?”

  Maud sighed. “Mary asked if he makes you happy. You certainly have seemed like a different person altogether during this party.”

  “I have?” she murmured.

  “You smile more,” Mary pointed out. “And you’ve been … giggling.”

  Miranda sucked in a sharp breath. “I have not.”

  “Oh, yes you have,” Joan countered. “And you can hardly keep your eyes off Mr. Thornton. It’s a wonder everyone here hasn’t noticed.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure they haven’t,” Maud remarked with a raised eyebrow. “If the two of you were any more obvious, you’d be ruined.”

  Miranda’s face warmed and her gaze strayed to Roger before she could think of what she was doing. To her surprise, he was looking straight at her over his cards, his eyes simmering like dark, fiery coals.

  “He is just as smitten as you are,” Joan said with a dry snort. “It’s sickeningly adorable.”

  “He’s a whore,” Maud whispered, as if affronted at the very thought of Miranda having true feelings for a courtesan.

  “Don’t call him that,” Miranda snapped. “He’s a lovely person and a gentleman.”

  Of course, the fact that she was the only woman he’d ever lain with could be used to argue that he most certainly was not a whore. However, Miranda wouldn’t betray Roger’s confidence that way, not even to her dearest friends.

  “See?” Mary said to Joan with a coy grin. “Besotted.”

  “Fine,” Miranda relented with a sigh. “I like him very much. There, are you satisfied?”

  “Seems to me you are the one who is satisfied,” Joan quipped. “I foresee a long and diverting affair. I am glad for you, Miranda.”

  “How long do you intend to let this go on?” Maud asked. “I thought the purpose of this … liaison was to satisfy your curiosity about the Gentleman Courtesans agency. You have done that. If this goes on much longer, you are sure to be found out.”

  “Oh, pish,” said Mary. “There are at least half a dozen affairs taking place under my roof right now. I daresay no one is in a position to judge Miranda.”

  “Only if she doesn’t get caught,” Maud retorted. “You know how sanctimonious the ton can be. It doesn’t matter what any of them are doing behind closed doors. If your secrets are aired publicly, you’ll be ostracized, and you know it.”

  Miranda hated to admit that Maud was right, but they both knew very well how easily a woman’s good name could be ruined. Her status as a widow offered her the ability to act as she pleased, but with discretion. If anyone found out about her connection to Roger, he would go unscathed; she would not. Despite knowing this, Miranda experienced a visceral reaction to Maud’s claim. It lay on the tip of her tongue to insist she didn’t care whether they were found out. She was happy, and had Roger to thank for that. Instead of worrying over getting caught, her thoughts veered more toward grappling with what would happen once their affair came to an end. Did it have to end?

  A lump lodged itself in her throat at the thought. In such a brief time, she had come to enjoy and even crave his presence beside her while she slept. Through the duration of this house party, she had lived for his smiles and the glances that spoke more than words ever could. It didn’t help matters that he had been so wonderful with Ursula, or that he’d expressed his desire to have children of his own. Roger wasn’t an experienced seducer, nor had he had much practice using his charm to woo a woman. And yet, he had wooed her so completely it was laughable. Here she was, the experienced party in their relationship—the one sophisticated and worldly enough to hire a courtesan to warm her bed. Yet, she was losing her heart like the silliest and most naïve of schoolroom chits.

  “We have been careful,” she said, keeping her other thoughts to herself. “There is nothing to worry about.”

  Turning her gaze back to her cards, Maud gave her head a little shake. “I do hope you’re right, Miranda.”

  Roger held tighter to Miranda’s hand as they trotted down the garden path, the hedges of the maze closing them away from the world. Laughter bubbled in this throat, tangling with the little giggles emitting from the woman holding up her skirts to keep up with his long strides. In the past, he would have considered running off with a woman during a dinner party the height of madness. He would have been too afraid that being caught would reflect poorly upon Emily. He would have been too afraid to even muster up a flirtation with a woman, let alone sneak away from the party just for a taste of one.

  But that was exactly what he was doing tonight, and it felt bloody good. The frigid night air barely registered on his skin, because he was burning up from the inside and desperate to get Miranda alone. She had been tempting him all evening with lingering looks and sly smiles. The bodice of her evening gown showcased her bosom to perfection, making him hunger to taste her—so much so that every course of their meal had been bland by comparison. The suggestion of dancing had been made after dinner, and the party adjourned to the largest drawing room overlooking the garden.

  He and Miranda had been drawn to one another from opposite sides of the room like the tide to the pull of the moon. Skirting the perimeter of the room, he’d encountered her near the French doors leading the way outside. It dawned on him that just on the other side was the spot they’d first met. How different things were between them now—how different he was than the man he’d been less than a fortnight ago.

  They’d slipped through the doors unseen and taken off running hand in hand, the light and noise of the party fading away behind them. Now alone in the darkened garden, they were free from the prying eyes of others.

  Deciding they had gone far enough into the maze, Roger halted and spun, causing Miranda to crash into his chest with a shocked laugh. He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her tighter against him, seeking her lips with a desperate hunger only she could satiate. The world around them spun and tilted as they shared a ravenous kiss—a torrent of lips and tongue and teeth. Roger ran his hands down Miranda’s body, squeezing her breasts, cupping her buttocks and kneading the soft, pliant flesh.

>   His cock stood to attention with frightening urgency, as if he hadn’t just had her at dawn before leaving her bedchamber. He wanted to believe his insatiability had everything to do with the novelty of the experience. Now he’d tasted of pleasure he couldn’t seem to get enough. Only, he knew very well that wasn’t the only reason he was distracted, off-balance, and completely unlike his usual self.

  It was Miranda. It was this woman, her smiles, her kisses, her acceptance of who he was. He’d never known anything like it, and had begun to despair that once she was finished with him, he might never feel it again. The desperation caused by that thought made Roger increase the pressure of his lips, plunge his tongue deeper into her mouth, and try to make the moment last for as long as possible. They had only just begun, and Roger intended to keep her happy with him so she had no cause to end their arrangement. Hell, if she decided his services could no longer be afforded, he would happily perform them at no cost. Anything to be near her, to finally feel close to someone and experience affection.

  Miranda wrenched her mouth from his, panting and gasping for air as she gazed up at him. Her eyes were shadowed, but the moonlight illuminated her reddened, kiss-swollen lips.

  “This is madness,” she whispered, then issued a disbelieving laugh. “I cannot believe we are doing this.”

  With a low murmur of need, Roger bent to kiss her neck. Miranda’s head fell back as he nipped his way down to her collarbone.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked while kissing the flesh exposed by the low neckline of her gown.

  She moaned, sagging against the hedgerow as he licked and nibbled, his fingers working the fastenings along her back. “No … God, no. Please don’t stop.”

  Her gown began to sag, and a few tugs on the strings of her stays allowed her breasts to fall free. Miranda gasped, her bared skin breaking out in goose bumps and her nipples furling taut in the cold air. Roger took one into his mouth, reveling in the sharp cry she made at the first touch of his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she held him to her bosom, back arching as she offered herself up to him. He gripped fistfuls of her skirts and began drawing them up while teasing her nipples with playful bites and circling licks of his tongue.

  Every sigh or groan from her bolstered him, guiding his ministrations. The more he experienced of Miranda, the better he understood what she liked, what he could do to make her cry out his name. To hear, feel, and see her response to him was like the headiest of wine or spirits—intoxicating and addictive.

  “Roger,” she mewled when his fingers slipped between her legs, finding her already wet.

  He went to his knees and urged her to hold her skirts as he braced his hands on her thighs. The scent of her arousal made his mouth water for the taste of her, his curiosity over how she would receive this particular intimacy driving him to press his face to her mons. His tongue traced her slit, encountering the slick inner folds and the nub of her clitoris.

  “Roger!”

  He smiled against her inner thigh, giving it a kiss and then licking his way back to her center. Having only ever read about and studied pictures of such an act, he was relying solely on instinct. The notion of tasting a woman there was so titillating, so utterly decadent. The reality defied expectation. She smelled womanly and sweet, and tasted like nothing he’d ever had on his tongue—earthy and piquant.

  She gripped the nape of his neck, urging him closer and lifting one leg to drape over his shoulder. “There,” she urged when his tongue flicked at her hidden nub. “Yes!”

  Roger worked her clitoris with his tongue, dragging it in slow circles, matching the undulations of her bucking hips. Her wetness coated his lips, and the clench of her fingers on the back of his neck kept him anchored to her. Not that he was in any hurry to leave his current location. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the reason her legs shook, the reason she seemed unable to prevent crying out her pleasure.

  He chased her pleasure to its finish, adding two fingers in her sheath just when she began to buck and fall apart. She clenched around him, a keening moan shattering the silent night as she spent all over his tongue. Roger didn’t let up until she had nearly collapsed, coming to his feet just in time to catch her before her knees gave out.

  Miranda clung to his lapels as he held her to him, groaning at the shared taste of her when they kissed.

  “I wish we were in your b-bed,” he whispered, nuzzling her nose with his. “So I could t-take my time with you … taste you all n-night.”

  “No time,” she panted, turning her back to him and hitching up her skirts. “Now, Roger. I want you now.”

  His cock pulsed at the revelation of her naked buttocks, her legs adorned by silk stockings and red garters. He fumbled at his fall, heedless to the cold as he took his cock in hand. He was painfully hard, yearning, and already wet at his tip.

  Clinging to the foliage of the hedge, Miranda bent to accept him, offering up a temptation too strong to deny. Gripping her hips and tilting them at just the right angle, he guided himself into her with one swift thrust. He wasn’t gentle with her, but then she didn’t ever seem to require that. Her boldness and lack of shame aroused him as much as the taste, feel, and scent of her did.

  She swayed back into his every thrust, her low and husky pants ringing out in harmonious duets with his rough groans. Taking hold of one of his hands, she pried it off her hip and guided it between her legs to show him what she needed. Roger stroked her clitoris and picked up his pace, needing to feel her climax around him before he lost himself to his own rapture.

  Miranda slumped against the hedges, head lowered and her sounds of pleasure sounding muffled as if from behind pinched lips. Roger slipped free of her just as her orgasm fell from its cresting swell, cock in hand as he spilled on the ground at his feet. Staggering away from her, he took in several breaths of winter air and waited for his limbs to cooperate with the commands of his mind. He righted his clothes, then helped lace Miranda back into her stays and gown.

  When she turned to him her lips were split into a wide smile, and her shoulders shook with laughter. Roger couldn’t help but join in, amused by their impulsiveness. When Miranda’s chuckles died away, she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Roger wrapped both arms around her, chafing the bared skin above her evening gloves.

  “We should go back inside.”

  “Just another moment,” she murmured, tipping her head back to offer her lips. “I’ve wanted to be alone with you all day.”

  He pressed a soft, short kiss to her mouth, then stroked her cheek. “I have wanted the same thing.”

  Unbuttoning his coat, she wrapped her arms around his waist for warmth. “When we return to London, we’ll have all the time we want together. You can sleep in my bed without having to sneak away at dawn.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured against her hair, burying his nose in the silky strands. “That sounds heavenly.”

  “I’ll wake you in the most pleasurable way. Then we can have breakfast in bed.”

  “I would rather have you for breakfast.”

  She gave him a squeeze and sighed. “If you keep saying such things I’ll want you to stay forever.”

  Roger went deathly still, the hand at her back freezing mid-stroke. Miranda stiffened as if she, too, realized what she’d just said. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She couldn’t have, and Roger knew that. The after-effects of their coupling had made her sentimental. There was always a sense of closeness and comfort between them after they’d made love. That was all.

  They stared at one another in silence for what felt like an eternity. Miranda’s eyes were wide and dark, unreadable.

  Clearing his throat, he took her hand. “You’re freezing. We should go inside.”

  With a silent nod, she allowed him to lead her from the maze, patting her hair and smoothing her skirts as they went. Typically, the clean air of the outdoors helped clear his thoughts, but just now his mind overflowed with chaos. He felt as if the spa
n of their nearly two-week relationship flitted through his mind all at once—moments and tender words standing out here and there. He’d developed a deep affection for his keeper. But how did she feel about him? Was he alone in thinking that they could have something more—be something more than a courtesan and his client?

  Releasing a frustrated sigh, he raked his free hand through his hair. These questions and their answers meant nothing in the end. She had hired him for a specific purpose, and he’d be foolish to forget that it had to end at some point. Even if he could allow himself to consider such aspirations, there was the fact that he had nothing to offer her. Aside from his obvious flaws, there was the state of his family’s finances and estate. He couldn’t try to make something more of their relationship without stepping over the clear boundaries that had been set at the onset of their affair.

  “Roger,” she said, just as they stepped onto the terrace. Tightening her grip on his hand, she pulled him up short. “Wait.”

  She turned to face him, and the light pouring through the French doors spilled over her.

  “Miranda, it’s all right.”

  “No, let me say this. What happened back there … what I said …”

  “You didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “But I might have,” she argued, biting her lip. “That’s what I am trying to tell you. Roger, our time together has been short, but you have proven to be an extraordinary man.”

  Roger tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t respond. The cold was starting to get to him—or perhaps it was dread paralyzing him as he wondered what she might say next.

  “I w-wouldn’t go th-that far, but thank you.”

  “I would,” she insisted. “You have gone beyond what I expected, and I think … I feel things I cannot explain, and I … I am just so uncertain.”

  “So am I,” he confessed, a measure of relief stealing over him.

  “We should talk about this.”

  “We should,” he agreed. “But n-not here, not now. It’s c-cold, and we should sneak b-back inside before we are missed.”