Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  “I suppose that makes sense, but I’ll always be on the colt’s side.” Cornelia swallowed. Burnell’s mouth was very close to hers and he smelled so good—of spice and shaving soap and leather. There was a faint scar above his brow and a bump near the top of his nose, as if it had once been broken.

  I can’t help it. No matter what my head says, my body is a slave to its passions and if he doesn’t kiss me now I shall—

  There was a sudden whinny from the horses. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of orange fur against the stark white snow—a fox, it looked like, dashing madly across their path—and then the world spun sideways.

  Cornelia screamed as they were both flung forward.

  “What happened?” Cornelia sat up with a groan.

  “Something frightened the horses.” Burnell touched his forehead and grimaced. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Cornelia twisted in her seat, moving from the uncomfortable position she’d ended up in. She winced as pain lanced her ankle.

  Burnell’s concern was immediate. “You’re injured?”

  “No, really, I’m fine.” But she sucked in her breath as she attempted to stand.

  “Stop trying to move.” Burnell frowned. “It’s your foot is it? Here, let me look.”

  Before she could protest, he’d raised her boot to his knee and pushed her skirts out of the way. With careful hands he unknotted the laces and eased off the shoe.

  She did her best not to flinch as his fingers passed gently over her toes, pressing the sole and then the instep. His hands were surprisingly heated and his touch was firm.

  It was worst luck that she was wearing her grey wool stockings rather than pink silk, and this old pair had several darns.

  Only when he reached the nub of her ankle did she bite her lip.

  “That pains you?” He stopped dead, placing a palm either side of the bone. “Flex it if you can.”

  Gingerly, she did so, then wiggled her toes. There were no more shooting pains, but an undeniable ache.

  “Just bruising, I think, but we won’t risk walking on it.” Swiftly, he pulled the scarf from his neck and began wrapping her ankle.

  The fine wool was still warm, and there was his scent again—so very masculine. Cornelia found herself looking at the tanned skin of his nape. He wasn’t pale, as English gentlemen were. His time in Texas and Mexico had seen to that—and his neck wasn’t the only part of him burnished gold from the sun. She’d seen far more, of course. She’d seen everything.

  As he knotted the fabric, drawing her foot further into his lap, she gave a small whimper.

  He looked up gravely. “Are you feeling faint?”

  She was—but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her ankle.

  “I’m really alright.” She sighed, yearning for him to touch her some more or, better yet, to put his arms about her.

  He was a self-satisfied rogue and he was going to waltz out of her life in the blink of an eye. She’d never see him again. There were a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea but, still, she wanted to bury herself in his warmth.

  He drew back a little, a crease appearing between his brows. Smoothing her skirts down so her ankle was covered again, he cleared his throat. “With the sleigh buried in the snowbank like this, it’ll need digging out. I’ll unharness the horses and you can ride back if you feel up to it. It’s not so easy without a saddle, but there’s not far to go.”

  She heard the words but was no longer listening.

  Staring at his lips, she was awash with desire, with the need for there to be no more distance between them.

  Last night, he’d taken her unawares. She’d been vulnerable and upset. But this time… she wouldn’t be able to call it an accident. She knew what she was doing, even if it did feel that she was hurtling towards something she couldn’t control.

  Burnell pushed his hand through his hair. “Otherwise, I could carry you. Once we get you back, I can ride out to fetch the doctor. I should be able—”

  Grabbing the lapels of his coat, Cornelia kissed him.

  Did she feel how his heart was beating?

  He should never have placed her foot in his lap. She was injured but, being the selfish bastard he was, he’d been thinking all the while of how much he wanted to get his hands further under her skirts—right to the top of those godawful stockings, where he knew how silken her skin would be.

  All he’d done was swathe the ankle in his scarf and she’d looked at him like he was some kind of saviour.

  Never mind that it was his fault she’d crashed the sleigh in the first place, leaning in to kiss her like that. She’d have been paying attention otherwise, or he would have been, and they’d have had a chance to pull up the horses, maybe.

  But it seemed her mind had been on the same track as his, for the way she was kissing him right now had nothing meek or mild about it. Her mouth was melting soft and velvet smooth but eager in a way that showed she wanted him, and badly.

  Reaching around her waist, he pulled her as close as he could get, letting her feel his responding hunger. She made some small noise as he stroked his tongue in her mouth, and twined her arms about his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss.

  God, she was beautiful, and kissing her was making him wish they might stay like this forever, wrapped up in one another, joined in a kiss that had no end, and the rest of the world far off.

  He was no saint of course. He wanted her kiss, but a whole lot more besides and, if it weren’t for the temperature out here shrinking his balls to the size of peas, he’d have slid her down on the blankets to give her what was on his mind.

  With a groan, he cupped her breast but there were far too many layers between them to make the caress satisfactory. He’d need to unbutton her coat for that. Only then would he be able to weigh the yielding softness in his palm, and rub his thumb over her hardening nipple. He’d bet every dollar he owned that she tasted as good there as her sweet lips promised. He’d bet she tasted good everywhere.

  Dear God! Thinking about that made him hard—getting her under him and running his tongue every place a man could give a woman pleasure.

  As if reading his mind, she leaned into him, pressing her breast against his hand and biting his lip gently.

  “Cornelia.” His voice dragged out gravel rough, filled with need.

  Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, her pupils liquid dark, pulling him into a hidden place.

  He wanted badly to go there with her, but she was hurt and it was bitterly cold.

  Pushing back, he rested her injured foot on the banquette and lowered the other to the floor.

  They couldn’t stay here; they couldn’t do this.

  Little more than a yard separated them but when he looked at her again, the distance was unfathomable.

  Chapter 13

  Three days later…

  The doctor had declared Cornelia was suffering from a sprain. The foot was to be elevated as much as possible. Very kindly, the duchess had placed one of her personal sitting rooms at Cornelia’s disposal, located on the same floor as her bedchamber. Comfortable as Cornelia’s bedchamber was, she had no wish to be confined there altogether and, using the wooden cane the duke had unearthed, she was able to navigate the corridors without any trouble.

  The room was dressed prettily in primrose yellow and, Cornelia understood, was used mostly when the duchess wished to embroider, since the south-facing windows allowed plenty of light.

  She’d spent the first hour merely surveying the walls, which bore portraits of centuries of female Studbornes, each taking the role of a character from classical mythology. There was the usual smattering of Aphrodites and more than one Athena but it seemed the tradition had inspired past duchesses to engage their imagination, for there was a rendering of Cassandra, Danaë and Arachne. One matron wielded a savage looking blade, portraying Clytemnestra, while another—blessed with a particularly fearsome expression—gave a con
vincing rendition of Medea.

  The current Lady Studborne hung in state above the fireplace as Pandora, though her box sat thankfully closed, and her expression remained serene. Presumably, the evils of the world had fled elsewhere, leaving this Pandora with the comfort of hope, held secure within the casket.

  Cornelia wished she could say the same for herself. Whilst it was a relief of sorts to excuse herself from the various organized festivities, she could not escape the worrisome feeling that she was missing out. Not that she gave two hoots about Blindman’s Buff or Pass the Slipper, but her confinement allowed Burnell to roam loose among the wolves.

  Cornelia reached over Minnie, who lay recumbent in her usual position, and raised the lid on the chocolates Mrs. Nossle had generously donated from her private supply.

  She sucked dejectedly on a violet creme.

  Of course, it was no business of hers if Burnell suddenly took a liking to playing the unprotected sheep. When the predatory antics of Lady Pippsbury and Mrs. Bongorge became too much, he knew where to find her.

  As it was, he popped in every morning at eleven, and every afternoon at four. However, to Cornelia’s grudging disappointment, he sat very properly on the sofa opposite, without even so much as kissing her hand.

  Clearly, as an ‘invalid’ she no longer exerted the same allure.

  With that dismal thought, she sampled the orange fondant and a nut crackle and was contemplating the Turkish Delight when the door opened and her aunts bustled in—looking mightily pleased with themselves.

  "Oh, Fry’s Selection; my favourite.” Occupying the other end of the chaise, Blanche helped herself to a caramel centre.

  “Have you been keeping amused, darling?” Eustacia dropped a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat.

  “I see she has.” Blanche tapped the cover of the book sitting uppermost on the pile next to Cornelia. “—thanks to Desert Adventures. Do tell me when you reach the part where the sheik rescues her from the sandstorm and they take refuge in the caves. I’m longing to hear your thoughts on that delightful thing he does with his—”

  “Aunt Blanche!” Blushing, Cornelia snatched up the book and buried it under her skirts. “I’ve only read two chapters and I’m not at all sure—”

  “Quite right.” Eustacia interrupted. “Don’t hound her, Blanche. I told you it mightn’t be to Cornelia’s taste.”

  “Twaddle! Of course she’ll like it.” Blanche’s eyes lit mischievously. “Besides which, it’s extremely educational. One can hardly embark on a fling without a little extra knowledge stored up.”

  “A fling?” Cornelia’s voice emerged as a squeak. “Is that what people are saying?” A flush of heat rose from her chest, flaring through to the tips of her ears.

  “Now, dear, there’s no need to be anxious.” Blanche patted her knee. “No one is speculating that you’ve been having an affair, although such things may be overlooked in the circumstances. You’re a widow after all, dear; not a debutante, and Mr. Burnell is clearly head-over-heels. Besides which, one might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and I’d vouch Mr. Burnell is hung far better than a—”

  “Stop!” Cornelia covered her ears. “I can assure you that I’ve no intention to… I really don’t wish to…” She swallowed hard. The baron had arrived on the scene mere moments after Burnell had stepped down from the sleigh. Had he seen something? They’d both been so diverted they hadn’t heard the other sleigh’s approach until the last moment.

  “I just wouldn’t! And I can assure you there’s no formal arrangement between us.”

  “Do you want one?” Eustacia looked at her beadily.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve only just met. He knows nothing about me, and I only know what he’s willing to let me see. That’s no basis for wedlock.”

  “There are plenty who’d disagree.” Her aunt looked thoughtful. “Knowing too much about the other person isn’t always for the best.”

  “Well, it’s not my idea of marriage!” Cornelia closed her eyes, making herself count to ten. “And I won’t be having a fling, or an affair, or any sort of furtive liaison.”

  Aunt Blanche looked crestfallen. “Really, Cornelia, you’ll be much more content when you care less about what other people think. As for the rest, why not throw caution to the wind and do what makes you happy?”

  “Like my mother, you mean?” Cornelia couldn’t help her irritation. “She didn’t care, and look what happened to her.”

  “That’s not at all the same thing, dearest, as I’m sure you know. Your mother was already married, and had a duty to you and your late father. Perhaps she was in love with that artist fellow, but I’m inclined to think she acted rashly and would have come to regret it, once the money from her jewels had been spent.”

  “Blanche is right,” added Eustacia. “You mustn’t compare yourself in that way. Naturally, you needn’t marry again if you don’t wish to. Look at how contented we are darling, and with all the freedom in the world—but there are other sorts of happiness. That’s your decision to make, Cornelia dear, but please think carefully about what you want, or you may waste an awful lot of time chasing the wrong things.”

  What did she want? Children to love and marriage to a dependable husband? A man who treated her as his equal, who respected her, and whose heart was kind? Someone who would encourage her to pursue her own interests, and whom she could support in return. A union of mutual affection and regard, forged for a life-time.

  When had her list gotten so long?

  Or, could she say goodbye to all that and throw herself into a passionate dalliance which couldn’t possibly come to anything, with a man who’d made it clear he never intended to commit his heart?

  “You look tired dear.” Eustacia placed her hand to Cornelia’s cheek. “We’ll leave you be and send Nancy with a pot of tea.”

  Cornelia managed a smile. “There’s really no need. I’m well, truly. It’s just that there’s so much to think about and I’m not at all sure…”

  As her aunts were departing, however, Burnell appeared.

  Cornelia’s heart gave a small flip.

  “Marvellous!” declared Blanche.

  “Perfect!” beamed Eustacia.

  There were other words Cornelia wished to apply as Mrs. Bongorge and Lord Fairlea made themselves known, two steps behind.

  “My dear!” Mrs. Bongorge wafted into the room, trailing a heavily musky scent. “You must be half-dead with boredom.” Her eyes alighted on the chocolates. “I see we are here just in time; so easy to fall into the trap of comforting eating, but a thousand chocolates will never lighten the soul as the companionship of valued friends.”

  Gritting her teeth, Cornelia replaced the lid and moved them aside.

  “We met Mr. Burnell on the stairs and were just advising him that he mustn’t pine for you, dear, while you are incapacitated. You wouldn’t wish it, I’m sure.” Mrs. Bongorge slid onto the sofa beside the object of her speech.

  “You must urge him to partake—even while you cannot. Lord Fairlea and I are both in agreement.” She gave a conspiratorial smile.

  “It’s almost Christmas, after all.” Lord Fairlea gave a small cough. “Rather a shame not to have some fun. Jolly good game of charades this afternoon. Mrs. Bongorge is awfully clever.” He cast a wistful look in her direction. “The children wrote book titles on pieces of paper, all folded within a hat. Colonel Faversham pulled out Memoirs of an Old Wig, and Lady Pippsbury The Matured Enchantress. Hilarious, I tell you!”

  “And, for me, the little scallywags gave The Nunnery for Coquettes.” Mrs. Bongorge gave a tinkling laugh. “Such things children think of.”

  Cornelia watched as, turning in her seat, Mrs. Bongorge’s knee pressed to Burnell’s and she rested her fingers upon his arm. “We’re planning the forfeit game after dinner, which I’ve told Mr. Burnell he must play.”

  “I’m rarely one for party games.” He moved away slightly, but Mrs. Bongorge leant forward. Cornelia was certain her
bosom was resting against his arm.

  “Ah, but this you would like.” The vile woman fluttered her eyelashes. “If we cannot tell which of your three statements is the truth, you may command any forfeit you wish.” She lowered her voice to a sensual whisper. “Even…a kiss.”

  Burnell looked momentarily taken aback and cast a glance at Cornelia.

  Mrs. Bongorge laughed again. “I see you look for permission from your beloved but if she is secure in your affections, there is nothing for her to fear. Besides which, there is so much mistletoe about, every gentleman in the house must be ready to oblige the ladies.”

  Cornelia felt an unnerving sensation welling within her. How dare that vampish tease entice Burnell with her wiles. He’d as good as told everyone they were to be affianced and still she threw herself at him. For the purposes of their contract, he belonged to her.

  In fact, he ought to have sat next to her rather than allowing that Bongorge hussy to smother him with her outrageous breasts.

  “But there are many ways to find entertainment on these long winter nights, are there not, Mr. Burnell?” Mrs. Bongorge went on. “And you must have so many stories to tell. I could sit until the small hours listening. I assure you I am quite indefatigable.” The tip of her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip. “How I should love to hear how you hardened yourself to overcome your challenges.”

  Burnell’s eyebrows rose several inches. “I’m sure you’ve heard enough from me.” He looked to Cornelia, as if seeking her help, but she merely folded her arms. “Mrs. Mortmain, how is your foot this afternoon? Not aching too badly, I hope.”

  “Improving daily.” Cornelia gave a tight smile.

  “I know how painful a turned ankle can be. Did it myself in the early days at Palekmul, while exploring one of the underground chambers. It still gives me the odd twinge.”