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

by Anna Campbell

  “Thornton … are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

  Roger’s face heated, but he maintained his hold on dignity. Raising his chin, he narrowed his eyes and all but dare the man to laugh at him. “Yes.”

  Sterling’s smile widened as he sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers before him and staring at Roger over them. “Excellent.”

  Chapter 3

  Two days after agreeing to investigate the existence of the Gentleman Courtesans, Miranda was ushered into a back room of Madame Hernshaw’s dress shop in Cavendish Square. After following Joan’s instructions to the letter, she received entrée into an exclusive, secretive world. The modiste introduced her to a Mr. Benedict Sterling, who then asked her a round of invasive but pertinent questions.

  The inside of his office had been designed for feminine comfort—in shades of mauve and soft pink, and graced with plush, overstuffed furniture. She sipped the sherry he offered her while listening to the terms of a standard contract, learning that the cost of a courtesan depended upon what a client might be looking for.

  Miranda took this all in with rapt fascination. She wasn’t certain what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t such a thoughtful, well-organized operation such as this. During Mr. Sterling’s speech, she’d been so busy noting every detail to report back to her friends she wasn’t prepared when he asked her a very pointed question.

  “What are you looking for, Mrs. Hughes?”

  This query startled her, and she was uncertain how to answer. In truth, Miranda had not decided whether to go through with hiring a courtesan. The idea was a titillating one, to be sure, but uncertainty had her hesitant to go through with it. There had been no man before or after Lord Hughes. With him, a level of comfort and knowledge had made things easy. He knew what Miranda liked, and she understood him in the same way. The idea of opening herself up to someone new, a virtual stranger, made a sudden fluttering erupt in her belly. She couldn’t decide if it was because of nervousness or excitement.

  “I … I have been a widow for a few years now,” she began, thinking over each word before letting them fall from her lips. “Before my marriage I was raised much like other young girls of the ton. While I do mourn the loss of Lord Hughes, I must confess to a certain … void, that has become more apparent the longer he is gone.”

  Mr. Sterling nodded, eying her thoughtfully. “I hear this often, and I understand. You wish to recapture that most enjoyable aspect of marriage without taking a second husband.”

  “Precisely.”

  Not that Miranda was averse to another marriage. However, if she were to wed again, it wouldn’t be for practical reasons. She wouldn’t choose a husband based on a title, social standing, or the wishes of her parents. If the man asking for Miranda’s hand didn’t capture her heart and her mind while appealing to her body, she wouldn’t want him.

  Mr. Sterling smiled, the expression clashing with the clear calculation in his eyes. “I think I have just the man for you. Mind you, he will come quite dear, as he is most special among courtesans. So rare, that if you do not snap him up, a bidding war will ensue once I spread the word of his availability.”

  Miranda perked up at this, her curiosity heightened. Mr. Sterling’s voice was smooth and even, yet somehow still seductive with promise—as if he weaved a spell around her.

  “This courtesan might be perfect for a woman of your experience. You see, while he is most eager to accept an arrangement, he does not boast your … wealth of carnal knowledge.”

  Miranda was stunned as she puzzled out what he alluded to. “Are you telling me … this man is a …”

  “A virgin,” Mr. Sterling confirmed. “Though he is not at all ignorant to the mechanics involved. Think of it, Mrs. Hughes … a man with years’ worth of pent-up need, just waiting for the right woman to unlock his potential. A man like that would be a slave to your whims, wanting to please you. It’s an opportunity no client before you, has been granted.”

  His words were having the intended effect, filling Miranda’s mind with thoughts that made her neck and face grow warm. Taking a lover who’d never been with another woman had never occurred to her, but now that Miranda thought on it, the prospect was rather appealing.

  Suddenly, the excitement of taking a courtesan outweighed her trepidation. She had come this far. Why not avail herself to what this agency offered? She was independent and financially capable of buying anything she wanted.

  “Just how dear will these services be?” she asked, meeting Mr. Sterling’s piercing gaze.

  He pushed a document across the desk, and Miranda studied what turned out to be a contract. The details of an arrangement between two nameless parties were spelled out, along with stipulations of secrecy and nondisclosure. Halfway down the page, Miranda found the figures—one hefty initial payment, then monthly amounts for the gentleman’s upkeep. She could afford to pay this price without batting an eyelash, thanks to the generosity of Lord Hughes and the efforts of a solicitor who had steered her in the direction of a few lucrative investments.

  “What does he look like?” she asked. “Is he an agreeable sort of person?”

  “He is tall, nearly my height. Well formed. Dark hair and dark eyes. Somber, but in that mysterious way ladies seem so fond of. He is the son of a peer and university educated, so he will fit in seamlessly wherever you require an escort.”

  It shouldn’t surprise her to learn that he was of the upper crust, like her. Plenty of the nobility hid their financial troubles with paste jewelry, re-purposed clothing, and a veneer of pride. The Gentleman Courtesans seemed a novel way for a man to get himself out of all manner of financial debacles.

  “If you need time to think it over, I understand,” Mr. Sterling prodded when she remained silent.

  Clearing her throat, she turned the contract back toward him. “Actually, I have decided I’d very much like to meet this Mr. …”

  “Thornton,” he offered. “Roger Thornton. Once you sign the contract and he agrees to the terms, I will arrange a meeting between you.”

  And with that, Miranda became the keeper of a man she’d never met—even sending Mr. Sterling a bank draft for her initial payment later that evening. Another week passed without her ever laying eyes on the mysterious Mr. Thornton. It was decided they would meet at the Christmas house party being hosted by Mary and her family. It had been easy enough to convince her friend to extend an invitation to Mr. Thornton’s family, thereby ensuring his attendance at the two-week event.

  “A house party is the perfect place to begin such an assignation!” Joan chirped with excitement when Miranda told their group of friends what she had done. “Oh, Miranda, you must tell us everything!”

  Later that week, she found herself sharing a carriage with Maud on their way to the Rodingham estate in Norfolk, the chatter of two children cutting through the companionable silence. Glancing at the girl and boy seated across from her, Miranda’s lips softened into a smile. Her daughter, Ursula, sat beside Maud’s son, Allen, their heads bent together as they played with a toy theater. They had managed the journey well so far, amusing themselves with toys from the bag at her feet. The theater was an intricate design—a replica of Theatre Royale in London, with printed cards and cutouts of actors that could be arranged in a variety of ways.

  Ursula was her mirror image—tiny and delicate and nearly four years of age, with smooth, straight strands of dark brown hair arranged in neat plaits adorned with pink ribbon. The girl was the only child born of her union with Lord Hughes, and Miranda could never regret that she hadn’t given her husband a male heir. Ursula was too sweet, too perfect, for Miranda not to be thoroughly enchanted and utterly in love. Besides, her husband’s brother did well enough as the new Baron Hughes.

  “I cannot believe you are going through with this ridiculous plan,” Maud hissed from beside her.

  Miranda found her friend staring disapprovingly over the rims of her spectacles and offered a sheepish smile. “What can I say, Maud
? The proprietor was quite … convincing. Besides, it’s no more than other widows of the ton indulge in. What’s the harm in it?”

  “Hmph,” Maud huffed. “There will be much harm done if you are found out.”

  Darting a glance at the children to ensure they were still engrossed in their play, Miranda then turned back to Maud. “I won’t be. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something because I want to, because it will please me. I understand you do not approve, but perhaps you might bring yourself to at least understand my reasons. We aren’t so different, after all.”

  Maud pressed her lips together and sighed. Like Miranda, she had endured a loveless marriage, though she suspected Maud’s husband hadn’t appealed to her sensually, either. The way she puckered her lips with distaste at the mention of carnal matters gave her away. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult for her to understand Miranda’s decision, or Joan’s anticipation of an impending affair.

  “I do not mean to judge you,” Maud said, her tone softening. “Forgive me. I only worry you could be ostracized if anyone found out. You, Mary, and Joan are my dearest friends. I know I seem like a stick most of the time, but it’s only because I care about you all so much.”

  The rare show of vulnerability from Maud brought a smile to Miranda’s face. She laid a hand over Maud’s and gave it a gentle pat.

  “Of course you care. It’s why we love you so dearly. I don’t want you to worry. We are going to enjoy this party, and that’s that.”

  Maud fell silent again, and Miranda was content to let the rest of the drive to Rodingham Abbey pass quietly.

  The air of the late afternoon was crisp and smelled of coming snow as they dismounted from the carriage in the circular drive before one of the largest and oldest country estates in Norfolk. Smooth white columns framed rows of footmen wearing festive green and gold livery, while two sets of curved staircases led up to the double front doors.

  More footmen appeared as if from thin air to retrieve their belongings, while two governesses and a pair of lady’s maids appeared from the carriage that had followed them from London. The women took Ursula and Allen into their care, allowing one of the footmen to guide them to where the other children and their governesses or nurses would take their quarters over the duration of the party. The maids accompanied their baggage in the opposite direction.

  With two days until Christmas, Miranda was certain Mary had planned a variety of entertainments and amusements to keep them all occupied from now until Twelfth Night. She couldn’t suppress the frisson of excitement that shot through her at the thought of the dalliance that would begin here.

  Maud linked arms with her, and together they ascended the front steps. A pair of footmen bowed to them and then swung the double doors open to reveal a receiving line consisting of Mary, her children, and other extended members of the family—her mother-in-law and brothers-in-law. Mary broke ranks to greet them, a wide smile emphasizing the pink hue of her cheeks.

  “My darlings! I’m so glad you have arrived!”

  With no one else present, they were free to greet one another with informal hugs and kisses. Miranda caught sight of Mary’s progeny—two boys and a girl, standing silent and observant beside their grandmother. She hadn’t lain eyes on them in months and felt emotion rising in her throat at the sight of them.

  “Oh, Mary … how they’ve grown.”

  Mary beamed as she guided Miranda and Maud to where the children stood. “They make me so proud. Roddy, come and greet my friends.”

  The eldest boy—having now inherited his father’s title—stepped forward and executed a crisp bow. At the age of eight, he was all slender limbs and knobby knees, but carried himself with all the dignity of an earl.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Hughes, Mrs. Portemaine.”

  His six-year-old brother managed his bow with less grace but a charming, mischievous smile, while their five-year-old sister spread her skirts and gave an adorable curtsy.

  They were introduced to the rest of the family, and Mary then sent them off to get settled in their quarters.

  “We will gather for dinner in two hours,” Mary informed them. “Until then, I hope you will rest and make yourself comfortable.”

  She gripped Miranda’s hand and held it for a second longer than necessary, giving her a slow nod and a knowing look. Her belly twisted as she returned Mary’s nod, interpreting the silent communication well enough.

  Her courtesan had arrived. Miranda glanced about as the servants led her and Maud to their guest chambers, though she had no idea what she was looking for. Mary had invited dozens of members of high society to the party, and this Mr. Thornton couldn’t be the only tall one with dark hair. She could walk right past him without even knowing who he was.

  For some reason that thrilled her—the knowledge that the man she’d come to have an illicit affair with could be anywhere in this house with her none the wiser. She and Maud parted ways, with her friend’s room only a few doors down.

  She entered the chamber to find her maid unpacking her clothing to hang in an open armoire.

  “There’s a message for you on the washstand, my lady.”

  Miranda’s hands shook as she discovered the folded slip of paper, upon which she found Mary’s familiar handwriting.

  M,

  You will find a special gift awaiting you in the garden, and rest assured, you will not be disturbed. I hope you enjoy it.

  -M

  Biting her lip, Miranda studied her reflection in the mirror over the washstand, finding her color high and her eyes bright with excitement. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, for she felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Not since she was a young debutante being courted by a variety of men had she felt this way. It struck her that she’d missed this sensation—the excitement over the new and unfamiliar. At thirty years of age, she did not think herself an old woman. However, being made a widow seemed to have added several years to her life. One year of stark black mourning attire, another half-year of drab grays and faded lavenders, and far too much time feeling like some broken, unwanted thing put up on a shelf.

  She was no beauty by any means, but her skin was smooth and free of wrinkles, and her figure pleasantly rounded and curved by carrying and birthing her daughter. These next two weeks could be a time of self-discovery for Miranda. Even before her planned affair had begun, she already felt younger, freer, more in control of her life than ever before. She would know what it was like to do as she pleased and take what she wanted.

  “I will return shortly,” she said. “Prepare the burgundy satin for dinner this evening.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Miranda left the maid to her task and let herself out of the room. She hadn’t visited Rodingham Abbey in a while, but still remembered her way around. She nodded and smiled to the guests and acquaintances she passed in the corridor, her swift stride making it clear she didn’t have time to stop and exchange pleasantries.

  Once downstairs, she made her way to a drawing room she knew led out into the garden. There were a few servants inside preparing it for before and after dinner. They kept their attention on their work as she breezed through the room, spying a dark figure through the glass of a pair of French doors. As Miranda pushed them open, she made out the broad back of a man with a sweep of glossy black hair brushing his collar. A greatcoat covered him to the ankles, making him a dark beacon amid the pale hue of the stones beneath him and the grayish sky above. Evergreen shrubs surrounded the courtyard, with bursts of pink Gwenllian blossoms brightening the dreary afternoon. Hedgerows led the way to secret alcoves and fountains—shelter from the prying eyes of others.

  The man turned to face Miranda at the sound of the doors closing, and she faltered, arrested by the sight that greeted her.

  Mr. Roger Thornton had looks that would apply to the villain in a Gothic novel—that raven’s-wing hair sweeping over his brow, and a powerful jaw shown to its advantage by a fresh shave. Slashing, high
cheekbones carved his face into stark, almost rigid lines, and his mouth was a hard, unrelenting slash below a strong blade of a nose. From this distance even his eyes seemed black, glittering like chips of onyx beneath dark brows.

  Her lips parted in shock, for despite Mr. Sterling’s description, the man’s appearance caught her quite off guard. Miranda wasn’t certain what she’d expected—perhaps a man with a shy, innocuous countenance. The kind of man who looked as if he’d never made love to a woman. Which was silly. She realized that now and felt foolish.

  However, her new courtesan had the face and form of a man who could have any woman he wanted with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. As he began a slow approach, his boots clicking over the smooth stones of the courtyard, Miranda’s skin tingled. Attraction made her pulse flutter and her palms grow damp within her gloves.

  Mr. Roger Thornton was beautiful, a dark angel made flesh and dropped right into her lap. All she could think of was how those firm lips would feel pressed against hers, how the large hands encased in kid gloves would explore her body. The thought of being able to command him, show him what she liked, teach him … it made her knees weak.

  He paused just before her, dipping into a slight bow. His expression didn’t change when he met her gaze, remaining stoic. When he opened his mouth a deep, belly-roiling voice emitted—each word crisp and sharp with razor-sharp diction.

  “Good afternoon. You must be Lady Hughes. Roger Thornton, at your service.”

  Chapter 4

  It took all of five minutes in the company of Lady Miranda Hughes for Roger to realize he’d gotten in over his head. The moment she appeared in the garden wrapped in a forest green pelisse, a matching hat tilted at a playful angle atop her head, his insides had seized with a swift and urgent anxiety. Conducting himself with polite civility while in the company of women wasn’t difficult for him in the right setting. A house party seemed like the perfect chance to meet and come to know his new keeper, for much of the time the other guests would surround them. Of course, he expected to find himself alone with her sooner rather than later. What he hadn’t anticipated was being pulled aside by his hostess and instructed to await Lady Hughes in the garden within the hour. There would be no time to grow comfortable speaking to her with the presence of others crowding a drawing room or a dinner table. There was no time to talk himself into going through with this very necessary arrangement.