Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

  Not that she seemed to be accomplishing much work, she ruefully acknowledged.

  So far, she had spent more time staring into the fire than tending to her work, despite the fact her broodings weren’t doing a bit of good.

  She still had no notion as to why a gentleman who was one of the most sought-after men in all of England would be interested in a poor spinster. Or why he would devote an entire afternoon to entertaining two abandoned boys with their Christmas charades.

  What she did know was that while Raoul Charlebois might claim to find her fascinating in the hopes of seducing her, she truly did find him the most intriguing man she had ever encountered.

  Who was Raoul?

  Was there truly a lonely vulnerable man beneath all that golden beauty and charm? Or was that just another disguise?

  The sound of approaching footsteps intruded into her thoughts, and lifting her head, Sarah swallowed a sigh as she recognized the knowing glitter in the brown eyes of her maid.

  A few years older than Sarah, Maggie Stone was pleasingly plump, with honey-brown curls and pretty features. She was fiercely devoted to the boys and a great help to Sarah around the small cottage, but she did tend to treat Sarah with a familiarity that few employers would tolerate.

  Not that Sarah minded. At least, not usually.

  Tonight, however, she already sensed where the conversation was headed.

  “Right kind of Mr. Charlebois to help the boys with their charades,” the woman predictably murmured, pulling on her heavy cloak.

  Sarah lowered her head, more to hide her expression than to concentrate on her mending. Maggie knew her too well.

  “Very kind.”

  “And so good with the scamps. Who’d have thought such a gentleman would have a real knack for handling little ones.”

  “He assures me he is no gentleman.”

  Maggie sniffed, obviously as susceptible as every other female to Raoul’s allure.

  “I suppose the nobs would not count him as one, but to my mind, his manners are a good sight better than those who consider themselves his superior.”

  Sarah’s lips twitched. “And, of course, it does not hurt that he is so devilishly handsome.”

  “Aye, he is that.” Maggie heaved an appreciative sigh. “Like one of them Greek gods.”

  “Apollo,” Sarah breathed, all too easily conjuring Raoul’s golden beauty.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Never mind.”

  There was a pause before Maggie cleared her throat and at last said what was upon her mind.

  “Do you know, Miss Sarah, I believe Mr. Charlebois has taken a fancy to you.”

  Sarah’s heart fluttered, a heat stealing through her body. “Hardly flattering. I would say he takes a fancy to anything in skirts.”

  “Not everything,” Maggie stoutly denied. “I met up with Mrs. Dent in the village, and she says that Mr. Charlebois has behaved with perfect propriety to her daughter, who is maid at the Lodge. And she claims he hasn’t had one female there, despite the local tarts who have done all but toss themselves at his feet.”

  Sarah tried to ignore the flare of satisfaction that warmed her heart. Foolishness.

  “Well, he has only been here a few days,” she retorted.

  “I know a thing or two about men, and when they’re staring at a woman like Mr. Charlebois is staring at you, they have no taste for other females. Mark my words.”

  Sarah at last lifted her head, meeting the maid’s expectant gaze. “It does not matter in the least how he looks at me, Maggie. I have two boys who depend on me, and I will not disappoint them.”

  Maggie’s expression fell. “A pity. How often is such a man likely to come to the village?”

  Sarah shivered at the mere thought of endless temptation. “Thankfully, never.”

  “A wise woman takes opportunity when it comes a knocking.”

  “A wise woman recognizes the difference between opportunity and foolish risk.”

  Maggie clicked her tongue. “You talk like an old maid.”

  “No doubt because that is exactly what I am.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I do have a favor to ask of you.” Sarah firmly turned the conversation away from Raoul Charlebois.

  Maggie was easily distracted. “Of course, what do you need?”

  “I must travel to Chester.”

  “More paintings to sell?”

  “Yes, as well as shopping for the boys. I hope to purchase their Christmas presents,” she explained. “Can I leave them in your care?”

  “No need to even ask.” Maggie waved her hand. “I am always willing to lend a hand with them lads. When will you be leaving?”

  “The first of next week, so long as we do not endure another snow storm. I will travel by stage on Monday morning and return Tuesday evening. If you will stay here with the boys, then I needn’t worry they will be up to mischief.”

  The brown eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t you be fretting. I can mind them.”

  Sarah had absolute faith in her maid. The woman loved the boys, but she had a firm enough hand to prevent any trouble.

  “Thank you, Maggie,” she said, a relieved smile curving her lips. “I truly do not know what I would do without you.”

  “Fah.” A blush of pleasure flooded Maggie’s face as she headed to the door. “Now, do not allow those boys to keep you up the entire night reading them stories.”

  “Good night, Maggie.”

  Night had fallen by the time Raoul left the village. After leaving the cottage, he had been unable to bear the thought of returning to the empty Lodge. Not after hours spent being entertained by Willie and Jimmy’s antics, his heart warmed by Sarah’s full throated laughter.

  It had been far too long since he had enjoyed such simple pleasures. Not since he’d left Dunnington’s to make his way on the stage.

  He had forgotten the sheer contentment of being surrounded by a loving family.

  It had only been when Sarah had firmly sent the boys to the kitchen to wash up for dinner that he had forced himself to accept he had lingered far longer than was reasonably proper.

  Sacrebleu. He had felt like a stray dog begging to be allowed to remain in the warmth of the cottage for just a bit longer.

  Pathetic.

  What the devil had happened to the sophisticated, dashing gentleman who could cause a traffic jam just by stepping out of a building?

  Trying to ignore the tiny ache that he very much feared was loneliness, Raoul turned Hercules toward the village. He had better things to do than sit about the Lodge and brood on his unreasonable fascination with Sarah and her orphans.

  Not that his time in the village had been productive, he wryly acknowledged.

  As usual, his presence in the small pub had caused a flurry of excitement. Even after he had collected his ale and made his way to the back of the common room, he could not escape the rabid curiosity of the gathering crowd.

  Unable to discreetly question any of the guests, he had been forced to content himself with telling ribald stories of his days in London, disguising his impatience until he could reasonably take his leave.

  Gathering Hercules, he shivered against the brutal wind and set out for the Lodge.

  He could only hope the notes he had sent to Ian and Fredrick would arrive swiftly. He had paid Mrs. Dent’s oldest son a handsome sum to ride to London with the messages with all speed. Perhaps they would have more luck than he. Certainly they couldn’t do any worse.

  In truth, his journey to Cheshire had not gone at all like he had anticipated.

  Not only had he failed to realize the difficulty his fame would make his efforts to dig through his father’s past, but he most certainly hadn’t expected to be distracted by a dark-eyed beauty and two charming scamps.

  A shiver raced down his spine. Whether from the frigid night air or the thought of Sarah Jefferson was impossible to determine.

  Or perhaps it was a premonition.

  Bare
ly paying heed to the darkness shrouded about him, Raoul was caught sadly off guard when two men burst through the hedge and darted straight toward him.

  Muttering a curse, he struggled not to be thrown as Hercules reared at the unexpected attack. Damn. Why hadn’t he been paying more attention? He had allowed his isolated surroundings to lull him into lowering his guard, and now he was paying for his stupidity.

  Busy trying to regain control of his mount, Raoul was unable to retrieve the pistol he had tucked in the pocket of his coat. Unfortunately, Hercules had been well and truly spooked, and ignoring Raoul’s urgings to gallop on, the skittish horse was more determined to strike out against the rushing men.

  “Bloody horse,” one of the attackers rasped, dodging a hoof aimed at his head. “Grab his leg.”

  The other man darted forward, only to be met with a kick from Raoul. “I’m trying.” He muttered a curse as Raoul’s boot connected with his shoulder, but with grim determination, he plowed forward and wrapped his beefy hands around Raoul’s upper calf.

  With one sharp yank, he had Raoul jerked out of his saddle and lying flat on his back on the frozen path.

  The force of his landing exploded the air from his lungs, and Raoul struggled to breathe. What the hell was going on? Even the most ruthless highwayman contented himself with holding his prey at gunpoint while he relieved the poor fool of his valuables. Why risk injury when you could remain at a distance and complete your business?

  The ridiculous thoughts floated through his mind as he felt a vicious kick to his side and another to the side of his head.

  “We don’t like yer sort around here,” a rough voice growled between kicks. “Return to London or the next time we’ll slice yer throat.”

  Despite the ringing in his head, Raoul suddenly realized that these weren’t common bandits. They hadn’t so much as glanced at the heavy gold ring on his finger or the ruby stickpin tucked in his cravat.

  No, they were obviously here to frighten him from Cheshire, and there was only one person who wanted him gone.

  “Tell my father that nothing in hell will make me leave,” he gritted, the words barely leaving his lips before another kick to his head sent him tumbling into a welcome darkness.

  Chapter 9

  Raoul was uncertain how long he lay unconscious. He suspected it was only a few minutes, but it was enough to leave him stiff and shivering from the cold.

  Forcing himself to his feet, he groaned at the pain that wracked his body. His head throbbed, his ribs felt as if they had been kicked by a mule, and his spine was still protesting its violent impact with the hard ground. On the bright side, Hercules remained patiently waiting in the middle of the road, and there was no sign of his assailants.

  Managing to limp to his horse, Raoul hefted himself into the saddle and continued the short distance to the Lodge. On this occasion, he had his pistol drawn and was prepared to shoot at the first hint of trouble.

  Nothing stirred as he rounded the Lodge and left Hercules in the hands of his stoic groom, avoiding the man’s curious gaze as he turned to make his way into the looming house. Later he would reveal his humiliating defeat. For tonight he simply wanted to crawl into his bed and plot the best means for revenge.

  A fine notion that was unfortunately ruined when he entered the kitchen to discover Nico consuming what was left of the shepherd’s pie.

  Mon Dieu. He hadn’t expected his valet to return before tomorrow. Now he knew there was no hope of being allowed to deal with his attackers without interference. Nico had assigned himself as Raoul’s protector, regardless of the fact Raoul was quite capable of taking care of himself. The servant would take this assault as a personal insult.

  On cue, Nico rose to his feet, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in Raoul’s disheveled appearance and pronounced limp.

  “Christo,” he breathed, hurrying to Raoul’s side. “What happened?”

  “Would you believe I was thrown?”

  “I’d as soon believe that my father has given up his thieving ways.”

  Raoul smiled wryly, allowing Nico to wrap an arm around his waist and lead him out of the kitchen.

  “Perish the thought.”

  “You were attacked.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did it?”

  “A couple of ruffians.” Raoul grunted, as much from the painful memory of his stupidity as his lingering aches. “Mon Dieu. I am an idiot.”

  Steering Raoul through the foyer and toward the stairs, Nico stabbed him with a dark gaze.

  “In that we are in perfect agreement.”

  Raoul ignored the insult. It was taking every ounce of his willpower to remain upright as he slowly climbed the staircase. Sweat beading his forehead, teeth clenched, he forced one foot in front of the other.

  “I allowed myself to believe the country lanes were less dangerous than the streets of London,” he gritted. “I did not even get a shot off.”

  “At least tell me you landed a few blows to the bastards?”

  “Nothing more than a pathetic kick. They leaped from the hedge without warning, and before I could draw my pistol, I found myself on the ground with a boot in my ribs.”

  Nico scowled. “Highwaymen?”

  Raoul hissed a breath of relief as they reached the top of the steps. Only a few more feet to his bedchamber.

  “If they are, they’re the worst outlaws in the entire kingdom.”

  Nico shifted to open the door. “Why?”

  “They didn’t bother to relieve me of so much as a quid. Even after they knocked me unconscious.”

  With a curse, Nico halted Raoul beside the four-poster bed and efficiently began stripping away Raoul’s rumpled attire.

  “Then why did they attack you?”

  “I suspect they were paid to frighten me back to London. Either that, or they possess an unreasonable dislike for my latest interpretation of Othello.”

  Nico knelt to tug off Raoul’s boots, his expression tight with fury.

  “Your father.”

  Raoul shook his head. He still found it nearly impossible to accept. Lord Merriot might be a cruel, petty man who assumed that the world should cater to his every whim, but this…

  It was one thing to have your father dislike you, it was quite another to have him threaten your life.

  Still, there was no other reasonable explanation.

  “I knew he would be displeased by my presence in Cheshire, but I never thought he would stoop to hiring common thugs to run me off,” he muttered, his tone bitter.

  Straightening, Nico finished undressing Raoul and gingerly helped him into the bed.

  “It’s not displeasure that makes a man act so desperate.”

  “No.” Raoul sighed in relief as he sank into the feather mattress. “It’s fear.”

  Nico folded his arms over his chest and regarded Raoul with a somber gaze.

  “There is a secret your father can’t afford to have exposed.”

  Raoul snorted. “Maybe not, but he doesn’t need to send out his curs to threaten me. I have discovered precisely nothing thus far.”

  “No, but your father must be aware you are nothing if not stubborn. You will never halt once you have fixed upon a goal.”

  Raoul’s lips twisted, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

  “I am firm in purpose, not stubborn.”

  “Firm in purpose enough to get yourself put in an early grave.”

  “Don’t worry. I intend to ensure that my father understands the dangers of threatening me.”

  Nico looked far from impressed. “Describe your attackers.”

  “No, mon ami,” Raoul rasped. “They are mine.”

  For a moment, Nico struggled against the urge to argue, then clearly sensing Raoul would not yield, he heaved a frustrated sigh.

  “At least allow me to fetch the surgeon. Your skull is too thick to harm, but your ribs are not quite so impervious.”

  “Absolutely not.” Raoul swallowed as his slig
ht move sent a searing pain through his ribs. “I will not have the entire neighborhood chattering. It will only make it more difficult to continue my search.”

  Nico narrowed his gaze. “Stubborn.”

  “Not so stubborn that I will refuse your assistance in pouring me a glass of brandy.”

  Muttering beneath his breath about the lunacy of Englishmen and the obstinacy of one particular Englishman, Nico crossed the room to pour out a large measure of the brandy kept on the mantel of the black marble fireplace.

  He returned to the bed, and shoved the glass into Raoul’s hand.

  “It won’t cure your wounds, but I suppose it might ease the pain.”

  Raoul gratefully drained the brandy, sighing as the warmth spread through his chilled body. With the covers pulled over his aching body, he was relieved to note his shivers had eased.

  Setting aside the empty glass, he frowned as Nico headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have a small errand to attend to.”

  “Nico…”

  Pausing, Nico allowed a faint grin to touch his lean, dark face.

  “Ease your battered brain. I will leave the villains in your hands.”

  Raoul narrowed his gaze. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Nico’s pledge. But the wily man had his own way of interpreting his promise.

  “You haven’t told me what you discovered in Wallingford.”

  Nico shrugged. “That can wait until the morrow.”

  “You found Polly?”

  “Yes, and that is all I will say on the matter.”

  “And you claim me stubborn.”

  “Lay there and try not to do yourself more damage. I’ll return shortly.”

  Sitting beside the parlor fireplace, Sarah sipped at her tea and lost herself in the novel that Maggie had brought from the village.

  She loved the boys and could not imagine her life without them, but they could never be considered peaceful companions. She had learned to savor the hour after the boys had been tucked in their beds, when the cottage was bathed in silence.

  Lost in the adventures of a daring heroine and the determined seducer who she pictured as a golden-haired Apollo with eyes as blue as a summer sky, Sarah nearly tumbled from her chair when there was a soft knock on her door.