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

by Collette Cameron

  Pompous.

  With a roll of her eyes, she handed the servant her pelisse before sweeping past him in a subtle rustle of skirts. She sensed rather than heard him close the door behind her as she found herself in a spacious room dimly lit by candles. Instead of thick carpets underfoot, the floor was a warm, gleaming wood that reflected the dancing firelight from the carved stone hearth. The only furniture in the rather Spartan space was the wide, imposing desk placed in front of the fireplace and the two tall wingback chairs that faced it.

  Upon her entrance, the man seated behind the desk rose to his feet. With the fire glowing behind him, she was able to discern that he was a tall man, dressed in dark clothing, with broad shoulders and a trim torso. It was a pleasingly masculine form suggestive of strength and vigor. But Callista had a gift for seeing men with more than her eyes. She could often sense things about them—fears, worries, vulnerabilities, and desires—before they could put them into words. She prided herself on being able to understand the things men preferred to keep buried deep inside.

  Already, she could feel the quiet restraint in this one. Though he’d only moved to stand, a steady force emanated from him. As though he could leap into action at any moment but chose quite deliberately not to. That he hadn’t spoken yet suggested he was accustomed to taking his time, allowing things to fall into place as they would before taking command. And he would try to take command. That was evident as well. This was a man who embraced his power quietly but with definite assurance.

  But he’d never come up against anyone like her before.

  As she strode across the rather cavernous room, Callista knew very well that although he was in deep shadow, she was cast in a fiery light. Her favorite kind. Her black brocade gown would reflect some of the flickering glow while retaining its mysterious darkness, showing off the deep curves of her figure and accenting the sensual movement of her body. Her fair hair would ignite with the light of the flames while her veil would keep her face concealed until she chose to reveal it. Though he couldn’t see it, her gaze remained sharply trained upon the infamously secretive man who’d become her temporary rival.

  Reaching the space between the two wingback chairs, she paused to give a disdainful tilt of her head.

  Mr. Erik Maxwell, who no one in London had heard of prior to his arrival nearly eight months ago, lifted his hand in a small but definitive gesture. “Please have a seat, madam. It is my honor to receive you.”

  The words were formed in a slight, indiscernible accent with a voice that made her think of fine cigars and even finer brandy. Decadent, rich, and masculine, with just the slightest hint of roughness around the edges. Rolled together with understated but undeniable command and confidence.

  Goose bumps—delicate and tingling—spread across her skin. She didn’t enjoy the feeling.

  Sweeping forward, she lowered herself into one of the chairs. The tall, straight back did not prevent her from reclining with the sensual grace she was famous for. From her new angle in the chair, she was able to discern more details of the man’s face when she glanced up at him.

  He looked to be close to fifty in age, though a very virile, well-maintained fifty, to be sure. His hair—dark and liberally laced with silver—was brushed back from a square forehead. Deep-set eyes of an indiscernible color addressed her with keen attention from behind square spectacles. Strong cheekbones, an angled jaw currently shadowed with a day’s growth of salt-and-pepper beard, and a wide sensual mouth.

  He was undoubtedly the most distinguished-looking sex proprietor she’d ever seen. A gentleman pimp? The thought made her lips curl.

  She replied to his greeting in a smooth, unhurried tone, “I hope my unexpected visit isn’t too much of an imposition.”

  By the subtle arch of his dark, slashing brow, she knew they were both aware that imposing was her exact intention. When she saw the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, her blood heated with a sensation she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Desire. Attraction. Lust.

  Dammit. Of course her long-dormant libido would choose now to reignite. But she had never been subservient to her more base desires and she quickly buried the unwanted physical reaction.

  “You may feel free to impose upon me anytime, madam,” he said as he reclaimed his seat.

  His tone was sincere. The man was smooth.

  Shifting in the chair, she slowly lifted the veil from her face. “Well, I do not expect my purpose to require more than one.” Meeting his eyes without the black netting filtering her view proved more unsettling than she’d expected. The man had a poignant gaze. “I shall assume you are an intelligent man and that you know why I’m here.”

  He lowered his chin and the look he gave her then would have made her pulse flutter if she had been a weaker woman. “I would never presume to know a woman’s mind.”

  “Intelligent, indeed.”

  He flashed his teeth in a brief smile. “Tell me what you need of me and I shall endeavor to please you.”

  She ignored the tightness his words and voice and eyes created low in her body. A sharp edge entered her voice as she replied with a practiced smile. “What would please me, Mr. Maxwell, is your exodus from London.”

  Her declaration did not appear to surprise him. Leaning back in his chair, he linked his fingers over his abdomen and returned her steady stare. The curve of his mouth was undeniable, as was the lowered, more intimate tone of his voice as he replied. “It appears you are everything you’ve been reported to be, Madam Pendragon. This pleasures me immensely.”

  “It is not my intention to pleasure you, Mr. Maxwell,” she noted coolly. Though he remained silent and unmoving, his gaze intensified as light sparked in their depths, making her wonder if his eyes were not as dark as they’d first appeared. “Nor is it my intention to suggest a threat in my words. The simple truth is that you cannot compete with Pendragon’s Pleasure House. Your club will fail.” She smiled, silky smooth. “I hope only for you to avoid the inevitable embarrassment and loss. You would be better off re-establishing your club elsewhere. Might I suggest Bath or Edinburgh?”

  He lowered his chin with a long, slow exhale as he removed his spectacles and laid them atop his desk. When he looked at her again, he kept his chin lowered and lifted only his gaze. “Madam Pendragon. It seems clear that you would not have come here if you did not fear the exact thing you deny. But I would like to assure you that my business is not a threat to yours in any form.”

  Annoyance filled her at his unshakeable poise and subtle condescension. But before she could respond, he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his desk as he looked intently into her eyes. “You see, our businesses could not be more dissimilar.”

  Her temper flared. Did he believe himself so damned superior, then?

  Callista shifted in her chair and leaned forward to mimic his posture, folding her hands on the gleaming surface of his desk. Though the position pushed her breasts against the edge of her bodice, exaggerating her cleavage and lengthening her neck, she was surprised to see that his gaze flickered not to her bosom but to her leather-encased fingers. The flame that had sparked in her core at the first sight of this man flared.

  Steeling herself against it once again, she tilted her head to reply in a cool tone. “No matter how covert your services or how boring the décor of your establishment, the truth cannot be changed. Your business, Mr. Maxwell, is fucking. And so is mine.”

  She didn’t exactly think she would shock him with her crude choice of words, but she certainly didn’t expect the reaction she got.

  It started with a slow, almost gentle widening of his lips—as though he’d just been offered a favored sweet and was imagining how he’d savor it—followed by a glitter of unnamed intention in his eyes. “You are quite right, madam. And also very wrong.”

  Chapter 2

  Callista eased back into her chair and ran her hand along the waist of her corseted bodice, past the curve of her hip, before smoothing out the drap
e of her skirts over her crossed legs. Arching a brow, she gave a little sigh. “When it comes to the nature of my business, I am never wrong.”

  His sharp, glittering gaze never left hers despite the temptation she offered in her lounging figure. Even so…whatever he was thinking caused a spark of heat to flare brightly in his eyes.

  Callista saw it. She felt it. Like a bolt of white fire angling straight through her center, she felt it.

  Still holding her gaze, he straightened in his seat and put his spectacles back on.

  Callista honestly couldn’t decide if he was more unsettling with them or without. The man was indescribably handsome. Virile. Unexpected.

  “I would never question your expertise, madam. However, I do believe it is time to address the true purpose of your visit.”

  “And what do you perceive the true nature of my visit to be?” she asked disdainfully.

  He lowered his chin. “You are a clearly a woman of discernment. One who appreciates knowledge and discretion in equal measure. You have come to me for answers. And as I said earlier…I shall endeavor to satisfy you.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “But first, would you like a drink?”

  Anticipation sparked inside Callista. It was an interesting tack he’d taken. But she possessed an agile mind and unwavering resolve. “Brandy,” she answered with an easy smile.

  He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew from it a bottle of fine French brandy and two snifters. After pouring two fingers into each glass, he rose to his feet and started around the wide desk. As he neared her position in the chair, she finally saw that his eyes were a very pale gray. Nearly silver. Despite his controlled manner, there was a predator’s gleam in their depths.

  Reaching her side, he extended one of the snifters. “If you would indulge me, madam, it would be my pleasure to explain.”

  A thrill went through her at his low-spoken words, but she hesitated. Stupidly. This was exactly why she’d come here. To get a sense of what he offered that had inspired such loyalty in his patrons. To learn the secret to how he’d formed a base of understated power and undeniable success in such a short time. She needed to know what she was up against.

  Yet, as she looked up at his towering form—taller and broader than she’d realized—and noted the way he cradled the glass of brandy in his large palm, she got the oddest sense he was offering something she wasn’t ready to accept.

  Just take the blasted drink before he thinks you’re daft. Or worse—afraid.

  Affecting a tone of boredom, she accepted the brandy. “Do not expect me to be impressed, Mr. Maxwell.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement as he lifted his glass to swirl it in the firelight. “I am aware of your great accomplishments, Madam Pendragon. A gentleman cannot step foot in London without hearing tales of a woman of insurmountable grace and influence. A woman capable of bringing the most powerful men in Britain to their knees—and having them beg for more.” Silver eyes caught hers in a quick snare. “A woman of indescribable beauty and fierce ambition. To achieve such success, one would have to possess extensive experience and infinite intuition. I’ve no doubt you can claim both in abundance. But I might just surprise you.”

  Callista hid the distrust his words aroused with a graceful shrug. No man offered such pretty compliments without expecting something in return. Yet somehow, when he spoke in such a way, it felt more like a restating of fact than flattery. She had to admit…Erik Maxwell possessed a great deal of charm within his restrained manner.

  Crossing in front of her, he took a seat in the chair beside her.

  Watching at him from beneath the sweep of her lashes, she couldn’t help noting his patrician profile and athletic manner of movement—economical, relaxed yet dignified. He was a man who knew himself and trusted what his body was capable of. No doubt, he committed to a regular exercise regimen to maintain a superior degree of strength, endurance, and vitality.

  That or he frequently enjoyed other, more pleasurable ways to promote a healthy physique.

  To keep herself from wondering exactly how physically energetic a lover Erik Maxwell might be, she shifted in her seat, leaning toward him. The new position created deep, sensuous curves in her figure as she lifted her brandy. “By all means, Mr. Maxwell, surprise me.”

  He removed his spectacles again, this time resting them atop his thigh—his solid, hard-muscled thigh. He looked a little older without the glass shielding the darker shadows of experience in his eyes. She was also able to detect the gleam of self-awareness in their depths and spied the fine lines fanning out from the corners. The evidence of age in his features supported his calm air of casual arrogance while avoiding any suggestion of world-weariness often seen in older men.

  “Your devotion to discretion and the security of your patrons’ personal business is well-known. It is for this reason alone that I am willing to tell you the truth, yet before we go further in this discussion, I must have your assurance that you will not speak of what I tell you to anyone else.”

  “Is it so scandalous?” she asked dismissively.

  He tilted his head, and though amusement hovered around his mouth, his answer was given in all seriousness. “Some might consider it an unforgivable transgression. Either way, it involves a delicate and personal issue my clients wish to keep private. The true nature of what happens within the walls of Maxwell’s cannot become common knowledge.”

  She was intrigued despite herself. “You have my assurance.”

  “Although you were correct in saying my business is fucking”—his lips formed the word in a way that made her low body tighten—“my club is not a brothel.”

  Callista arched her brows. “Of course it is, Mr. Maxwell. You provide sexual services for a fee. There is no way around it and no shame in admitting it.”

  Silver eyes found hers. “It is not my intention to cast shame on the profession, madam. When managed well and safely, brothels offer valuable amenities to our societies by providing a welcome space for people to explore their desires and proclivities without fear of censure or risk to their person.”

  Callista was only slightly impressed. “Then why deny the association?”

  “I do not deny it. In fact, I encourage it as it distracts from the truth. But Maxwell’s does not deal in the business of pleasure for pleasure’s sake.” He lowered his chin. “Men do not come to me seeking such indulgences. They come to me for desperately needed guidance and instruction.”

  It was not what she’d expected. “Instruction?”

  “Essentially, among other related services, I tutor gentlemen in how to seduce and make love to their wives.”

  Disbelief rolled through her at his words and her eyes widened as she stared back at him. She couldn’t possibly have heard him right. “Surely, you jest.”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Mr. Maxwell, I have been involved in this trade for many years, most of which have been spent exclusively catering to men of high society. Men of that breed in particular are notorious for seeking their pleasure outside of the marriage bed for a very clear reason. Their wives are purchased through dowries and business arrangements to provide proper, well-pedigreed wombs for breeding. The ladies serve a strict and limited purpose. Mistresses and bawdy houses serve another.” Callista shook her head with firm conviction. “No gentleman wishes to seduce his wife.”

  Dark brows lifted as he gestured with his brandy snifter. “My success suggests otherwise. There are, indeed, gentlemen who wish to enjoy the full gamut of pleasures—domestic, intimate, and sexual—with the woman they’ve taken as life mate.”

  “Then why bother with seduction? A husband’s rights dictate that his wife must submit to his lustful needs.” Skepticism made her voice harsh. “She has no choice in the matter.”

  “That is exactly the issue Maxwell’s rectifies.” The expression of the man beside her was earnest and thoughtful as he continued, “So many of these men grew to manhood with obscene amounts of wealth and prestige. They’ve
easily obtained everything they wanted in their lives. Mistresses were not earned or won; they were beckoned with a ringed pinky finger. Lovers and friends flocked and fawned by the dozen. These men have always known well how to be pleasured, but only a rare few know how to go about pleasuring another with true emotion and generosity. And then there is the ridiculous notion that has pervaded humanity for too long—that a wife does not need or desire the same sort of attention in the bedroom that a mistress demands.”

  Callista waved a hand in dismissal. “The number of men who do not know how to properly pleasure their bed partner is not under debate. What I will never believe is that a man would go through the trouble of directing such efforts toward his wife.”

  “When a man’s heart is involved, he will go to great lengths to achieve his goals.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Callista smirked. “Now I know it’s a con. Men don’t have hearts.”

  He did not immediately refute her bold claim but sat looking at her with a steady focus. Then he lifted his glass for a long sip. “Again, madam, I must disagree. Though many men may disregard the value of a loving, satisfied wife…some do not.” He smiled. “I offer my services to those rare gentlemen.”

  “For an exorbitant fee.”

  “For a fair and reasonable fee when marital bliss is the reward.”

  “Bliss,” she scoffed. “And what of these wives? What if they have no desire to deepen their relationships with their husbands?”

  The light in his eyes darkened for a moment. “Coercion and manipulation are the antithesis of what I impart. Seduction is about connection. It is about knowledge and consideration and shared passion.”

  Meeting his intent gaze, she gave a slow shake of her head. “You speak of things that simply cannot be taught.”

  “Tell that to the countless men who have been enjoying more fulfilling marriages by becoming more generous, loving, sexually satisfying mates.”

  She laughed. “You can claim that all you’d like. But you cannot prove it.”