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

by Anna Campbell

  Had he changed his mind?

  Over dinner, Seph ran through their last meeting. There’d been nothing to indicate he was already tired of her, in fact the opposite. Nothing she could remember indicated he would not be coming. Didn’t even liaisons require clear communication when it was over?

  Impatience and uncertainty warred with a growing sense of annoyance. Wasn’t he supposed to be here first if he’d pushed her to attend? This was the first time she arrived at an event before him, that his warm, seductive gaze was not there to greet her; she felt oddly unanchored, set loose and somehow adrift. And she didn’t like it. That fact annoyed her even more than him not being there.

  Not a few weeks ago she was more than happy to head to any number of social events on her own. It was true, Marsden often went with her, but she was comfortable in her widowhood. Comfortable with her friends. Now it was bleak without him. Her delectable wolf.

  “You’re scowling, it upsets hostesses to have guests scowl on arrival.” Marsden handed her a small glass of port he’d absconded with from the men’s enclave.

  “Shouldn’t you be smoking cigars and drinking your port in the library?”

  “No need to growl at me. I came to keep you company.”

  Seph looked bored. “So, which one is it? Lady Elizabeth with her doe eyes? Or is it Lady Jane Spencer whose breasts are making us all on edge wondering when they will fall out of her dress?”

  Marsden chuckled. “You really are out of sorts. And neither. Never you mind who I have in mind. What fun would a house party be if we all knew what the rest were doing?”

  The men returned a half hour later and a game of charades began after which a light supper of cold meats was served. Then the baccarat table was set up. After winning more than a few hands, Seph excused herself with promises they would have the chance to win back what they lost from her tomorrow.

  The next morning, the half-opened curtain in her room showed a clear but grey day. The sheets were all twisted around her and one of the comforters had fallen to the floor. A soft knock at the door.

  “Tea m’lady.” A maid brought a small tray of tea, a slice of toast and marmalade. “I’ll just get the fire started,” a second maid said. Seph got out of bed, slipped on a dressing gown, and collected her notebook and pen from a small leather satchel. The maid set down the tray on the side table next to where she’d slept and fluffed up the pillows on the bed. The fire took off in the grate and the two left Seph sitting up in bed munching on her toast as the room started to warm up.

  She’d had a restless night. With every creak and groan of the house she imagined her door opening and Ilya slipping in. Imagined all the hot delectable kisses she would get, the exploration of those crafty fingers as he murmured all kinds of Russian nonsense in her ear which she didn’t understand but made her bones melt.

  Over the days after the Winter Ball, Ilya arranged the most delicious trysts and seductions. Skating in Hyde Park after which they slipped into one of the closed boat sheds. They’d filled one of the row boats with cushions and blankets making a soft warm nest where he showed her how slow restrained touches could be the most torturous of seductions.

  The Russian Club was an alluring slice of his culture where he’d danced with the other men, showed her how to throw back vodka and then how to straddle and ride him in the carriage on the drive home.

  The Duke of Bedford’s dinner was full of hidden touches and suggestive murmurs, along with the request ‘Come to the house party in Bath with me.’ How could she say no? But she’d pretended to be unsure and found herself at the end of the night falling apart on his fingers in a hidden nook at Madam Debuverey’s salon panting ‘yes, yes, yes.’

  And as promised, although they had ended up in the papers…the prince and the elusive widow…, he played it so carefully it could all simply be a well-crafted flirtation as far as the observers knew.

  Two hours later a maid returned to help her dress.

  At breakfast, the flirtations amongst the group had already started. She knew everyone to varying degrees from the salon sets. Could guess who would be tiptoeing into whose room, who would be competing for whom after the first week as people sought a change. It was the pattern played over months in the salons happening in days at the house party. People dealing with the fact that they were bored, disenchanted, hopeful, or foolish.

  ‘Racy’ house parties seemed to flow by their own rules, what happened at the house party stayed at the house party. A chance for people to let their social guard down and simply enjoy whatever dalliance they had on the go. A new world for her, these freedoms, and enlightening to see the people who comfortably partook of it.

  It was at morning tea time that two motorcars drove up the drive honking their horns and her mood went from flat to excited. Seph stood at the large windows overlooking the drive like everyone else.

  Ilya and Demetri both drove sporting cars, Demetri’s in hunter green and Ilya’s in burgundy. They looked so modern as they did a circuit of the forecourt after coming out of the long tree lined drive. Ilya did an extra circuit waving at them while they stood at the large bay window, before parking next to Demetri.

  They stepped out of their respective vehicle in full length coats made for winters harsher than this, fur hats on their heads and leather gloves on their hands. Two men that took a woman’s breath away. Everyone in the room was now almost pressed against the glass to see them. The men in the group who had not joined the day’s hunt, were clearly eager for an opportunity to try the vehicles during their stay.

  Seraphina stepped back from the window and those gathered there, straightened her attire, a black and white striped skirt, lace shirt, and pearl choker with a cameo. She walked over to a mirror and tidied her hair.

  A balm had washed through her at the simple sight of him.

  Ilya. How had he managed to become bone deep? As vital to her as the air she breathed. She was reading Byron with new eyes. Her own work taking a deeper richer tone of sensuality.

  “You look stunning. I am sure the man knows how lucky he is.” Marsden said in a low voice beside her.

  Their eyes met in the reflection. He couldn’t fail to see the spark of excitement in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks.

  “I have no idea what you mean,” but she grinned hopelessly anyway. Ilya made her feel alive.

  Marsden slipped his hand around her arm and waylaid her as she turned to take her seat.

  “Just watch your tender heart Seph. Liaisons and trysts are exactly what they say they are…nothing more.”

  She scowled at him. It was a timely reminder as her heart tripped in its excitement and her thoughts ran down avenues that were improbable and not likely. A shared life, children, Ilya…that would not be. He was her taste of passion. A slice of living life regardless of any future. Once he left, went back to Russia, it would be over. She would at some point need to decide whether she would marry again. If she could find a husband who did what Ilya did in the bedroom she wouldn’t hesitate. But another like her previous marriage…never.

  “You are worried about my tender heart?” Seph raised her eyebrows at him. “I recall you broke my twelve-year-old heart when you kissed Becky Wentworth, but I survived.”

  “I kissed you three years earlier and only once because I needed to test how it worked.”

  Seph laughed. “Was it so bad you had to run off and find other girls to practice with?”

  He leaned in conspiratorially, “I liked you too much. And besides, I did much more than just kiss Becky Wentworth!”

  Seph smacked his arm and laughed. “You’ll fall one of these days.”

  “Never.” He smiled, his warning given, Marsden would now let her have her fun.

  “Well, I fully intend to enjoy myself,” she said with a broad smile.

  “Good for you.” Marsden gave her a small nod. A nod of comrades. This was the life he lived, house parties and liaisons. It was as exciting as it was turbulent. Yesterday she was agitated, res
tless, sinking, and now, in moments she was alive; heart beating faster, skin flushed, and about to soar.

  Everyone bustled to their former places as they waited for the Princes Petroski to be shown in.

  ‘Prince Vladimir Petroski and General Vladimir Petroski’, were announced to the room.

  Her gaze locked with Ilya’s and everything else faded. Strong jaw, sensual lips, eyes that burned into her, he was not the most handsome man she had seen and yet now when she looked at him, there was no one more perfect. No one more appealing for her to gaze on.

  She knew the feel of his body, what his weight on her felt like, how it felt to have his flesh push deeply into hers. Never in her married life had she looked at her husband like that, despite shared marital relations.

  Ilya felt like an extension of herself. It was therefore not the shared sexual acts that created that connection, it was something far more magnificent. It was love. Love made that carnal knowledge something exceptional, as if he was a twin to her own soul.

  Did she love Ilya? Sometimes she was confident she was managing herself well, keeping the required detachment. And then at other times, she was literally drowning in the feelings and emotions she had for him. Emotions and feelings that must soon cause her great pain.

  Chapter 12

  There was not a great deal of time for her to talk to Ilya after their arrival. Seph watched as people flocked around them, as women flirted and fluttered eyes at him and Demetri. But Ilya found small ways to make her smile, a wiggle of his eyebrows in the middle of a conversation that made her laugh. And at lunch, telling the room how unacceptable trifle was as a dessert and how a mean spirited harpy had fed it to him under dire threats which had the whole table laughing and the hostess whispering to the butler to remove the dessert from the menu.

  The afternoon revealed itself to be another rare day with the sun out, shafts of glorious light spearing the forest, falling through bare branches and snow-covered pines. Those who had not gone back out to hunt either settled for an afternoon rest or some relaxation in the front room with a book by the fire or a game of backgammon.

  Ilya sat in the chair opposite hers. They both had books but neither had turned a page in the last twenty minutes. Instead they looked at each other over the top of their respective volumes making a comment here and there about items of news or the weather. Her body was wound so tight with the allure of him she had to move.

  Seph put her book down and made a pretense of inspecting a painting on the wall near the door. “This could be a Turner,” she said to the room.

  “I believe it is,” Lord Bellamy said, not looking up from the paper.

  “Impossible. I would have noticed,” Ilya said, rising from his chair and walking over to her and the little pretense hanging on the wall.

  “Can you read the signature?” Seph asked so they both leaned in closer to look. His hand rested next to hers on the small side table and he rubbed the side of her finger with one of his. Small delicious touches that made her breasts ache to be caressed, to have those soft sure strokes and squeezes he knew she liked. The glow in her chest felt so bright she should be illuminating the whole room.

  “Half an hour, put your coat on, come for a walk with me.” Ilya whispered to her. “Yes, a Turner it is,” Ilya said to the room, walked back to his chair, picked up his book and resumed his seat. No one responded, everyone deep in their own interests.

  “I might rest,” Seph excused herself. Upstairs she hurriedly freshened up then claimed her coat from the butler downstairs.

  “I was asked to give you this.” The butler presented her a small note on a silver tray.

  “Thank you.” Seph read the missive.

  Follow the corridor back to the conservatory behind the West wing.

  In moments she found Ilya in his great coat and fur hat waiting for her.

  “Come here.” His arm wrapped around her, drawing her against him. “My beautiful Seraphina. I’m glad you came.” his lips, soft and warm murmured against hers. Her hands slid up his chest over his coat. How was it another’s body could start to feel as familiar as your own, maybe even more so?

  “I thought you’d changed your mind,” she said against his lips before he pressed back against hers. His tongue, slipping into her mouth and tasting deep, made her body ripple awake.

  “Demetri had business that took him longer than expected.” Ilya rubbed his nose, cool against hers, his eyes full of that hungry look he gave her when he was about to do something delicious to her. “Seeing you and not touching you is driving me crazy.” He stepped away, keeping an arm around her and guided her to the conservatory door which led outside. “Come. I was told there is a path into the forest and as long as we stay on this side of the estate we shouldn’t have to worry about those hunting.”

  They slipped out of the side door of the conservatory, the air suddenly crisp and cold on her face.

  “Not in the house a few hours and you already have people telling you its secrets. The conservatory and path to the forest, where the hunting party is.”

  Ilya tapped the side of his nose with his gloved finger. “A gentleman makes sure to connect with the right staff in the household immediately upon arrival.”

  They followed a white gravel path which meandered alongside the woods. Their feet crunched on the small stones. There was a flurry of distant shots and hounds barking.

  “Do you hunt?” The air in front of her puffed white.

  “I am an excellent shot. In Russia on our estates we hunt elk, deer, wild boar. Rabbits, foxes and birds I leave to the boys.”

  “Boys?” she laughed. “Well don’t say that to the men here, they are hunting partridge today.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave the diplomacy to Demetri.” His shoulder bumped hers playfully.

  “Demetri bought a car as well I see?”

  Ilya shook his head no. “Demetri has no interest in buying a car. You will come to know he is a traditionalist. Always serious. I was able to get the car on loan for him. He has a lot on his mind, I thought it would cheer him up to drive here.”

  Seph glanced up at him but, from his expression he didn’t think what he’d said was odd.

  The path turned deeper into the forest. Last night’s snow had yet to melt on the bare branches. It rested on their horizontal surfaces, the wind playfully knocking it down to melt on the ground in small flurries. Seph pressed her hands deep into her pockets as they walked.

  “You know Ilya, the periodical seems to have the descriptions of you and Demetri reversed wouldn’t you say?”

  He looked down at her, a smile on his face and in his eyes. Yet he only shrugged.

  He glanced behind him.

  “Ah ha.”

  Seph turned and looked back, the house was now totally out of view.

  Ilya wrapped his arm about her waist and swung her around, backing her against the trunk of a tall oak and kissed her. His tongue, hot and demanding, cool lips warming in moments as they pressed against each other, moving, and nibbling. He devoured her. Kissed her like she was the air and he was drowning. Cedar and oud, the scent of his cologne nuzzled against her, earthy and wooded, blending with the forest scents around them.

  Long delectable minutes passed before his kiss eased and their breathing broke the air, puffing mist around them.

  “I missed you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I have been waiting to get here, to have you in my bed, to stay with you all night.”

  “Is that what you think is going to happen?” she teased. “I might have changed my preferences in your absence and settled for something different…something blonder I was thinking.”

  His eyes went wonderfully stormy as he slowly shook his head no.

  “Little birds alone in the woods should be more careful…” he murmured as his body leaned against her. The front of her body glowed in his heat as her back pressed against the rough cold bark. Ilya gave one of his delicious Russian mumbles and lowered his head, the fur on his hat ticklin
g and sliding against her cheek, her lips and under her chin as his head dipped and he kissed her neck. The cool leather of his glove slipped under the collar of her coat pulling it aside. Hot breath exhaled into her shirt and the sensation went straight to her sex.

  Would she ever forget the heat of his mouth between her thighs? No, she’d remember it as an old woman as she basked in the summer sun, eyes closed recalling those precious moments she’d stored up of her life. A sharp pain at her neck.

  “Ouch.” She laughed. “You bit me.” Her heart lifted out of her chest as she pressed her face into the fur of his hat and wrapped her arms around him. Ilya nuzzled and nipped up her neck sending gooseflesh up the left side of her body.

  His hands must have undone a couple of buttons on her coat because he brought his gloved hand up to his mouth and bit the leather as he pulled his hand free, sticking the glove in a pocket with his free hand and his bare hand slid inside the garment. He cupped her breast, squeezing it, pinching at the nipple sending shocks right down between her legs. His lips took her mouth and his tongue swiped over hers removing all thought except of him. His touch. The taste of him. The way her body awoke. The need to feel him pressing deep into her, the force of his hips as he drove in deep, the thickness of him stretching her.

  “Ilya.” She moaned as his mouth moved to the other side of her jaw and neck. Again, she buried her face in that soft fur on his head. She wanted him to rub that fur over her naked body. She wanted to wear it while he pounded into her, wanted to intimately stroke him with it. Already the words of need tumbled from her lips.

  “Swap my wings for fur.” Seph pressed her face deeper into the pelt then nuzzled downward. “Take me down to the forest floor,” she murmured against his neck, “let me die there, legs apart, as you call the stars to explode through me.”

  Ilya growled some Russian and her sex throbbed.

  He pulled away, she clutched at his shoulders, panted in the air and mumbled yet more poetry making him grin like the wolf he was. His eyes so beautifully soft as he stroked her cheek and put his glove back on.