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

by Anna Campbell

  Victoria was seated between Lord Percival and another gentleman Garrick didn’t recognize. She favored them with smiles and laughs, and both men seemed to take equal delight in her. And why wouldn’t they? She was witty, intelligent, and beautiful.

  His stomach soured, and by the time the sweet pudding arrived for dessert, his appetite had been stamped out. Was he jealous? Most assuredly so. Had he any right to his jealousy? Not a whit.

  With a trip to the village planned for some guests in the morning, the party broke up soon after port was taken by the men. Garrick sent Berkwith one last withering look before heading upstairs, not to his room, but to tuck himself behind a pedestal and vase in an alcove down the hall from Victoria’s room. He would sleep better knowing Victoria had arrived there safely.

  The sound of feminine voices drifted up the stairs, and Garrick imitated a statue. Lady Eleanor, Lady Hawkins, and Victoria strolled toward him. After exchanging “good-nights,” Lady Eleanor entered her room.

  Lady Hawkins stopped in front of her door. “You enjoyed Lord Percival’s company this evening.”

  “He is charming.” Victoria fiddled with her lace cuffs.

  “But?”

  “Just because I enjoyed our dinner conversation doesn’t mean I wish to spend the rest of my life with him by my side.”

  “Not yet, perhaps, but it’s a promising start. I’ll send Margery over as soon as she tends to me.” Lady Hawkins leaned in to brush a kiss in the air next to Victoria’s cheek and disappeared into her room.

  Victoria made her way to her door but hesitated with her hand on the latch. “Why are you lurking in the ladies’ hallway?”

  He grunted. How had she seen him? Was he getting careless? He stepped out and shushed her, motioning her inside her room. “I wanted to assure myself you were safely abed.”

  “Safely abed? Is that what you’re calling it?” Her tone was dryly amused but turned dark. “I’m tired of keeping secrets, Thomas.”

  Didn’t she realize he would stand on a mountaintop and declare his devotion to her if he could? “I understand.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes narrowed on him.

  In that moment, what he understood was that any spark of hope had been snuffed out. He was merely a pawn to be sacrificed by Sir Hawkins. This was the end.

  But if it was to be their end, he would leave with one last kiss.

  He stepped forward and cupped her face, tilting her head back. The brace of candles at the entrance made her eyes dance with light and life. “I love you, Victoria. That is a secret I will no longer keep to myself.”

  Her breath hitched, and her lips parted, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. His lips met hers with all the longing, regret, and anger of a last kiss, and she responded in kind. It was in turns gentle and fierce.

  Knowing their time was short, Garrick broke away and hugged her close, trying to memorize her scent and warmth and softness. He ran his hands down her back to map her curves so he could find his way back to her in his dreams.

  Then he stepped away, leaving her swaying on her feet, lightly touching her kiss-swollen lips. They stared at one another for a long moment. He slipped out the door and retreated to the far end of the corridor to the servant’s staircase. And not a second too soon.

  Margery emerged from Lady Hawkins’s room to rap softly on Victoria’s door. She answered and ushered the lady’s maid inside. Before she disappeared, she cast a glance up and down the hallway, but this time she didn’t see him in the shadows.

  The shadows were where he belonged and where he would remain.

  Chapter 10

  Victoria and Eleanor strolled arm in arm through the garden on their way to gather pinecones at the line of trees at the back of the terraced lawn. The ground was patched with snow in the shadows and mud in the bright sunshine.

  It was the first time Victoria had been able to speak with her friend in private since Lord Berkwith’s unexpected arrival the evening before. “Have your tender feelings toward Lord Berkwith changed since everything that happened?”

  “Of course not.” Eleanor barked, but her sigh softened the knee-jerk defensiveness of her answer. “I don’t know. If I had kept the meeting with him at the Bear and the Crown, what would have become of me? I wouldn’t have had a Mister Garrick to ride to my rescue. By your own telling, Lord Berkwith was incapable of dealing with them. He didn’t even attempt to rescue you. Wasn’t that dastardly?”

  “I’m nothing to Lord Berkwith. He might have put up a fight to save you. But don’t forget, the men weren’t actually after you. You and Lord Berkwith might even now be wed if I hadn’t appeared in your stead.” Even as she made the declaration, the same question niggled. How had the men known to follow her when she had only made the decision to take Eleanor’s place mere hours earlier?

  “I can’t help but think that a true gentleman would have rescued you.” Eleanor flashed Victoria an uncertain look. “Do you approve of a match with him?”

  Lady Hawkins’s assessment came flooding back. Eleanor did deserve better. Victoria stopped under the leafless branches of an oak and took Eleanor’s hands in hers. Winter had blunted the undergrowth, but bushes reached out of the woods, seeking sunlight.

  “Do you truly love him?”

  “He says such pretty things to me. My mother favors Mr. March. He is rich but so old. If I were able to choose…” Eleanor tipped her head back and looked to the sky, blinking back tears. “I envy your freedom.”

  “Oh, Eleanor—”

  A noise in the woods whipped Victoria’s head around. The two men from the alley pounced before Victoria could gather the air for a scream. A kerchief was shoved into her mouth, and a gag tied around her head.

  She used the heel of her hand and punched the man on the bridge of his nose.

  “Ye bloody bitch.” One man held her hands together behind her back while the other bound them at the wrist. Victoria craned around to see Eleanor. She had either swooned, or the men had bashed her unconscious.

  She kicked at the man she had punched, aiming for his knee but only managing to hit the top of his shin. Still, it must have pained him somewhat, because he released a longer, more colorful string of curses.

  “There’s no one to save you, my lady.” The man tossed her over his shoulder.

  Her breath left her in a whoosh. Panic rose up like a fog, obscuring everything but her need for air. Finally, she was able to pull in a deep breath through her nose. After a dozen more, she accepted she wasn’t yet dying.

  Branches and brambles picked at her gown. A branch whipped back from their passing and scratched her cheek. A drop of blood trickled toward her temple. Her hands were numb, and her wrists grew raw as she worked against the coarse rope.

  How had these men managed to evade her father’s extensive grasp in London? Even though they had captured her easily, they did not seem unusually skilled. After all, she had landed two blows. That gave her hope. As did the fact the men did not bother to hide their tracks.

  At first, she tried to keep her head raised to mark their progress, but all she could see were trees. When the ache in her neck became unbearable, she counted their paces instead and estimated they’d walked at least a mile.

  Twice they crossed stiles. One man passed her to the other like a sack of potatoes. Both times, she managed to inflict damage by way of a well-placed knee. Once in the stomach, and once in the chest. Neither hit their mark of the nether regions. Still, she garnered immense satisfaction at their grunts and curses of pain.

  “My sister is going to teach you a lesson, my lady.” The words “my lady” dripped with derision, but Victoria focused on the nugget of information offered freely.

  His sister was the mastermind? That lent an air of loyalty and not greed to her abductors’ motivations. The danger rose a notch. Men could be turned through avarice, but familial bonds made the proposition more difficult.

  The scent of woodsmoke tickled her nose as they entered a clearing. Less than a minu
te later, she passed from sunshine to shadows before being dumped on a dirt floor. The sudden change in attitude dizzied her. Not to mention the wave of pain coming from her bottom and hands from landing on them. She shifted to her side, desperate to evaluate her surroundings.

  She was in a hut. No, a hovel. Leaf litter piled in the corners, and the smell was musty and animal-like. A fire burned, and as much smoke filled the room as went up the crude chimney. Her eyes watered, and a cough threatened behind the gag.

  A woman emerged from the corner. Victoria awkwardly maneuvered herself to sitting and blinked to bring her into focus. She wore a veiled hat very similar to the one Victoria had commissioned two years ago to hide behind during her unchaperoned jaunts. The woman pointed at Victoria and turned to her brother. “Why the devil did you bring her?”

  “It’s Lady Eleanor. Like you asked.”

  “You dolt. That’s Miss Hawkins.”

  The man squinted at Victoria. “Nay. She’s the one who met with the toff at the Bear and the Crown.”

  The woman paced in the small space, punching one balled fist into her other hand. Her voice. It was familiar. And just like that, everything clicked into place.

  “Mrs. Leighton?” Except it sounded like she said “blah, blah, blah?”

  Mrs. Leighton spun to regard her. Something in Victoria’s eyes must have signaled her recognition, because the woman let out a curse that would be common on the docks and waved her hand toward her brother. “Remove her gag, John.”

  The woman raised the black netting of her veil. The deferential expression the milliner wore in her shop had been replaced by a zealot’s madness.

  Victoria’s mouth was dry and sore from the gag. She daubed her tongue along her lips before saying, “You meant to take Eleanor from the start.”

  “Of course I did. What would I want with the likes of you?”

  If her situation weren’t so dire, Victoria might have laughed. No wonder the abduction had never made sense. Once again, her father’s adage about making assumptions had proved true.

  “But why Eleanor?” Certainly, Lord Stanfield had money, but not outrageous sums, or else they would have taken a town house closer to the ton’s stars in Mayfair.

  Mrs. Leighton’s lips drew into a thin line, and she didn’t answer. Grooves alongside her mouth deepened, and a wrinkle appeared between her eyes. Mrs. Leighton was older than Victoria had first guessed.

  What made a woman who supported herself through a successful business resort to abduction… and perhaps worse?

  Love made everyone a little mad, didn’t it?

  Lord Berkwith had been the one to suggest using Mrs. Leighton as a go-between, and she had seen him duck into the tailor’s shop next door as they arrived at the milliner shop. “You and Berkwith are lovers.”

  “Randall loves me.” The statement hit like the bang of a fist on a table.

  “That’s odd, because he told me that he loves Eleanor.” Victoria kept her voice cool and even.

  Mrs. Leighton swallowed hard and then pointed her finger at Victoria. “Why were you at the meeting with Randall at the Bear and the Crown? Were you trying to take him for yourself?”

  “Hardly. Eleanor grew leery about meeting Lord Berkwith at such a place, so I went in her stead to pass along a message.” Victoria went on the offensive. “Do you expect Lord Berkwith to marry you?”

  “He loves me.” Desperation drowned out the earlier surety in the statement.

  “He may love you, but he will marry for money. He must in order to save his lands and legacy.”

  “No. He will marry me.”

  Arguing would not convince her of Berkwith’s faithlessness. Victoria tried a new tack. “Now you know who I am, I beg you to return me to the manor house before I’m missed.”

  “I cannot. You will summon the authorities, and we will be hanged.” Mrs. Leighton’s unnatural calmness made the hairs prickle on the back of Victoria’s neck.

  “No, I won’t. This will be our secret. I promise.” Of course, it was a promise she would not keep, and based on Mrs. Leighton’s narrowed eyes she knew this as well.

  “I can’t take the risk, Miss Hawkins. I apologize.” She might have been apologizing for a lack of blue ribbon needed for adornment around the brim of a bonnet.

  “Eleanor saw your brother and his comrade take me.” Victoria pulled at her bonds, but she couldn’t tell if she was making any progress because the numbness had spread up her forearms and was invading her shoulders.

  Mrs. Leighton looked to her brother and raised a brow.

  “The chit collapsed in a heap before I could even say boo. She knows nothing that would incriminate us.”

  Mrs. Leighton pointed to Victoria but spoke to her brother. “This is your mistake. Dispose of it.”

  That sounded ominous.

  John wrenched Victoria up by her arms. Pain streaked across her shoulders, and she was unable to stifle a cry. “Can you loosen my bonds? My hands and arms hurt.”

  “Soon enough it won’t matter. Nothing will.” While the threat was clear, a crack in John’s voice had Victoria forgetting about her discomfort and focusing on the man.

  John wasn’t a killer. He might be a thief and a brawler, and she could picture him committing any number of immoral acts, but murder? No, she didn’t think so. Especially a woman.

  The question was how to sway him. Logic or tears?

  Victoria appealed one more time to Mrs. Leighton’s sense of self-preservation, if not decency. “You are making a mistake. If you hurt me, my father will not rest until he discovers the truth. He will make you all pay dearly.”

  Mrs. Leighton stepped closer. The bloom of youth might have faded from her face, but a different kind of beauty emerged. Less refined, yet equally as arresting.

  “Berkwith is my last chance. Someone like you wouldn’t understand the position of a woman like me.”

  “You mean a widow?”

  Mrs. Leighton barked a mirthless laugh. “I’m no widow. My mother was also a milliner. She worked until her fingers grew crooked and knobby. An overdose of laudanum took her. She was naught but forty. When she died, John and I were cast into the streets. I provided the only way I could.”

  John moved to stand in the doorway and look outside.

  Mrs. Leighton gripped Victoria’s chin and tilted her face toward the meager light of the fire, forcing Victoria to meet her glittering eyes. “I sold my body to so many men I lost count. Finally, I caught a man of means, and he got me off the streets. He was a good man.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Died. I took his name and the money he left me and started the shop.”

  “You’re doing well for yourself. Why would you want Lord Berkwith?”

  Mrs. Leighton let go of her chin, tugged a glove off, and held up her right hand. It was work roughened and red, the joints swollen. “I inherited the same curse. Some nights, the pain is so bad I can’t sleep without the very medicine that killed my mother. Soon, I won’t be able to work. And then what? My looks won’t last. Randall is a decent sort. A bit dim, perhaps, but he doesn’t hit me. He loves me. He does.”

  Despite her current predicament, sympathy welled up in Victoria.

  Mrs. Leighton turned to her brother. “Throw her down the ravine. With any luck, they’ll think it was an accident.”

  Any pity Victoria was feeling was quashed by the woman’s cold pronouncement. John grabbed her elbow and yanked her out of the hut. She stumbled into him. He lost his balance and released her. For a blink, she didn’t move. Then, like a bird sensing an open cage door, she ran.

  She didn’t get far. It wasn’t even John who caught her, but a root hidden under an inch of snow. She pitched forward, unable to catch herself. Cold muck seeped through her dress. She couldn’t get up, nor could she roll over. Her shoulders hurt. Her arms hurt. But mostly, her heart hurt. Was there no escape? Would she never see Thomas again to tell him how she felt?

  John hauled her up.

/>   She couldn’t run. She couldn’t fight. She had only one option left. She gathered a lungful of air. Her scream echoed around them and shredded until there was nothing left but silence. Even the birds had quieted. She drew in a gust of air to scream again and John bashed his fist against her temple.

  The hit left her dazed and tottering toward a black abyss of unconsciousness.

  Chapter 11

  The scream scythed through him. An answering visceral pain rose from his own throat. Instead of answering her call, he closed his eyes and concentrated on estimating direction and distance to Victoria. Not far now, but was he already too late?

  He ran, leaping over fallen trees and ripping through brambles with no thought to the damage incurred to his clothes or body. His overriding thought was Victoria. If she was dead… His heart lurched, and he shut his fears down. He would be unable to function if he allowed panic to dictate his actions.

  Woodsmoke had him raising his nose like a hound, and he slowed. Crouching, he picked his way closer to the clearing. A once-abandoned crofter’s hut was now occupied. Footprints trampled through snow and mud. This was where Victoria was being held.

  Garrick had always wondered at the way anger manifested in men. Some let their anger grow hot and burn out of control. Those men entered the fray like a berserker, killing all in their path. That had never been Garrick’s way. For him, fury invaded like a winter storm. It numbed him and encased him in ice.

  He stepped into the clearing. A man yelled a warning toward the hut and ran forward. Garrick recognized him from the alley. This time he would offer no mercy. Garrick met the man with a fist. The man’s nose bent in the wrong direction and blood spurted. Garrick pulled a knife from the holster under his jacket and shoved it into the man’s belly. He fell to his knees and over onto his side, curled on the ground.

  Garrick strode to the hut and slammed the flimsy door open with such force it swung on one hinge. He narrowed his eyes against the smoke and dimness. Only one woman occupied the hut, and it wasn’t Victoria. She sat in a stiff-backed wooden chair, her face in profile. It took several blinks for Garrick to recognize her. How was a bloody milliner involved?