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

by Collette Cameron

  “Never mind, let’s get under the blankets,” she urged, “and I’m sure we’ll be warm soon.”

  Their eyes met. “You’re right, my lady. I’m a pudding-head. On the other hand, I will take a minute to light the fire for us while you start to disrobe. Seeing your breath while you pant in my arms does not exactly spark passion. More like chilblains!”

  While he busied himself at the hearth, she removed what she could, which was, in fact, only her stockings. She couldn’t even remove her pantalettes since the waist strings were tightly bound under both her petticoat and the long stays she’d chosen for warmth.

  When he turned to find her still fully dressed, she shrugged helplessly, lifting her hands in defeat. He grinned and having already removed his coat, easily discarded his braces and his shirt as he crossed the chilly room.

  “If I still dressed as a parson’s daughter, this would be much easier. But Dorie always chooses dresses with the buttons in the back.” In her room, naturally Sarah had a long button hook and an eyelet fastener, so she was quite adept at handling her own dressing and undressing if she chose.

  “Job stability,” Denbigh quipped. Placing his hands upon her upper arms, he smiled at her, then turned her away from him, so she had nothing to look at but the bed.

  The bed!

  “Hurry,” Sarah urged, knowing he was skilled at playing lady’s maid from their last passionate interlude when she’d found herself in a similar situation in his bedroom. However, on that occasion, he’d teased her terribly, until she was so desperate, she nearly tore off her own clothing. “No dilly-dallying,” she pleaded.

  His nimble fingers worked upon the few buttons from her neck to halfway down her back, and then, with her raising her arms, he lifted the fine wool over her head.

  She shivered again, and he briskly ran his hands up and down the gooseflesh covering her upper arms to warm her. Then, to her amazement, he chuckled.

  “Even your petticoat has hooks to hold it closed—at the back!—as well as ties. Your maid is determined to keep you chaste during the day. That much is certain.”

  She blushed at the notion Dorie was thinking about her chastity while dressing her.

  “This is what all the noblewomen are wearing,” she said. “In fact, given the season and the fact we were supposed to spend hours outside, you’ll find I have on two petticoats.”

  He chuckled again as he helped her out of the first one to find the second, which he quickly dispensed of.

  “Stays next,” he said, untying and then loosening the laces until she could squirm out of the corset.

  “You realize, don’t you, you’ll have to help me back into all this, for I can’t possibly dress by myself?”

  “And do you realize,” he asked, “no matter how well I perform the task, when your maid eventually undresses you again, she’ll know it isn’t her handiwork?”

  Oh dear! “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  He paused, although it was too late. “Should I…?”

  “Yes, of course. After all, the last time I left your residence and went home, Dorie knew I’d been a wayward soul. She didn’t run screaming from my employ then, and I doubt she will do so now.”

  He let her long stays drop and then, although she could do it herself, he unfastened her pantalettes. By now, she had turned in the circle of his arms. Looking down, she watched his hands at her waist undoing the ribbon, and heat shimmered in her body, concentrating low between her hips.

  Her pantalettes dropped to the ground, lying on top of the rest of her clothing. Nothing remained but her cotton chemise, which she knew he could see through. He was already staring at her nipples, pert with anticipation over what was to come.

  Without warning, he bent and took one into his mouth, fabric and all.

  “Mm,” she breathed out. But she wanted to feel him on her bare skin and touch him as well.

  As soon as he straightened, she whipped the chemise over her head and, finally, stood before him naked. Instantly, the room’s cool air caressed her, and gooseflesh rose over her body. That couldn’t be attractive. She probably had the appearance of a plucked partridge.

  Despite her doubt, his eyes darkened and his lips parted, while his arousal pressed discernibly against the front of his breeches. Scooting backward, Sarah climbed onto the bed, feeling a little ungraceful as she gave him a view of her bottom before she vanished beneath the linens.

  “Argh!” she exclaimed. “A bed warmer would be appreciated, but barring such, you’d best hurry under here before I turn into a block of ice.”

  He’d already removed his boots. Now, his pants sailed across the room, and then his stockings hit the floor, and like a flash of lightning, he was next to her. Both on their sides, they faced one another.

  “Bollocks! It’s cold,” he said. And then his arms wrapped around her, and she was instantly on fire and breathing in the heavenly scent of his Floris cologne.

  Wordlessly, he drew her to him, and she relaxed against his tall, muscular frame. Letting her hands creep up around his neck, she laced her fingers behind his neck. This was her favorite place to be, she decided, feeling his palms skim up and then down her back.

  When his lips claimed hers, she wanted to sigh with relief. At the same time, she wanted to pull him between her thighs and get on with it. After all, she’d only ever had two of those most exquisite experiences, both because of him. What would it be like to have him permanently in her life? Hers to pleasure. Hers to love.

  While deepening the kiss—penetrating the space between her lips with his tongue and stroking hers—his hands skimmed her shoulders and down her back to grasp her bottom. Drawing her hips against him, sliding his hardness against her soft, aching spot, he groaned into her mouth, and her body became liquid. Dampness between her legs was expected, but she felt as if molten fire was flowing through her.

  He grasped her lower lip gently with his teeth and then rolled her beneath him. She spread her thighs willingly, and he settled between them to begin teasing her further. He trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, before making a circular path around each of her nipples, until she sank her hands into his soft hair and made him stop.

  “Please,” she said.

  Chapter 9

  Denbigh didn’t say anything. He simply licked his warm tongue across first one taut bud and then the other before beginning to suck.

  “Mm,” Sarah was humming again, and she couldn’t keep her hips still, as she writhed against him. Fortunately, he could no longer deny either of them, not even for the purpose of prolonging their pleasure. Instead, he lifted off of her slightly and then she felt the head of his rod at her entrance.

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “Yes,” he agreed and slowly filled her.

  She’d learned, especially from their second tryst, which had lasted throughout an entire night, that the little nubbin between her legs, especially liked it when he drove into her and then drew out slowly. And to her delight, Denbigh started the same rhythm now, angling his hips so each inward thrust and outward retreat dragged across her spread lips, right against the pulsing nub.

  Gasping, she closed her eyes. Pent up sensations swirled and grew, even as the heavenly bay and bergamot scent mixed enticingly with her own spicy orange and jasmine. She knew she wouldn’t last long before an overarching intensity caused her to clench her muscles and, barely breathing, gloriously release.

  Even as she thought it, she felt his hand between their bodies, his fingers touching her most sensitive place, and she crashed over the edge of her climax.

  Too quickly! She bemoaned her over-eager body, which had barely let him get started before it was over, even as she relaxed into languid gratefulness.

  At last, she could open her eyes and watch him. For a second, their gazes locked and then he lifted high with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her, his back arched, and he drove into her. It was a delight to watch him, knowing her body was causing all these wondrous
reactions in his.

  At the last moment, he closed his eyes as he sought his release. After making an exquisitely rough sound, which echoed deep inside her, he withdrew and spent upon the bed linens. It was almost a disappointment to lose their connection, except she appreciated his attempt to protect her.

  A pregnant widow did not make for a good impression! She would lose any of the ground she’d gained in society and be considered a pariah amongst the ton. Not to mention the fear it would engender among the ladies, each and every one wondering if her husband were the father.

  Shoving the damp sheets to the side, he rolled onto his back beside her, and, to her surprise, caught hold of her hand.

  “By Jove’s beard, I needed that!” he said, and she wasn’t sure if his words were an insult or a compliment.

  He hadn’t said he needed her. And she was fairly positive he could achieve the same release with just about any woman. On the other hand, he could have chosen another if he’d wished. And she, too, had wanted the relief of such glorious spending and of having her body relax. It was the first time in days she didn’t feel like crawling out of her own skin.

  “As did I,” she said, deciding to be truthful.

  He turned his face toward her. “Most women would slap me for my words. Only you would utter them back to me.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Each time she was with him, and not only while tupping, she liked his company even more. Their long conversation the night before had been a novel experience.

  “What are you thinking behind your sparkling eyes?” he asked.

  Should she reveal her burgeoning feelings?

  “I hope you’re thinking how nice it is to be together,” Denbigh added before she could answer. “Because I should tell you I’ve never felt this precise way about anyone. I know we’ve had three abrupt assignations, and I have not treated you as you deserve to be treated,” he trailed off and squeezed her hand.

  “Meaning with posies sent to my door along with invitations for outings?”

  “Flowers? No, I suppose not, but as to the invitation, I did try, if you recall.”

  Sarah couldn’t help frowning. Turning on her side, she drew the blanket up to cover her breasts in belated modesty. Then she fixed her gaze on his.

  “I don’t recall anything about an invitation.”

  He frowned in return. “After our last … enjoyable encounter, when you decamped into the dawn’s mist like a soldier leaving the battlefield, I sent a missive round to your door, checking on you, inviting you to let me escort you somewhere.”

  This information changed if not everything, then something—a little blossoming notion inside of her that maybe he did care beyond the obvious joy of how they danced the blanket hornpipe.

  “I never received it,” she said, watching his reaction.

  A stunned expression crossed his handsome features. “I see.”

  After a moment, he added, “I thought you were a rather calculating female, to tell you the truth.”

  “Calculating?” she asked, when he stroked the side of her face.

  “Actually, I thought heartless. After we had such a night of passion, the way you could walk out and then ignore me, well, it seemed as if you behaved more like—”

  “A man?” she supplied, doing a little stroking of her own, exploring the muscles of his shoulder with her free hand.

  “Precisely,” Denbigh agreed with a grin. “Although not like me, I beg to differ. I have never made love to a woman and then discounted her presence.”

  “How gentlemanly of you,” she teased. Then Sarah told him truthfully, “I’m sorry I didn’t receive your note.”

  “How do you suppose that happened?” he mused. “Poorly trained staff?”

  “I have no idea.” The only thing she remembered at the time was feeling hurt by his disregard, and being happy Julia was staying with her to keep her distracted. “If I’d received your invitation, I would have accepted it. And gladly. For, I, too, have never felt this way about anyone.”

  By the squeezing of her heart, it was love. Did people fall in love so quickly? She assumed they usually went on outings and to dances and parties, getting to know each other better before letting their heart take over.

  But she still recalled Lady Dauschande’s dinner. Sarah had seen many a handsome lord since moving to London, mostly through the black lace veil of her mourning outfits. However, she would swear a jarring jolt had gone through her at first spying Lord Miles Denbigh. When his eyes met hers, she’d wanted nothing more than to get to know him. Moreover, they’d communicated wordlessly that entire evening until they’d ended up on the hard-backed sofa.

  She hadn’t regretted it for a moment for she’d found newfound happiness in his arms and, finally, an understanding of what magic a man and a woman could share.

  “You should probably get back to your room,” he said, surprising her with his abrupt dismissal.

  She had hoped, after a few minutes rest, they would enjoy themselves again.

  Keeping her tone light, she asked, “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  His eyes darkened again. “No.”

  With that, he kissed her once more, stealing her breath, and making her heart beat a quick tattoo. Kissing him had rapidly become her most preferred thing, next to…

  He tilted his head, slanting his mouth across hers, while his hand slipped below the blanket to caress her breasts, then lower to stroke the smooth flat skin of her belly, and below.

  While she was still wondering at his mercurial mood, his strong fingers dipped between the petals of her woman’s core, stroking and teasing her nubbin.

  “Miles,” she breathed against his mouth.

  “Sarah,” he returned. He said nothing more, but simply caressed her, lightly at first until her hips bucked against his hand, and he quickened the pace. Then his fingers slipped inside her wet passage.

  Her own hands now gripped his shoulders.

  “Together,” she demanded, knowing she could come from his skilled touch, but wanting him with her.

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  She found herself drawn on top of him, looking down into his wicked eyes.

  “Will you ride me better than you rode the horse today?”

  His naughty words thrilled her. She pressed herself up, hands on his chest, watching his fascinated gaze take in her breasts hanging in front of his face.

  Lifting her hips, she took hold of his firm shaft, and—ready for him—impaled herself.

  “Ah,” she sighed, hearing him do the same. Sarah began to rock in the natural motion of a cantering horse, feeling both in control and also entirely out of it. His hands palmed her swaying breasts, and she rested her fingers upon his shoulders to give herself some leverage as she rose and fell, milking his arousal with infinite care, watching the emotions play across his face.

  When her woman’s core tightened, she arched her head back and closed her eyes, before quickening her pace.

  His hands, now upon her hips, assisted her movements, as she rose and fell, up and down upon his rigidity.

  And then, when she wondered if she could handle the building tension a second longer, one of his hands left her waist and touched the throbbing center of her desire, stroking it. She feared she had cried out loudly, but wasn’t sure if it was merely in her mind. Then, she shattered into deliciously fulfilled pieces, before he practically shoved her aside as his answering climax overtook him.

  For the second time, they lay upon their backs and stared at the canopy.

  “You really must get going,” he said.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” she teased for the second time.

  “I’m trying to save your reputation. If the excitement over Hollingsworth’s clumsiness has died down, and the doctor has come and gone, then someone might notice our absence. If you were to be caught leaving my room,” he trailed off.

  “Then I guess you would have to marry me,” Sarah quipped without thinking.
>
  They both froze. Time stood still, as if she were inside the infernal longcase clock again, blocking the pendulum.

  Then she expelled a breath. “I was speaking in jest,” she felt the urge to explain, in case she’d made it incredibly awkward.

  “I know,” he said. “But it’s not outside the realm of possibility. Is it?”

  In another long moment of silence, she digested his words.

  “No,” she said at last. “It most assuredly is not.”

  “Robbery most foul!” came a female shriek from the landing at the top of the stairs.

  Miles turned and stared at her.

  “What?” Sarah asked with utmost innocence. “You can’t possibly think it was me. I was with you riding upon that blasted horse,” she said, sitting up, holding the sheet to her breasts. “And then, I can most assuredly vow you’ve had your eyes and your hands upon me for the last hour as we took turns riding each other.”

  He sighed, hating being forced to switch from lover to bloodhound again.

  “On your way to my room, perhaps, while feeling peppery, your fingers itched.”

  She raised a beautifully arched eyebrow. “Is that what you think women do when feeling peppery?” Her tone was mocking, and she pushed herself to the edge of the bed, her feet dangling over the side. “We decide to steal something on our way to meeting our paramour?”

  “Not necessarily any woman.”

  She stood, completely naked, her back to him. “You must help me dress, and quickly,” she said, her tone no longer warm or friendly.

  “I’m merely saying you had time and means,” he said, but got to his feet and began the arduous process, starting with her chemise.

  “As did many of the others. What about Mr. Asher? He had to let all his staff go. Did you know that? He said he would somehow remedy the situation. Perhaps robbery is his remedy.”

  She had a point. He was about to tell her so, as she tied the string of her pantalettes, when there was a knock at the door. They froze momentarily. With no other option, he asked where she wished to hide.

  “In the wardrobe or under the bed?”