Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  “But... what of the phaeton?” she protested. Given the weather, no young boy hurried up to mind the gig in exchange for a coin.

  “Hermes must learn patience,” Randolph replied as he secured the reins to the pole. “And we won’t go far.”

  Xenobia made her way to the front of the horse, reaching up to smooth a hand over his cheek.

  Randolph joined her and pulled a small apple from his coat pocket. He offered it to her. “You’ll be his friend for life—or at least the rest of the day.”

  Her face once again brightening, Xenobia took the apple and offered it to the horse. She let out a gasp when it disappeared, and then laughed at the crunching sound as Hermes devoured the fruit.

  Randolph held out his arm. “Shall we?”

  Xenobia realized immediately why he had chosen this particular location to stop the phaeton—privacy. A crushed granite path, dusted with a layer of snow, led from the King’s Private Road north toward the east end of the Serpentine. Most of the path was lined with hedgerows and covered by a canopy of maple trees. Although their branches were mostly bare of leaves, they were coated with snow. “I’ve never been on this path during the winter,” she said in a quiet voice, almost as if she feared the snow would fall from the branches if she spoke too loudly.

  “I’ve only been once,” he replied, remembering how Barbara complained about the cold and the wind off the Serpentine. “I recall it was quiet.” He slowed his steps when he spotted a park bench nestled against the bushes. “Will you sit with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even if my motives are not honorable?”

  Xenobia stared up at him. “Would you think me wanton if I was more inclined to do so because of what you just said?”

  A huge grin split Randolph’s face. “Possibly,” he hedged. He used a gloved hand to wipe away the dusting of snow that covered the bench. “Actually, I brought you here because of what you said a few moments ago. About your... your husband and his mistress.”

  “What of him?” she asked as she took a seat.

  He struggled to form his words. “I fear that now that you are out of mourning, you may embark on a lifestyle to which you are unaccustomed,” he replied as he sat down next to her. “As if you intend to seek revenge for having put up with Lord Dunsworth’s preference for a mistress.”

  Xenobia inhaled sharply. “I rather doubt that,” she said, almost too quickly. “I am not my mother’s daughter, if you were inferring I would become a Merry Widow.”

  He nodded his understanding. “While I am relieved to hear it, I am also torn.”

  “Why?”

  Randolph dipped his head, his gaze going to his clasped hands. “After last night, I thought more on your wish to have companionship. I could not help but think you referred to wanting more than just... conversation. That you were in fact speaking of taking a lover.”

  About to deny his claim, Xenobia could not when his hands suddenly separated and one of his arms encircled her shoulders. His lips were on hers only a moment later, lips that were cold at first, but soon heated as he claimed her mouth.

  Randolph pulled her closer, his lips leaving hers to trail featherlight kisses along her jaw to her ear. Had his hat and hers not prevented him from doing so, he would have kissed the area behind her ear and then moved his kisses down her neck.

  He heard her ragged breaths and finally pulled away. “I would ask that if you are considering such a thing—”

  “Such a thing?” she repeated, looking ever so addled.

  “Taking a lover.”

  Her eyes widened. “I... I wasn’t. At least... not before.”

  “Before?”

  Her eyes darted sideways. “Before you seemed to indicate you wished to be the first in a very short line.”

  “A line of only one, I should hope.”

  Xenobia felt a rush of excitement. “Are you that one?”

  He nodded. “Despite the circumstances.”

  Xenobia’s brows furrowed. “Circumstances?”

  “Besides my responsibility at the Reading stables, I have a position. One that requires me to work most nights,” he stammered. “I can be your lover on Wednesday nights after dinner—”

  His words were halted when she raised a gloved finger to his lips. “I cannot help but think you are offering yourself out of pity for me.” Although she was curious as to what he might do in a position that required he work at night, she didn’t ask.

  He took the finger from his lips, his larger hand covering hers entirely. “Not pity,” he whispered, his slight head shake reinforcing his reply. “For if you had readily agreed, I might have thought you felt pity for me,” he reasoned.

  “Because you are a widower?”

  Randolph dipped his head. “A widower who is also the father of a babe.”

  Xenobia exhaled, her mind racing with possibilities. “You could have your pick of any number of women in search of a tryst—”

  “I’m not interested in a tryst, my lady.”

  She furrowed a blonde brow. “An affaire, then?”

  He shook his head. “I am not my father’s son in that regard,” he reminded her. “I thought I made that clear last night. If... when I take you as a lover, you will be the only one I bed.”

  Xenobia blinked at the comment, but her eyes widened at how he had couched the claim.

  When I take you as a lover...

  As if he had already decided they were going to be lovers. “You promise you do not pity me?”

  “I promise,” he replied. Then he remembered what he had discovered when he arrived at Bradley House that afternoon. Remembered the letter he had found.

  Did Xenobia know there were hundreds of pounds of bank notes hidden in that one piece of furniture?

  If so, did she have blunt stowed away in other furnishings in Bradley House?

  If she didn’t, did the servants know?

  He was suddenly reminded of the money his father hid for his mother to find, and his lips lifted with brief amusement.

  When he noted how Xenobia stared at him, he shook off the brief reverie. “After what I discovered today, I’m of the opinion that you need a protector,” Randolph added in a hoarse whisper.

  Alarmed by the claim, Xenobia stared at him. “What did you discover?”

  He gave his head a shake. “I’ll show you when we return to Bradley House. In the meantime, would you be amenable to me acting as your protector?”

  Xenobia stared at him. If Randolph declared he was her protector, then there would be gossip. “The entire ton will know we are lovers,” she argued.

  “Would you be embarrassed if they did, my lady?”

  Xenobia took a moment to consider how she might feel if word got out she was carrying on with Sir Randolph. If Lady Pettigrew knew. If Lady Reading knew. If Lady Chamberlain knew. If Julia knew.

  Well, Julia would be over-the-moon happy for her.

  Lady Reading would be discreet. She wouldn’t mention it to anyone.

  Lady Chamberlain would want to know all the details, but she wouldn’t divulge them to others.

  Lady Pettigrew would share the news in every Mayfair parlor on which she could possibly pay a morning call in the next fortnight. Despite her penchant for gossip, though, probably no one would believe her.

  “I would not be embarrassed, Sir Randolph.”

  “Just Randolph, if you would. Or... or Rand when we are alone,” he said as he dropped his forehead to touch hers. He had doffed his top hat the moment before, wanting nothing more than to kiss her senseless.

  “Rand,” she repeated, her gaze on his lips. Before she could stop herself, she kissed him.

  Randolph returned the kiss, his arms once again wrapping around her shoulders to pull her close. When Xenobia finally released his lips, he allowed a grin. “I give you permission to do that whenever you wish,” he murmured.

  Xenobia grinned, her face reddening. “Surely only when we’re alone,” she countered.

  Hi
s eyes darting sideways, Randolph allowed a chuckle. “Whenever you wish,” he repeated.

  The sound of a horse whinnying in complaint had Xenobia leaning to the side. “Was that Hermes?”

  Randolph grimaced. “Probably.” His subsequent curse came out as a whisper.

  “Take me home, Rand. You can park the phaeton in the mews behind the townhouse, and we can warm ourselves next to a fire,” Xenobia said as she stood.

  Randolph was quick to follow suit. “As you wish, my lady.”

  “Xenobia,” she countered as she threaded her arm through his elbow. “Or Xena, should you be so inclined.”

  Before he turned to lead them back to the King’s Private Road, Randolph regarded her with awe. “A force of Zeus?” he inquired, referring to the meaning of her name. “You deserve to be called no less than your full name,” he claimed.

  Xenobia stared up at Randolph. If she’d been the least bit cold before, she was not now. “If you intend to worship me, then you best return me to Bradley House,” she suggested.

  Randolph hesitated, a wince appearing. “I really wish this was a Wednesday,” he murmured. “And that I didn’t need to sleep for a few hours before leaving for St. James Street tonight.”

  Although she felt a wave of disappointment, Xenobia allowed a wan grin. “Perhaps we merely spend what time we can together,” she offered. “Until you must take your leave.”

  Randolph nodded before he returned his hat to his head. They made their way back to the phaeton, and he lifted her onto the phaeton bench, all the while Hermes snorted and stomped a hoof and a light snow fell around them.

  Xenobia grinned as she settled herself onto the bench. She laughed as Randolph fairly launched himself onto the bench next to her. He had Hermes trotting into a tight U-turn and headed back to the Hyde Park Corner gate in only a moment.

  Ten minutes later, and they were in the mews behind Bradley House.

  Despite the late nights and early mornings leaving him feeling weary, Randolph looked forward to a few hours in her company. He would probably be asleep for two of them, but at least he wouldn’t wake up alone.

  A Seduction Thwarted by Exhaustion

  A few minutes later, in Bradley House

  Xenobia led Randolph to the back door of Bradley House. “I’m of a mind to take the servants’ stairs to the second floor,” she whispered as Randolph opened the door for her. She pulled her hands from her muff to remove her gloves and then shoved them into her pockets while Randolph followed suit.

  When she reached for his bare hand with hers, Randolph’s gaze went to the thin set of stairs that led to the upper floors. “Will it be warm enough in your apartments, my lady?” he queried. “I cannot help but notice, but your hand feels awfully cold.”

  Xenobia couldn’t help the shiver that coursed down her spine just then. Was the man mad? She was far warmer than she would be on a hot summer day. “I rather doubt that’s possible,” she replied with a grin, almost embarrassed by what she thought they might be about to do.

  Spend a few hours together.

  In the afternoon.

  In a bedchamber.

  There was nothing about this tryst that could be considered appropriate, even if they didn’t do anything scandalous. She was on the verge of feeling ashamed of herself.

  Overcome by a yawn, Randolph struggled to cover it with the hand that held his hat. “If you’re not comfortable with this—”

  “It’s fine,” Xenobia interrupted as she headed to the stairs. “There’s a different bedchamber we can use. One where we won’t be disturbed.”

  Xenobia lifted her skirts and made her way up the thin, wooden steps, her half boots barely making a sound. Meanwhile, she was well aware of his boots and the sounds they made directly behind her. The cadence of the slight tapping matched how fast her heart was beating.

  About to reach for the door handle to the very first bedchamber along the second floor corridor, Xenobia gasped when Randolph’s hand brushed past hers. “Allow me,” he murmured as he opened the door.

  Xenobia stepped in, relieved the darkened bedchamber was in good order. The heavy drapes were closed, no doubt to lessen the chill from the two windows. From the painting above the mantle and the dark blue fabrics curtaining the bed and covering the chairs in front of the fireplace, she remembered this room had been part of her father’s apartments.

  Randolph made his way to the room’s fireplace, where a bucket of coal and kindling were on hand. He lit a fuzee, and soon the flames lit the room in a golden glow. Helping himself to a candle lamp, he lit the wick and returned it to the nightstand.

  Xenobia noticed how he studied all the furnishings in the room. How his gaze darted to the clock and marble busts, to the objets d’art her father had collected. Remembering his comment about having to work at nights, she now worried that he might really be a thief, using his ties to the ton as a means to gain entry into lady’s homes to help himself to their jewelry and other valuables.

  She quickly reminded herself of who he was—the son of a marquess and a friend to Julia’s husband—and she tried to relax.

  Randolph turned to regard her, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps you should come sit next to the fire.”

  “Of course,” she quickly agreed and moved to take one of the upholstered chairs. As Randolph helped her out of her redingote, she inhaled sharply when she saw that the curtains were open on the side of the bed that faced the fireplace. Had the bed linens been turned down, the expanse of white would have been an obvious invitation.

  For a moment back in the park, she had wanted Randolph to accept such an invitation. Now she was nervous. Now she was trying to imagine what it would be like to be bedded by this man. What words he might murmur as her fingers slid down his chest, up his arms to wrap over his shoulders. What sounds he might make as he drove himself into her, filling her completely. What he might do when he experienced his ecstasy.

  She tried to remember if there had been more to it and found her recollection of lovemaking a disappointment.

  Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.

  Randolph furrowed his brows as he stared at Xenobia, sure she must be having second thoughts. He was as well, but for a very different reason. “Would you lie with me while I sleep? I can warm the bed for you,” he suggested. “I can undo your buttons, and you can join me when you’re undressed. Otherwise, I fear it will be chilly in here for a time.”

  Xenobia wondered at the sudden excitement that came over her just then. Then she noticed his weariness. “What’s wrong?”

  Randolph angled the adjacent chair so it almost faced the one she was in, and he took a seat. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and then reached out a hand to take one of hers. “I’ve not shared a bed with a woman since my wife’s death,” he murmured quietly. “And truth be told, at the moment, I do not have the energy to do more than remove my clothing and climb onto that bed,” he said as he motioned with his thumb. “However, I can provide a warm body against which you can nap for a time.” He paused and took a breath. “Do I have your permission to stay? Until I must leave to go to work?”

  Xenobia was torn between asking him to leave and agreeing with everything he said. “You do,” she finally replied, well aware he still held onto her hand. For the first time all day, it felt warm.

  Randolph sighed. “Do you require help with buttons or... or hairpins?” he asked. “I promise I won’t do anything to muss your hair.”

  She shook her head. “I can manage. I’ll just go behind the...” She looked about for a dressing screen and discovered there wasn’t one. “Into the dressing room.”

  And what? Undress while he did the same out here?

  “Put on your favorite night rail,” he finished for her, his gaze going to the door in the corner. Then he remembered they weren’t in her bedchamber. This was probably a guest bedchamber. It was unlikely there was a night rail hanging in the dressing room. “Or a dressing gown, perhaps?” he suggested. Still holdi
ng onto her hand, he stood up and helped her to stand.

  “I’ll see what I can find,” she replied as she turned her back to him.

  The warmth of his fingers permeated the fabric as he undid the series of fastenings down the back of the gown. The bodice sagged forward, and when the tips of his fingers and then his entire hand settled onto her bare back to spread open the garment, Xenobia shivered. When he turned her around in his arms, he kissed her softly.

  Warmth and Wonder

  A few minutes later

  Xenobia slipped out of her half boots and pushed the carriage gown down over her hips along with the three layers of petticoats. For the moment she wore only her chemise, stays, and stockings, she thought Randolph might be peeking around the corner of the opened door, but a quick glance into the bedchamber from her bent position showed only the high ceiling and the gilded plaster trim that rimmed the top of the wall covering.

  She could hear the man undressing, although his movements were confined to the area next to the bed. Making quick work of rolling down her stockings, Xenobia plucked them from her feet and struggled out of her stays. When she pulled off her chemise, she was completely naked.

  “I’m just going to get into bed,” he said, his voice kept low lest it be heard by anyone outside her door. “Perhaps you should lock the door? I shouldn’t want to frighten a maid if they come to service the room.”

  Xenobia blinked. “I will,” she replied, just as she pulled on a huge dressing robe. Despite the thin silk of the banyan, she thought it a rather chaste garment.

  If only her nipples weren’t suddenly so cold. As she made her way to the door, she glanced down to find their silhouettes poking into the fabric. At least they poke out and not down, she considered. She threw the lock on the door handle.