Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  “Only time will tell.” He leaned into her, put his lips to the shell of her ear then whispered, “When a pair courts while older, they have experience on their side, which means what happens between the sheets is ever so much more satisfying.”

  “Mr. Tame!” She pulled away from him in shock even as her nipples tightened with need. “That is hardly proper conversation.” The thought of throwing herself into the sea for the cooling effect took hold once more.

  “I beg your pardon.” His grin didn’t dim. The dratted man wasn’t the least bit sorry.

  “Rogue.” But she couldn’t help her answering smile.

  “Perhaps.” He winked. “Thank you for the story.” He didn’t reach to reclaim her hand, and she regretted the loss of his warmth.

  “What about you, Cecil? Do you wish to marry at your ripe old age?” Belatedly, she remembered they’d already discussed a bit of his reasoning for not already wedding.

  “Absolutely. I don’t mind the idea of leg-shackling myself to a woman, especially if she’s as delightful and prone to blushing and honest revelations as you are, even at such an advanced age.” He shot her a look that positively brimmed with mischief and wicked promise. “Also, I am very curious to see how a woman like that will act in the bedroom, and if she’ll let down her hair.”

  She sucked in a tiny gasp. “Cecil! You overstep.” My goodness, what a cake I’m making of myself.

  “Life is short, love. Isn’t it best to get straight to heart of one’s wants and desires?” When he winked, Phoebe stumbled.

  “Oh, dear heavens, you must stop talking about this.”

  “Why? We have both felt that connection between us.”

  “Yes, but… but…” She pressed her fingers to her blazing cheeks. Her wet skirts slapped against her legs as she walked. “I thought you wished to set a good example for Emily and her friends.”

  “Since they aren’t here with us at the moment, I felt the need to be daring.” He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back. “As I said before, I desire you, Phoebe. There is nothing scandalous about that.”

  “Perhaps.” She forced down a swallow, and deciding she had nothing to lose, she said, “But perhaps how I wish to respond and what I’m thinking are quite scandalous.”

  For several seconds he stared at her with a smile curving his sensuous lips and speculation in his eyes. “Thank you for a delightful morning, Miss Pennyroyal. I cannot recall a time when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.”

  “You’re most welcome. I had a lovely time as well.” She frowned as they approached the stretch of beach front near his home. Her boots and stockings still rested on the sand where she’d left them. Their outing together was over, as was their honest, heat-laden conversation. Disappointment pressed on her shoulders. “I guess that’s that.”

  “It would seem so.” He lingered longer than necessary with his grip on her hand. “However, this won’t be the last of our meetings.” Finally, he released her as there were a few other people walking the shore. “Do you want to return to the house ahead of me?”

  “I think you should instead. Emily’s friends should arrive soon, and you’ll probably want to absorb the quiet while you can.” Unshed tears collected in a ball in her throat. Why in the world did she feel like crying simply for parting ways with this man? It wasn’t as if she’d not see him again. In fact, once they both changed and cleaned up from their walk, they’d undoubtedly meet over the breakfast table.

  Breakfasting as a guest wasn’t the same as forever.

  “You’re probably right.” He glanced over at the house then back at her. The sadness in his expression mirrored hers. The breeze ruffled his hair, giving him a boyish appearance. “I suppose I’ll talk with you later.”

  “Yes. It’s inevitable since we do reside beneath the same roof, and you did promise another scandalous meeting.”

  “I did. Perhaps a midnight assignation on Christmas night?”

  “Perhaps.” A tremble moved down her spine. She pushed at his shoulder. At this rate they’d linger forever, and that would lead to other… things… they couldn’t indulge in. “Go on, now. We don’t want to invite unnecessary gossip.”

  He nodded. With a forlorn wave, Cecil headed in the direction of the house. His long-legged strides carried him over the sand then the street and finally over the short lawn to his door. He didn’t look back. Which was a good thing, for he had, she’d have pelted after him in an effort to remain in his company.

  Phoebe heaved a sigh as she bent to retrieve her boots and stockings. The man was a good conversationalist, a decided tease and a very real threat to her peace of mind. Just thinking about the touch of his hand on hers, his lips against hers and how safe and cherished she’d felt in his arms sent tingles of delight through her. And churned more than desire through her veins.

  Drat. I think I’m tumbling down the slope into love with him.

  It went against her common sense and logic, but there it was. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she turned toward the house. There were worse things to fall into.

  Chapter 7

  Christmas Eve

  “Will this bloody rain ever stop? There’s nothing to do.” Emily pecked at the window with a fingernail, then she huffed a breath on the glass and drew a sad face in the cloud that remained behind. Her pink muslin dress brightened the gloom of the day. “I knew this house party was a horrid idea.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. She fussed with her ivory shawl and wished she’d worn something prettier than the serviceable brown wool day dress, but there was a chill in the air and she couldn’t leave the wool behind simply for fashion—or the chance to see the light of interest in Cecil’s eyes. “You were eager enough for it yesterday afternoon when your friends arrived.”

  As soon as the ten of them descended, the chattering noise commenced and had only stopped when the party had gone to bed last night. After which, she’d fallen eagerly into bed with a dog-eared Gothic novel she hated to part ways with in the early hours of the morning. Even now the thrilling book waited for her tucked away beneath her handkerchiefs and stockings in a drawer. Despite her love of reading, the tale had done nothing to prevent her mind from wandering to her host.

  “Irrelevant, Miss Pennyroyal.” Annoyance sat heavy in the young woman’s voice. “Now, I’m bored.”

  Emily had been whining non-stop for the last twenty minutes. Phoebe rubbed her temples where a slight headache brewed. Despite her thoughts or the weather outside, she was still a headmistress and in charge of guiding the younger lady. “Regardless, watch your language, Miss Bertrand. A proper young lady doesn’t say such things.” Of course, it was beyond ridiculous to keep reminding the girl of such things since she apparently only said them for shock value.

  “A proper young lady is never bored to tears due to never-ending rain a day before Christmas, when there should be snow, or at least the hope of it. We cannot even walk the shore.” She turned around and flounced back to the settee where two other girls sat with a great deal more decorum than Emily exhibited.

  “You could continue to decorate the house,” Phoebe said. Shortly after the young people had arrived, they’d thrown themselves into fashioning paper chains and bedecking doorways with ribbons and glass baubles and tin bells.

  “That’s boring, and we did that already besides,” Emily groused. “We need something new.”

  Phoebe sighed. “How about we play a couple of parlor games? That’s fun during Christmastide. If you can convince the other girls to come down, we’d have a good number.” She glanced toward the door as Cecil and a few young men entered the drawing room. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  The boys mumbled greetings then sat as far away from the girls as they could get. Cecil chuckled and took a seat on a settee opposite Phoebe.

  “I just suggested parlor games to Emily. Would you be interested in joining?” she asked if only for the excuse of looking at him. His cream-and-gray striped trousers matched perf
ectly with an ivory waistcoat embroidered with fleur-de-lis and topped off with a gray jacket that hugged his shoulders to perfection. Would that she could slide her fingers over those shoulders and down his chest she already knew was solid and muscled. “At least games will pass the time until luncheon.” And keep my mind from you.

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you Miss Pennyroyal?” Emily pinned Phoebe with a glare. “You’re already taking up too much of Uncle Cecil’s attention when he should be focused on me since it’ll be my birthday in a couple of days.”

  Apparently, manners and her tenuous bond with Emily didn’t have the strength to stand against adolescent boredom. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.” What a liar I’ve become! She did wish to spend as much time with Cecil as she could, for soon she would leave. “And truth to tell, I’ve merely spent minutes in your uncle’s company instead of the vast amounts of time you assume.” With the exception of their walk on the shore yesterday or dinner every night since her arrival, Phoebe hadn’t sought him out for fear she’d grow too fond of his company. Fat lot of good that did. She already thought of him more than she should, and with every breath, her body strained to know his touch. Have my own silly desires put Emily into shadow?

  “That’s enough, Emily.” The stern tone in Cecil’s voice invited no further argument. He nodded at Phoebe. “I apologize for my niece’s atrocious manners. If you’d like, I can cancel the party right now. At least then she might learn something from the punishment, and spend Christmas alone in her chamber.”

  A few protests rumbled through the room. Emily sucked in a breath, her eyes wide, the perfect picture of contrite young womanhood.

  Phoebe bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure Miss Bertrand simply misspoke.”

  “I’m certain that’s exactly what it was.” His grin triggered flutters in her belly. “A parlor game is a capital idea. Which one?”

  Emily slid her gaze between Phoebe and her uncle and then she bounded off the settee. “How about Snap Dragon?” Her eyes twinkled. No trace of her earlier animosity remained. Such was youth.

  Cecil shook his head. “Absolutely not. I won’t have children sticking their fingers in flaming brandy for the sake of collecting raisins. How about Pass the Slipper? That’s tame enough, having to locate a missing slipper.”

  “Uncle Cecil, that’s a child’s game, and we are most decidedly not children, despite what you think.” Emily planted her hands on her hips. “Why not I Love My Love with an A?”

  Dear heavens, that game was long and drawn out. Phoebe shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know if we have time for that one, and besides, wouldn’t that make you feel too much like being back at school? I mean, forced to invent statements that start with the same letter, all the way through the alphabet?” She was fairly certain indulging in that game would cause her headache to grow by leaps and bounds, and she didn’t wish to keep track of all the letters and players. After all, it was her holiday too.

  One of the boys cleared his throat. “I don’t care which game we play as long as there are snacks. I’m starving.”

  Cecil frowned. “As I told Emily upon throwing this party, foodstuffs are reserved for meals only as the markets are having trouble keeping such things stocked, and staples are a much sought after commodity. You’ll have to wait for luncheon.”

  “Actually,” Phoebe cleared her throat. “Cook informed me this morning she was making spice cakes for Emily’s guests. She said the sacrifice was worth seeing her girl smile.”

  Emily did smile then. “How lovely! What now, Uncle? Move All? How incredibly boring to hide a chair and have everyone rush around to fill the rest.” Her frown deepened and her gaze found Phoebe. “I would really like your opinion.” Pleading swam in her hazel eyes.

  Of course. The young only made a concession when they were out of ideas, but she accepted the unspoken apology. Phoebe tamped the urge to make a sarcastic comment, and said instead, “Why not a few rounds of Blind Man’s Bluff? Your uncle and I will make certain none of you attempt to get away with anything scandalous.” Although, the game itself had every chance for a legitimate caress since the blindfolded individual had to determine the identity of another player who would sit in a chair before them, only using hands and fingers, of course.

  Cecil chuckled. “Intriguing idea, but only if Miss Pennyroyal takes a turn under the blindfold.” His eyes held a decidedly wicked sparkle that once more sent tiny fires into her blood.

  “Splendid!” Emily clapped her hands. “Uncle Cecil, you can be the first victim!” She glanced at her friends. “It’s only right that we use the adults first.” Her friends rapidly agreed.

  “Very well.” He made a great show of pretending he was put out. “I’ll sacrifice myself for the sake of this party. Emily, locate Banks and have him fetch you one of my cravats. We’ll use that as a blindfold.”

  Oh, bother. Phoebe rose as Emily ran out of the room. What is he about and why does he have such a devilish gleam in his eye? “All of you move the larger pieces of furniture to the walls then place one of the wingback chairs in the center of the rug. We’ll gather ‘round it.”

  Once Emily returned, she handed the cravat to Phoebe. “Will you put this on him? You’re the most just and fair of us all. I know you won’t cheat or let him cheat.”

  “Very well.” She approached Cecil with the length of soft cotton in her hand. “Either sit down or kneel so I can put this on you.”

  “Ah, so that’s how you get men to follow your dictates. You ask them to kneel and they do so without argument, like knights of old. That is quite a powerful skill.” Yet he did as instructed, facing away from her.

  “Pish posh. You know very well I do not wield such power.” Phoebe smiled as she fit the length of cloth over his eyes and upper portion of his face then tied it securely at the back of his head, careful not to catch his hair in the knot. “Can you see, and please do not lie.”

  “I promise, I cannot see.”

  To be certain, she moved around to face him, holding up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Cecil shrugged. “Two?”

  “No. Three. I’m convinced.” She grabbed one of his hands, ignoring the comforting heat of his skin and the answering warmth that circled through her insides. “Up you go. The rest are ready to begin the game.” She guided him to the waiting young people. When he didn’t release her hand, she pulled from his grip. “All right, pick someone to sit in the chair, but do it quietly so he doesn’t know.”

  “You could talk to me as a distraction,” he offered in a whisper designed for her ears alone.

  “Too much cheek, Mr. Tame,” she whispered back.

  Emily gestured for Phoebe then pointed to the chair. Phoebe shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for Cecil to touch her in front of an audience and perhaps prompt an embarrassing reaction on her part, but when Emily and her girlfriends nodded and also pointed to the chair, Phoebe stifled a sigh. She sat where indicated and attempted to steel herself for what would come.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let me blush excessively in front of them or act unbecoming.

  “We’re ready, Uncle Cecil. See if you can guess who is sitting.” Emily tugged him to stand in front of the chair. “Remember, only your hands and fingers. I suppose if you get naughty, Miss Pennyroyal will smack your hand.”

  A host of titters went through the girls present. The boys’ expressions betrayed their wish that it was them in his place.

  Cecil knelt in front of her. Phoebe shifted her legs to one side, keeping her legs tightly together. Even still, the second he laid a hand on one of her knees, she sucked in a silent breath. Warm tingles skittered over her skin. “My apologies for such familiarity.” He lifted his hand in an instant then resettled it near her face. One slender finger tapped the end of her nose, almost as if he wanted it for a marker, then, as soft and tender as a butterfly’s wing, he brushed his fingertips along her ch
eek.

  Dear heavens. Phoebe’s pulse raced as he continued to explore the contours of her face. When he added a second hand, which meant four more fingers sliding soft and gentle over her cheeks, her chin, her eyebrows, she trembled and couldn’t stop. He leaned closer, trapping her legs between his chest and the edge of the chair. She sucked in a shuddering breath. Her eyelashes fluttered. Tremors teased her core. Oh how she wished she could return the caress, but she couldn’t or else forfeit the game.

  This was a singularly bad idea. I won’t let Emily or her friends take part in something so scandalous. But, oh, how wonderful the experience was.

  Gooseflesh popped up on her skin while Cecil continued his simple, sensual caress. Tingles circled through her body, bringing up her temperature. She closed her eyes simply to better enjoy his touch, but that was a mistake, for she imagined his hands elsewhere on her body. Her nipples tightened. Thank goodness for the shawl that hid that traitorous reaction. Again, she held her breath, for with one hand he fingered the edge of her shawl.

  “How interesting a subject,” Cecil murmured. He seemed to know how he affected her for he smoothed his thumbs along her eyebrows as he fanned his fingers into her hair, slightly tugging tendrils from its bun.

  Her cheeks warmed, and she hoped no one would notice. A few titters from the girls added tension to the proceedings. One of the boys commented that she must soon slap their host. How must she look giving Cecil so much liberty? She clamped her lips together to prevent any sort of sound from slipping out and betraying her identity or a clue of how nice she found his explorations. Why can we not be alone in this moment?

  Finally, he slid his hands down the sides of her neck then rested them on her shoulders. The heat left behind burned her like a brand. “I believe I know who the subject is,” Cecil announced. He sat back on his heels with a grin full of charm and cheek. “It can only be Miss Pennyroyal.” He tugged off the blindfold and immediately held her gaze. “I knew it. There is only one woman who wears a tight bun like that all the time as well as a shawl.”