Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  Cecil bit back a smile. The boy sounded so serious as if he attempted to portray the image of an adult man. Was it wishing to do so in front of him or Emily? “Enjoy your stay. We are all still hoping the rain will turn to snow.”

  “I love being out in the water almost more than anything else, but seeing snow would be a real treat. It happens so rarely around here.” For the first time, Max smiled. “I cannot bear my time away from Brighton.”

  “I know what you mean,” Cecil rejoined as he warmed to his subject. “My travels have taken me around the world, and there is nowhere that is quite as cozy as this old town.” He slid his gaze to Phoebe. “It does have its charms one cannot find elsewhere.”

  The party returned and prevented any more conversation, but he couldn’t forget the blush upon Phoebe’s cheeks. Soon after they settled into their seats, while the butler and the kitchen maids cleared away the dishes, Emily clapped her hands. “Who’s first?”

  “I’ll go.” Phoebe handed Emily a small, flat box. “It’s not much, but a young lady can gain use from it.”

  “Thank you. I cannot believe you gave me a gift after the two Christmas presents.” Emily lifted the lid from the box and exclaimed with apparent joy. “I adore them, Miss Pennyroyal.” She held up a delicate, white handkerchief. Her initials were embroidered in blue thread in one corner. Four others rested folded in the box.

  “I am glad. I did the handiwork myself.” Genuine pleasure hung on her voice.

  “Exquisite, Miss Pennyroyal.” Cecil went next. “I trust this makes up for your birthday being rained upon.” He retrieved a small, white velvet box from an interior jacket pocket then gave it to her. “I hope your fifteenth year is profound.”

  Gasps went around the girls present as Emily pulled out a delicate amethyst pendant on a thin, gold chain.

  “Uncle Cecil, it’s beautiful! You remembered when I admired it in the shop window almost a year ago.” Emily bounded from her chair, ran around the table and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, poppet.” He hugged her. She squirmed away only to show the necklace to her friends. Cecil met Phoebe’s gaze across the table. “Where she’s concerned, I’m afraid my willpower has the strength of porridge.”

  A smile curved her kissable mouth. “I think in this case you are allowed the small indulgence.”

  Cecil nodded. He watched Emily open the rest of her gifts with a silly grin he couldn’t contain. Yes, having Phoebe in his household had been a good idea. Along with the handkerchiefs and necklace, his niece received a shawl of fine, pink silk, a few sets of hair ribbons and books. Laughing and joking proved to be the order of the hour while Cook brought out a cherry trifle with vanilla sponge cake, made specifically for the celebration.

  Since the young people were gathered about Emily anyway, they each dug their spoons into the trifle bowl without making use of plates or the civilized custom of sitting down for dessert. When he shot a glance at Phoebe, she shrugged.

  “It would take too much time to sort them out,” she explained. Phoebe took up a spoon and dared to dip it into the trifle bowl. When she came away with an uneven spoonful, she merrily put it into her mouth, but was jostled by one of the girls at the last second. A smudge of cherry juice decorated her cheek. “Mmm. Delicious. My compliments to your cook.”

  “I’ll be certain to convey them.” He couldn’t help staring at that spot of crimson. What would she do if he leaned over and kissed it from her skin? Would it taste tart or sweet? His heart pounded. If he kissed her now, he wasn’t certain it would remain chaste. Yet, should he? Could he? He stared at her lips and stifled a groan when she licked them. But no, it simply wasn’t done, especially not in front of company.

  Fate decided for him. Emily leaned over and wiped away the smudge with her napkin. “You had a bit of a mess just there on your cheek.”

  Cecil let out a shuddering breath. Crisis averted. Except, his arousal grew and his member pressed tight against the front of his breeches. God, he wanted this woman.

  One of the girls licked her spoon. “Miss Pennyroyal, will you sing for us?”

  He sat up straighter. “You sing?” Now that was an interesting snippet, and one that added more intrigue to the woman who owned his heart.

  “Oh yes,” the girl went on. “She’s vastly entertaining and accomplished. At assemblies, she plays the pianoforte and has performed for a few ambassadors and dignitaries in London.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. “My, my, all of that makes me sound more important than I really am.” A blush stole into her cheeks and pleasure lined her expression. “Besides, it’s Emily’s birthday. I don’t wish to take attention away from her.”

  Always so humble. Cecil stood. “I would love to hear you play.”

  Emily nodded. “Come on, Miss Pennyroyal. You have a wonderful voice. It’s what I want for my birthday.”

  “I already gave you a gift.” Phoebe looked around the table and her blush deepened. “Obviously, I won’t come up the winner in this argument, will I?”

  Possessed of a swift and strong urge to hear her sing as well as play the pianoforte, Cecil came around the table, grabbed one of her hands and tugged her from her chair. “Come. The crowd has spoken, and since the young gentleman and I have never heard you perform, it’s mandatory you rectify this so we all may have a new topic of discussion. Plus, it is still the Christmastide season. Plenty of music to choose from.” Despite her softly murmured protests, he pulled her from the room, through the hall and into the drawing room. The house party followed, sounding very much like a herd of cows as their heels rang on the marble floors.

  She harrumphed, but she positioned herself on the bench behind the instrument. “You’re as bad as the children.”

  “That I am. Can I help it if I’m selfish and wish to be entertained?” He leaned close. “I find myself enchanted at the notion of listening to you sing. You continue to surprise and fascinate me.”

  “Pish posh.” She waved a hand at him in dismissal. “Anyone can do it.”

  “True, but anyone isn’t here. There is only you.” There will only always be you. Quelling the urge to brush his fingers along the tempting curve of her cheek or linger his touch on the sensitive skin of her nape, Cecil left her side in order to take a seat amidst Emily and her friends, eventually settling beside Max. “Begin when you’re ready, Miss Pennyroyal.”

  The first song she performed was a popular carol that put them all in mind of the night of Christ’s birth. Her fingers flew over the keys, for she didn’t play with sheet music. There was no vocal accompaniment with the piece, but there didn’t need to be. Her skill with the keys, the way she closed her eyes as she performed, the gentle sway of her body as she lost herself in the music was entertainment enough.

  Cecil sat enthralled as he remembered how she’d moved with him when they’d made love, the way the little sounds at the back of her throat had driven him wild. How anyone could remember a passage of music let alone a whole piece was beyond his ken, but she’d been born with the talent, and she brought the same enthusiasm into every aspect of her life.

  Song after song followed. Some they sang with her, some she sang alone; some were merely there to showcase her skill on the keys. When she finished, a beautiful smile curved her mouth, and she seemed lit from within. Cecil led the applause, barely remaining seated when all he wanted to do was shoot from his chair and scoop her up in his arms, cover her face with kisses and tell her how wonderful she was.

  But she took it all in stride with a simple smile.

  “Jolly good show, Miss Pennyroyal,” Cecil said. “Thank you for indulging us.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile widened. Then, she winked. “I think it’s appropriate, just this once and for a birthday celebration, if my last song is somewhat less than proper. This is a scandalous song folks like to sing in taverns called The Turban’d Turk.”

  Was there no end to her surprises? Cecil gawked as the bouncy tune poured
from the pianoforte and the equally giddy, if quite bawdy, verses tumbled from her mouth. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined a prim and proper headmistress even listening to such a scandalous song let alone sing it with such conviction that she included an Irish accent.

  A blush infused her cheeks at a rather risqué stanza, but she kept on, much to the delighted laughter of the audience, and when she finished with a flourish of her fingers on the keys, Cecil lost the rest of his heart to her. She was so wonderfully talented and good-natured, he wished he had more time with her. They desperately needed another night alone, to talk of everything and nothing, so that he could discern if he had a future with her. And for the first time since he’d met her, he wasn’t certain. She was self-possessed and independent. She didn’t need him to live a happy and satisfying life.

  Phoebe stood up from the bench. “Well, that’s all the entertainment you’ll get from me tonight. Perhaps someone else should play now.”

  Many of the girls rushed to the instrument, not to play, but to ask her to repeat the words to the song she’d just performed.

  Cecil glanced at Max. There was such an expression of pride on his face that his chest tightened. “You’re a lucky man to have Phoebe for a mother. I’ve never known anyone quite like her and find I’m impressed with every new thing I discover.”

  “Yes, I am.” Max transferred his attention to Cecil. “She’s a very special person and important to me.” The young man frowned. “I’m protective of her ever since my father died. The last thing I want is for anyone to hurt her, especially if the person wishes only to pass the time with her in a dalliance that means nothing.” The boy raised a bushy blond eyebrow. “Do you understand?”

  Cecil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The boy had issued him a veiled threat, as if he had any intention of abusing Phoebe’s trust. Still, he took the admonition in the spirit in which it was given. “Of course I understand. I would never hurt your mother. I have every respect for her.”

  “Do you?” The look Max passed over him hinted that the boy knew exactly what Cecil had done to his mother. But that was impossible.

  “Of course. She’s a wonderful person, but I must tell you, I do intend to know her much better, even go so far as to ask if I can call on her once a replacement companion can be procured for Emily.” He reeled beneath the implication. Was that true? He searched his mind but only came away with affection, desire and… love.

  Absolutely, he meant what he’d said and would make arrangements with alacrity.

  “I believe you.” Max nodded, and the gesture made him seem old beyond his years. “I’ve looked after Mother the best I know how since I became the man of the house.” He sat a little straighter as he stared Cecil in the face. “Though she might show everyone around her she’s highly capable, she’s lonely at times. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “Is that right? She must miss your father very much.” Something tugged at Cecil’ heart, but he refused to ascertain what. Was that why she’d been careful not to let him close, show her feelings other than passion?

  “I’m sure she does. No one can replace him in her affections.” Max narrowed his eyes. “Beyond that, I think Mother misses debating and talking of day to day things with a gentleman. When I’m away, I don’t like thinking she’s all alone with nothing to occupy her.”

  This time Cecil couldn’t hide his grin. Obviously, the boy believed everyone’s world revolved around him. “Knowing your mother, I’m certain she has pursuits outside of you or the school.” What were they? Did she wish to use her skill at the pianoforte to entertain at concert halls? He made a mental note to determine what she enjoyed doing.

  “Be that as it may, it makes me sad. I feel guilty pursuing my own dreams while Mother is so vulnerable. I hate to think of her as prey for unscrupulous men.” Max clenched a hand into a fist where it rested on his thigh. “I haven’t had to run off a gentleman yet, but I will if needed.”

  “I’m glad she’s got someone watching over her. It sets my mind at ease.” Cecil cleared his throat. “What it is you wish to do when you’re through with school?” Perhaps if he made a friend of Max, Phoebe would be more inclined to accept a courtship.

  “I’d like to be a solicitor, or perhaps if I can overcome my shyness for speaking in front of a group, a barrister. Law fascinates me.” A light appeared in the younger man’s eyes and animated his face.

  Cecil nodded. “Very lofty goal. I’m proud of you for that.” He clapped a hand to Max’ shoulder. “Carry on with that determination, and I’m sure you’ll succeed.”

  Before Max could reply, Phoebe joined them. “Is everything all right over here?” She glanced between Cecil and Max. Lines of stress appeared on either side of her mouth. “The two of you seemed quite serious.”

  “Everything is fine. I was just asking Max what occupation he had his heart set on.” Cecil stood. “And now I remember I’ve been lax in my duties as host. Max, since you’re a late arrival, please allow me to show you where you’ll pass the remainder of the house party. I trust you’ve brought luggage?”

  When the boy mumbled something about it being in the parlor, he hopped from the settee then pelted from the room.

  “Don’t be cross if he hasn’t warmed to you yet. It takes Max a bit to accept new people into his circle.” Phoebe smiled and her eyes danced. “Thank you for making an allowance for him while I’m here. His cousins had another engagement this week.”

  “Think nothing of it. Happy to have him—and you—here.” He glanced around the room. The young people headed to the door. “Where are they going?”

  Phoebe followed his gaze. “Some of the girls have expressed an interest in combing your library for reading material. The others are turning in early. They’re bored, you see, and I’m not about to let on that I have a couple of their confiscated novels hidden in my room.” A giggle followed the statement and wrapped around Cecil like a warm embrace.

  “You’re full of surprises, my dear.” He wished to say so much more, do so much more, but when Max appeared in the doorway with a valise in hand, Cecil sighed. “As much as I would love to continue our conversation, as well as find out where your reading interests lie beyond a naughty novel or two, I promised Max a tour. If you’ll excuse me?”

  She nodded. “If I don’t see you again tonight, have pleasant dreams.” A hint of disappointment lingered in her expression.

  Bloody hell. Did she wish for an assignation then? He couldn’t very well ask while her son lingered nearby. “You do the same, Miss Pennyroyal.” He gave her a slight bow then joined Max in the hall.

  There had to be a way to spend time with her regardless that his house was full of nosy young people. Otherwise, how else was he supposed to gauge her interest in a courtship from him?

  Chapter 11

  December 27th

  Phoebe woke the next morning with a smile on her face and a curious lightness in her heart, and nary a reason for them both.

  No, that wasn’t true. She stared at the ceiling. Cecil was the reason. She’d performed that bawdy ditty last night to see what his reaction would be. For her, it had lost its shock value since she’d learned it years before she’d met her husband, and it always served as just the thing to close out a musical evening or a tense gathering. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t appropriate for a holiday. Yet when she’d glanced at Cecil’s face, he wasn’t shocked at all. In fact, he’d mostly seemed… beguiled.

  Was it for the song or her singing?

  It didn’t matter. Knowing he’d enjoyed himself had been a gift enough. And oh, he had looked so handsome! He must have dressed with care since it had been Emily’s birthday celebration. And the dear man hadn’t seemed to mind the constant chatter of all Emily’s friends. Not to mention he’d talked with Max as if he’d been an equal, really listened to the boy’s hopes and dreams.

  It had been a long time since she’d been swept away by such a man.

  A light knock on th
e door yanked Phoebe from her musings. She sat up in bed then plumped the pillows behind her back. The two girls who’d shared her bedroom had risen earlier and had already tripped out, no doubt to search out their friends and formulate plans for the day. In her defense, she’d been more groggy than usual, but then, she’d had more stimulation on all fronts than she normally did.

  “Come in.” She rearranged the bedclothes across her lap before Emily quietly entered. The girl closed the door behind her.

  “Good morning, Miss Pennyroyal.” Emily tucked her hands behind her back and rocked on the balls of her feet. “Are you busy?” A smile graced the girl’s lips. In her white, linen night rail which was in much the same style as Phoebe’s, she resembled a much younger child.

  “Not at the moment, Miss Bertrand.” She stifled a snort of amusement. As if she’d been entertaining a male caller in her bed. “Is there something on your mind?”

  “Yes.” She crossed the room then stood at the bedside. “Would you mind too terribly much if I came into bed with you for a moment?”

  The question confused Phoebe. None of her students had ever wished to further a personal relationship with her. “I suppose not.” When the girl regarded her with her big hazel eyes that reflected nothing except sincerity, Phoebe pulled back the bedclothes. “Hop in. Obviously, you have something to ask me.”

  “I do.” Emily scampered into bed then snuggled into the bedclothes and against the pillows. “How does a person know they’re in love?”

  The novel experience of having a young lady share confidences warmed her. Though she loved Max to distraction, she’d always hoped she’d have another child—a girl—to dress in pretty, lace-edged clothes and encourage her hair to curl around her finger. Those were dreams of another time, and probably why she’d ended up in teaching. She was quite too advanced in years to hang onto that dream.

  “Ah. I think I see what you’re after.” Phoebe chuckled. The poor girl fancied herself in love with one of the young men from her house party. Infatuated was probably more the thing. “Well, a lady’s cheeks will heat with a blush, her heart will race while in the presence of said male. She wishes he would kiss her and hopes he doesn’t by turns.” Phoebe drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “She doesn’t want to leave his side, wants to know everything about him and wants to share her darkest secrets or greatest triumphs with him. She cannot wait to know him in the most intimate of ways.” Heat swirled through her lower belly. Oh, how she wished she could further that relationship with Cecil.