Lady Catherin'es Scandalous Christmas Read online

  Lady Catherine’s

  Scandalous Christmas

  A Short Christmas Story

  MAGGI ANDERSEN

  Copyright © 2014 by Maggi Andersen. Published by Maggi Andersen. Cover design © 2014 by Victoria Vane of Romance Cover Creations. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author/publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Beginning

  Middle

  End

  Author Bio

  London, 1816

  Lady Catherine Bellingham had never minded spending time alone. But this Christmas, with her niece, Althea, absent from London, the empty corridors of Catherine’s manor house in Hampstead echoed under her feet. For some reason, she had been restless since she’d returned from a sojourn on the Continent.

  Catherine had long since come to terms with the passing of her beloved husband. Bellingham had been a quiet man, but tonight, his absence seemed to speak louder than his presence ever did. Although she had never been blessed with children, she had been fortunate enough to have a generous companion who gave her respect and affection.

  She paused at a Vermeer oil painting hanging on the wall. Without giving it her full attention, Catherine knew the picture to be a pleasant, domestic Dutch scene depicting a contented woman going about her daily tasks. Marriage should bring contentment. Her thoughts turned to her niece, Althea, trapped in a bad marriage to Brookwood. Althea had looked so pale and wan of late that Catherine had grown alarmed about her.

  Like her niece, Catherine had entered into an arranged marriage with an older man when she was barely out of the schoolroom. If she was honest, she had never experienced true passion with Bellingham, and now that she was in her forties, it was unlikely to happen.

  Thoroughly sick of her own company, she fingered the silver-edged invitation that her dear friend Marina had sent her.

  “Please come to my Christmas ball, Catherine. Tonight is for lovers of romance!”

  “Lovers of romance.” She chuckled. Marina always had a nice turn of phrase. Catherine hadn’t planned to go, but Marina’s bright company would be most welcome. Lady Marina Montague was a trifle outrageous, but her balls were enormously popular. Even at this time of year when members of the ton retired to their country estates, her ballroom would be packed with guests.

  Catherine instructed Brigitte to lay out her lavender silk gown and prepare her a bath. She would like to wear the sapphires Bellingham had said matched her eyes, but they did not complement this gown. She would wear her diamonds.

  Stepping from the fragrant bathwater, Catherine stood before the gilt mirror in her boudoir. Her body remained trim and firm, but there were faint smile lines at the corners of her eyes, and while she didn’t look old, neither did she look like a girl. There was a maturity to her face now that she rather liked.

  Some hours later, after her carriage was delayed in the heavy London traffic, Catherine arrived at the ball to find it already in full swing. The dancers performed a country dance as she entered the ballroom in search of her hostess. Maria had created a lovely scene. A thousand candles flickered from every corner and above in chandeliers. Huge urns of hothouse flowers perfumed the smoky air, and wreaths of holly with scarlet berries decorated the walls. A stately yew tree stood in a tub at one end of the room, aglitter with tinsel, glass, and lit tapers, the boughs heavy with dried fruit, nuts, and sweets.

  Her hostess wore deep violet. As Catherine had done, Marina had forgone her favored bright gowns, dressing instead in mourning for Princess Charlotte, who had died a month ago in childbirth. Maria greeted Catherine with an affectionate smile. “I am so pleased you decided to come, Catherine. How very well that gown suits you. Did you enjoy your travels in France? We have missed your witty and spirited exchanges. So many dull people in London this Season. What has happened to good conversation? Does one have to travel to Paris to find it?”

  “The years of war have repressed our spirits, Maria. England will rally; you can’t keep the English people down for long.” Catherine glanced around. Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister, stood with Lord Castlereagh and Lord Sidmouth. “And I see you have little to complain about. There are many eloquent guests here this evening.” Her gaze settled on another man in the group. He wore his dark evening clothes well.

  He turned and looked her way, and their eyes met. She took a deep breath.

  Marina raised delicate eyebrows. “Someone you wish to meet?”

  “I’ve heard interesting things about the new member of Lord Liverpool’s government, Gerard Renton, Earl of Berwick.”

  Maria nodded. “A most interesting man. A member of the rural landowning aristocracy. His country seat is Berwick Hall in Yorkshire. A handsome fellow, is he not? He’s come recently from the bar, and his reputation as an advocate precedes him.”

  Catherine’s gaze returned to him where he stood at Liverpool’s elbow. His abundant dark-brown hair curled over his broad brow. His strong jaw might have made him look severe, but for his mouth, which was full-lipped and suggested warmth and humor. “Is he married?”

  Marina gave her an assessing look. “No, he prefers to remain single for the moment, and many ladies in the ballroom would like to try to change his mind. Shall I introduce you?”

  “Heavens, no.” Catherine looked away, but could not deny she found him attractive. “Now, who is here tonight?”

  During the evening, Catherine chatted to friends, danced, and sipped champagne. True to form, Marina had delectable Christmas fare served on silver platters, and mulled wine was offered, although in the close confines of the packed ballroom, no one needed warming up tonight.

  Returning from a quadrille, Catherine saw Lord Berwick and Maria cross the floor toward her. After Marina performed the introductions, she excused herself gracefully and left them alone. Catherine hoped Marina hadn’t orchestrated this meeting.

  Her question was answered immediately. Chocolate-brown eyes fringed with black lashes smiled into hers. “I asked Lady Marina to introduce us. I believe the next dance is a waltz. Would you care to dance, Lady Bellingham?”

  At his husky baritone, her heart fluttered. Silly as a young girl, she thought, admonishing herself. Lord Berwick was years younger than she was. Up close, he was even more attractive, his dark eyes flecked with amber and his smooth olive skin stretched over high cheekbones.

  “Delighted, my lord.” She took his arm and they joined the dancers on the floor as the musicians began to play Mozart.

  “Have you enjoyed the evening?”

  “Yes, I always enjoy Lady Marina’s balls.”

  “I intended to ask you to waltz from the moment you walked into the ballroom, but I’ve been caught up.”

  Catherine’s pulse quickened, but she batted the comment away with a smile. “Do you say that to all your dance partners, my lord?”

  “Only you.”

  “Why only me?” she asked with a quizzical smile.

  There was something lazily seductive in his look. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She had received fulsome compliments before and generally mistrusted them. “Thank you, my lord, but there are many lovely women here tonight.”

  “None that can hold a candle to you,” he said with quiet emphasis.

  Politici
ans could sound so convincing, and she didn’t believe it for one moment. But he was charming. Catherine tried to remain indifferent to the warmth and strength of his arms—and failed—as he swept her across the dance floor. She hadn’t been blind to flirtation through the years of her marriage, or since, but she had always resisted carrying things further.

  Glancing up into his face, she searched his warm eyes and found an intensity in his gaze, that she couldn’t help responding to as desire flooded through her.

  Determined not to let this become a flirtation, Catherine employed the best way she’d discovered in the past to dampen a man’s ardor. Most men, she’d found, were more than delighted to talk about themselves. “You were at the bar until recently, my lord. What made you decide to enter politics?”

  “A need to do more for my country. It might seem somewhat facile, but I assure you it’s the truth.”

  “A noble thought, indeed. And you have chosen a time when England needs you. The English people suffer hardship after the years of war.”

  “They do indeed. You’re a widow, I believe, Lady Bellingham.”

  “Yes, for some years.” She wondered if he’d inquired about her.

  “Many ladies remarry; why not you?”

  He had adroitly turned the topic onto her. “I haven’t met a man I wished to marry. I very much doubt I will.”

  His gaze roamed over her. “Such a shame.”

  “Not at all,” she said briskly, attempting to ignore his raised brows and emphasis on the word “shame.” “I enjoy my life. I am blessed with good health and a comfortable fortune. And I love to travel.”

  “Have you been to Yorkshire?”

  “I have. A beautiful part of the country.”

  “We have our troubles in the North of England too.”

  “Yes, I’ve read in the broadsheets about how unpopular the Corn Laws have become, raising the cost of grain and stirring up resentment amongst the people.”

  He nodded. “The price of bread is too high. Many people go hungry and are desperately poor. The government is under extreme pressure to act, or England could erupt in anarchy.”

  His strong hand was warm on the small of her back. Odd how such a small gesture could remind her of the lack of intimacy in her life. She liked to be touched. Catherine was tall, but he was a head taller than she was, and graceful for a big man. She gave herself up to the dance, breathing in the scent of fresh linen and spicy soap and something else, indefinably masculine.

  The music ended, and he escorted her from the floor. “I should like to continue this conversation further. It’s stuffy here in the ballroom, and so noisy. Would you care for a breath of fresh air on the terrace?”

  She agreed, hiding her surprise. There were many politicians here tonight who were no doubt discussing matters of great importance.

  “It might be brisk outside. I’ll have a footman get your wrap.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once Lord Berwick had placed her evening cape over her shoulders, they walked out onto the terrace. A man and woman were descending the steps to stroll the garden paths.

  “Shall we?” He nodded toward the garden. “Or is it too chilly?”

  “Let’s,” she said, smiling, ignoring her common sense, which was urging her to retreat inside. “It’s been a mild winter to date, has it not? I’m not at all cold.”

  Moonlight muted the well-tended gardens. Braziers threw haloes of light over the sandstone path, and colored lanterns hung from the trees in a fanciful display. When a nightingale’s song trilled though the soft night air, Catherine might have suspected she’d walked into a fairy tale if their conversation hadn’t remained anchored in everyday matters. She enjoyed his company and was pleased when he sought her opinion on several issues and listened intently to her answers. Widows sometimes became invisible in society, and it was pleasant to have an intelligent man interested in what she had to say.

  Intent on their discussion, they strolled on through the purple shadows. Lord Berwick told an amusing anecdote about the Prince of Wales that was a little risqué. They both laughed. His shoulder brushed hers as he held a branch away from her hair.

  “Just a moment.” He turned her toward him, and she held her breath. “You have white petals in your hair.” He plucked them out. “The moonlight has painted your hair silver. Perhaps I should have left them there; they make a perfect adornment.”

  “Petals would alert the guests as to where we have been,” she said. “And may give the wrong impression.”

  He raised his dark brows. “Should we care?”

  “It might be wise to.” She tried to read his expression in the half dark. “We’d best turn back.”

  “Not yet. It’s delightful here, isn’t it?”

  She breathed in the fragrant air. “Yes, it is.” She didn’t want this special moment between them to end.

  He moved on and she followed.

  “While in London, what do you do with your time?”

  She paused. “What most women of my class do, I imagine. Some charity work, visiting aged relatives, overseeing the running of my house and staff. I like to read, I enjoy my garden, and during the Season, there’s always some soirée or dinner to attend. One is spoiled for choice.”

  As the other strolling couple had not ventured this far, she expected him to lead her back to the ballroom. Instead, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they continued around a bend in the path.

  “Do you never yearn for more?”

  She gazed up at his elegant profile. “More?”

  “Romance.” He stopped and faced her.

  A stone gazebo stood before them, its marble columns supporting a high, domed roof.

  “My lord, I believe we should return…” Before she could continue, he took her hand and drew her up the steps and onto the marble floor.

  For a moment, they gazed at each other. Then he traced a gentle finger down her cheek, his touch causing her flesh to tingle. “Do you want to be here with me?”

  It was time for a graceful retreat. A scandal would ruin her life. Catherine hesitated, her cheeks hot, her heart thudding in her chest. Surely a few glasses of champagne couldn’t make her feel so intoxicated and weak in the knees. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I want to be alone with you.” He tilted his head with a smile. “And Lady Bellingham, I think you want to be here with me.”

  “That’s rather presumptuous,” she began, although she couldn’t deny it, for here she was.

  Lord Berwick chuckled softly and reached for her hand. He peeled the glove from her fingers and pressed his lips to her palm. It was incredibly erotic. The touch of his lips on her skin awakened a response deep inside her. “My lord,” she protested. “Is this wise?”

  “Not all things worth experiencing in life are wise,” he murmured, his big hands pressing her waist to draw her closer. “And this is infinitely desirable.”

  “Perhaps we should talk.” Her voice trembled as he gently edged her back against a stone column. “I…” He took her chin in his hand and muffled any further comment by crushing his lips to hers.

  The kiss ignited something in her, long suppressed, and her body throbbed. She fought to steady herself when he released her and she could gain her breath. “My lord…”

  “My name is Gerard.”

  “I can’t call you by your first name,” she protested, then realized how foolish that sounded. She had always been confident of her cool head. The effect this man had on her was startling.

  “You can call me Gerard here, tonight. There’s magic in the air, can’t you sense it?”

  She felt suspended in the moment. He was right; it was enchanting.

  He bowed his head and kissed her again. His firm lips demanded a response and she gave it, kissing him back, giving in to slow, drugging kisses. It was so agreeable to be close to a man again. His clean male scent made her senses spin, and she couldn’t suppress a sigh. His tongue teased her lips apart. When he stroked
the cavern of her mouth, she clung to his shoulders with a tiny moan. Pleasurable sensations rippled through her from head to foot.

  He drew away, and the moonlight revealed the intense passion in his face as his intelligent dark eyes searched hers. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you months ago. And then you disappeared.”

  “I’ve been in France,” she murmured, breathing in shallow gasps, disconcerted by the demanding frisson of desire racing through her body. Her nipples throbbed, longing to be touched. “Nothing can come of this, my lord.” Feeling vulnerable, she fought to regain her composure, her heart thumping madly.

  “Can you say that so soon?”

  “It’s obvious, is it not?”

  His hands swept down from her waist to her hip to pull her closer. “Is it?”

  She gave him a wry smile.

  “Shall I take you back to the ballroom, Catherine?”

  Catherine hesitated. She didn’t want to leave. It took little time for him to realize it too, for his mouth claimed hers for another long, passionate kiss. Coiling her arms around his neck, Catherine abandoned herself to the whirl of sensation, her fingers ruffling the silky dark hair at his nape. Her breath shortened as his hand slid from her hip to cup her breast. He pulled down her low-necked gown and lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth. “I knew you would be lovely,” he murmured. “And you taste delicious.”

  He cradled her other breast, and her nipples pebbled under his gentle ministrations. Her thoughts fragmented as his hands and lips continued their hungry search of her body.

  “You are extraordinarily beautiful, Cathy.” He raised his head to gaze at her, his voice husky with rising passion.

  Not even her husband had called her Cathy.

  Catherine inhaled sharply as he drew the hem of her gown up over her legs. The touch of his fingers on the tender skin of her inner thigh sparked an intense feeling in her groin, and her whole body came alive. Flashes of electricity raced over her stomach as he stroked her core, drawing her close to orgasm. Moaning, she wanted to strip off his clothes, kiss his skin. She gazed down at his dark head and ran her fingers through his thick hair. This was madness. Shouldn’t they fear discovery? Her body wasn’t listening as her hands roamed his broad back, delighting in the strength of him beneath the silky fabric of his superfine coat.