Pouring a glass of warm cider that Mrs. Dent had left on the mantel in the library, Raoul aimlessly moved to stand before the tall bank of arched windows, choosing one that overlooked the front gardens rather than the lake.
For once, he was utterly alone in the house. His groom had disappeared to the stables shortly after breakfast, and Nico had left the house not long after with a predatory smile that did not bode well for his intended prey.
Raoul might have appreciated the peace if it hadn’t offered such a ceaseless opportunity to dwell on his meeting with Lord Merriot.
And the lingering indigestion that always came after time spent in his father’s company.
The snow thickened, swirling as the wind increased. Within an hour it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet from the window.
Nearly impossible.
Not completely.
Thank the good Lord.
Still leaning against the window, Raoul was startled by the vague shadow of a form struggling to make its way through the blinding snow.
What sort of fool would be out in such weather?
An inconsiderate fool, he decided as he grudgingly headed for the foyer and pulled on his coat. It would serve them right to leave them to freeze.
Unfortunately, the snow was bound to thaw eventually, and then he would be stuck digging a grave for the idiot.
Muttering some of the finer curses he had picked up over the years in the theater, Raoul yanked open the door and began battling his way through the gathering drifts.
Teeth gritted, he ignored the blast of wind that threatened to topple him backwards, and made his way to the nearby road. He frowned as he neared the traveler, realizing he was far smaller than he’d expected.
Was it just a child…?
His heart came to a perfect halt as the wind viciously whipped down the narrow path, tugging at the heavy cloak wrapped around the stranger, knocking the hood back to reveal a tangle of raven-black curls and a perfect female profile.
“Mon Dieu.” Stepping directly in front of Miss Sarah Jefferson, Raoul grasped her shoulders and stared at her in furious disbelief. “Have you no sense at all?”
“I am generally held to be quite sensible, thank you very much, Mr. Charlebois,” she said, her stiff attempt at dignity ruined by a sharp shiver.
“I see.” Raoul’s jaw knotted with anger at the sight of her reddened nose and frost-kissed cheeks. “Walking in the midst of a blizzard is held to be quite sensible? Clearly the reasoning in Cheshire is vastly different from that in London.”
Her lips thinned. “It was not a blizzard when I set out.”
“Well, it is now. Where are the boys?”
She yanked up the hood of her cloak, not nearly as relieved at being rescued from the storm as she should have been.
“The Vicar’s son, Simon, requested that they spend the night so they could try their hands at writing a series of short charades for the Christmas luncheon we host for the local orphanage.”
“The Vicar must be an idiot to allow you to leave with a storm threatening.”
“No one allows me to do anything, sir,” she retorted, her voice as cold as the biting wind. “I have been making my own decisions for a number of years.”
“Which explains so much,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
Shifting, he gripped her elbow and turned toward the nearby house. Christ, it was cold.
“Come along before we both die of consumption.”
“Come along where? Oh…no.” Ridiculously, she dug in her heels. “I cannot enter the home of a bachelor.”
Raoul didn’t bother to argue. The woman had clearly lost any claim to sense. Instead, he swept her off her feet and headed up the snow-covered walk.
“Very well.”
She stiffened in outrage, but trapped by the thick folds of her gown and wool cloak, she was incapable of struggling.
“What the devil are you doing?”
“You cannot enter the home of a bachelor, so I am kidnapping you for your own good.” He glanced down at her scowl. “Although I suppose you have some ridiculous rule against that as well.”
“Do not mock my concern. Gentlemen may be immune to the damage of malicious gossip, but women are always at the mercy of their reputation.”
The words held no bitterness, but were spoken with the sort of quiet resolution of a woman determined to change the world. Even if it were only her small corner of the world.
His lips twitched. It was absurd, but his odd fascination with the spinster only intensified the more he knew of her.
“I would have thought a woman willing to establish her own household and take in ill-bred strays would not give a damn about the opinions of others.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t if it were not for those ill-bred strays,” she retorted, her eyes flashing a dark warning. “The boys have endured enough ugly scandal in their short lives, as I would think you of all people would understand. I will not make them suffer more.”
“Pull in the claws, ma belle, there is no one about to know of your stay beneath my roof,” he promised gently. “Unlike the Vicar, I had the sense to send the daily servants home an hour ago.”
She remained stiff in his arms. “Surely you have your own servants?”
“My valet and groom, both of whom are paid a ludicrous sum for their loyalty and discretion.”
She clenched her teeth, trying to hide her violent shivers as he climbed the shallow steps to the front terrace.
“Then you are grossly overpaying them. The rumors of your exploits are legendary even here in Cheshire.”
“Ah, those rumors were not started by my servants.” He chuckled. “Well, not until I specifically crafted the tales to best titillate society.”
As he hoped, the confession was distraction enough to allow him to push open the door and step into the foyer without shrieks of outrage.
“You?”
“A man does not become a legend by mere chance.”
She snorted. “Please do not share that secret morsel of information with my maid. Maggie would be crushed to discover your reputation as an insatiable rake was in any way exaggerated.”
“And what of you, Miss Sarah?” Slowly he lowered her to her feet, his hands swiftly dealing with the frozen ribbons so he could remove the cloak. It fell to the black-and-white tiled floor with a heavy squish. “Are you crushed?”
Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her waist, no longer capable of battling the shivers that wracked her slender body.
“At the moment, I’m more frozen.”
“Damn, you need to be near the fire.”
Ignoring the hands that lifted to fend him off, Raoul once again swept her into his arms, carrying her through the door leading to the library.
Curling one hand into a fist, Sarah smacked him in the center of the chest.
“Mr. Charlebois.”
His brows snapped together at her absurd indignation. It wasn’t that he did not comprehend her fear of scandal. Or even that he didn’t sympathize with her need to protect the boys.
It was just…
What?
Mon Dieu. He did not know, except that he wanted her to feel safe and…dammit, protected in his company. Not threatened as if he were some sort of ogre.
“My name is Raoul. And no one, not even in this godforsaken corner of England, would condemn a woman for seeking shelter from certain death.” His jaw clenched. “Even if I am Beelzebub himself.”
There was a stark silence as he carried her into the library and settled her on the leather chair closest to the fire. Then, kneeling before the chair, he tackled the frozen laces of her half boots.
Half-expecting to be smacked over the head as he bent to his task, Raoul was unprepared for her soft words of apology.
“You are right.”
“I am…?” He glanced up, suspicious. “Is this a ruse?”
“No ruse.” She settled back in the cushions with a wry
smile. “I am being silly. Even if it is discovered that I was forced to seek shelter here, no one would believe you would attempt to take advantage of me.”
He tugged off her boots, not nearly as comforted as he should be. “No?”
“Of course not. It is well known that you are notorious in your preference for only the most beautiful women.” She shrugged. “Clearly, I should be safe enough.”
He sat back on his heels, stunned by her words. Was it possible she was unaware of the disturbing awareness that plagued him?
“That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard,” he barked.
“What?”
“I can assure you that I have contemplated little else but seducing you over the past four days.”
“Are you demented?” She frowned. “You were just attempting to convince me that I am safe beneath your roof.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I am safe?”
He glared into her wary eyes. “Yes, I am demented, and it is entirely your fault.”
“Well, I certainly believe you are not entirely right in the head,” she muttered, twitching the skirt of her French gray gown to hide the tiny feet now covered with nothing more than damp stockings.
“Let us get this straight.” With a fluid motion, Raoul was on his feet. Leaning down, he planted his hands on the arm of the chair, effectively trapping her and bringing them nose to nose. “There will be no gossip, because no one will ever know you were here, and even if it does become known, the locals are far too fond of you to think the worst.” He brushed his lips over the lush temptation of her mouth. “As for me…”
“Mr. Charlebois.”
“Raoul.”
She stubbornly turned her head to deny him her sweet lips. “Mr. Charlebois.”
Raoul was unfazed. Deprived of her lips, Raoul nibbled a path over her chilled cheek.
“As for me, Miss Sarah, I might devote an unreasonable amount of time to considering the taste of your lips and the silkiness of your skin, but you are in no danger that I will force myself upon you.” He briefly nuzzled the tiny hollow beneath her ear before he was abruptly straightening and moving to pour her a large measure of the cider. Returning to her side, he pressed the ceramic cup into her hand. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing more alarming than warm cider.” He settled on the carpet next to the chair, regarding her with a brooding gaze. It was a mistake to give in to these urges to touch her. Already his body was hard with unfulfilled hunger. Unfortunately, his hands were not currently taking commands from his brain, and they instinctively reached for one slender foot, pulling it into his lap so he could gently warm her frozen toes. “Did you think I concocted a devil’s brew in the event an innocent young woman might pass this way?”
Sarah Jefferson met his gaze with a guarded expression. For a moment, Raoul was certain she intended to pull away from his gentle massage. Then, with a faint shake of her head, she settled back in the leather seat and sipped at the hot cider.
“No doubt a character in one of your plays would have.”
Stupidly pleased to continue the intimate caress, Raoul lifted a golden brow.
“I am shocked by the mere suggestion, Miss Jefferson,” he lightly teased. “Surely you must know that I am never cast as the villain.”
“Never?”
“Not on stage.”
“And in life?”
“I am not entirely certain,” he confessed ruefully. “Now that I am retired, I may have the opportunity to discover.”
She frowned at him over the rim of her mug, her toes curling beneath his slow, firm strokes along the arch of her foot.
“Is this a game you are playing?”
“Game?”
“This pretense that you find a spinster attractive?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You believe I am merely pretending to desire you?”
“Are you not?”
“I believe you should be the judge of my sincerity, Miss Sarah.”
Wise enough to sense the sudden danger in the air, Sarah hastily set aside her mug as he shifted to kneel directly before her. Not that it protected her from his determination to prove once and for all he wanted nothing more than to have her in his bed, her legs wrapped around his waist as he put an end to her maidenly innocence.
Allowing his fingers to trail up the back of her legs, Raoul tugged them as far apart as her skirts would allow, peering deep into her wide eyes.
“Mr. Charlebois,” she breathed.
“Raoul.”
“Mr. Charlebois.”
Leaning forward, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, savoring the womanly spice of her scent.
“I swear, I will hear my name on your lips.”
She shivered even as her hands lifted to land against his chest. “So that is it.”
He pulled back to study her blushing face, his heart halting as he was struck anew by her warm, exotic beauty.
“I am frightened to ask.”
“You consider me a challenge.”
“I consider you a delicious distraction who refuses to leave me in peace, Miss Sarah Jefferson.” He returned to his exploration of her neck, memorizing the precise curve before shifting his attention to the stubborn line of her jaw. She shivered, but this time it was not from the cold. His fingers slipped up the bend of her knees, his mouth nibbling a path over her beautiful countenance. “Eyes the precise color of a midnight sky.” He skimmed down to her lush mouth. “Lips that beg for a man’s kiss.” He teased the edge of her mouth. “Such evocative innocence, combined with womanly provocation.”
“I…oh…”
She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers sketched aimless patterns on the soft skin of her inner thighs, nearing the ribbons that held up her prim stockings.
“Mr. Charlebois.”
He traced the outline of her enchanting mouth with his tongue.
“Raoul.”
“Mr. Charlebois.” Her hands pressed against his chest with a sudden flare of panic. “Enough.”
Ignoring the urgent protest of his body that was unaccustomed to being denied, Raoul pulled back and gently smoothed down her heavy skirts.
He wanted the woman. Desperately. But oddly, he discovered he needed her good opinion even more than her body.
Astonishing.
“Are you convinced?” he demanded, his voice thick.
“I am not entirely certain what I am.” She lifted a not-quite-steady hand to shove back a raven curl that had strayed from her simple braid. “You are dangerously overwhelming for a rustic old maid.”
Raoul settled back on his heels, inwardly admitting that Sarah was not the only one dangerously overwhelmed.
“Why have you never wed?” he abruptly demanded.
She shrugged. “I have never been in love, and I refuse to settle for anything less.”
“You believe in love?”
“Of course I do. My parents were utterly devoted to one another. They taught me the importance of choosing a husband who could offer more than security.” A wistful smile touched her lips. “My mother would say that it is not only the body that must be nourished, but the heart and soul as well.”
There was a painful twinge in Raoul’s heart. That was precisely the sort of romantic drivel that Dunnington would believe.
Foolish blighter.
“I suppose you intend to tell me that is why you took in those two orphaned brats?” he drawled. “To nourish your heart?”
“And because they needed me.”
His heart gave another twinge.
Envy?
No. That would be preposterous.
“And what of your soul?”
She retrieved her mug of cider, shifting deeper into the cushions of the chair.
“My painting fulfills my soul.”
Raoul blinked in surprise. “You’re an artist?”
“More of a dabbler, but my sketches are in enough demand to put food on the table and keep
the boys in decent clothing. Not an easy task when they seem to sprout an inch or more over the breakfast table.”
There was no mistaking her sense of pride. Not in her artistic talent. No, her pride was in her hard-won independence.
Understandable, of course, but not entirely pleasing to Raoul.
He scowled. “So you are content to remain a spinster?”
“Is that so shocking?” she challenged. “You, after all, appear content to remain a bachelor.”
“But I am not.”
“You are not a bachelor?”
“I am not content.”
“You desire a wife?”
She appeared nearly as shocked as Raoul felt at his unexpected confession. What on earth possessed him to reveal his growing discontent with his lonely existence?
He hadn’t even shared his dissatisfaction with Ian or Fredrick.
It was too late now, however, to take back his words.
“A wife, a lover, a…” He caught and held her gaze. “Companion.”
Something flashed through her dark, beautiful eyes before she was hastily lowering her lashes.
“Truly you must keep these less than rakish traits to yourself, Mr. Charlebois.”
“Or I shall disappoint Maggie Stone?”
“Precisely.”
“Do you know, I cannot wait to meet this mysterious maid.”
Sarah’s lips twisted in a dry smile. “She would no doubt swoon the moment you walked into the room.”
“Unlike her mistress, who did everything in her power to be rid of me?”
“Obviously I did not do nearly enough.”
“So cruel, Miss Sarah.” Unable to resist, Raoul reached out to wrap the stray raven lock around his finger. “What does a gentleman have to do to earn your trust?”
The tip of her tongue peeked out to dampen her lips. “I do not believe that it is my trust you truly desire.”
He slowly shook his head. “Much to my astonishment, you would be wrong, ma belle.”
Chapter 5
December 13
The Great House
Seduce Me By Christmas Page 6