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

by Collette Cameron

  He paused, understanding the antagonizing note in her voice. Meeting her green gaze with steady focus, he replied, “No, madam. I am not nor have I ever been.”

  “Then what exactly can you offer these men?”

  Erik smiled, appreciating her skepticism and her demand for explanation. She was not one to simply accept what anyone told her. She’d need to experience something personally before agreeing it was possible. This was likely the only reason she’d agreed to allow him to demonstrate his practice.

  He lowered his voice. “We’ve previously established that far too many men do not know how to properly make love to a woman. I share the knowledge and techniques I developed in my time as lover to many varied women. But more important than that…I assist them in understanding how to cross that important bridge from gentleman husband to thoughtful, passionate life partner. It often requires a complete overhaul of their trained way of thinking and a destruction of the false assumptions that perpetrated about the fair sex. These men come to me because they want to become a lover and partner to their mates. I help them to see their wife as a woman first with all of the needs—base and exalted—a woman possesses. The seduction and pleasuring come rather easily after that.”

  Pendragon’s gaze was narrow and assessing as she looked back at him. The tension in her jaw was barely discernable, but he saw it. She almost appeared…angry. Interesting.

  “You are obviously very pleased with yourself,” she noted.

  “I have witnessed great love stories unfold before my eyes. It is an honor to be a part of it.”

  “That is a load of bullshit.”

  Erik laughed. Her blunt way of talking caught him off guard on occasion. He enjoyed it. “I can understand why you’d think so. But I assure you, I mean every word.”

  The woman eyed him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip before saying with disparagement in her tone, “You are a sentimentalist.”

  Was he? Probably.

  He shrugged. “I’m also logical, analytical, and sometimes a bit overly focused. Ultimately, I trust in what my experiences have revealed to me.”

  “And what is that?”

  “People need love.” When she rolled her eyes, he smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, madam. The pleasures of the flesh are also absolutely necessary, but when sexual satisfaction combines with true emotion within a devoted partnership, something wonderful is created.”

  “A delusion?”

  Erik caught her gaze and held it. “I promise you. It is very real.”

  The lady set her unfinished stout on the table and stood. Erik rose as well, allowing himself a quick perusal of her stunning figure.

  “While I appreciate your candid explanation, Mr. Maxwell,” she began as she slid her gloves on, smoothing the satin from her fingertips to her elbows, “it reveals a significant flaw in your planned demonstration.”

  He lifted a brow. “Does it?”

  Her red lips widened in a smile that was more genuine than most he’d received from her. “We are not married. And I am not a high-society gentlewoman.”

  Erik watched with deep appreciation as she turned and sauntered to the door where the manager was waiting with her fur-lined coat. She stepped out into a light swirl of winter snow.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, a small package arrived at Pendragon’s. The card addressed it to Madam Pendragon and also included an invitation to the theater for the following evening. It was signed simply, E.M.

  Callista took the wrapped box up to her private suite to open. Inside she found a stunning pair of red elbow-length gloves made of a leather so fine and supple it felt like butter against her skin when she slid her fingers into place and smoothed the gloves up her arms.

  Recalling the look in Maxwell’s eyes when she’d done the same before leaving the oyster bar the day before, her core tightened with an intense jolt of desire.

  The man had proven to be unexpected. For the most part, he possessed an air of thoughtful patience and self-assured restraint. She’d already ascertained that not much flustered the man. He was not one to waver under criticism nor did he appear particularly vulnerable to female manipulation. His demeanor was almost studious in nature.

  Yet…he’d shown her more than once that a wickedness resided beneath his stoic façade. There was heat in his eyes when he looked at her. And a gleam that suggested the sort of knowledge that came only from extensive experience.

  It made her want to indulge in a little of that experience herself.

  She wouldn’t, of course. And not just because he declared his intention to seduce her as a means of demonstrating his methods. If she wanted a man, she didn’t need him to seduce her. She simply welcomed him to her bed. It had always been that way.

  And wasn’t that exactly why she’d been without a lover in far too long?

  The act had grown stale and uninteresting. The truth was, even though she operated the most infamous and exclusive brothel in London, she rarely thought of sex in a personal context. Her last bed partner had been a few years ago now and she hadn’t felt like she’d been missing anything. There was nothing new to explore. One man was much like another.

  Erik Maxwell was surely no different.

  Her unexpected sexual awareness of the man might simply have been triggered by the fact that she couldn’t fully read him. She knew men. She knew them well. Knowing what men needed before they knew themselves had been the focus of her life for more than two decades. Maxwell was the first in a long time whose motivations and desires still remained unclear to her after two encounters.

  The anomaly was the only reason she so readily accepted his invitation. Besides, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to declare his efforts at seduction futile if she never allowed him opportunities to employ his supposed skills.

  Typically, she’d never leave her place on an evening they were open for business. However, with the Christmas holiday arriving in only a few days, business had slowed tremendously as gentlemen spent more time than usual with family and at intimate parties. It was exactly why one of her biggest events of the year occurred between Boxing Day and the New Year. Free of familial obligations, her clientele always proved ready for more risqué revelry.

  The reply she sent to Maxwell’s invitation indicated that she would meet him at the theater. She dressed in a gown of black silk beneath an overlay of red lace netting embroidered with a snaking pattern around the hem and over her bodice. Accessorized with her favorite strand of black pearls, her new red leather gloves, and a black velvet cloak, she was finally satisfied with the drama in her appearance.

  The signature colors and eye-catching, seductive style was a crucial aspect of the infamy that surrounded her. Madam Pendragon was a character who’d developed out of a need for Callista to stand out at a time when she’d been just another pretty prostitute. Her ambitions had always reached far beyond whatever current status she found herself in, but at one point, she came to the realization that men wanted more than a pretty face and a good fuck. They craved fantasy and the kind of drama they could enjoy and then walk away from.

  Madam Pendragon provided that and so much more.

  Callista’s dedication to the persona had grown until she’d lost sight of any delineation between herself and the madam. They had long ago become one and the same. Not even her brother—the only person who’d known her as she’d been before all the production she surrounded herself with—saw much of Callista anymore.

  It was fine.

  Callista Hale had been a rookery brat, raised in poverty and violence. She’d scrounged and clawed and bit to escape the muck and soot of her origins. Though that angry, desperate girl would always be a part of her, there was no reason for anyone to ever become acquainted with her.

  The theater in Covent Garden was teeming with people dressed in their finest.

  Callista swept past them all, not bothering to glance toward any of the shocked or curious faces of people who wondered how she could have the audacity t
o show her face amongst such noble citizens. Pshaw! Those who knew better—the gentlemen who frequented her wicked establishment—kept their stern faces carefully averted, trying desperately to avoid her notice lest she indicate by word or deed their association with her in front of their precious wives.

  Idiots!

  Each and every one of them knew her policies on discretion and privacy. She made sure they followed her rules strictly or they risked being banned from her place or worse. Only in their self-guilt would they think she’d even consider revealing their dirty little secrets.

  Idiots. Every one of them.

  “Madam.”

  Her inner tirade was brought to an abrupt halt as Mr. Maxwell stepped in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere.

  She was rarely caught off guard and his sudden appearance caused her to stiffen before she recalled the grand audience around them. With a slow, sensual smile, she continued forward to offer her hand to her escort for the evening.

  “Mr. Maxwell. A pleasure, I’m sure.” He took her offered fingers and bowed his head over them. When he straightened, a subtle smile turned up the corner of his mouth and his pale gray eyes stared intently into hers. He wouldn’t have missed the fact that she was wearing his gift, yet he chose not to comment on it.

  “You are exceptionally lovely this evening.”

  Callista accepted the compliment with a tilt of her head before she slid her attention down the length of his masculine form. She’d thought him handsome before, but in his black evening wear and stark white cravat, he looked far more distinguished and more delectable than any of the lords surrounding them. “No spectacles?”

  If he was put off by her comment, he didn’t show it as he gave a half shrug. “I prefer opera glasses when at the theater.” Gesturing to the side, he asked, “The show will start shortly. Shall we take our seats?”

  When people attended the theater, it was to observe the other attendees as much as it was to watch the performers on stage, which meant the seats were rarely occupied by the start of the show as people continued to mingle in the lobby well into the evening.

  It seemed Mr. Maxwell did not intend to follow that trend.

  “If you wish,” she replied lightly, then had to hold her breath as he smoothly stepped to her side. After tucking her hand into the bend of his elbow, he maintained a respectable distance as he led her through the crowded room. His proper decorum was disconcerting. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man who played the role of escort. If she went anywhere with a member of the opposite sex, she was leading the way.

  His stride remained unhurried as he brought her first to the cloak room to check her outer garment before passing right by the refreshment counter to take her up the stairs to the upper seating level. When he stopped outside the drawn curtains of a private box, Callista glanced at him curiously.

  He smiled at her questioning look and swept the curtain aside to allow her to pass onto the darkened balcony. “After you.”

  “How extravagant,” she noted.

  “I’ve a few friends in high places.”

  Though the box held seats for up to six people, it appeared it had been reserved for just the two of them. A table had been set up with chilled champagne along with a bottle of brandy.

  As Maxwell stepped up behind her, the curtain leading to the hall fell closed. Standing back from the balcony railing as she was, she couldn’t see the floor seating at all and the stage curtains were still closed. All she could hear were the sounds of the orchestra playing softly and subtle movement of her skirts as she turned to face the man behind her.

  “I think I like your friends,” she whispered.

  His answering laugh was rich and warm. A man’s laugh shouldn’t be so physically affecting. Shaking off her reaction, she stepped forward to take one of the seats.

  “A drink, madam?”

  “Champagne.” She was in the mood for something light and sparkly to balance the velvet darkness surrounding them. Just because she’d decided to allow him the opportunity to seduce her didn’t mean she intended to make it easy for him.

  After handing her a crystal flute and taking one for himself, he took the seat beside her.

  “Thank you for joining me this evening.”

  Callista glanced aside at him. Keeping her expression neutral, she noted the way his black and silver hair swept back from his broad forehead in soft waves. Without his glasses, the predatorial gleam of his gaze was poignant and sharp beneath thick brows, even in the darkened theater. But his mouth was relaxed and soft. The upper lip was modestly arched while the lower was full and lush. It was a deliciously kissable mouth.

  He waited patiently for her to finish her perusal, without fidgeting or glancing away. He was comfortable being under direct observation, which usually indicated a person who was confident they had nothing to hide or someone who was so accustomed to deception they had no fear of detection.

  Which was he?

  “I imagine your business takes a great deal of your time,” he added.

  “It does,” she finally replied as she sipped her drink. Though in truth, the demand on her time was far less than it had been even five years ago. Pendragon’s Pleasure House was well staffed and had reached a point when it could essentially run itself.

  “Is it difficult for you to get away?” He gestured toward the stage. “For diversions such as this, I mean.”

  She arched a brow. “Not particularly. I simply prefer to spend my time doing what I enjoy. I enjoy business, Mr. Maxwell. I enjoy success and profit and the wealth and influence that have come with it.”

  He smiled then. Lowering his chin, he asked earnestly, “And what about life outside of Pendragon’s?”

  Callista scoffed. “There is no life outside of Pendragon’s. It is me and I am it.” She looked away from him to casually scan the slowly filling theater below. Already she spotted several of her clients, some of them escorting their wives, others ensconced in the shadows with their mistress. Without turning her head back to the man beside her, she asked, “Why all the questions? What will you do with my secrets once you’ve dug them all up?”

  “Nothing.” His voice was velvety and dark. The accent she’d become accustomed to thickened with his whisper. “Secrets are for keeping, madam.”

  She slid him a glance from the corners of her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Well, I have none. Anyone who wants to know about me will have little trouble gathering the facts of my life. There have been many who have sought to discredit me over the years. Rivals who have tried to sink my ambitious rise. They have all failed. I hide nothing, so there is nothing to discover.”

  He shook his head. “That is blatantly untrue.”

  Callista narrowed her gaze.

  Leaning forward, he noted smoothly, “What of the secrets in your soul? The private longings of your heart?”

  Her laugh was harsh and cold. “My heart? That offensive thing? Discarded long ago. And if I’ve a soul, it’s far too blackened to possess any tender morsels for you to feast upon.”

  The sound he made was a low hum and his eyes sparked with silent intention as he leaned back again and raised his glass for a long sip of champagne.

  She could see he didn’t believe her—that he fully expected to uncover some long-buried yearning she’d yet to fulfill. Then he’d likely press upon that weakness, mold it and reshape it to suit his purpose, until she believed he was the only one capable of filling whatever void he believed to be inside her.

  The amount of arrogance men managed to cultivate had long ago ceased to astound her. Yet she found herself disappointed to witness it yet again in this man. Had she actually been hoping he might be different? Smarter. More experienced. Less self-obsessed. Truly interested.

  As the lights lowered around them and the curtains drew open upon the stage, Callista shifted her full attention to the scene unfolding before her, intentionally and completely ignoring the man beside her.

  The performance was a well-known Ita
lian opera she’d seen many times before. It was a farcical comedy about bedroom escapades and secret lovers and she’d always enjoyed the way it depicted sexual congress as a lighthearted, pleasurable diversion. She never could abide the operas about vestal virgins and perceived betrayals that invariably ended in someone’s untimely death.

  She actually loved the opera. It provided one of the rare instances in her life that allowed for true escapism. To her surprise and appreciation, Maxwell was content to allow her to enjoy the performance without overwhelming her with unwanted small talk or attempts at flirtation or other such annoying interruptions. Most men, if they got an object of their desire to join them in a private theater box enshrouded in darkness, would have made definite attempts at furthering their agenda. But Maxwell hadn’t attempted any sly caresses. Nor had he leaned close to whisper in her ear at any point during the performance.

  As the curtains fell on the final scene and the lights came up, Callista rose to her feet to applaud the show. The man beside her stood as well. His shoulder briefly brushed hers, but when she turned to look up at him, his face was in profile as he directed his focus to the stage, where the performers were taking their bows.

  After a moment, he turned to meet her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes unsettled her.

  “Shall we make our way down?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to wait until the crowd has dispersed?”

  “There’s no need to wait.”

  There was just a brief pause, then he gave a nod as he gestured for her to precede him from the box. Once past the heavy curtain, he offered his arm once again. She accepted his escort despite the odd tension that had settled in her being. Most frustratingly, she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of her discomfort.

  Becoming lost in her thoughts, as she often did after a particularly transporting performance, it took a bit to sense the subtle shift in the energy of the man beside her. Glancing up at him, she could not detect anything overt in his manner. Still, she sensed an increased alertness in his being. A sharper focus in his gaze as he looked out over the flow of theatergoers making their way from their seats.