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

by Anna Campbell

  His hands, so strong, so hard and so tender, kept her anchored to the world and would be there to gather her and make her whole if she flew apart.

  She needed those hands to fill the empty spaces inside her.

  “Come for me, Lauren,” Theodore commanded roughly. “Come for me and give me your heart.”

  A firm revolution of his wrist, and Lauren melted, the sensation so overwhelming and unexpected she grew dizzy. The quickness of the orgasm, her first by another’s hand, obliterated anything before it. Every splinter of ecstasy was painful, true, and addictive.

  She wanted more.

  Theodore immediately swallowed the cry hovering on her lips, his mouth consuming hers with an animal-like intensity. It seemed that he kissed her forever, guiding her through the heights of the climax, slipping in and out of the pulsating pleasure of the waves, and finally allowing her to drown in the giddy, dreamy aftermath of the descent.

  When it was over, when she was boneless and complacent, Theodore gently withdrew his hand from beneath her skirt.

  He tucked her body back into her corset, tightened the bodice ribbons, straightened the elbow-length gloves she wore, and smoothed stray tendrils of hair behind her ears.

  Lauren watched him silently, allowing him to move her as he wished as if she were a boneless doll. There was no hope for her at that moment, anyway. After that jaw-dropping, earthshattering experience, she could hardly string two words together to form a sentence.

  Once he finished putting her to rights, Theodore gave Lauren a crooked smile.

  “I’m afraid there is no way to hide the stain.”

  Glancing down, Lauren saw the slight discoloration on her dress caused by the lemon ice. Only then did she register the faint dampness seeping through the fabric. “Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

  She still trembled from the pleasure he’d given her, little tremors rippling up and outward from her sex to the ends of her toes and fingertips. To her own ears, she sounded drugged, her voice slow and husky.

  A sinful glimmer danced in Theodore’s eyes when they settled on her bosom. “I wasn’t thinking clearly before…”

  Lauren’s gaze was helplessly drawn to Theodore’s firm, plush lips. Just moments ago, those lips were on my breasts. His mouth was on mine. His hand was beneath my skirts, and he was…

  “Lauren.” Theodore snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Go on to your room. Tell the maid you spilled your dessert if she asks, and if she doesn’t ask, then all the better.” Kissing her softly, he released her with a chuckle. “I’ll renew my assault tomorrow, and you can continue fighting my efforts if you like.”

  Pulling the alcove curtain back, he checked the corridor for unwanted visitors. “Based on your actions earlier, I don’t doubt you will still resist.” He allowed Lauren to slip past, calling after her in a lowered voice as she hurried away, “But should I catch you standing in a chair again, you won’t like the consequences.”

  Lauren entered her room almost as if in a trance. She didn’t even see Anne until she rose from a chair near the fireplace. The maid was waiting for her.

  “Here, milady.” Anne began unlacing Lauren’s gown, clucking with disapproval when she spied the stain on the bodice. “I hope it’s not ruined.”

  “Perhaps it’s not.” Lauren sighed as the maid pulled the dress over her head in a flounce of satin and ruffles and then helped her out of the corset. A nightgown of soft muslin encompassed her body next, the ribbons at the neck made of silk. Lauren tied those herself then sat at the maple vanity table. She watched Anne in the mirror draw pins from the coiled mass of her gold-sparked brown hair, the intricate design allowed to unwind in a shimmering waterfall down her back.

  She groaned in relief as the pressure from the hairstyle eased. Anne began pulling a boar-bristle brush through the straight locks, from crown to the ends landing just above the nip of her waist.

  The rhythmic tugging was relaxing, to the point Lauren put aside the incident with Theodore. For a few moments, at least.

  “How is Ollie? Is he feeling better?”

  “Oh, yes, milady. Asking for something to eat other than broth.” Anne hummed a tune beneath her breath as she worked. “He should be up and about tomorrow or the next, I think.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” Silence loomed. Lauren picked at the blue forget me knot flowers stitched on the nightgown’s sleeves. “Anne, may I ask you a question?”

  “Surely, milady.”

  “Which room does Lord Hawthorne occupy?”

  The motion of the brush stilled then began again. Lauren knew she’d shocked Anne, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “It is down the corridor, milady.”

  “But do you know precisely the room?” Lauren nudged.

  Anne frowned. “You can’t mean to go to him, milady. You might be seen… and your reputation would be ruined.”

  Lauren’s lips pressed together. She’d not made up her mind when it came to Theodore Hawthorne. She only knew an odd restlessness flowed through her blood, irritating her with its presence. It calmed when the earl was around, but that in itself was maddening because his very appearance agitated her senses. She wanted to both slap him and kiss him, and she hated herself for the conflict.

  “I don’t know what I mean to do. But when I decide, will you help me?” Lauren caught Anne’s hand, holding it against her shoulder, trapping the young woman’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “When the time comes, Anne, will you do as I ask? Please. As my friend, and not as my employee. In return, I vow I will help you and Ollie in any way necessary. If you wish to marry or acquire your own cottage, I can—”

  Anne laughed softly, patting Lauren’s hand with her own. “Here now, milady. There’s no need for all that. Of course, I will help you. I always will. It doesn’t matter much what you might do for me, or for Ollie. I’ll do it because you are a kind, decent person. You deserve happiness, milady, and if it is with Lord Hawthorne, all the better. That man is right bonny to look at.”

  Chapter 10

  Theodore spent yet another restless night tormented by visions of his skittish fiancée’.

  For Christ’s sake, he’d not had a decent night’s sleep since the day he’d laid eyes on the little vixen he’d soon claim for a wife. While engaged, he’d fantasized of the day she would become his. During their estrangement, he’d dreamed and plotted on winning her back. Now he faced the difficult challenge of making it happen.

  It all culminated in what could only be described as agitated slumber.

  Why Lauren allowed him those liberties in the alcove was a mystery he could not unravel. How her flesh possessed a flavor sweeter than sugar was even more mystifying. The urge to sink to his knees, lift her skirts, and place his mouth between her thighs had nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted the taste of her in his mouth, on his tongue, in his blood. Only the knowledge he might frighten her with such boldness kept him from plundering her treasures like a starving pirate long lost at sea.

  It was nearly noon before Theodore emerged from his room, exhausted and irritable from lack of sleep. Making his way downstairs, he yawned, cursing for not having his valet ring for more coffee. Another cup or two might have erased his ill mood.

  Near the rear of the manor home was the largest drawing room. It overlooked the west gardens, and for this morning, it was the gathering spot for Lady Penelope and the other ladies. Their laughter and feminine voices drew Theodore like a moth to flame, for he knew with a certainty he’d find his prey among the lovely flowers assembled there.

  Peeking around the door jamb, he saw Penelope presiding over several small tables around which ladies congregated. They were studiously engaged in the construction of delicate cones made from swatches of wallpaper. His gaze skipped over the women until he located the one he sought.

  The most gorgeous rose in the garden.

  “She is stunning,” George Settleton said from just behind him.

  Theodore gave Lauren a lingering
glance then turned to his host. “That she is. As is your own lovely wife.”

  George grinned and clapped a hand on Theodore’s shoulder, drawing him away from the door. “Both are beautiful and too damn smart for their own good. A word of warning, Hawthorne, you may notice decorations have been depleted in certain areas of the manor.”

  Theodore tilted his head, genuinely confused. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “The, ah, kissing balls you talked Penelope into hanging everywhere. I know she was to keep your arrangement a secret; however, I insisted she tell me what the hell was going on. The blasted stuff is all over the place.”

  Shoulders lifting in a shrug, Theodore glanced around the area where they stood. The drawing room’s doorway was missing a bough, but the ceiling was sufficiently draped and decorated much like the west corridor. “I think it makes the place rather festive.”

  “I believe Lauren is aware of your subterfuge.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She may be removing the decorations on her own. Just wanted you to be aware.” Laughter edged George’s words.

  “I appreciate it, Settleton.” Theodore rubbed his chin. The little minx. He should have known she might discover his ploy and take active measures to counteract it. He couldn’t help the tiny smile that lifted his lips.

  “Lady Lauren is certainly a headstrong and intelligent young lady. A worthy opponent for any man brave enough to match wits against. No doubt you are up for the task, Hawthorne.”

  “I hope to do more than match wits. My goal is to regain her heart, if the truth be known. If it requires every bit of mistletoe in your forests to accomplish that, then that is how it must be.”

  The weather turned rather gloomy, with snow flurries darkening the skies by mid-afternoon. No one dared venture outside, and guests were finding ways to occupy themselves within the great house.

  Several ladies gathered in the South Parlor with their sewing, while some couples took over the library for a variety of games suitable for mixed company. Seeking her out, Theodore was immensely glad Lauren had no interest in playing Blindman’s Bluff. Or even worse, charades.

  Instead, he found her in the main salon. Thankfully, she was alone, admiring the paper cones crafted the day before and placed strategically on the Christmas tree’s branches. It seemed she was rearranging them, tucking them deeper within the tree itself and fluffing the pine needles.

  With her back turned, Theodore admired the loveliness of her form—the delicate shape of her shoulders, the tiny indentation of her waist, and the graceful flare of her hips. Her heavy and demure coil of hair rested at the nape of her neck, and within him came the burning desire to see her unbound and naked in his bed. He could not deny he wished to see her heart unfettered as well, laid bare before him.

  “Such clever decorations.” His boots clicking on the parquet floor startled Lauren.

  As she looked back at him over one shoulder, her face flushed almost guiltily. Then her attention returned to straightening a paper cone. “Yes. They are surprisingly easy to make.” She regained her composure rather quickly, adding with a tiny smirk, “Perhaps you should have joined us yesterday morning instead of lurking about the doorway.”

  Theodore stalked closer, the snap of flames in the fireplace an ominous accompaniment to his footsteps. When he stood beside her, his finger swept a stray tendril of hair that had escaped from her coiffure back behind her ear. “Perhaps your maid should use more pins to tame your locks.”

  Lauren bristled. “The taming of anything on my person is hardly your concern, Lord Hawthorne.”

  A smile briefly lifted Theodore’s lips, heat flickering to life in every nerve ending of his body. “After the intimacies we shared, how shall we ever return to the use of formal titles? It’s impossible, my love.”

  For a fraction of a moment, Theodore saw pain cross Lauren’s features before her eyes shot daggers. “You insist on inane titles in its place?”

  Theodore frowned. “But you are my love. How many times must I tell you this?”

  Her cheeks glowed even pinker, her eyes the stormy grey of the sea during a hurricane. “What occurred between us was a mistake. It should have never happened, and it won’t again.”

  Theodore slanted her glance. “A mistake? Lauren, you cannot comprehend just how perfect we are together. Not being together is the mistake.” His voice lowered. It was full of challenge and understanding. “You should know I won’t give up so easily.”

  With a mutter of aggravation, she pushed past him, but he caught her arm, pulling her against him.

  “Oh!” Lauren’s fists immediately planted themselves in the middle of his chest, her breath escaping in a heated sigh.

  “You have the most annoying habit of running away whenever I get too close. Unfortunately for you, it only incites me to chase you all the more.” An arm slipped around Lauren’s waist, resulting in a crinkling sound. Theodore’s brow rose high. “What is that noise?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Lauren chewed her bottom lip, attempting to jerk away. “Let me go—”

  He spied it then, a bit of greenery and white berries peeking from the edge of her gown. “What do you have hidden in your gown?” Using his free hand, he ran his fingers along the neckline’s lace trim.

  “Stop!” Lauren squeaked in alarm, grabbing at his fingers, but Theodore would not be denied. Holding her tighter, he scooped inside the bodice and encountered multiple sprigs of mistletoe.

  “What the hell—” Pulling the greenery free of her bodice, Theodore stared at it, then at her. “Is there more?”

  “No, you wretched, horrible man! Now, let me go!”

  “Lauren.” His voice remained calm, but the thread of authority it contained would have a grown man shaking in his boots. “Is there more? Because I will search you myself if I must.”

  “Oh! The devil take you, Theodore Hawthorne!” Lauren cried, fishing inside her dress and tugging out two pieces of the plant.

  Taking them from her while still maintaining his grip on her waist, Theodore glanced about the room.

  “Where have you hidden the rest of it?”

  Lauren’s jaw tightened before waving a hand at the Christmas tree. “I was tucking pieces of it into the tree when you came in.”

  Her determination in outwitting him was both amusing and frustrating. Theodore could not decide which might win out in this situation. “Just where did this particular kissing bough come from?”

  For a moment, it seemed she wouldn’t answer, but then her chin tilted toward the fireplace. “Above the mantle,” she said, the faintest sneer of rebellion evident in her words.

  “And how did you manage pulling it down this time?” Theodore inquired, his gaze taking in the height of the area in question. He could see the spot she’d torn it down from.

  “By using a chair like any intelligent person would.”

  “You persist in placing yourself in danger,” Theodore mused, rubbing a thumb over her delicate collarbone and the angry scratch already welting there.

  “And you persist in making it your business,” she shot back.

  “Oh, but it is my business. If you were harmed as a result of our arrangement, I’d find it most upsetting.”

  “Then cease this madness,” Lauren argued. “There’s no need for subterfuge.”

  “Ah. Then you’ll kiss me willingly?” Theodore pounced on her statement, enjoying their verbal sparring. It was curiously a bit like foreplay, and he enjoyed these interactions with her.

  Lauren’s eyes sparked with temper. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  Theodore chuckled, tipping her chin with his forefinger, so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

  He looked his fill of her, took in her flushed cheeks, the quickened rise and fall of her chest. The soft parting of her lips, so full and pink. She was aroused by the closeness of their bodies and perhaps by their heated conversation as well, which was good becaus
e he felt the same. If truth be known, he was going mad for her.

  “My dearest Lauren, you are a constant delight. Come with me now. I want to prove something to you.”

  She gave him a look filled with alarm, her body trembling within the circle of his embrace.

  “Did you not prove matters before, Hawthorne?”

  “You require additional convincing, it seems,” he responded lazily.

  “It’s not necessary.” Lauren’s voice strengthened. “What more could you do that wasn’t done last time?”

  Theodore smiled. “You won’t know unless you come with me. Aren’t you the least bit curious to know?”

  “These attempts at coercion are wasted ones. Besides, if your intent is merely to accost me in a shadowy alcove, you’ve already done that. You’ll need to do better.”

  Theodore’s head dipped until his forehead touched hers. He waited there a moment, then moved until his lips rested against her ear.

  His words were raspy, slivers of desire escaping his throat as he bared his lust, and there was no mistaking her shiver of response. “I shall do better. Because Lauren, my intent is to place my mouth between those pretty, silken thighs of yours. For you, I shall lick and bite your tender flesh until you forget your own name. Then I’ll begin in earnest until you are screaming mine. Now, come with me, darling, so I may prove my point.”

  Chapter 11

  Lauren gripped Theodore’s sleeve, although if the reason was to push him away or pull him close, she wasn’t sure. She was saved from the arduous task of decision making by the unmistakable approach of others from the corridor.

  Theodore nipped her ear with his sharp teeth and let her slip from his arms. While she quickly placed a respectable distance between them, rubbing the lobe of her ear with shaky fingers, the earl gave her an unrepentant grin. Between his fingers, he twirled the mistletoe taken from the bodice of her gown.

  “There you are, Lady Lauren,” Lord Sanderson exclaimed, entering the salon with Lord Jenkins at his side and Lady Emma Whitestone trailing close behind. “A group of us are embarking on a frivolous game of Hide and Seek to while away the afternoon. Would you care to join us?”