It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal: 3 Steamy Christmas Historical Romances

by Reid, Stacy

  The hollowness sometimes had made her question if every moment of happiness, every lingering kiss, and illicit lovemaking, was only something she’d imagined.

  It had taken a few hours for her to realize that he'd left his family and possibly Lady Beatrice to come and find her. Why? To apologize? To offer an explanation, to provide money…or to soothe a conscience ravaged by guilt? Then her heart had started to wonder truly why he had come to Durham.

  She’d woken up the next morning with a resolve burning in her heart to know why. Cousin Jane had sent her a look of such pity, Primrose had burst into fresh tears. But then she’d snapped her back straight and decided to make her way home…no, to the cottage, and finally confront him.

  Maybe then, the wound she’d never thought her heart capable of enduring would heal. For she had her child to live for, and she needed to be whole for that. She couldn’t allow herself to waste away as her mother had done upon losing her father. But Primrose now had an inkling of the pain which had driven her mother to such a state. So she needed to look him in his beautiful eyes, and understand why, so she could heal.

  Except the cottage appeared devoid of living. So, he hadn’t left his family home nor Lady Beatrice. Well, she’d call on him in the morn at Sancrest Manor. Exhaustion sat heavy on her shoulders, releasing its full weight now that rest was in sight. She made her way to the bedroom, lowered herself on the bed and tugged her half boots from her aching feet. She untied the laces of her winter coat, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and then crawled into the bed.

  She must have drifted off, for suddenly she was awake, and there was a fire roaring in the hearth, a chair by her bedside, and in that chair, sat Gabriel, his eyes steady on hers. Primrose turned to her side, placing one hand beneath her cheek, and the other she rested lightly on her stomach. She wanted to speak and could not. Her tongue felt heavy, her throat tight, her eyes achy, and her heart…Dear God, her heart, how it beat a furious rhythm.

  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his muscular thighs. Yet he did not speak. And Primrose remained silent.

  Finally, he said, "Are you real, my Primrose."

  Her lips parted. “As real as you are.”

  Her breath hitched at the many emotions darkening his eyes.

  “I’m going to tan your backside for running from our home.”

  That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “So you’re not married then.”

  He went remarkably still. “Do you have such little faith in the promises I’ve made you.”

  His voice was rough with pain and hollowed with disappointment.

  Hot tears spilled on her cheeks, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs wanting to rip from her.

  He reached out, and gentle fingers touched her jaw, bringing her gaze to meet his as he swept a lock of hair behind her ear. “Every day I wrote you. Every day I searched for you. Every day I missed you. And I unashamedly cried for you.”

  She burst into loud, ugly tears. The last few weeks had been excruciating. “For so long I thought if I lost you, I would be strong and unflinching. I would not be weak like my mother who allowed grief to take her to the grave. I broke,” she whispered. “I hurt until I became a shadow of myself. I hungered for your smiles and touches, and just the comfort of you being near.”

  Primrose rested a hand on the curve of her belly. “Then I became strong again because I needed to see your eyes and know without a doubt you no longer love me.” Her voice cracked as emotions tightened her throat. She stared at him helplessly, the hot embers of hope burning through her body. “But I can see…I can see the same love in my heart reflected back at me.”

  His eyes closed briefly then snapped open. How they burned with unfathomable emotions.

  "I faltered because there was a part of me, deep inside, that believed that maybe a lady with better connections and wealth would suit you better. Forgive me, Gabriel. You fell ill, and I did not have the means or connections to save you. I felt so inadequate for you, my love. And it gutted me to know the family you love so much will never accept—"

  “My family can go hang,” he said gruffly. “You are my family. And together we will weather all odds. It was your will and determination that got me help. It was your love that had you coming back, day after day, ignoring your pride, just to see me.”

  He stood and stalked from the bedroom. With a gasp, she scrambled from the bed and rushed after him, only to falter when he returned inside with a harried, portly looking man. Her eyes widened, and she frowned in confusion.

  “This is my cousin, Pernell Walters. He’s a vicar. I’ve dragged him around for several days, and he is sore impatient with me.”

  “I—”

  “Marry me. Today…now.” Then he withdrew the special license from his jacket. “Marry me, my sweet.”

  Joy, relief, and love so powerful it left her weak seized her, stealing her ability to breathe. "I doubted you," she said in a hoarse cry.

  "Yes," he said drolly. "And because of it, we spent miserable weeks apart. You will not escape my spanking, but I promise to kiss it better."

  The vicar made a garbled sound of shock, and Primrose laughed waterily.

  “I’ll never doubt you again,” she whispered fiercely. “I love you so.”

  His lips slid over hers, the familiar taste of him a sweet comfort and flaming pleasure. “And I love you. Marry me.”

  “Yes,” she gasped against his lips, clutching him in a fierce embrace. “I love you.”

  Three months later…

  “Well, what does it say?” Primrose cried, clutching her hands together, her soft gray eyes glowing with trepidation and excitement.

  Gabriel grinned and folded the letter, resting it on the walnut desk. “According to Mr. Collins, he would like to split Love in the Time of War into three volumes with illustrations, with the first publishing a month from now. He anticipates such success he has enclosed a bank draft of three hundred pounds as an advance.

  With a shriek of happiness, his love leaped across the small parlor into his arms, peppering exuberant kisses over his lips. “I am so happy," she said, still laughing.

  Lowering his hands to the gentle swell of her stomach, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m quite happy too, Primrose, quite delirious with it.”

  She burrowed into his warmth. “Does this mean you’ll travel to London soon.”

  “And you’ll be coming with me,” he said softly.

  Her eyes lit with pleasure. “I daresay I shall.”

  “We'll let a townhouse in Mayfair for the season, and we'll have a dashed wonderful time until we'll retire together for your confinement."

  She nodded happily.

  He cleared his throat. “We may see my family, and perhaps suffer a few more invitations.”

  George had been the first to write to him and ask for his forgiveness. Gabriel hadn't responded, and then a letter from his mother had come, inviting him and Primrose to dinner. Gabriel knew it was to make amends, but he hadn't responded to the overtures, for the wounds they had dealt his love still felt too raw. Eventually, he knew it would happen, the family would meet, apologies would be tendered, and the walk to forgiveness would start.

  “And perhaps we’ll accept a few,” Primrose said softly. “Our child must know his or her uncle, aunt, and grandparents, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He cupped her cheeks and kissed her deeply, and tenderly. “How you complete me.” Then he swung her into his arms, loving the light way she giggled, the naughtiness sparking in her eyes.

  He reached their bedroom and lowered her into the soft, welcoming depths, captured her mouth with his, and loved her with all the love and passion in his soul, endlessly.

  Mischief & Mistletoe

  Good intentions, a devilish viscount, and wicked misdeeds pave the road to matchmaking!

  Miss Callisto Middleton desires to see her mother happy, and that means using the right amount of mischief to encourage two lovers to se
e what is right before them!

  Unfortunately, Graham, Viscount Sherbrooke is just as determined to rescue his father from supposed scheming ladies who wants to marry into his wealthy family!

  First it started with a kiss, dancing under the stars….and then more kisses! Even knowing the charming rake has no serious intentions Callie finds herself unable to stop thinking about him, or his kisses.

  Heartbreak is certain if she follows her desires. If only he weren’t so irresistible . . .

  Chapter 1

  Two weeks before Christmas.

  It was a scandalous and audacious plan, which could be fully attributed to last week’s dream, and Miss Callisto Middleton, known as Callie, was quite determined for it to bear fruit. Her mother deserved happiness and with an earl too! Impossible, some would say, but her papa had always impressed upon Callie that her tenacity in the face of adversity was her most admirable quality. And it was that quality, along with her winsome smile, golden-brown eyes, and good-natured charm he had believed would see gentlemen falling over themselves to offer for her at her debut years ago.

  Of course, it hadn’t gone as dear Papa had planned. But her failed Seasons and unmarried state were not Callie’s current concern. No, that went to her mother, Viscountess Danby, the unhappiest woman in the countryside. And Callie knew exactly what her mama needed—a beau to call her own.

  A hitch found its way in Callie’s heart, and she brushed it aside, having already accepted that it was altogether fine for her mother to remarry only five years after her father had gone on to his rewards. The directions of her current ambitions came from Papa, and whenever she dreamed of him, good tidings always followed.

  Only two years ago, she’d dreamed of Papa directing her and Mama to Gloucestershire. Callie had insisted they visited the area where they’d found the most charming and affordable ten-room cottage to be their home. Then six months ago, another dream where she saw her papa floating on clouds at a particular section of the woody forest surrounding their homes. The next day Callie had visited and saved a child from drowning in the river.

  Surely the dream of her papa standing from a cliff and smiling down at her mama who had been laughing in the arms of the Earl of Deerwood, their neighbor, was providence. Callie had realized her mother’s tendre for the man a few months now. Why, whenever Mama saw him, the viscountess would blush, and even upon a few occasions, had stammered in her replies. Her mama, blushing as if she were a debutante and not a mature woman of two and forty years!

  But it was more than that…the earl made her mother laugh, reducing the shadows of grief and melancholy which had lived with her since losing her husband, and replaced it with something sweet, hopeful, and tender. She was still an exquisite woman, beautiful, and elegant. With her pale blonde hair and glistening green eyes, she looked many years younger than her actual age. Callie was convinced she deserved another chance at happiness in a loving marriage. Then the earl had invited them as a family to a house party in his home, and after much anxious indecision from their mother, they had arrived yesterday and had settled in nicely. There were at least thirty guests, including the earl’s son and his daughter.

  “I must get them together,” she said, nibbling on a piece of lemon cake.

  “Get who together?” Letitia demanded, popping a tart in her mouth and crunching.

  Callie scowled at her sister, who, despite stuffing her face with confectionary, looked so pretty. “You should try to eat in a more ladylike manner. All of Mama’s efforts at teaching you proper etiquette are being wasted.”

  Letty rolled her eyes and tossed her ebony curls. “We are alone, Callie.”

  “Still—”

  Letty waved her hand in a frustrated gesture. “There is no still about it! You are trying to distract me. Who must you get together?”

  Callie glanced around the tastefully furnished private parlor, knowing very well they were alone, but a lady could not be too careful. It was also one of the few rooms not decorated with holly and mistletoe. “I aim to play matchmaker.”

  Letty gasped, a glint of mischief appearing in her light brown eyes. “Good heavens! With someone here at Lord Deerwood’s house party? How fun that would be. Nothing amusing ever happens to us! Playing matchmaker is vastly more entertaining than strolling about the damp lawns and playing parlor games.”

  “Yes, it is someone here,” Callie said, laughing at her sister’s exuberance.

  “You are far braver than I credited you for,” Letty said with an approving nod. “Is it Vinnette you are helping along? She is so painfully enamored with Viscount Sherbrooke! I was heading to the library for a book late last night, and I saw her sneaking into his room, and she was only in her night rail!”

  Callie gasped, lowering the fork with a piece of cake on it to her plate. “Why, I never! Are you certain, Letty?” Another of their neighbors, Vinnette, was the daughter of Squire Brampton, the second-largest landowner in the area. They had become wonderful friends in the two years Callie’s family had settled in the area.

  An image of the shockingly handsome viscount floated in her thoughts—midnight black hair, magnificent blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and an arrogant yet sensually curved mouth. Her stomach did a frightening little flip. The heat of a blush rose in her cheeks, and she fought to suppress her reaction. It had bothered Callie very much that she found Lord Deerwood’s son so appealing.

  “Did…did the viscount allow her inside?” she queried tentatively, wondering at his intentions. The viscount did not live at his father’s estate, but his visits were frequent. Vinnette had not told Callie they had an attachment. Oh, Vinnette, what are you thinking?

  Her sister nodded, a pink blush staining her cheeks. “I was awfully shocked at such a wanton display of improper behavior. But she is our friend, and we must help them to the altar considering what we must assume had happened in his room last night.”

  Callie cleared her throat. “Well, we know the purpose of a well-intended house party is to indulge in wickedness!”

  Letty wrinkled her nose. “I am not entirely certain Mama would have brought us here if that were common knowledge. Nor do I think that is his lordship’s intentions.”

  That was an astute observation, but Callie had pleaded with her mother to attend the earl’s annual Christmas house party after receiving the invitation. Perhaps her mother’s reluctance had been rooted in all the possible scandals on attending a house party! Though Lord Deerwood’s December parties had no salacious rumors attached to them to her knowledge. It was a tradition which his countess had started, but he had continued even though she had gone onto her rewards a little over ten years ago. It seemed the earl and his family had gotten the news of her passing on Christmas Eve while the family had awaited the doctor’s report.

  For the last few years, the earl and his daughter had hosted a lavish house party which lasted for two weeks leading up to a Christmas day feast, which surely rivaled the table of the Queen Victoria. Despite the coldness of the season and the occasional falling snow, the earl’s guests would spend their two weeks of holidays hunting, riding, and even playing indoor games. In the evening, formal dinners would take place followed by music, some impromptu dancing, charades, whist, and games of billiards for the men where they could smoke indoors without fear of censure.

  Many whispers suggested the earl held the house party to distract himself from the painful memories surrounding the yuletide season. For those invited, who did not care to spend Christmas alone or with intolerable family or wanted to be there for the earl, made their way to his palatial country home for the festivities. “It is not Vinnette I wish to help snag her beau. Though I will certainly speak with her to find out what it is that she wants.”

  Letty paused in taking a sip of her tea, holding the cup in midair inches away from her lips. “Not Vinnette?”

  “No.”

  Letty frowned, wariness settling on her lovely face. “Then, who? We barely know anyone here, and I am still in disbelief th
at they invited us. The earl is well known, and only those in good standing are welcome. I cannot credit anyone from Society should recall us to their minds, though I am pleased we got asked to come this year.”

  “It is Mama,” Callie whispered, clasping her fingers tightly over her teacup.

  Letty stiffened, lowering the tart to her plate and brushing the crumbs from mouth. “Our mama?”

  “Yes,” Callie replied, meeting her sister’s startled gaze. “I suspect she is in love with Lord Deerwood.”

  Letty appeared dazed. “There is a rumor that he is an arrogant sort of man, very haughty and concerned with rules and propriety.”

  “We didn’t see any evidence of such a disposition when he welcomed us yesterday.” The earl had almost appeared nervous, and his eyes had strayed to her rosy-cheeked mother often in the few minutes he’d made introductions to his other guests. At dinner, he had paid particular attention to their mother, who had seemed a trifle flustered with his attentions.

  “Well, we hardly know him!”

  “Exactly, Letty,” Callie replied with a wave of her hand. “We absolutely cannot believe in any gossip about the earl. We could, however, trust in Mama’s judgment. It is wholly unlikely she would admire anyone so haughty and prideful as the rumor suggests.”

  Letty sighed. “He is also a man in his prime and is considered a most eligible parti. He is only seven and forty and still so handsome and dashing. Why would he ever consider our mother? You go too far with your ambitions, Callie!”

  She stood and made her way over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a section of the palatial estate. The light snow they had received this year had already started to thaw, and despite the chill in the air, the earl’s guests were enjoying the outdoors.

  A group of well-wrapped guests played croquet on a lawn swept free of snow, and others practiced archery in good humor, laughing at each other’s hits and misses. Even in the distance, she saw a few people rowing on the lake which had not frozen this year. Merriment danced in the air. Despite being several days away, Christmas—its feel and scent—surrounded the earl’s country home. Holly, garlands of ivy, pinecones, and sprigs of mistletoe attached with bright-colored satin bows seemed to decorate every room. Fresh-cut red and white roses which must have been grown in glasshouses to bloom at this time of year had been artfully arranged, and in the evenings, the gardens and surrounding parklands were festooned with hundreds of decorative lanterns and candlelight, which cast an ethereal glow on the remaining patches of snow and the reflecting lake.