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

by Collette Cameron

  “No, please not the whip again, Mama,” the aforementioned said in a sadly irreverent voice.

  His mother crossed her arms and made a deadly squint of her eyes. “I mean it, Beldon. Lady Mary is doing her best under trying circumstances. It can’t be easy having you choose her gowns for her. I know I wouldn’t let you choose mine.”

  “But you have excellent taste, Mama, and I don’t need to.” The expression of saintliness on the earl’s face made Mary want to push him through the door onto the wet paving stones outside. She gave a sound like a huff, which brought his gaze back to her. “You need my help or you would dress like a second daughter wearing her sister’s cast-offs.”

  Since she did wear Lucy’s old gowns, Mary swallowed her next words. She stared at the floor. Finally, after spinning out the silence long enough to collect an ounce of graciousness, she let the countess give her three gowns, hating every moment of accepting a gift that she wouldn’t be earning.

  Next, she was led to a hat shop. “It is perfectly acceptable for man to buy a hat for his betrothed,” Westerham said in a smooth voice before she entered the shop. “If he wants to buy more, that would be his pleasure.”

  His mother raised her eyes to heaven when Mary glanced at her, but no more was said. The Westerhams choose three hats for her, each more gorgeous than she had ever imagined owning. Since she couldn’t bear to appear ungrateful, she managed a nice-Lucy smile.

  Gossip about which invitations for which functions to accept kept the trip back to Westerham House interesting, not that she had any input. She knew a few names, of course, but not those of this year’s debutantes, although some of the family names sounded familiar.

  Finally, the countess had a list in her head, she said. She had accepted one for tonight, previously. As soon as she arrived home, she planned to send a footman to the Livingstone’s house with a note that said that Westerham had arrived home and would also be accepting on late notice and if the Livingstons didn’t mind, she would bring along a protégée of her own to their supper party.

  During the next hour, the countess had word that the Livingstons would be delighted to see her protégée. “Naturally,” she said, with a wicked smile on her face. “I’m being escorted by my son. Every hostess still in town will be envious of Mrs. Livingston for being one of the first hostesses to have inveigled him into her salon.”

  Since the earl also heard her words, Mary glanced over at him. He stared back and shrugged. At least his head hadn’t enlarged in the last few minutes, hearing that other people saw him as important. To her, he was simply another man anxious to use a woman, though his use wasn’t quite as bad as some others she would never mention. Westerham, at least, was prepared to marry a wellborn woman before he tried to make love to her.

  When she finally went upstairs to visit her new purchases, she found Alice trying to smooth the folding creases from the yellow gown. “I think I might wear this one tonight, Alice. I have a pair of shoes patterned with yellow leaves and a gold buckle that would do nicely, if you can remove the stain on the toes.” The shoes had belonged to Lucy, but she had worn them on a wet night. Being stained, she passed them to Mary who thought she might be able to dye them brown and make them wearable. She had only bought the shoes with her to wear walking, since they were already damaged.

  Alice took the shoes from Mary’s trunk and inspected them. “I should ask a footman. They know all the tricks about shoe cleaning.” She hurried out of the room with an interesting smile on her face.

  The footman she brought back with her was young and handsome, since most footmen were employed for their looks. He said he could do the job within the hour. Alice took her time handing over the shoes, which was a tactic that Mary needed to learn—how to keep a man lingering and looking. And the footman did stare, though mainly at the scarring on Alice’s neck. He appeared more sympathetic than revolted. After he left, Alice blushed for a while, amusing Mary no end. If she couldn’t find happiness, more than likely Alice could. Alice had a kind and helpful nature which most people would find endearing.

  “Would my green shawl look well with the yellow gown?”

  “No, Lady Mary. That green shawl would make the yellow sickly. It’s a right shame you don’t have another.”

  Mary’s shoulders sagged. “I think the earl would strangle me if I wore it tonight. But I can’t wear my coat, not at night.”

  “Perhaps my lady would have one that she might allow you to borrow?” Alice kept her gaze on the blue patterned carpet.

  Mary shrugged. “I’ll wear the green. I’ll soon find out if she has one she might allow me to borrow. Westerham will tug mine off my shoulders and grab hers for me to use instead.”

  “I’m sure he would do no such thing.” Alice’s eyes rounded.

  Mary smiled to herself, thinking she may have learned a few tricks to enter into her book of manipulation of Westerham.

  Chapter 8

  Westerham wondered why Mary hadn’t previously bothered making the most of herself. Dressed in the yellow gown, her skin shone a pearly white. Her seaweed shawl had at least been draped with style, though the color still appalled him. Fortunately, his mother noticed the clash of colors before they left the house and sent her maid scurrying to fetch her orange silk. “Though, really Westerham, she should have an evening cloak,” she said, eying her protégée fondly. “We shall buy one tomorrow. Fur-lined, I think.”

  The saintly expression on Mary’s face almost made him laugh out loud. The wretch had clearly goaded him into this. “She’ll certainly need a cloak tonight. Do you have one?”

  His mother’s maid scuttled off again. At least Mary had the courtesy to look guilty.

  He handed his mother into the carriage. Mary followed. He would quite enjoy tonight, showing off the lady he planned to marry and bed, though hopefully not in that order. Being chaste didn’t suit him at all, not when he had temptation close by.

  Since no one knew he was betrothed to Mary, he didn’t have to stand around the ballroom floor watching jealously while other men lined up to dance with the newest arrival. Instead he frowned at anyone who couldn’t be trusted to handle her decently. Since he appeared to be the only person who qualified, he stood around trying to appear disinterested while she danced with every eligible gentleman in London.

  Finally, the musicians began to play a waltz. Fortunately, Mary’s last partner had left to find another, and Westerham happened to lurking near enough Mary to be at her side in four steps. “Would you do me the honor?” he said holding out his hand to her.

  She stared regally at him. “I may have promised the waltz to someone else.”

  “Unless you promised this dance to the regent, who is not here tonight, I will not give way. You are my betrothed,” he said, bending close enough to make his one of her curls tickle his cheek. “And don’t you forget it.”

  She blinked innocently at him, although he doubted she had an innocent thought in that clever head of hers. Almost half smiling, she said, “So, you think I chose the right gown, do you?”

  He blew a hiss of air through his teeth, glancing away from her. “I think you chose the wrong man to tease.” A glimmer of a smile answered him. Even his dire tone didn’t intimidate her. For no reason he could explain, his heart clenched.

  Moving her onto the floor, he began the first forward step. She gazed deeply into his eyes, and followed his movements with a drift of her skirts. Clearly, she had been taught well. He lost himself in the music and sheer pleasure of holding her close. Not only that, but he enjoyed the exercise and the cooperation between a man and a woman that made waltzing a shared experience. Although he had the urge to ask, he would not disturb the silent complicity to discover why she flittered around the question of making an agreed-upon date for their marriage. He knew she wanted a season first, and he could wait until Christmas, but no longer than that to possess her.

  However, something about her worried him. He had seen their attraction as mutual. He would give her
a passing touch of his hand, and she would return a secret smile, or glance at him when she heard something amusing and wanted him to share the joke. When he looked at her, he recognized the melting expression in a woman’s eyes that told him that she desired him as much as he desired her. With marriage ahead, he saw no reason not to, at least, kiss her.

  Although he could easily find an excuse to be alone with her, every time he had today, she had disappeared with some excuse or another. Any other woman would somehow rid herself of a chaperone, or pass him a note with directions to a meeting place. Of course, the women he knew were not shy young virgins. He couldn’t, although he desired her, meet her in a private place and make love to her. Living under the supervision of his mother had made kisses difficult, but not impossible.

  The expression in her eyes told him that she knew he wanted her, and yet she hadn’t moved toward him. He realized they had only been in London for three days and a wise man would be patient. A hungry man grabbed what he needed. He could only remain cool for a certain time before he had to find out for himself if she did, indeed, want him for reasons other than him being a suitable husband. Although she could bear his children without desire for their sire, an event common in the highest circles, until he had rediscovered her, a suitable match had been all he looked for. Now he wanted so much more. If her desire for him didn’t match his need for her ... he would be a disappointed man. And he wanted her more every day.

  When the music ceased, he kept her arm on his and moved toward the main doors of the ballroom. “I plan to have a glass of punch. I’m sure you want one as well.”

  She pulled back a little. “What makes you think that?”

  “You’re sweating like a pig.”

  Her jaw dropped. She raised a wrist to check her cheek. “I’m not. I’m as cool as a glass of champagne.”

  “Accompany me into the supper room, please.” He lifted her hand onto his forearm and aimed her in the direction of the door. Her expression turned wary. She took a step back, perhaps recognizing the determination on his face.

  Reaching out with a firm hand on the small of her back, he guided out of the ballroom, past the supper room, and down the hallway. Although he didn’t know his way around this house, he could easily assume all the rooms on this floor were utility rooms, and that the bedrooms would be on upper floor. She walked beside him, glancing at his face from time to time. Apparently his determined expression kept her from speaking. Opening the door to one room after another, he continued until he found a utility room, which would serve his purpose, in the event that no one had had the same idea first. Fortunately, not.

  Finding a lantern on a shelf just inside the doorway, he used the efficiently placed tinder-box to strike a flame. The lantern light flickered on shelves containing a plethora of discarded objects, from old banded trunks, casks without bungs, old serving dishes, and a cast iron pot, to rows and rows of plates in all patterns, possibly the leftovers from sets in the family in days gone by. Despite being filled with relicts, the place looked clean and neat, as if visited at least weekly by a duster. Swinging her into the small area, he carefully took her into his arms. He gazed right into her eyes. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

  She dropped her gaze to his shirtfront. Her eyelashes tickled her pink cheeks. “I’m not sure.”

  “Because I have never had the opportunity to be alone with you since we arrived in London.” Wrapping her in his arms, one around her shoulders and the other across the flat of her back, he said gently, “Do you trust me?”

  She nestled her face into the collar of his jacket. “I suspect I shouldn’t.” One of her hands slowly moved to grip his jacket at the waist.

  “I simply want to hold you close. I haven’t been alone with you since you came to town.” He rested his cheek carefully on the top of her head, careful not to disturb the styling, detecting a faint whiff of rosemary.

  “That’s very kind of you. I hope I’m not burdening you or your mother with my insecurities?”

  He leaned back and stared into her eyes. “I suspect I have been lax not to have noticed that you feel insecure.” For a moment, he tried to concentrate, but her pliable female body affected his thinking ability. “You have been the perfect daughter-in-law. My mother appears to be genuinely fond of you. I, of course, still want you.”

  Her eyes met his. “You mean you want to make love to me?”

  Her frankness changed his yearning into one of stark need, which he would deny unless she proved receptive to his advances. His pride would expect no less of him. “If I did, I wouldn’t attempt to take advantage of you in a storage room,” he said, hoping his tone sounded light rather than strained. He lied, of course. Given permission, he would take her anywhere at any time.

  “Why would you, since you keep a mistress for that sort of thing?” A calculating gaze met his.

  He breathed out, not only examining the greenish grey of her eyes, but also her expression, one of wariness: interesting to see, for he certainly did keep a mistress for ‘that sort of thing.’ Whether his face told her the truth, he had no idea, but this was not a discussion he was willing to have with the woman he planned to marry. “Let’s go back to the question about kissing you in a storage room before we move on to one about my private life.”

  She put up her palms and shoved him back toward the closed door. “You asked if I am comfortable with you here. I’m comfortable up to the moment a kiss ends.”

  He experienced a moment of wariness himself, knowing he would have tamp down his desire with an inexperienced, well-born lady. At least he would be allowed a kiss. After that, who knew? Drawing in a deep breath, he slid one hand to the back of her neck, maintaining eye contact. She glanced away. Her hair tickled his cheek as he tilted down his head, and breathed her faint perfume, a mixture of violets and roses. She turned up her face and his lips gently met hers. He began with a soft touching of his mouth to hers, adjusting his body to fit closely against her. Then he lifted his head and leaned back to focus on her expression.

  She continued glancing expectantly at him. Shadows flitted and flickered in the room. He obliged her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders and lowering his mouth to hers. Her quick gasp of breath stiffened her back, but he had no intention of frightening her. Outside, faint voices of servants asked and answered questions. He kept his lips softly against her while she began to move her hands to the sides of his chest.

  He deepened the kiss when the full length of her body pressed against his. Trying to concentrate on nothing other than her mouth, he noted the softness of lips, and the thunderous beating of her heart. His skin heated. He lifted his mouth, beginning with a testing angle, finding a fit and, finally, a shattering response. Her lips clung to his while her body writhed against his. Wondering if had been insane to start kissing her here, he continued, knowing his male reaction had entirely left his control. However, he still remained breathing deeply enough not to push her back against the shelves and lift her skirts. He had a mistress for this sort of thing.

  Straightening his back, he tried to end the kiss by lifting his mouth, but his face pressed against her cheek while he breathed deeply, trying to regain control of himself. She reached up and touched the skin of his face. He immediately noticed the flush of her cheek, her red, thoroughly kissed lips, and the glittering desire in her eyes. He tightened his shoulders, and moved back, not prepared to go any farther, despite the evidence to the contrary straining at his breeches. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said, grabbing another breath.

  She nodded and gazed at the floor. “I like kissing you. Let’s do it again some other time.” With that, she moved him away from the door.

  He grabbed her arm and she turned to face him. “Not so fast, fancy feet. Let me tidy you up before you go marching back to the ballroom.” Lifting a tendril of hair on her face, he tucked the curl behind her ear.

  She clapped her palms against her cheeks as if to cool them. “Shall I tidy you?” Her gaz
e focused on the front of his breeches.

  “That matter will be rectified best without any help, if you please. Just wait a moment.”

  A moment passed while he reflected on his behavior. He certainly wouldn’t wait until he had wedded her after all.

  Chapter 9

  Mary opened Eden’s letter, shakily taking out a banknote for the enormous sum of five hundred guineas. She had never imagined seeing so much money in her whole life. His accompanying letter said to use the money for her wardrobe. Her eyes prickled with tears. Gratitude filled every space in her heart. Her brother was the kindest man in the whole world. He had given her the same amount as he had given Lucy two years ago.

  During this past weeks with the generous Westerhams, she had been measured countless times, pricked with pins, and turned around in circles in her attempt to share the limelight with this season’s beauties. Now she had the means to pay for her purchases, a great relief to her, for she had no intention of taking Westerham’s money when Eden had already promised he would help with her trousseau. Today he had kept his promise.

  Now the countess needed to do no more than share her well thought-out plans for Mary’s gowns that had begun to make her into a debutante worth knowing. Society had tentatively accepted her. One of the season’s beauties at the ball a few days ago complimented Mary’s taste. With three exquisite new gowns given to her by the countess, and an expert dresser, Mary looked fashionable enough to confuse even herself into thinking she had never looked better in her life. Now she had the money to buy whatever else she needed, starting with an embroidered shawl of her own. Her shoes also needed replenishment.

  However, her success mainly depended on the countess and the fact that Mary appeared to be connected to Westerham in some way. The beauties whom had not yet won a husband in the lottery of life, still had hopes of him. When Mary had finished using him as her marvelous escort, she would throw him back into the pool of eligible bachelors.