Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  “Yes. I’m afraid so.” He cast a glance at Miss Pennyroyal, whose face reflected fervent curiosity. The knots in his stomach calmed just from one look in those blue eyes. “Perhaps we should sit down for a minute so I can explain.”

  And please God let there be no feminine outbursts.

  Chapter 2

  Miss Phoebe Pennyroyal stood in the doorframe as Mr. Tame led his niece back to the settee then drew her down beside him. She had no idea what had transpired with Emily’s mother, but the haunted shadows in Mr. Tame’s brown eyes as well as Emily’s response hinted that perhaps there was something wrong in the woman’s upper stories.

  A tragedy, that. For if word got ‘round, the lady would be condemned to an institution, and that would be worse than death from all accounts of those places.

  “Would either of you care for tea? I hardly think this will be a quick conversation.” She disliked standing around where she wasn’t wanted, and in an academy for young ladies, that was more often than not. The girls thought they were quite independent, yet they’d never tested their wings or their independence and found the world outside the school was still a scary place indeed. As for needed? Well… She trained her stare upon the girl’s uncle. That remained to be seen, but the fact couldn’t be ignored that her fingers still tingled from where he’d briefly clasped her hand earlier.

  Mr. Tame turned and glanced at her. “Actually, Miss Pennyroyal, I would be most obliged if you’d stay.” He slid his heated gaze down her person then back up again, and she swore it felt as if he caressed her with his hands. Warmth rushed through her cheeks as if she were of an age as the girls she taught instead of a widow and mother of three and thirty, long past the age of such feelings. “Your insights might prove helpful.” As he looked once more to his niece, the heat in his eyes faded, replaced by apprehension.

  “All right.” She wished she hadn’t worn her serviceable navy wool dress today, but with the constant rain and the drafty halls of the school, she seemed to always be cold. How silly I’ve grown. It wasn’t as if her drab self had caught the eye of one as dashing as Mr. Tame. He wasn’t here for romance. Point of fact, he wouldn’t linger at this place longer than it took to talk with his niece.

  Not to mention, she wasn’t looking for a flirtation even if he were interested. She was content with her life as the headmistress, as well as mother to her sixteen-year-old son, Max. She’d survived four years of widowhood without an emotional breakdown, and that was as good an endorsement as anything that she had good sense about her and a sound head on her shoulders. No flights into fancy for her. Hadn’t she always done the proper thing, said the proper words? That, as well as her keen understanding of the mind of adolescent girls, had landed her the position of headmistress.

  Yet, she stifled a sigh. At times it was bloody difficult remembering she was old and not given to flirtations or anything else pleasant to the flesh. As Phoebe advanced into the room, Mr. Tame resumed his conversation.

  “You are correct in your assumption, Emily. Your mother, I believe, is battling exhaustion and depression. Her mind is not in a sound state.” He paused and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “This ungodly weather doesn’t help her mood. If it would but snow…” He waved a hand in dismissal. “She will, this evening, be on a ship bound for the Caribbean. Perhaps sunshine and warm weather will help soothe her troubled spirit.” He bowed his head. “Letting her go is for the best, I hope.”

  The young lady nodded. Her eyes were wide as she focused on her uncle’s face. “Am I to come live with you in London? What of my friends here? I thought you were in America, making your fortune. What of your travels and business?” Excitement threaded through the girl’s voice. “Oh, can I accompany you on your journeys? I can keep your papers in order and act as your secretary. Perhaps keep your house. Will we traverse the world? I can glean my education from real life experience.”

  Travel was something Phoebe would readily condone. Nothing gave a person an education quite like witnessing real life.

  A chuckle escaped him, and his expression reflected genuine affection. “I’ve escaped America as the residents of that nation are rather grouchy, and not of the sort I’m used to. In the end, I wanted to come home and tend to my own property and see how the family fares.”

  “Oh, you are not bound for an exotic land.” Emily frowned. “So, you’re here in Brighton then, permanently?”

  “Yes, and I’ll remain here for some time to come—at least through the holidays. There is no more family in London, and I do not relish running the gauntlet of Town social events. I want relaxation and the calm that only the sea brings.”

  The young girl gave an unladylike snort. “But it is so boring here!”

  “That depends on your way of looking at the place.” His smile was indulgent. “For the moment, you’ll live at the Brighton townhouse with me, for as long as it takes until your mother returns to us.” His baritone voice broke at the end, and he cleared his throat. His expression betrayed nothing. “There is no need to force you away from your friends at this time.”

  “Quite a sensible plan.” Phoebe slipped onto a matching settee across from the pair. Her throat constricted at the pain and worry in his tone. What must it be like for him to suddenly take up parental responsibilities? From all accounts, Mr. Tame was quite the man about town, a worldly traveler more suited to adventure than child rearing, yet her sense of propriety surged to the forefront. No matter what, she was still a headmistress and Emily was her charge. “However, forgive me for being so blunt, Mr. Tame, but local Society will frown upon Miss Bertrand staying under your roof without a chaperone.”

  He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at her. “Are you implying that I’ll somehow defile my niece—my own flesh and blood—if we live in the same house?” A warning rang in his question. “If so, I can assure you I’m quite honorable.”

  “I’m not saying it, sir. I’m merely telling you what gossip and rumor will say. Unfortunately, it is the way of the world, and vile tongues have a life of their own when bored.” By accident, her gaze strayed over the broad sweep of his shoulders. Though his greatcoat hid the breadth of his chest and cheated her out of knowing what color his tailcoat was or how it fit his person, she contented herself with employing her imagination. In her mind, he was quite fit, and he was a handsome man. The sharp cut of his jaw was swoon worthy. Would his frame be muscled? She couldn’t stop her perusal as her gaze slid down the length of him. She imagined how firm his thighs might be beneath the fawn-colored breeches he wore. Heat stole into her cheeks. Good heavens. She firmly shoved those thoughts away. In this instance, her imaginings couldn’t hold a candle to reality, and that reality stared back at her as she lifted her gaze to his. She sucked in a surprised breath at the speculation in his eyes and tried valiantly to recall current conversation. “At least, that is my opinion. I do ask that you consider your niece’s reputation.”

  Emily huffed, the same little exhalation of breath she used in the classroom when things didn’t go her way. “Don’t mind Miss Pennyroyal, Uncle. She’s forever reminding us to remember our reputations and seeing evil where none lurks. No one does the mother hen routine better than her.”

  Phoebe’s face burned with annoyance. “Safety first, Miss Bertrand,” she reminded and hated the sharp sound of her voice. Was she truly that waspish?

  “Yes, well, I suppose that is what a good headmistress does.” Mr. Tame’s answer was more vague than concrete. Yet he kept his focus on Phoebe. “So, in your valued opinion, you believe I need a companion for Emily?”

  “It’s what I’m advising.” She nodded. “It would make everyone involved feel more comfortable. Also, because you’re relatively new to having young people in residence, I would say a companion could act as a go-between in the event tempers flare… and they will. Miss Bertrand is quite spirited at times.”

  He looked between her and his niece. “True. Jocelyn did say she and Emily frequently butted heads.”

  “That’s
because Mother doesn’t understand me. She’s always telling me not to do what she did when she was my age, but if she never shares the stories of what exactly she did, how am I to know?” Emily crossed her arms over her chest, hopelessly crushing the pretty, sprigged green muslin dress that was much more suited to warm summer afternoons than a dreary, wet winter day.

  “Yes, well, suffice it to say, you needn’t know those tales just now.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “What if I don’t follow the dictate, Miss Pennyroyal?” He raised an eyebrow. Was he daring her?

  Phoebe shrugged though flutters filled her belly at the cockiness of that gesture. “I cannot say as I’m obviously not trained in discerning the future through magic.” She’d known it was a cheeky comment, but she couldn’t recall it once it left her lips. After a school term full of fielding such sarcastic asides, it was only a matter of time before she picked up the habit.

  Good heavens, what have I turned into?

  Emily gasped. “Miss Pennyroyal, for shame!” Yet she’d almost laughed before she schooled her expression into pubescent outrage. “My uncle is quite the respected businessman.”

  After a few tense seconds, a grin pulled at the corners of Mr. Tame’s sensual mouth, which caused Phoebe’s thoughts to meander down darkly wicked paths where those lips were skating over her skin, hovering just inches over her bared nipple… “Forgive my niece’s outburst.” The amusement in his voice scattered her musings. “I’m afraid Emily has gotten rather rude away from her mother’s influence. Perhaps a stint with me will do her wonders.” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “What have you to do for the next two months, Miss Pennyroyal?”

  “Me?” She looked up at him, her mouth agape.

  “Her?” Emily echoed the sentiment. “Surely you cannot be serious, Uncle. She’s a teacher, the headmistress! We call her the prude of Montpelier Road.” The girl clapped a hand over her mouth. “Er, I meant to say, I will not spend Christmastide with her underfoot.”

  The shock in the young woman’s voice suggested being an educator was a fate worse than death and not to be entertained. It coaxed a smile from Phoebe anyway. Her students always thought teachers didn’t exist outside the school. “I cannot help my profession, Miss Bertrand. And neither will I accept Mr. Tame’s assumption that I have nothing else to do over my holiday.” She refused to think of the box full of scandalous French novels she’d confiscated from various students over the term that she’d been dying to delve into. Beyond that, what else was she supposed to do with the atrocious weather? Yes, reading about the heated affairs and dalliances of make believe characters in front of a fire sounded like just the thing. It wasn’t the Christmases of her youth, but it wasn’t the worst thing. “Also, I do have a son to look after. If I accepted your position, I couldn’t very well bring him along.”

  Both Mr. Tame and Emily stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “You’re married?” A hint of disappointment tinged his voice. “But you are a miss.”

  “You have a child? But you’re a miss,” Emily protested in much the same vein as her uncle. She glanced from Phoebe to her uncle then back. “Yet you preach at us not to land in scandalbroth?” Haughty disdain filled her voice and expression.

  “That’s enough, Emily.”

  “But Uncle Cecil…”

  “Enough.” Mr. Tame’s tone brooked no argument and sounded much like a thunder boom. “Go back to your quarters and wait there until I or Miss Pennyroyal retrieves you.” He said nothing further while Emily marched from the room. Once she’d exited the parlor, he turned to Phoebe. “I apologize for Emily’s behavior, but perhaps you should explain. It is quite a disturbing piece of news.”

  “Not as disturbing as one would think, considering I’m well past the first or even second blush of youth,” she shot back, again cursing her penchant for speaking her mind.

  “Touché.” He gestured to her settee. “May I sit next to you?”

  Her stomach flipped. Why the devil would he do that when he current position was more than adequate? “Yes, I suppose,” she allowed as he stared at her, his eyes unreadable. None of the other parents ever wanted to sit next to her if there was need for a talk. Mostly, they sat across from her as if she had the plague, for no one wanted to hear less than perfect things about their children.

  Mr. Tame settled next to her, so close there was a mere six inches of space separating them. Heat from his body bridged the slight gulf and an answering warmth infused her bones. He turned toward her, and his knee knocked against hers. “I’m as confused as Emily. I do not begrudge you a child, but your title is throwing me.”

  Tingles danced over her skin at the contact. Phoebe clasped her hands in her lap to hide their shaking. Good heavens, I’m acting like a school girl. “I can imagine. When I took the headmistress position at the school, I kept my maiden name because the trustees wished to change its name. I didn’t think Mrs. Snell’s Academy had the panache necessary to expand enrollment. My first moniker was the best option.”

  His lips twitched, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mouth. What would it feel like against her own? “No, I don’t suppose so. Then, you’re married?”

  “I’m a widow. Four years now. Mr. Snell died of pneumonia and a weak heart.” Sadness prickled her chest from mentioning her deceased husband, but it seemed like a lifetime had passed since she lost him, on a rainy day very much like this one. She wasn’t the same woman now—didn’t want to be. “After he died, I needed a new challenge, and around that time, the school’s trustees were looking for a new headmistress. It was perfect timing for all of us.”

  “You have my condolences.” He held her gaze. Compassion glimmered in the brown depths. “And the boy?”

  A laugh escaped her throat. This man pulled confidences from her like he plucked lint from a sleeve. “Well, he’s hardly a boy any longer. He’s a tall and lanky youth of sixteen, and sometimes, his moodiness vexes me to no end. He can be sweet and loving then surly and obstinate at the next turn. Much like Emily.” She smiled. “But, he’s growing into a fine young man who takes after his mama in looks—not that that’s anything to gush over. I only wish he were as efficient.”

  “Give him time. I well remember those awkward years of trying to find my place in the world but fit into society.” He touched her hand. Tingles flew up her arm and she shifted in her spot when answering tingles swept into her core. “When I was his age, I’m afraid I landed into more scrapes than I should have due to false bravado, yet when a girl stumbled into my path, I was gripped with such terror I was rendered tongue-tied.”

  She tried to imagine him as a youth, but could only see him as the man sitting next to her who looked at her with interest and warmth in his gaze. “Oh, Max is quite awkward around everyone. I suspect he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone or has no idea what to say in this new, adult world, so he says nothing, which then makes people assume he’s being rude.”

  “I understand.” He glanced around the room as if the boy would suddenly appear. “Where is Max now?”

  “At the moment, he’s spending time with a friend in London but will arrive in Brighton in a few days. Just in time for Christmas dinner no doubt.”

  “And once he returns, is there a friend or a relation he can stay with, which will let you accept the position as companion to Emily?” Polite inquiry threaded through his voice.

  “Perhaps.” Though she would be mad to accept such a position, especially when she couldn’t control her thoughts around this man. “I have a sister who lives not far from here. Max is forever asking to stay with his cousins as he feels comfortable with them, and they love the water as much as he does, but I must say, I haven’t agreed to your offer.”

  “If you’re concerned for propriety, let me assure you I will not molest you or approach you in any way. You’d stay in the guest bedroom, which is next to Emily’s and at the opposite end of the hall from mine. After all, you’re a widow, so you have no need of a companion for your
self.”

  She frowned. A wave of disappointment washed over her. Of course he’d be a perfect gentleman. Wasn’t she so firmly on the shelf and a widow besides, that no man would think of her as a woman who might long for a new romance if given the opportunity? And being a widow to boot was the lesser of the evils of being a debutante since a widow would have no virtue to guard. Life, at times, was quite annoying. “I see.” Although, she really did not.

  He patted her hand and once more heat wound through her bloodstream like a sip of fine brandy. “I am everything that is honorable and am only concerned for my niece’s well-being. Potentially losing her mother is unsettling enough. Inviting gossip for the mere reason I need to take care of her would be beyond aggravating.”

  Her heart trembled at the pain in his statement. “Mr. Tame, I’m not sure—”

  “Please, I would vastly prefer you to call me Cecil. If we are to rub along together under the same roof, I want to do so comfortably without stilted formality.”

  She had places where him rubbing would feel very nice indeed. Then she quelled those thoughts, buried them at the back of her mind. What right had she to even think them when he didn’t think of her in such a way?

  At her continued silence, he rose and pulled her into a standing position along with him. “If you would indulge me?”

  In what? Giving in to his request to play companion, to make use of his name or hope he’d look upon her as more than a means to skirt Society gossip? The pressure of his hand on hers, the warmth of his fingers on her skin despite their gloves, the maddening twinkle in his eyes and the intensity of that gaze all hurled themselves against her common sense. And fueled the dangerous temptation that awaited. “Indulge you in what, Mr. Tame?” She cursed the frantic beating of her heart.