Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

  Typically, she had no concern for her own welfare. Instead, her eyes widened as he leaned over her, his expression hard with a stark longing.

  “You must be careful. Your injuries…”

  “Are nothing compared to my aching need for you,” he husked, lowering his head to press a soft kiss on her lip. “Mmmmm. You have been baking gingerbread again.”

  She trembled, but she made no effort to push him away. “It is the boys’ favorite.”

  “I am growing fond of it myself.”

  To prove his point, Raoul returned his attention to her lips, nibbling and teasing until they at last parted in silent invitation.

  Raoul groaned, his hands trembling as they reached to tug at the buttons holding the dressing gown together. Mon Dieu. He felt as if he were once again an untried youth, so overwhelmed by the sensations jolting through his body that he could barely breathe.

  Deepening his kiss, Raoul allowed her exotic taste to fill his senses, his fingers dealing with the last of the buttons so he could pull back the dressing gown to reveal the splendor of her body.

  He lifted his head, his heart stuttering to a halt as his gaze drifted down her body.

  In the candlelight, her skin glowed with a rich sheen, her curves so soft and lush he had to swallow a low moan of appreciation.

  Returning his gaze to her face, Raoul was startled by her uncertain expression. As if she did not realize just how stunningly beautiful she truly was.

  “Perfect,” he whispered, his hand moving to cup a full breast. “So perfect.”

  She shivered at his touch, her eyes darkening with a pleasure she couldn’t disguise.

  “I am far from perfect,” she breathed, her hands tentatively lifting to stroke over his chest.

  Raoul growled deep in his throat, his muscles quivering beneath her soft exploration. Blessed saints. How could such a simple touch send him up in flames?

  Lost in the spell she was unwittingly weaving, Raoul dipped his head to capture the tip of her breast between his lips. Her gasp of shock echoed through the room, but even as Raoul stiffened at the thought that he may have frightened her, she was arching her back in silent encouragement.

  He was swift to oblige.

  Pleasuring her with his tongue and teeth, Raoul allowed his hand to skim down the curve of her waist, pushing the fabric of her dressing gown out of his path. His erection throbbed at the sound of her soft moans and the restless stirring of her body beneath his fingers. Sarah might be innocent, but she was also a woman who had denied her passions for too long. Her need was a tangible force that wrapped around him and stole any hope of coherent thought.

  Instead, he allowed himself to be caught in the gathering storm.

  Shifting his hand to gently tug apart her legs, Raoul turned his attention to her other breast, his erection rubbing against her hip. He was aching with the desire to be within her, but for tonight it was enough to teach Sarah the pleasures to be discovered in his arms.

  Her hands slid to his shoulders, her nails biting into his flesh with the sweetest pain.

  “This is…I never…Mr. Charlebois.”

  “Sssh, ma belle,” he murmured, nibbling a path of kisses up her throat until he at last reached her mouth. “Trust me.”

  He didn’t give her an opportunity to respond, covering her lips with a kiss of blatant hunger.

  Not that she seemed to be in any mood to argue. Indeed, she met the thrust of his tongue with her own, pulling him ever closer as his fingers stroked her inner thigh, heading higher with each sweeping motion.

  For a maddening moment, Raoul felt her stiffen at his intimate touch and he forced his fingers to still. It might damn well kill him to halt, but he would rather endure a lifetime of frustration than risk frightening her.

  Time seemed to stand still before she slowly relaxed and her hips lifted in an unconscious plea for relief.

  Raoul shuddered, scattering desperate kisses over her flushed face as he slipped a finger through the damp heat between her legs. Sarah whimpered, her body trembling as he discovered her precise point of pleasure.

  Stroking her with a slow, growingly insistent pace, Raoul found his own hips rocking forward, his body desperate for release. A groan was wrenched from his throat as he lifted his head to study the woman writhing beside him.

  Mon Dieu. She was beautiful.

  A handful of raven curls had escaped from her braid to frame her face, her eyes dark with smoldering passion, her lips parted.

  In this moment she was the vision of female desire.

  And he was utterly captivated.

  Shifting his finger to sink into the damp heat of her body, Raoul gritted his teeth and continued to thrust his erection against her hip, relieved that the covers would disguise his climax from Sarah. Tonight he did not want anything to distract her from reaching her own completion.

  With a soft gasp, Sarah lifted her hips off the bed, her eyes squeezing shut as her body tensed. Raoul increased his pace, allowing her soft gasps to judge the moment that she reached her peak.

  Raoul’s own climax slammed into him the same moment her lips parted, and swooping his head down, he swallowed her startled cry of bliss.

  Wrapping his arms around her shivering body, Raoul felt the shuddering pleasure continue to race through him, the sensations intense enough to send a sharp alarm through his heart.

  This was supposed to be…what?

  A momentary distraction?

  A brief, maddening fascination?

  Either was acceptable.

  What wasn’t acceptable was the voice whispering in the back of his head that warned him his entire life had just been irrevocably altered.

  Against his will, he recalled Fredrick’s words at Ian’s wedding.

  “Run if you will, Charlebois, but destiny is waiting for you.”

  Unnerved by the direction of his thoughts, Raoul shifted onto his elbow and ran a gentle hand over Sarah’s flushed cheek.

  He might not comprehend his strange sense of premonition, but for the moment he had far more pleasurable matters to ponder.

  “Sarah.” His glow of contentment faltered as she refused to lift her lashes and meet his searching gaze. “Look at me.”

  Rather than obeying his soft command, Sarah jerked her robe together and with shaking hands began refastening the long row of buttons.

  “It must be very late. I need to return home.”

  He paused, his brows drawing together. “Nico will take you in the carriage, but not until I am certain you are well.”

  Finishing up her self-imposed task, Sarah struggled to break from his arms.

  “Why would I not be?”

  Raoul refused to release her. Not until she would look him in the eye and admit the truth.

  “Neither of us can deny that what just occurred was anything less than earth-shattering.”

  “I do not comprehend how it could have been earth-shattering for you,” she muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I am not the first woman you’ve had in your bed.”

  Ah. Was she jealous? The thought was oddly satisfying.

  He brushed a kiss over the top of her head. “Perhaps not the first, but by far the most memorable,” he whispered. “You are teaching me that there is a vast difference between desiring a woman and needing a very particular woman.”

  She tensed, her gaze at last lifting. “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Always say precisely what a person wants to hear. Is it a talent that comes with your acting skills?”

  Raoul flinched, untangling himself so he could glare down at her with genuine outrage.

  Sacrebleu. Why did she not just slap him? It would be less painful.

  “You think I am playing a role?”

  Before he could react, Sarah slipped from the bed, her guarded gaze never wavering from his hard expression.

  “I think you are so accustomed to hiding behind a mask you have forgotten who you truly are.
” Her second blow neatly delivered, she hurried toward the door. “Good night, Mr. Charlebois, do not forget to drink your tonic.”

  December 16

  Baxter Lodge

  The night proved to be long, painful, and filled with the sort of unpleasant soul-searching that Raoul avoided like the plague.

  At last he could bear his broodings no longer, and ignoring his lingering aches, he forced himself from the bed and prepared for the day.

  Not that he could toss aside his aggravating thoughts as easily as he could toss aside the covers.

  Even as he pulled on his buff breeches and a claret jacket, he found his mind churning with the memory of Miss Sarah Jefferson.

  The woman was obviously demented.

  What other explanation could there be for her to so willingly offer her body to his touch one moment, and in the next, to treat him as if he were a coldhearted calculating rake?

  Or perhaps he was the demented one, he ruefully conceded.

  After all, there was no reason to drive himself batty over Sarah Jefferson.

  He had come to Cheshire to discover the secret in his father’s past, not to fall victim to a pair of midnight eyes. And more importantly, as soon as he had the truth, he would be returning to London and the life awaiting him there.

  What did he care if Sarah had bolted from his bed as if he carried the plague?

  Abruptly sensing that he was no longer alone, Raoul turned to discover Nico standing near the open door.

  His less than cheerful mood was not improved by the hint of mocking amusement in his servant’s eyes.

  “I might have known you wouldn’t have the sense to stay in bed,” Nico drawled, leaning his shoulder against the door jam.

  Raoul grunted, noting that Nico appeared even more the cutthroat this morning in his rough linen smock and buckskins. Clearly Nico had been indulging his love for intrigue.

  “And have Mrs. Dent up here fussing?” Raoul shuddered, then winced as his ribs gave a throb of protest. “I’d as soon be back in the hands of those idiot ruffians.”

  “Speaking of ruffians.”

  Raoul narrowed his gaze. “Did I imagine your promise to allow me to deal with my attackers?”

  Nico’s amusement deepened. “You are in a foul mood for a gentleman who spent a considerable amount of time alone with the female who has captured his fancy.”

  “Nico.”

  “At least do not tell me you wasted the perfect opportunity I handed to you?”

  “Miss Jefferson is a lady,” Raoul snapped, his temper flaring. “I will not have her discussed as if she were a common trollop.”

  “Obviously the blows to your head did more damage than I first suspected.”

  Raoul took a warning step forward, indifferent to the knowledge he was revealing far more than he desired.

  “Do not press this, mon ami.”

  Nico straightened, his amusement replaced by a shrewd curiosity.

  “No need for violence. At least not toward me.”

  Well, that was true enough. If he wanted a victim to bear the brunt of his frustration, he had any number of choices.

  Beginning with his coward of a father.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Raoul reined in his churning emotions.

  “Tell me what you have discovered.”

  Nico lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. “I did nothing more than keep a watch on the Great House.”

  “And?”

  “At the break of dawn, two men met with your father behind the stables.”

  Raoul’s sharp laugh was without humor. “I didn’t know my father was capable of leaving his bed before noon.”

  “Paying off cutthroats is a rather delicate business that is best done before the house begins to stir.”

  “So I have discovered.” Ignoring the stupid flare of betrayal that clenched his heart, Raoul forced himself to concentrate on more important matters. “Were you close enough to overhear the conversation?”

  Thankfully Nico knew him well enough to realize that he would reject any suggestion of sympathy.

  “No, I didn’t want to risk exposing my presence. I did, however, manage to follow your assailants back to their den.”

  “Den?”

  “I will not dignify the pile of rubble as a home.” He pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket. “I drew you a map, so you should be able to track them down easily enough. Unless, of course, you lose your bearings in the snow.”

  Raoul heaved a sigh as he plucked the paper from her servant’s fingers. He should have known Nico was aware that he could not leave the Lodge, no matter what his intent, without finding himself at Sarah’s small cottage.

  “My bearings are all quite sound.”

  Nico arched a brow. “If you say so.”

  “Enough,” he growled. “Tell me what you discovered of Polly Andrews.”

  Nico shrugged, taking the abrupt change of conversation in stride.

  “She wasn’t difficult to locate. I discovered her in the first pub I entered.”

  “She was working there?”

  “Not precisely.”

  It took a moment for Raoul to realize that Willie and Jimmy’s mother had been reduced to selling her body.

  Not an unusual tale, unfortunately. Women had few options when forced to support themselves.

  His sympathy for Polly Andrews, however, did not alter his belief that it was imperative that the boys remain in the custody of Sarah Jefferson.

  Why he gave a damn…well, that was a question that didn’t bear scrutiny.

  “Did you speak with her?”

  “I did my best. Unfortunately she was drunk as a louse before I arrived.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “From what I could gather from her ramblings, she was abandoned by her lover after he had foisted a child on her. She has taken to desperate measures to support herself and the babe.”

  “So she has no intention of returning for the children she abandoned?”

  Nico grimaced. “Not unless she could find some profit in it.”

  “That is what I feared.” Raoul’s expression was hard. “If she knew how attached Miss Jefferson has become to those boys, she would do everything in her power to bilk her.”

  “She would be even more eager to play the long lost mother if she knew there was an extremely wealthy gentleman involved,” Nico drawled.

  Since the precise thought had crossed his mind, Raoul ignored the less than subtle warning. In truth, he was becoming astonishingly accomplished at ignoring any number of things.

  Instead, he concentrated his thoughts on Willie and Jimmy, who would be the ultimate victims if they were taken from the home they had grown to love.

  “Do you think she could be convinced to give up her rights?”

  “For the proper price.”

  “Then I must consider what the proper price is for two young boys.”

  Nico gave a slow shake of his head. “I would say that the blow to your head rattled your wits, but they’ve been scrambled since we came to Cheshire.”

  Raoul’s lips twisted. “And I would argue if you were not so painfully right.”

  “We could pack our bags and return to London. Your father would be satisfied and call off his dogs. And you could turn your thoughts to enjoying your retirement.”

  “Tempting,” Raoul retorted, even as he knew that nothing in hell would drag him from Cheshire. “But my father has thrown down the gauntlet. You do not imagine I will call craven at such a blatant challenge?”

  “Gauntlet? Very Shakespearean of you.”

  Raoul stiffened at his servant’s unwitting words. “Nico.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I am always performing?”

  “I think you are adept at being whatever others want you to be,” Nico carefully admitted.

  Raoul frowned, regretting he had even asked.

  “I see.”

  “It is a handy talent. You would have made a fortune
in trade.”

  “Nice to know.” Hearing the sounds of Mrs. Dent’s approaching footsteps, Raoul reached out to grip his servant’s shoulder. “Thank you, mon ami. As always, your assistance has been invaluable.”

  “Just how invaluable?”

  Raoul chuckled. “I will return before dinner.”

  Nico’s smile faded. “Charlebois, take care,” he warned. “Those men looked to be desperate. They won’t be pleased by your visit.”

  “Don’t fear. On this occasion, surprise will be on my side.”

  Chapter 11

  Being in the worthy sort of community that attended church services with dutiful, if not overly devout dedication, Raoul was able to traverse the snowy lanes without concern of being seen.

  Of course, he was not reckless enough to come within sight of his father’s estate. Unlike his neighbors, Lord Merriot possessed the opinion that members of nobility were destined for heaven without the tedious need to sit on a hard pew.

  Besides, taking the path to the Great House would lead him past Sarah’s cottage.

  The very last thing he needed was to be distracted on this morning.

  Following Nico’s map, Raoul at last halted Hercules in a small copse of trees, and crossed the narrow path to the cottage that was nearly hidden behind a tangle of overgrown hedges.

  He stepped through the broken gate and grimaced at the derelict building. Sacrebleu. It was little wonder that Nico had dismissed it as a den. Although Raoul had doubts that even an animal would choose to nest in among the crumbling stones and rotted thatching.

  Keeping in the shadows of the hedge, Raoul carefully made his way to the door that hung precariously from its hinges.

  His assailants might live in squalor, but that did not make them any less dangerous.

  As Nico had pointed out, desperate men were never to be taken lightly. Especially when they felt cornered.

  Pausing near the door, Raoul pulled his loaded gun from his pocket and drew in a deep, steadying breath. Then, using the toe of his boot, he gently pushed open the door.

  He instinctively winced as the stench of fried fish and unwashed bodies billowed through the air.

  Damn. The men clearly possessed an aversion to soap and clean water.

  Ignoring the urge to gag, Raoul stepped through the doorway, not surprised to find his two attackers seated at a small table near the fireplace, both so intent on the card game they were playing that neither noticed they were no longer alone.