An Improper Christmas

by Amy Rose Bennett

  An Improper Christmas

  An Improper Liaisons Novella: Book Three

  Amy Rose Bennett

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Amy Rose Bennett

  An Improper Christmas

  Copyright © 2017 Amy Rose Bennett

  Editor: Cathleen Ross

  Cover Design: © By Hang Le

  First E-book Publication: April 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner, including portrayal of historical figures and situations. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9954283-7-9

  Chapter 1

  Horwood House, Oxfordshire

  Christmas Eve, 1819

  Miss Lily Godwin was quite uncommonly out of sorts. Of course, she knew she shouldn’t be—she was at the house party of the Christmastide Season after all. Not only that, her affianced, Humphrey Barcroft, Lord Hardwick, was also one of the Earl and Countess of Faringdon’s guests. She should be positively awash with bliss and bonhomie.

  But she wasn’t. And feeling like a proverbial wet blanket in the midst of such ceaseless frivolity only made her disagreeable mood all the worse.

  It probably didn’t help that she hadn’t been able to find Humphrey anywhere for the last half hour and she did so want to dance with him again. Lord and Lady Faringdon had decided to throw a Christmas Eve ball to celebrate the lighting of the Yule log in the fireplace of Horwood House’s Great Hall, and to put it quite simply, the event was a crush.

  An unladylike frown furrowing her brow, Lily scanned the crowded hall for what seemed like the hundredth time; the light emanating from the myriad crimson candles in an enormous gilt chandelier and the blazing Yule log was sufficient to allow her to discern most of the room, but she couldn’t see Humphrey’s distinctive ebon hair or hawk-like profile amongst the gathered throng of merry-makers. She supposed she could always check the billiard room again where her guardian and uncle, Lord Dunmere, was currently ensconced. Or the ‘Red Drawing Room’ where her Aunt Harriet, Lady Dunmere, gossiped with other Society matrons and ton tabbies as they pretended to politely sip ratafia, but were really imbibing all the wassail punch.

  And of course she could revisit the card room, the library, and the supper room. Or perhaps Humphrey had gone out to the terrace; it might be freezing cold outside, but it was one of the few places she hadn’t checked. And then there was the conservatory ...

  Turning on her silver-slippered heel, her snow-white silk muslin skirts flaring around her ankles with the swiftness of her movement, Lily barreled straight into a wide male chest. An extremely hard male chest that belonged to a very tall man.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Pardon me.”

  Their words collided and an embarrassed laugh escaped Lily.

  Taking a step back, she lifted her face ... and blushed at the sight of a pair of piercing blue eyes staring down at her from beneath a fashionably tousled sweep of light brown hair.

  Oh, my goodness. She’d crashed into one of the most notorious rakehells of the ton, and the most recent edition to the Faringdons’ house party—Joshua Sheridan, Viscount Nash.

  She took another small step away. “My apologies again, Lord Nash.”

  “That’s quite all right ... Miss Godwin, isn’t it?” he said with a slight lift of one brow. “But it was my fault entirely.” He shifted his weight as though he was going to let her pass into the gallery beyond—indeed he was so tall and his shoulders so wide that Lily had the impression he took up the entire doorway—but then he glanced up at the ornate arch above their heads and his perfectly sculptured mouth tilted into a crooked smile. “Well, well,” he said in a low voice that was far too familiar as his eyes caught hers again. “It seems we’ve both ended up beneath the kissing bough.”

  Oh, no. Lily looked up and sure enough, a ball of mistletoe, its dark green leaves and white berries gleaming in the subdued lighting of a nearby wall sconce, hung directly over them. She swallowed and dropped her gaze back to Lord Nash’s. “I think it’s best if we forgo the tradition, my lord. As you would probably know, I’m promised to Lord Hardwick.”

  The viscount’s mesmerizing blue gaze fell pointedly to her lips. “Pity,” he murmured and Lily’s face grew as hot as the Yule log fire in the Hall behind her; whether he referred to her engaged state or the fact they weren’t going to kiss, or both, she couldn’t be certain. Either way, it didn’t really matter.

  As far as she was concerned, kissing Lord Nash, even in the spirit of the Season, was out of the question ... especially since her falling out with Humphrey last night. They’d repaired their disagreement this morning, but still, she needed to be careful.

  Lord Nash’s eyes twinkled with amusement at her apparent discomfiture, but nevertheless he gave a polite bow and stepped out of the way. “I bid you adieu then, Miss Godwin.”

  Lily lifted her chin and swept past him but not before she caught the tantalizing scent of his cologne; it was sharp yet earthy and entirely masculine—a mixture of wintergreen and musky leather, and a potent spice, like cloves. It tugged at her to turn around and step close to him again.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t even glance back, even though she wanted to check if Lord Nash watched her progress down the gallery as she wended her way through knots of chattering guests to the card room. It was almost as if she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back.

  Stop being a ninnyhammer, Lily. Lord Nash is a wicked flirt and he’s probably turned his attention to some other quarry by now.

  More importantly, why are you still thinking about him? Another man?

  Your inconstancy is shameful.

  Determinedly pushing all thoughts of Lord Nash and his mischievous regard from her mind, Lily entered the brightly lit card room and once again looked for her affianced. But he wasn’t at any of the tables. Nor was his playing billiards in the room beyond.

  The last time she had seen him, he’d been talking with Lord and Lady Crawford in a relatively quiet corner of the supper room, just before Lord Seton had whisked her away for a country dance. Lord Crawford was presently playing piquet with another gentleman.

  But not his wife.

  Just like Humphrey, she was missing.

  Lily frowned, torn. She wanted to approach Lord Crawford to ask him if he knew the whereabouts of his wife, but she also didn’t want to kick up a fuss, or worse, appear needy.

  Yet there’d been something about the way Fanny, Lady Crawford, had regarded Humphrey when they’d been speaking that bothered her. And the way Humphrey had looked intently at th
e baroness, right under the nose of Lord Crawford, had unsettled her further. Then there’d been that moment when the baron had glanced away to catch the attention of one of the footmen bearing a tray of champagne flutes, and Humphrey and Lady Crawford had exchanged a secret smile ...

  There, she’d acknowledged it. She was jealous. Jealous and suspicious of the baroness because she’d been flirting with her fiancé.

  It wasn’t like her to be this possessive or insecure about Humphrey. But after last night and everything that had happened between them. Or more to the point, what hadn’t happened because she’d asked him to stop ...

  Surely Humphrey wouldn’t look elsewhere for the physical intimacy she’d denied him. But what if he did?

  Unable to quell the panic that had been simmering inside her, Lily turned and swept from the room into the gallery again.

  Where to look? Where to look? If Humphrey had arranged a tryst with Lady Crawford, they wouldn’t be in the public rooms. They’d go somewhere quiet. Out of the way. Like a private parlor, or even worse, a bedchamber.

  Oh, good Lord no.

  Ignoring the curious looks from those still gathered in the gallery, Lily picked up her skirts and hurried away from the card room, heading toward the back of the house; she hadn’t checked the conservatory or the terrace yet. Maybe Humphrey was just taking the night air.

  Dear God, she prayed he was doing so alone.

  The conservatory was a very elegant room of an unusual hexagonal design. Constructed of intricate iron lace work and glass paneling, it housed the most beautiful and luscious plants: citrus trees and verdant palms; orchids, fragrant gardenias, camellias, and roses; and trailing vines of jasmine and honeysuckle.

  Lily had endeavored to visit the lovely, peaceful space every day since her arrival at Horwood a week ago. Her guardians’ home, Swallowfield Hall, a draughty old Elizabethan manor house on the edge of Bodmin Moor in Cornwall, didn’t even have much of a garden let alone a conservatory. Yesterday afternoon, when she’d brought Humphrey here to show him how delightful the room was, they’d even talked about adding something just like it to his country home, Ashgrove Park, in Bedfordshire. Or dare she say, their country home when she became its mistress in a month’s time?

  She paused at the door, and spent a few moments catching her breath. It wouldn’t do to blunder in like a herd of rampaging elephants. Even if Humphrey wasn’t with Lady Crawford, there might be others using the conservatory. After all, it was the ideal place for a romantic rendezvous.

  Her pulse skittering, Lily unlatched the glass door and paused on the threshold, listening for any sounds of human activity. But all she could hear was the faint tinkle of water—there was a small marble fountain in the center of the garden—and the wild thud of her own racing heart. She let out a shaky breath and took a few more steps down the winding stone-flagged path, past a grove of orange trees, their branches heavy with ripe fruit, past an arbor thick with climbing roses and ivy, and then a stone grotto featuring feathery ferns and magenta-hued orchids.

  Reaching a fork in the path, she paused again, contemplating which way to go—the path ahead led to the fountain, whereas the other took one past another secluded alcove containing a stone bench shaded by palms and a wrought iron table setting surrounded by potted lilies and cyclamens. Lily had taken tea there two days ago with several other ladies including Lady Dunmere and their hostess, Lady Faringdon.

  And then she heard it—a soft feminine gasp or was it a laugh?—coming from the direction of the alcove.

  Oh, God there was someone here.

  Lily clutched the strand of pale pink pearls around her neck—a gift from Humphrey on their engagement three weeks ago—and slowly crept closer along the semi-circular path. The sound of soft pants and rhythmic grunts met her ears. Terrified of what she would see, but unable to stop herself, Lily took cover behind a leafy camellia bush then parted the branches ... and gasped in absolute horror.

  Humphrey was in the alcove, and although his back was to Lily, it was clear he wasn’t alone. His black silk breeches were at half-mast round his thighs and his white cambric shirt and the tails of his black evening coat were rucked up, revealing his pale, naked behind, the muscles bunched, his hips thrusting ... and another slender leg. A very feminine leg clad in a white silk stocking, which was wrapped around his waist. A discarded red silk slipper lay on the ground beneath the table.

  Oh no, no, no. Hot tears scalded Lily’s eyes and a sob clogged her throat. There was no doubt in her mind what her affianced was doing—he was having sexual intercourse with Lady Crawford.

  And it was Christmas Eve!

  She couldn’t watch any more. She took a few steps backwards, almost tripping when her heel slipped off the edge of the path, then she turned and fled, ran as fast as she could out of the conservatory, along the corridor, and up a back set of stairs until she reached the third floor where her bedchamber was located.

  Crumpling onto the brocade counterpane of her tester bed, she let the tears flow unheeded. The man she adored, the man who’d taken her maidenhead last night, the man she was supposed to marry, had been unfaithful.

  She couldn’t bear it. She just couldn’t bear it.

  A short time later, her door unexpectedly clicked open, and Lily’s heart jumped. Had Humphrey seen her in the conservatory? Had he come after her to say he was sorry?

  But it was only her Aunt Harriet wearing a thunderous frown. “Lily!” she said in a furious whisper that wasn’t really a whisper at all. “Miss Templeton heard you sobbing through the wall and came to get me. What on earth is wrong?”

  Lily pushed herself up against the headboard and hugged a pillow to her chest. Her aunt’s companion could be a busybody sometimes, but tonight, Lily was glad of her interference. Even though she wasn’t particularly close to her aunt—the countess had always been aloof and a stickler for manners—she needed to confide in someone. And she needed her aunt’s counsel.

  Lily swallowed and pushed her tangled hair away from her hot, sticky face. “It’s Humphrey ...”

  Her aunt drew closer; her shocked expression changed to one of horror when she took in Lily’s state. “Just look at you. You’re a mess. And you’ve ruined your gown. How on earth is my maid to get out the wrinkles?”

  Lily sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the pillowslip. “Aunt Harriet, did you hear what I said? I’m upset because of Humphrey ... What he did ...” Her breath snagged and a fresh wave of tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I don’t think I can tell you.”

  Aunt Harriet sighed wearily and perched on the end of the bed, spreading her dove-gray silk skirts about her with care. “I’m sure there’s not much you could say that would surprise me, Lily. Men are such horrid creatures for the most part. Did Lord Hardwick try to have sexual congress with you?”

  What? Of all the things Aunt Harriet could have said, it had not been that. Especially since last night she and Humphrey had attempted to have sexual relations. However, despite her best efforts to please him, it had ended in disaster. He’d left her room in a disappointed, frustrated huff whereas she ... she’d been left in tears, a maid no more.

  Of course, she didn’t want to tell her aunt any of that so she shook her head and said, “No ... I’m upset because I caught Humphrey ...” She raised her chin and looked her aunt in the eye. “I caught Humphrey having sexual congress with another woman. In the conservatory. Just now.”

  Aunt Harriet’s lips thinned and she folded her hands in her lap. “Yes. Well. I just told you men are horrid creatures.”

  Lily put her palms to her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re not going to break off your engagement, are you?” Aunt Harriet’s voice rose; she sounded absolutely horrified.

  “Well ... I ...” Shocked by her aunt’s attitude, Lily’s brow plunged into a frown. “I don’t see how I can marry Humphrey now. He doesn’t love me enough.”

  “Pfft. Love is not a requirement for marriage, Lily,�
�� replied her aunt, waving a dismissive hand. “Let me disabuse you of that foolish notion straightaway.”

  “But ... but I thought Humphrey did care for me. I certainly care for him.”

  At least I thought I did ... Right now, Lily wasn’t quite sure. Not when she closed her eyes and the vivid image of Humphrey driving into Lady Crawford over and over again sprang into mind. Bile burned the back of her throat and she rushed to the washstand to pour herself a glass of water.

  When she turned around, it was to find Aunt Harriet had risen too. “Lily, I know you are upset, but really, you are making far too much of a fuss.”

  Lily’s hand gripped the glass tumbler so tightly, she thought it might shatter. “I cannot believe you just said that,” she whispered. “I caught my fiancé—”

  “Yes, yes. I know. Let me remind you, your uncle and I took great pains to arrange this match with Lord Hardwick. You’re twenty years old, and it’s not as though you have that many prospects thanks to your dear departed mother’s unfortunate choice for a husband. And unlike your cousins, you do not have much of a dowry.”

  Aunt Harriet may as well have said, ‘beggars can’t be choosers’. And as usual, she’d had to rub Lily’s nose in her family’s supposedly shameful history; her mother—Aunt Harriet’s younger sister—had run off with a man ‘beneath her station’, a mere clergyman. Her uncle’s and aunt’s two daughters—both older than Lily by several years and with no social blemishes to speak of—had married well within the ton ranks, ‘without a fuss’. Lily was the last one to leave the Dunmeres’ nest, and right at this moment, she had the distinct feeling her aunt couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

  Aunt Harriet continued with her lecture. “Your uncle and I have tried to do our duty by you for the past ten years, Lily. It hasn’t been easy, you know, wondering what would become of you, given your inferior background. Indeed, it was I who stopped your uncle from sending you to an orphanage all those years ago when you arrived on our doorstep. Such a thin little waif with a shock of dreadful red hair.” She shuddered as though she’d been forced to take in a changeling, not a small, heartbroken child.