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

by Collette Cameron

  “Yes,” she said, a soft smile about her mouth. “It is entirely possible. But with such roguish warnings of illicit kisses, I daresay it would be foolish of me to accompany you on a search for any treasures!”

  Yet she did not sound frightened, more challenging.

  He smiled at her. “Yet, I suspect you will help me.”

  She waited a few beats before answering, “Perhaps. We would have to conduct another search of your home carefully reading the poem.”

  “Ah, yes…will you take your Miss Herriot with you?”

  Lady Verity’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I am four and twenty, my lord, I do not need to be chaperoned. I am a woman of independence and good sense.”

  His heart tripped. Dear God, he hoped she was not too sensible. “I thank you!” he said with a flourish and a quick bow.

  She tapped her chin with a finger. “Of course, for a twenty percent assistance fee.”

  He mockingly stumbled as if distressingly alarmed. “La, twenty percent! Ten percent, I say!”

  “Yet I believe seventeen percent to be most reasonable,” she countered with an elegant shrug of her shoulder. “I shall not move from that figure.”

  He cast her an amused glance. “Fifteen percent!”

  “I accept,” she murmured, pushing out her hand as if to suggest they shook on it.

  Instead, he lowered his head and pressed a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth. Lady Verity gasped, her breath fanning warm against his lips, but did not pull away from him.

  He reached up to touch her cheek, a feather-light caress. “And our deal is sealed, Lady Verity.”

  “You are a rogue.”

  Rupert winked. “Only a little bit, I promise.”

  She stepped away from him with a light laugh. Was she nervous or excited? He truly couldn’t tell. But he sensed the lady was about to dismiss him, and that he did not want, not yet. “The day is glorious. Will you take a turn with me outside?”

  She glanced through the windows to the rolling lawns. “Only for a few minutes.”

  A heady relief settled in his gut, and after collecting her shawl and bonnet, they were soon striding across a well-manicured lawn through a fenced-in garden with a fairly barren vegetable plot in the distance.

  “I love the outdoors,” she said suddenly. “There is a chill, gray gloom over the lands and I love it. I think my favourite time might be winter.”

  A quick glance revealed her face lifted to the sky, a study of delight.

  “Why do you enjoy winter?”

  “I think it’s the snow. I still recall playing in it for hours with my father as a child. It could also be the joy of Christmas. It is a pity not all winters have snow which settles.” She cast him a quick glance from beneath look lashes. “Which season do you enjoy?”

  “Spring.”

  “My second favourite season,” she said with a soft smile.

  “There is just something inexplicable about watching the trees and flowers bloom, little squirrels emerging from their drays. I love their mischief and the flash of their bright red fur. It feels almost like a rebirth, something we are privileged to be a part of.”

  “The explosion of colour and airiness after the bleakness of winter mornings.”

  Rupert smiled. “Yes, to witness the change always leave me in awe.”

  “And besides taking long walks and treasure hunting, what do you enjoy?”

  There was such genuine curiosity in her gaze. The awareness sent his pulse running wild, and he almost laughed at his reaction.

  “I like to ride, and in the quiet moments I like to paint. Only I am terrible at it. Only last week, I tried to paint the manor’s gardens, and Farrant guessed my efforts to be a flock of geese fighting for food on the lake.”

  She giggled, the sound so warm and infectious. A few minutes out walking soon turned into an hour, then a next hour, walking and talking. Rupert found it fascinating but could not later recount precisely what they had discussed. It was one of the best spent days to Rupert’s mind, and by the time he bid her good day and departed, there had been a wide smile on her lips and tender longing in her beautiful eyes. He had stayed much longer than was correct for the normal courtesy visit.

  And that was all he needed for now.

  Chapter 5

  Rupert found himself nervous as Farrant announced Lady Verity’s arrival at exactly half-past ten. Rupert tugged at his cravat for the fifth time, before placing his hands behind his back in a loose clasp and what he hoped showed a collected composure. While he had declared to the lady his intention to woo her, it would not do to appear too foolishly besotted before he understood her true nature. Or what he continually felt.

  “Lady Verity, my lord, you did inform me she was expected, sir,” the butler declared in stentorious tones upon entering the large drawing room.

  Lady Verity sauntered inside the room, looking delightfully rosy and bright-eyed.

  “Yes, of course, Lady Verity, thank you for honouring me with your presence and being so prompt to assist me in resolving my enigma. Farrant, could you arrange tea, please.” He bowed over her hand and held it far longer than necessary.

  “Yes, of course, my lord,” his butler said bowing himself out and closing the door behind him.

  “Welcome to Ellesmere Manor, Lady Verity, I gather you know the house quite well?”

  He found that he still had hold of her hand and was very reluctant to let it go. Rupert let his thumb stroke over her soft skin and suppressed a thought of stroking other areas of her body—the hollow at her throat down to her décolletage or the dainty shape of her well-turned ankle up to supple thighs.

  He was almost irritated by how easily his thoughts turned carnal around her. It felt foreign to his nature. Such reactions didn’t come so readily before with any other woman. Fortunately, for him, her formal morning gown was all-covering and obviously designed to suppress any attempts on his part at her seduction. Its stern sage green, buttoned high, with only a thin trim of lace at neck and wrists, while serviceable and modest in the extreme, presented a very pretty picture to him. Rupert was flattered she had not pulled her hand away from his but peered up at him, like a stunned rabbit caught in the light of lampers.

  “I was very fond of your great-uncle Frederick. I visited often and sometimes would read to him. He was sorely missed by everyone. He was a very charming old gentleman, who had a hoard of humorous stories,” she finally stated.

  “Hoards are what I am hoping for. Did anything occur to you about the sonnet’s puzzle overnight? I cannot think where to look next.”

  “I hope you don’t mind but I talked over the sonnet with Miss Herriot, who is the soul of discretion and she thought it might relate to a shield of some kind. It was the mordant hounds that triggered that idea. She said that heraldic black dogs were called talbots.”

  Rupert was aware they were just standing there in the centre of his drawing room, but he did not want to break the intimacy of how closely they stood, or the curious hunger in the gaze peering up at him. “I agree that she was the soul of discretion, leaving us alone so tactfully yesterday. It was a great effort on my part not to sweep you into my arms and kiss you senseless,” he teased, bestowing a chaste kiss upon the back of her hand, while his eyes stated far too clearly that he wanted far more.

  The faint pink feathering across her cheeks charmed him.

  “You must not flirt with me, my lord, or I will forget to tell you what Mary said…”

  A knock on the door, announcing Farrant’s return, interrupted them and she sharply pulled her hand from his. He was disappointed at its loss but realised it would be indiscreet to be found that way by his servant.

  “Enter,” he called and stepped away from Lady Verity.

  Farrant entered, holding the door open for a young maid bearing a laden tea tray, “Tea, my lord,” he announced, then he cleared his throat, “I apologize, my lord, but I spotted a carriage sweeping up the main drive.”

  Rupert fr
owned. “I’m not expecting any other visitors, Farrant. Do you know who it may be?”

  Farrant scowled. “I fear it is Mr. Maurice, sir. I recognised his flashy carriage and dreadful horses. Shall I refuse him? He did not bother to come to the funeral, excused himself saying he was indisposed…”

  A jolt of surprise went through Rupert. “Cousin Maurice? What does that little weasel want, I wonder? No, don’t try to answer that question, I suppose I had better do the pretty and find out. He is family, I suppose. You had better let him come in, although I could do without his malodorous person.”

  Farrant frowned. “The late baron felt much the same, but towards the end, he refused to receive him pleading his ill health. If I may say, my late lord called him a vulture rather than a weasel, my lord.”

  A very apt description for his cousin who had proven his selfish and greedy nature years ago. “Both seem appropriate, but if he has descended on us, we will suffer his presence. I believe you have met my cousin Maurice, Lady Verity?”

  “I have regrettably had the honour of being introduced to him,” she whispered back. “He seemed a man very concerned with his vanity.”

  Rupert put his hand in front of his mouth to cover a laugh as Farrant announced a most unwelcome visitor. His cousin Maurice was ostensibly his heir or next in line to the title. He was five years older than Rupert, and he had been the bane of his childhood, a nasty sly bully who had tormented the young Rupert. At least he had bullied him until Rupert had outpaced his growth and strength…

  The figure that entered did slightly resemble a vulture and a weasel combined, but despite that, the family resemblance remained, Rupert thought. Maurice’s visage looked like a cruel caricature of his own image. The comparison was not flattering; Rupert knew he himself was a picture of health, Maurice was sallow, and his skin stretched gauntly on his face, giving a pinched effect. He admitted Maurice had the family nose, but it was thinner and had a pronounced hook to the end, rather like a raptor’s beak. Cousin Maurice had eyes the same colour as him, but Maurice’s were smaller, deeper set and had a cold fire within them.

  Maurice Rogers made a perfunctory bow and took in the room, finally noticing they were not alone. Verity had walked over to the window and stood with her back to the room.

  “Ah, I appeared to have interrupted you, Rupert. I hoped the dignity of your title would have made some dent in your raking. But to bring your ladybird down to Ellesmere to foist on the servants here is beyond acceptable. How dare you bring scandal to the family name …” Maurice snidely said.

  Rupert started to say something finding his hands bunched into fists, as the desire to give the little snot a good drubbing rose fast within him. However, before he managed to get out a word, Lady Verity stepped in.

  “Mr. Rogers, I demand an apology immediately for that slander. I call on my neighbour to welcome him to the area and discuss some business only to be defamed by a slight acquaintance who appears to be a serious bore,” she said coldly, looking down her very pretty nose at the newcomer.

  “Lady Verity? I am sorry I did not expect to find a decent, genteel lady, such as you alone with Rupert. It is not at all respectable for you to be alone with a man of his reputation,” Maurice declared.

  Outrage flashed in her eyes. “That is not an apology, how dare you suggest that I have behaved incorrectly? Nor is it your business to censor my behaviour, I am of age, and you were never my guardian or parent,” she said, pointing a neat finger at Maurice’s chest and poking it at him, forcing him to step back to the door.

  Rupert admired her fierceness. She was unique and remarkably invigorating.

  “You owe the lady an apology, Maurice, and it had better be damn good. Or I will beat you around the garden again … until you are just a bloody pulp,” Rupert said icily.

  Maurice visibly blanched, Rupert could see that he was quivering like a blancmanger but felt no pity for him. How dare the little vermin enter his home and then start throwing slurs at Lady Verity?

  “I, am … I am most humbly sorry. I would … never suggest that … you, Lady Verity were anything but the most perfect lady… Please accept my … most abject apologies,” the panicking Maurice declared, looking decidedly flushed.

  “Is that sufficient, my lady? This maw-worm had no justification for forcing his filthy calumnies on you. I suppose he will do for sparring practice. If he were any kind of gentleman, I would challenge him for sullying your honour, but as it is only my obnoxious cousin Maurice, I will happily plant him a facer or two to express my displeasure,” he said, turning towards Verity, who was determinedly attempting not to look amused. Rupert was proud that she sternly stared Maurice down.

  “It was not much of an apology, but I suppose it will do…” she said.

  Rupert admired how much poise she maintained in the awkward situation.

  “Pity, I would enjoy a little exercise. I think under the circumstances that you should go now, Maurice,” Rupert insisted.

  “But, I had business to discuss, you can’t just throw me out like that…” Maurice snapped, apparently shocked at how quickly his visit had gone to the blazes in a hand-basket.

  “I believe I can, Maurice, you see, Ellesmere is my home. Farrant…”

  The door opened quickly, suggesting that his butler had been listening at the door.

  “Yes, my lord? How can I be of assistance?”

  “Mr. Rogers is leaving. Would you please show him out immediately?”

  Maurice was hurried out, his head down but with a vicious look in his eyes.

  Rupert turned to her. “I am sorry about that, Lady Verity.”

  “His conduct was not your fault, my lord. I do wonder what he wanted,” she said.

  Rupert raked his fingers through his hair, recalling that mean look in his cousin’s eyes. “Nothing good, as it was Maurice, I am sure. Are you all right, he did not distress you?”

  There were angry voices and the sound of the front door being slammed.

  Her lips curved. “I am not upset. I was struggling not to laugh because he looked so shocked to be brought to task. I do not think Mr. Maurice Rogers is a nice man, and his eyes were looking daggers at you. I should watch your back, my lord.”

  “Oh, Maurice painted a target on it when I was just a boy. He was a nasty bully until I outgrew him. I’m not sure what he can do to me now, but I will deal with it…”

  “The man was disgustingly offensive. I am sorry but after that little scene, if he crosses my path in future, I will give him the cut direct and turn my back on him. I am sorry as I know he is your family, but I will see that he is not received by my family and ask them to spread the word that he is persona non grata. However, you should not be using sporting cant in front of me.”

  “My sincere apologies for my improper words in the heat of the moment, I stand rebuked,” Rupert bowed to her looking contrite, he flashed her his best puppy dog eyes, which she giggled at.

  “Stop trying to turn me up sweet, my lord,” she said but there was no sting in her words.

  “I would like to convince you that my suit is serious, but regrettably, I could do with finding Frederick’s treasure first to shower you with jewels and put the estate in good order. Returning to the unfortunate subject of Maurice, I would be happy to cut him too, but for now, he is my heir. I can’t really stop him inheriting unless I have heirs of my own. It would create a scandal. I am trying to be respectable,” he said ruefully. “Now, where were we before we so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes, we were going to have tea!”

  Rupert reached over and placed a hand on the side of the teapot. “And the tea is cold and stewed. Farrant?”

  “Yes, my lord,” his butler declared entering.

  “Did you see Maurice off the premises?”

  “Of course, sir. He went muttering and threatening about how your lordship could not treat him this way.”

  “Did he say anything of any note? He never got to explain his reason for calling. His first words to me were to
utter an insult to Lady Verity. I suppose you heard?”

  Farrant tried to look shocked at this assertion but failed miserably. “Yes, my lord, you could not have done anything else, he went beyond the pale. I could not repeat word for word what Mr. Maurice said on his way out. There were a number of terms he used to describe you that are not fit for a lady’s ears.” Farrant paused.

  “Quite, Farrant. But did he explain why he called, we are not exactly friends?”

  “He said something about buying up your debts and making an offer for the estate, my lord. I am sorry, sir.”

  “Yes, that is the sort of thing Maurice would do. Looks like we need to find that treasure quickly. The tea is cold; could we have a fresh pot, please? Then Lady Verity and I will put our heads together to try and unravel this Gordian knot of a puzzle.”

  Fresh tea was fetched, and they sat while Verity poured. They consumed pastries with some fresh baked bread and jam while sitting opposite of each other, with the tea table acting as chaperone between them. Rupert watched her mouth as she delicately licked the crumbs off her mouth, wishing it had been his mouth, instead of his cook’s excellent confections. As such thoughts would lead to others that would quickly disarray his tailoring, he tried to get back to the subject of treasure hunting.

  “Lady Verity, you were telling me about Miss Herriot’s ideas on talbots?”

  “Yes, Mary thought the fabulous beast part might be a dragon, griffin, cockatrice, or something heraldic of that type. She recalled seeing a shield somewhere, some years back with a griffin at the top over three black dogs. It is not your family crest, but she wondered if it might be something she saw in the old chapel…”

  “I don’t recall seeing it, but it is some years since I last visited the old chapel, which is part of the old abbey ruins. The chapel is the only building still really standing because my great-great-grandfather had it repaired and used it for some years. Great-uncle Frederick did not use it much because it is damp, draughty and made his bones ache. He would take the carriage to the new parish church, which is more comfortable rather than walk over a mile to the abbey ruins.” He glanced through the windows, where the garden was being lashed by a deluge of sleeting rain.