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

by Collette Cameron

  The breath left Mary’s lungs. Thoughts of giving in and throwing herself into his arms came and left. She couldn’t possibly marry this beautiful man, despite the fact that she would never love anyone more than she loved him. Staring at his handsome face, she tried to memorize each of his features from his defined eyebrows, his expressive eyes, the blunt end of his nose, and the delicious curve of his lower lip.

  “Shut the bleeding door,” said the only passenger who had never spoken until then. “Go, missy, go.” He glanced Mary with dislike on his face. “We’ll all develop pleurisy if we have to wait much longer for you to make up your mind.”

  An echoing yell come from the coachman’s box. “Go, Missy. He has blocked us in. Until he leaves, we can’t.”

  Westerham waited for three beats, his head tilted slightly. “In the interests of everyone here, you need to come with me.” He raised a pair of questioning eyebrows at Mary, and held out a hand. “You will be safe with me, I promise.”

  Her head began to throb. She had never been anything less than safe with him. Not for a single second had she felt oppressed by him or his argumentative words. He had been born a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, and every kind word or gesture to her struck an arrow into her heart. But she couldn’t evade a problem by running away. Other means needed to be employed.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Ask the driver to throw down my luggage,” she said in a resigned voice. Standing, she inclined her head to the other passengers. “My apologies for holding you up.”

  “Mine as well,” Westerham said with a cheerful glance at all. “Wish me luck.”

  “You’ll need it,” the carpenter said in a sour voice.

  The other passengers remained silently staring. More than likely they were still shocked by a large and impressive man stopping a mail coach to retrieve one single passenger. With her heart pulsing madly, she stepped out into a puddle, wishing the most upsetting day in her life would end. Alice followed, carrying her valise. Westerham’s groom took Mary’s case down from the roof, while the coachman stood with the water streaming from his weatherproof capes, watching with his arms crossed.

  Mary let herself be marched to the back of the phaeton where Westerham settled Alice beside his valet, who could manage no more than a frown. His tiger didn’t turn, since he was holding the reins.

  After Westerham handed Mary up into the driving seat, he took over the reins. As the horses began to move, he said, “We need to decide on our destination. I can take you back to your home, or back to London. The latter is the closest.” He had barely finished speaking when a heavier shower hit. Rain sleeted down.

  Without another word, he turned his horses back to London. Mary sat in misery. She couldn’t marry a man she had deceived and she didn’t want to go back with him. “Perhaps we should halt somewhere until the rain stops.”

  Westerham gave her his inevitable bland faced stare, which meant she had stated the obvious yet again. However, he found an out-of-the-way inn and drew up his horses. “I’ve never stayed here. I have no idea of the food or the service. Are you willing to take a risk?”

  Her mouth lifted on one side. She had never been willing to take a risk, until she did, and the resulting guilt would haunt her forever more. “Anything rather than put us all through more of this rain.”

  His tiger ran to the heads of the horses, and Westerham helped her down. Alice arrived at her side instantly. “You must be chilled to the bone, my lady,” she said in a horrified voice that told Mary she must look like a water rat.

  Mary nodded. “I can’t wait to sit in front of a fire.”

  Her wish was granted when she entered the inn, whose main room held an enormous fireplace, one possibly built in Tudor times. A pot, emitting a delicious aroma of food, swung from a hook.

  “Do you have a private room?” Westerham asked the host, a man who appeared to be utterly surprised to see a customer. “My lady will need to change out of her wet clothes,” he said in the lordly way he used to get whatever he wanted.

  The man seemed to be impressed. He drew back his shoulders and took a deep breath. “She could use one of the bedrooms,” he said, looking hopeful.

  “I’ll pay for the room. In the meantime, I would like a meal prepared. I have three servants who also like to eat.”

  Mary and Alice were ushered out of the room by a woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Thorpe, the wife of the owner. She proved to be chatty and she described her daily menu. At this stage, Mary would eat anything hot. After she and Alice had changed out of their wet clothes, used the amenities, and stared at each other wordlessly for a minute or two, she returned to the main room. The tiger and the groom had disappeared, no doubt taking care of the horses.

  When they returned, the host ushered them into the servants’ room with Alice, leaving Westerham and Mary in the main room. No other customers appeared. Mrs. Thorpe described her menu in glowing terms too good to be true. However, since the meal almost lived up to her words, eating the hot meal became the highlight of Mary’s horrendous day.

  The rain stopped in the late afternoon. “We need to make a decision,” Westerham said untruthfully, for the expression on his face said he had already made the decision. “We can stay here tonight, or we can go on and find a larger place with better facilities. Before you say anything, the inn has two good bedrooms, currently unoccupied. You and Alice could have the one you used previously, and I would have the other. My men would sleep with the cook, who also lives here.”

  The die cast, as it were, Mary nodded and straightened her shoulders. She had been preparing herself for this all afternoon. Since she loved Westerham and no one else would do, she would finally take a gamble. Win or lose, she would cope, for at this stage, she had nothing else to lose.

  Since she already had become acquainted with the bedroom, she followed Alice up the stairs again. Alice unpacked and made up a trundle bed for herself before asking Mary if she wanted to change for dinner.

  “I suspect dinner will be an early supper and I can’t see a need to change again, especially since I only brought two gowns back with me. If everything is done here, we may as well go downstairs again.” Fortunately, the stairs had not been carpeted or Mary would have worn out the weave at this rate, moving back and forth like the pendulum of a hall clock.

  The conversation over the meal wandered from the weather in general to speculating about the weather tomorrow, and then to the countess expecting him back this evening. Westerham asked Mary if she had sent a letter to the Thornton household to prepare them for her arrival. The answer being no, she shook her head, having her thoughts occupied with other less mundane matters.

  Tonight she would seduce Westerham. She had prepared her mind to do so. Nothing would deviate her from this final course. If she deserved nothing else, she ought have peace of mind.

  He could find out first-hand that he had proposed to a fallen woman. Then he would leave her be without a further protest. She didn’t want to tell him how foolish she had been and that a woman with her stupidity didn’t deserve to be married to a perfect specimen of manhood like him. Since he didn’t love her, he would be annoyed but not broken hearted. Her own heart had shattered already, knowing that even if she promised to live in the country forevermore if she really married him, he still wouldn’t want a fallen woman to be the mother of his children.

  The interminable meal and the routine polite conversation lasted for another hour. Night had descended and the candle flames had begun to die down. The host came by a few times to find out if Westerham wanted try a brandy, or if he wanted another bottle of wine. The answer to both was a polite rejection. She hoped he would remain polite to her. Being rejected by a man once again would likely hurt, even though she had prepared herself for Westerham’s disgust of her, by saying in her head how stupid and morally corrupt she was.

  He escorted her up to her room, and left for his. Alice helped her out of her gown and into her old calico nightwear, which was all she ha
d brought, being all she had. If she had put her mind to being a mistress, she would have had elegant lace or silk nightgowns. However, not been blessed with the requisite beauty to be indulged and fought over by moneyed gentlemen, she hadn’t considered such a profession. At best, she could be a schoolteacher, though she suspected that she would go back to being the family drudge.

  After muddling her head for an hour, she soundlessly slipped out of bed. Without a dressing robe, she wrapped herself in her travelling shawl, the green and blue one, and silently opened her door. She scurried across to Westerham’s room, trying to swallow through the dryness of her throat.

  Being as careful as she could to open his door soundlessly, she crept in, her sight already accustomed to the dark. By the light of the fire that had already diminished into red and black ashes, his bedroom looked the same as hers. His clothes, hanging over a chair, had been neatly prepared for travelling the next day. He slept on his side, facing away from the doorway. The lump in her throat expanded into an enormous cotton wad. She wet the insides of her mouth and slowly, slowly lifted his bed coverings.

  Before she could change her mind, she slid into his bed. The heat from his body had warmed the sheets. At first she made sure her body didn’t touch his for she didn’t want awaken him until at least she had tried to seduce him. He continued to sleep soundlessly. Finally, she found the courage to turn on her side. Even then, every move she made took every ounce of her courage. Before she even started, he could turn over, see her, and tell her to take her scrawny body back to her own room.

  However, he didn’t notice her presence. The whole procedure being harder than she had presumed, she almost slid out of the bed and left before he awoke. She had never before tried sneaky behavior, being the sort of person who said what she meant and then left matters to fall however they may. She had never tried to take what she wanted. On that thought, she questioned her motives.

  She certainly wanted him in every way: as a wife, as a lover, as the mother of his children. If she weren’t willing to take a risk, she would lose. More than likely she would lose anyway, but she also might win. He may not know that she wasn’t a virgin. She didn’t know how men could tell, for her first experience had been nothing but painful, but if she’d had a seal, none had been broken.

  As she rested her face on the skin of his back, she realized he slept naked. She hadn’t seen a hint of his valise, and could only presume he chased after her, assuming she would return with him that night.

  Since he hadn’t noticed she had crept into his bed, she doubted he would notice if she put her arm around him. She would certainly have to awaken him at some point. Lying so close to him, she discovered that he was warm despite his state of undress. Her hand slid under his arm and onto his hard chest.

  A hand suddenly clamped her fingers. A rough sleepy voice said, “Is that you, Mrs. Cunningham?”

  She stiffened with shock. “Who is Mrs. Cunningham?”

  “No idea. But I also don’t know who you are.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. If you are Lady Mary, I suggest you go back to your own room.”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she snuggled her head into his broad back, leaving her hand on his bare abdomen.

  His chest expanded with a sigh. “I see you insist on staying here. In that case, go to sleep, and we’ll worry about this in the morning.” He patted her hands like a kindly uncle.

  “Face me,” she said onto his hot skin.

  “You will regret this in the morning.” Very slowly, he rolled over. He collected her against his body by scooping one hand under her, and settling the other lightly across her back.

  She stared at him in the dark, visually tracing his grey outline with the help of the moonlight. His eyes remained closed with his soft lashes feathering his cheeks. The only sign that he noticed her was expressed by the short, sharp movements of his chest, indicating he had a limited control of his breathing. Clearly, he was determined to remain a gentleman. At any other times, she thought she might have appreciated this. Tonight she wanted him to see who she really was.

  She combed her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, noting the crisp thickness, so unlike her delicate growth. While she still had the courage, she pressed her lips to his. His mouth softened and his chin lifted to rearrange the angle, but his kiss remained undemanding. He continued stroking the skin of her back in a gently soothing manner, as if she were a child who needed pacifying to calm down. She hoped he really didn’t feel that way about her, for every moment she was with him she wanted to be his equal in every sense.

  She wanted to be resilient and courteous and thoughtful, like him. She didn’t want to press her opinions on others, and she didn’t want to turn away anyone who needed her. Moisture clogged her eyelashes, for she knew she was not only a fool, she was unworthy of him in too many ways to count. At that moment, she almost gave up her idea of seducing him, but she couldn’t leave matters where they stood. He would still presume she was a shy young virgin until her wedding night proved otherwise.

  Until last night, she had assumed she could only keep prolonging the wedding date until he grew impatient with her and decided since no banns had been announced, he could leave the pretence of her being his mother’s protégée as being the whole truth of her stay with them.

  Tonight, she would give him a chance to back out of their betrothal without a scrap of guilt.

  If she didn’t give him that chance, she would never be good enough for him.

  Overwhelmed with love, suddenly she had ceased testing him.

  She began loving him as he deserved to be loved, with her whole heart and soul.

  Chapter 14

  Using the sparse light of the moon, Westerham gazed at the outlines of Mary’s beautiful face. In the few weeks he had lived with her, he had discovered an endearing pest he would love forevermore.

  Unfortunately, he had her nestled up beside him. No man in his right mind would share his bed with a woman he desired. If she kept tempting him, he would sooner or later succumb. Closing his eyes momentarily, he made himself breathe through the effect of her close proximity. His cock had given up the fight long ago. He clamped his hand on himself, trying to suppress his baser urges. He would marry her in less than a month. A special license sat on the desk in his study. If he remained determined to take a physical relationship with her no further, the experience of sleeping with him would do her little harm, even though the thought of her in bed beside him would make restless nights routine for him until the wedding.

  Since she had not yet agreed to the date, the week before Christmas had been lodged in his mind. He had all the arrangements in his head. If he made love with her tonight, he would be able to proceed with ordering the flowers he would need to decorate the hallway in his house, and to arrange for close family and friends to be present as witness to him plighting his troth. Knowing Mary as well as he now did, he presumed she would prefer a quiet wedding. Since he didn’t want a large and mainly ostentatious plighting of troths, he would have his second cousin, a vicar, perform the ceremony.

  Although still unsure of his ground, he decided that if she stayed with him tonight, she would be consenting to an early wedding. Concentrating on her outlines in the dark room, a close scrutiny revealed that her eyelashes rested on her cheeks, and her soft mouth had relaxed.

  Before he had met her, the everlasting nights had been his worst times. He had spent too many long sleepless nights unable to keep out memories of his bright and charming brother and his patient father. He missed each with an unceasing gnawing ache. His dreams would become nightmares with his father ignoring him and his brother wanting no further contact with him. In life, each had been his mainstays, but in death, each wanted no part of him. He would awake in the morning agonizing over what he could have done to keep them alive, while knowing neither death had been either his fault or his responsibility.

  He knew he had to move on, but for years his l
ife had remained the same, a constant round of balls, parties, routs, card games, card games, and more card games, interrupted by various visits to gambling dens or his mistress.

  Then, one sullen winter’s day, he had met Mary: Mary of the sodden skirt, Mary of the ripped shawl, Mary of the unstylish gowns, Mary the confidante of his mother, the staunch supporter of his household staff, and Mary the holder of his heart.

  She said she needed him. She said she wanted marriage and children. She said she didn’t care about a title or wealth. She wanted no more than a family life, she said, which was exactly what he had lost. When she had arrived in his household, she had brought him a new life, one of balls, shopping, talking, laughing, noticing people all around him, and being part of the world for the first time in years.

  While he had been showing her the benefits of being his well-behaved hideaway wife, she showed him her humor, her insights, and her instinctive generosity. He doubted she knew the effect she had on all around her. Every grieving household needed a Mary, but he’d been the lucky one. He had found her.

  “Time for you to leave,” he said into her ear, wishing he didn’t have to send her back to her room. Since he had kissed her, he had thought of nothing else but spending the night with her. The wedding couldn’t come soon enough.

  Her soft hands clasped onto him, one on his upper arm, the other on his wrist. “I’m not leaving. I can’t.” Her heart thundered against his aching chest. “Please, let me stay with you tonight.”

  “We’ll have time enough with each other once we have wed.” The moonlight picked out pale threads in her hair. He fought his urge to rest his cheek on her head.

  She remained silent, her heart beating against his chest. “I’ll go if I must, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to be alone with you. I have thought about sharing your bed since you kissed me.” She wound her arms around his neck. Her body pressed more closely to his. “An arrow shoots through my heart every time you place my shawl around my shoulders, or open a door for me, or stand aside to let me go first.”