Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  Katherine forgot to breathe, a tight ball lodged in her throat.

  “Miss Thorpe, are you quite well? You’ve gone as pale as a sheet.”

  It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. She repeated the mantra again and again, as if this would somehow make it true.

  “Miss Thorpe?”

  The man shifted, and she caught his strong profile and almost fainted dead away. Too strong to be classically handsome with a characteristic bump on the bridge of his nose, he was masculine and attractive nonetheless. It was a profile she had traced many times over in attempting to capture his silhouette.

  “Yes,” a voice replied to her from a very far-off distance, and then Kitty realised it was her own. “I am quite well.”

  Their eyes met across the ballroom, his just as deep and warm brown as she remembered. They would be flecked with amber, the colour of molten sugar.

  It felt like a horse had kicked her in the centre of her chest, and she fought not to cast up her accounts. She grasped the wall behind her for support. Dear Lord, both he and Mrs Bingham were coming in their direction. She prayed for the floor to open and swallow her whole just so she didn’t have to face the man.

  “Miss Thorpe, allow me to introduce you to Captain Vaughan.” Thankfully, years of her mother drilling in society manners naturally took over and saved Kitty from looking like a gauche debutante.

  “Thank you, Mrs Bingham, but I am acquainted with the gentleman,” Kitty said coolly, applying her fan with a tad more vigour. How she was able to calmly speak those words when her heart beat so loudly… She didn’t know how her companions didn’t overhear it.

  Mrs Bingham blinked at the unexpected reply. “Oh, I thought…” The words drifted off and she swung her full gaze on Katherine. “And when was this, Miss Thorpe? Come, come, you must tell me it all, for I demand to know.”

  Kitty forced a smile and faced off from one of the biggest gossips within the ton, highly aware of Robert’s presence burning deep into her skin like a brand. “It was many years ago, Mrs Bingham, in the country. I suspect that Captain Vaughan hardly remembers the encounter.”

  She mentally patted herself on the back as Robert’s eyebrow subtly rose, as if he were surprised by her comment. He was lucky they were in public or she would be sorely tempted to hurl whatever was at hand at his misbegotten head.

  Her blood pounded a relentless deafening tattoo within her ears, and though she wished to spit in his eye and tell him to go to the Devil, Kitty held her smile in place.

  “Have you been well, Captain?” she asked stiffly as good manners dictated.

  Robert opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs Bingham’s titter cut across him.

  “La, what you say is true, girl, you have not kept up the acquaintance. Captain Vaughan has been making himself a proverbial thorn in the lion’s paw with those blasted French.”

  “A lion is a symbol of Britain, ma’am,” Kitty added dryly, thrown off kilter and unable to help herself. Before she could douse the urge, she said, “More likely he would have wrung the neck of the Gallic cock?”

  For an outstanding few seconds, Mrs Bigham was at a loss, and a strained silence ruled for a heartbeat. A young blade broke the tension, throwing his head back and roaring with laughter, several heads twisting in her direction.

  “Well said, Miss Thorpe, very well said.” Aunt Emmie’s lips twitched, while Miss Robertson’s air of bafflement remained unchanged.

  Katherine somehow found herself the centre of attention of the small group, and a pair of gleaming amber eyes burned into her with an intensity of an unspoken challenge, and she would not shy away from it.

  Of course, Robert had always been intelligent and sure of himself. Given the opportunity, she was not surprised he had distinguished himself, and a genuine smile surfaced from her animosity. “I thank you for your service, sir, and I am sure your recognition is well-deserved.”

  “That is not all, dear.” Not to be outdone, Mrs Bingham leaned forward, her hand tapping her wrist in an impertinent manner, and Kitty drew back, fighting the urge to scowl. “It has been whispered that if Captain Vaughan plays his cards right, his efforts might soon be recognised by crown—”

  Robert coughed, interrupting the incessant flow for the first time, a glimmer of irritation in his eyes, those amber flecks burning brighter. “You exaggerate, Mrs Bingham, there are many much more deserving than I.”

  God’s teeth, did this Bingham woman ever cease harping on? Robert was fast coming to the end of his patience with the lady, and he used that term loosely, who had cornered him and chewed his ear off for close to twenty minutes. Drastic action needed to be taken.

  The perfect opportunity presented itself when she paused to draw breath.

  “Do you have a partner for the next dance, Miss Thorpe?” he blurted out before he could think better of it.

  Katherine’s mouth pinched, and she glared down her slim nose with barely disguised scorn. How dare he have the temerity not to bow and scrape before her great ennobled name? It was then, after what Robert had done on a whim, that made him determined she would dance with him.

  Her eyes fluttered to Mrs Bingham, who was watching their exchange avidly, well aware that if she put one toe out of line, one of the worst gossips of the ton would ensure it was common knowledge before the night was through, with rich embellishments added to whet the listeners’ appetites.

  “I do not, Captain Vaughan.” She smiled sweetly, while her snapping blue eyes wished him to the Devil. “But I cannot rob Mrs Bingham of your companionship.”

  Ha, an excellent parry. Against his will a grin formed, stretching the tight scar on his cheek. He’d forgotten just how quick Katherine’s mind was or the challenge she offered. He extended his gloved hand. “I’m sure you will forgive me for wishing to renew an old acquaintanceship, is that not so, Mrs Bingham?”

  The woman nodded, the ostrich feather in her hair bobbing. “Oh, naturally, Captain.”

  Satisfaction flooded through his veins. “Then will you kindly do me the honour of standing up with me, Miss Thorpe?”

  Kitty inclined her head, placing her hand on his arm. In her doing so, Robert could feel the light tremors transmitting from her arm, but from a glance at her serene face, she appeared completely unaffected by their meeting.

  “I would be delighted to.” Robert fought down a snort. She looked like she’d rather box his ears, and they took their place with the other dancers without incident.

  “Why are you insisting with this farce, Captain Vaughan?” she hissed, the words dripping venom and fanning the embers from his anger six years earlier.

  “What have I done to deserve such a cold reception, Kitten? I expected you to be married to some lordling or another by now.”

  Katherine started and missed her footing, but he corrected her at the last minute. Robert could have kicked himself. Why had he done that? He should have left her to fall flat on her deceitful face.

  “Marriage doesn’t interest me, sir. I find my independence too precious to barter in exchange for wealth,” she fired back with the virtuous air of a persecuted saint.

  He gave a snort. What gammon. More likely she hadn’t found one rich enough for her blood. He was just about to call her out on it, but it appeared Kitty wasn’t finished yet, snarling under her breath, “And don’t you dare call me Kitten.”

  Her eyes darted to see if they had been overheard, but the other couples were far enough away. There was that fire he remembered so well.

  “Why,” he murmured, the Devil undoubtedly dancing in his eyes, “when you’ve always purred so nicely for me?”

  Kitty’s cheeks heated, and it had nothing to do with the closeness of the room. Her eyes sparkling in rage, she ducked her head to hide her face, and he found himself addressing the crown of her head. She was ignoring him, just like she had ignored him all those years ago.

  Kitty blinked furiously. He was heartless to tease her so.

  This was the man who had sworn his devotio
n and then deserted her. The long-forgotten pain raked at her with sharp talons. And he dared to stand before her to show his face! If they were in private, she would have slapped him. Mercifully, she kept her composure long enough for the dance to come to an end. “You know precisely why your presence is so repugnant to me, Captain.”

  His eyes turned cold, and he led her back to her mother and Aunt Emmie. The man then had the audacity to ask her sister to dance and poured salt over the weeping wound.

  A shaft of jealousy speared her hardened heart as she watched her sister flutter those eyes that had been compared to a summer sky at him. She was welcome to the faithless wretch.

  Kitty pleaded a headache, and her mother at last turned her gaze from Anne-Marie. “Yes, you do appear pale.”

  Kitty didn’t have to fake it, she felt quite unwell.

  “Alas, I don’t think it would be wise to leave just yet.”

  Desperation clawed at Kitty, and she felt that she was trapped in a snare, and a thousand eyes were staring at her, laughing while she desperately sought a way to free herself.

  “That is all right, Henrietta,” Aunt Emmie said. “I’ve had quite enough tonight. It is a frightful crush. I will see Kitty safely back.”

  God bless Aunt Emmie. Kitty would have to write to the Pope to request her canonisation at once.

  “That is very kind of you, Euphemia, if you are sure it will not be putting you out.”

  “Not at all. Come, Kitty, let’s get you home.” She ran a concerned eye over her. “You truly don’t look well.”

  Together, they collected their cloaks and slipped away. Once safely ensconced in the darkened carriage, Kitty closed her eyes against the band of pain tightening around her head.

  Robert had watched from the other side of the room as Katherine and an older, dark-haired woman slipped out inconspicuously. The anger in his gut solidified, and the evening he had planned no longer held any appeal. Which was why he was now at his club, with a perfectly good brandy cupped in his hand that tasted bitter in his current black mood.

  “Robert, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Robert turned his head to see who called to him, and a man with sandy-blond hair who emanated a type of polish that he could only hope to emulate was purposely making his way in Robert’s direction. The absolute last person he wanted to see.

  Robert raised his glass in mocking salute. “It is good to see you, too, cousin.”

  The only thing that hinted at their shared blooding was the Graham nose and something about the eyes, but otherwise, Robert was able to navigate society without those in the know associating him with the prominent Graham family, or that he was currently his cousin’s heir.

  The Viscount Preston dropped into a chair next to him. “What in heaven are you doing here? I thought you would be inspecting the offerings of this year’s marriage mart, or have you changed your plans?”

  Robert’s dark temper reared its ugly head, and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell the man to go to the Devil, but he held his silence, staring moodily into the flames.

  “Oh, like that, is it?” Preston signalled one of the servants with a flick of his hand and asked for some claret to be brought, then refocused his shrewd gaze back on Robert.

  Far too shrewd for Robert’s liking.

  “I didn’t invite you to join me, Preston,” Robert growled.

  “Considering you don’t answer my blasted letters, I wasn’t going to take no for an answer,” Preston shot back tartly.

  Robert blinked at his cousin’s affable mask slipping for a second, revealing a will of steel, then he lifted his head and the smile was firmly back in place.

  Oh, yes, they had been raised in different spheres, his mother deciding to marry beneath her, but the same proud iron will of the Graham family flowed through their veins.

  “There is only one thing that brings about that sour expression you are currently wearing.” Preston offered a crooked grin and leaned forward. “A woman.”

  “Damn it, Preston, can’t a man have a drink in peace?” Robert snapped with a glower that would have sent his lieutenants aboard the Defiance scurrying to carry out his order post-haste. Preston was utterly unperturbed, holding his gaze easily, and Robert knew he would not be getting rid of him.

  “I ran into an acquaintance,” Robert admitted stiffly, raking a hand through his hair, “who I’d at one time wished to form a more lasting attachment, but it was not to be. I had wondered if it was her family’s disapproval, but—” Robert broke off, clenching his hand as he remembered the repulsion brightening Katherine’s eyes. Not that she had any reason to put on airs, he thought pettily, an unwed spinster with a sallow complexion, and though the gown was of the best quality, it did nothing to hide the now decided stockiness of her frame. He’d hoped that if they had reason to run across each other they would have treated each other with amiability. Her scorn had scolded him like lye against exposed skin and even now ate at him with the determination of a blasted canker.

  “Ah, the Thorpe Drab, I take it?” Preston guessed, his features hardening. Preston knew enough of the tale and was not ready to forgive what he saw as a slight to the Graham name. Not that the Thorpes had known he was connected to the Grahams.

  Unexpected guilt pricked Robert at Preston’s use of the unkind nickname, until he ruthlessly smothered it.

  “I thought you had washed your hands of that bad business.”

  “So had I, until I saw her dancing with the Marquis of Lansdowne.” The sight of Katherine smiling at the man, the complete opposite of her treatment of him, had inspired a visceral reaction. One that Robert did not want to examine too closely.

  “Lansdowne?” Preston scoffed. “Even if she is dangling after a title, that is scraping the bottom of the barrel, and she will be sorely disappointed.” The viscount dismissed the thought with a flick of his hand. “But forget about her, she is a spinster on the shelf, and you are now highly eligible, and if you’d just acknowledge our connection, you will be most sought-after.”

  Robert rolled his eyes. “It is the worst-kept secret in the entire ton. If we weren’t both of an age they would think I was one of your by-blows. Particularly after your patronage at the admiralty for my promotions.” He shot a glare at the unrepentant man, the knowledge still a sting to his pride. “Which was entirely unwanted, by the way.”

  Preston offered an elegant shrug, unashamed of his actions. “Those promotions were earned by your own merit. My interference, as you see it, just guaranteed that you weren’t overlooked.” He paused to take a sip of his wine and hummed appreciatively. “But we are getting off topic. I’ve heard rumours that you are seeking favour with the crown.”

  Robert let out a foul oath and tossed back the rest of his drink, revelling in the slow burn as it slid down his throat, and called for another. “I’d love to know the fellow who allowed that to become common knowledge and then wring their bloody neck.”

  “Perhaps I might lighten your mood with some news. Great-Aunt Amelia passed away.”

  Robert was nonplussed before social politeness took over. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Preston waved his hand to forestall any further platitudes. “I regret to say I did not know her well, but from my understanding, she was quite a spirited thing. Never married due to Grandfather not approving of the match.”

  He paused for a moment, and Robert wondered where he was going with this.

  “She was somewhat of an eccentric but of vast independent means. She left her entire fortune to you and a modest estate a stone’s throw away outside of London.”

  Robert blinked and then decided to put his half-drunk glass of brandy down on a side table. If he was now hearing things, then he had had enough. Apparently, an elderly relation of his mother’s family, who he had never met or heard of, had left him a fortune. He wasn’t that far into his cups surely?

  “I beg your pardon,” Robert muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. “I thought you just said that I’ve
inherited a fortune?”

  Preston grinned with the self-satisfied air of a cat who’d become locked in the creamery overnight. “Great-Aunt Amelia,” he said with exaggerated slowness. “Your mother was a favourite of hers and admired her for marrying your father in the face of the opposition and the consequences it wrought for the both of them. She sought to make amends and give everything to your mother. Being that neither of your parents are no longer with us, it passes to you. Here, see for yourself.”

  Preston passed him a document, and words drifted into focus, Robert’s brain struggling to string them together. This had to be a jest, and a very poor one at that.

  “You want my advice, Robert?” Preston murmured in all seriousness. “Forget about chasing after a title. Even if they offer one, they will bleed you dry for it. Purchase a sizable estate, invest your money wisely, and marry a fine lady to grace your table and your bed, and your acceptance in the higher echelons will be guaranteed.”

  There was logic in Preston’s words, a logic that Robert usually prized. But he just couldn’t get rid of the image of those twin eyes, bluer than the ocean and twice as mysterious, staring up at him in disgust.

  “Your plan has merit,” Robert said slowly, coming to his decision in his alcohol-fogged mind, about to change course and ride directly into the wind. “And I would be grateful for your aid in looking over some properties; however, I have unfinished business with Miss Thorpe before I can move on.”

  Preston frowned at him and opened his mouth to argue, but Robert cut across him.

  “Nothing villainous, I assure you. I just want to be able to have the last say so I can draw a line under the whole sorry mess.”

  “Very well; however, I do have one condition?” Preston said.

  Oh, this was going to be good. Robert stretched his legs out in front of him, fingertips lightly gripping the arms of the chair.