Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

  Determined he would not be caught off guard again, Raoul swept a swift gaze around the cramped, filthy room, ensuring there were no other villains lurking in the shadows. Only then did he shift his attention to the men at the table.

  His lips twitched as he took note of their hulking size dwarfing the room, and the hard expression on their beefy countenances. At least he could take comfort in knowing his attackers were not spotty-faced lads half his size.

  Lifting his arm to point the gun directly at the head of the nearest villain, Raoul loudly cleared his throat.

  “Is this a private game, or can anyone play?” he drawled, watching with some amusement as the men surged to their feet, knocking the table aside and sending cards and coins flying through the air. “Easy, gentlemen,” he growled as they both bunched their muscles as if preparing to charge. “My finger is a bit unsteady this morning. I suggest you do not so much as twitch.”

  “Damn.” The largest of the two idiots shoved his fingers through the thick thatch of brown hair. “How did ye find us?”

  Keeping his arm steady, Raoul curled his lips in disgust. “I followed the stench. I believe we have some unfinished business.”

  The younger of the two swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yer not here to kill us?”

  “That all depends.”

  “On what?” idiot one demanded.

  “On whether or not I’m satisfied with your answers.”

  “What answers?”

  “We will get to that in a moment. First I want you gentlemen to stand against the wall and keep your hands where I can see them.” The two exchanged a worried glance, as if considering something stupid. Raoul stepped forward, his pistol glinting in the firelight. “Now.”

  “Fine.” The larger man, who was clearly the leader of the two, shoved his companion until they were both pressed against the far wall. Then, lifting his hands, he regarded Raoul with a petulant expression. “We done it.”

  “Give me your names.”

  There was a pause, then with a glance at the gun, the leader muttered a vile curse.

  “I be Tom Simmons and this here is me brother, George. Why do ye want to know?”

  “I always prefer to be introduced to a man and look him in the eyes before I shoot him. So much more civilized than leaping from the hedge to ambush a poor soul.” His eyes narrowed. “Only cowards employ such tactics.”

  An ugly flush crept up George’s thick neck. Like his brother, he was dressed in rough wool clothing that should have been condemned to the fire years ago.

  “Here now…”

  “Shut up, George,” Tom commanded, giving his brother a punch to the arm before returning his wary attention to Raoul. “Tell us what you want.”

  “I want to know how much Lord Merriot paid you to threaten me.”

  Shock rippled over both men’s faces.

  “The Earl?” Tom licked his lips, a hint of desperation edging his voice. “What dealings would we have with the likes of him? Me and George are simple folk.”

  Raoul took another step forward. “Wrong answer.”

  “Wait,” Tom rasped, sweat trickling from his brow despite the biting chill in the air. “What makes ye think Lord Merriot is involved?”

  “Do you claim he wasn’t?” Raoul drawled. “Perhaps the scurrilous attack was your and your brother’s notion?”

  “No…I mean…” Tom floundered, his tiny mind obviously incapable of functioning with a gun pointed at it. “Mayhaps there was someone who paid us to frighten you away, but it wasn’t Lord Merriot.”

  “Then who sent you?”

  “I don’t know his name. A London bloke, I think. Gave us the money and disappeared.”

  Raoul snorted. The two were as worthless at lying as they were at housekeeping.

  “How terribly convenient. A pity I don’t believe a word coming out of your mouth.” A cruel expression hardened his features. “Perhaps you have forgotten what happens when I am not satisfied with your answers.”

  George made a strangled sound, his fear a tangible force in the air. “We can’t tell you. He’ll have us killed.”

  “And I intend to kill you if you do not tell me. A devilish dilemma, is it not?”

  There was a tense pause, then hunching his shoulders in defeat, Tom glared at his captor.

  “Fine. It were the Earl who hired us.”

  So…there it was.

  His suspicions were confirmed.

  Lord Merriot had gone from being a callous, incompetent father to a violent madman willing to do whatever necessary to keep his secrets hidden.

  Welcome home, Raoul Charlebois.

  “How did he find you?” Raoul gritted. “Not to be insulting, but I cannot imagine that he often rubs elbows with any of your acquaintances.”

  “Not bloody likely,” George muttered.

  “Then how?”

  It was Tom who explained. “My cousin works in the stables. When his lordship approached him about hiring some men to tend to a…”

  “Delicate, that’s what he said,” George helpfully supplied. “A delicate problem.”

  Tom flashed him an annoyed frown. “My cousin knew we were just the men for the job.”

  “Did you meet with him?” Raoul demanded.

  “Aye,” Tom admitted. “Two days ago behind the stables, and then again this morning to get our pay.”

  “What did he say? Exactly.”

  “I can’t remember exactly.”

  Raoul gave a tiny wave of his gun. “Try very, very hard.”

  Tom swiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “He said that his bastard had returned to the neighborhood, and that it was upsetting Lady Merriot.”

  Raoul gave a sharp bark of laughter. Lady Merriot had barely been capable of looking at him when he was young. Obviously, the years had not stirred her maternal affection.

  “Yes, I can imagine.”

  “And then he said as how he would be willing to pay to have you roughed up a bit so you would leave the Lodge,” George broke in, anxious to prove his cooperation. “He also told us to keep our gobs shut about the business.”

  Roughed up a bit?

  Well, that was a nice way of ordering your own son to be beaten senseless.

  “He gave you no other reason for wanting me to leave?”

  Tom furrowed his brow as he struggled to recall. “He said he couldn’t…what was the word…” He snapped his fingers. “Afford, aye, that was it. Says as he couldn’t afford you lingering in Cheshire. That we was to scare you good.”

  Afford? Raoul stilled, his thoughts churning. Did his father’s words imply that his presence in Cheshire threatened him financially rather than socially?

  But how was that possible?

  As a bastard, he had no claim to his father’s estates, or his fortune.

  Unless he feared that Raoul would blackmail him as Dunnington had done?

  “An odd choice of words,” he muttered.

  As if worried he had said something wrong, Tom pressed a hand to his chest.

  “That’s what he said, swear on me mother’s grave.”

  Frustrated, Raoul gave a shake of head. These men were mere pawns. Actors on a stage, following Lord Merriot’s directions.

  They did not have the answers he sought.

  Of course, that did not mean he intended to allow them to walk away unscathed, he grimly acknowledged.

  “Allow your poor mother to rest in peace and let us return to my original question.”

  “I…” Tom glanced toward the nearby door, as if judging whether or not he could make a bolt for it. With a deliberate motion, Raoul took a step closer to the cringing George, his pistol pointed directly between his crossed eyes. Realizing that Raoul held the upper hand, Tom heaved a sigh. “What was that?”

  “How much were you paid to leave me knocked senseless on that frozen path?”

  A cunning expression touched Tom’s beefy countenance. “We each got two shilling.�
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  “Careful, Tom,” Raoul warned, a lethal edge to his voice. “The lives of you and your brother are hanging in the balance.”

  Tom briefly weighed the worth of his brother against keeping his ill-gotten gains before muttering a curse.

  “Fine. He gave each of us five Crowns.”

  Raoul held out his free hand. “Give it over.”

  “Have ye lost yer bloody mind,” George squawked. “We did the work that was asked of us. We deserve that money…” His words ended in a small scream as Raoul pressed the pistol to his forehead. “Hellfire.”

  Still growling and sputtering at the unfairness of life, Tom dug the silver coins from his pocket and shoved them into Raoul’s waiting hand.

  Never allowing the gun to waver, Raoul backed slowly toward the door, his expression warning he was quite willing to pull the trigger.

  “Since you two have so kindly cooperated, I’m going to give you a piece of advice,” he paused, a hard smile curving his lips. “While I am not one to hold a grudge, I possess two loyal servants who are not so forgiving. And since they both have the opinion that any injury to me is a personal insult to them, I would wager they will be eager to spill the blood of those responsible. Pickens would no doubt be willing to limit his revenge to a sound thumping, but Nico…he prefers a knife to the back.”

  With a mocking bow, Raoul stepped through the doorway. “Good day, gentlemen. A pleasure doing business with you.”

  Despite the vast army of servants that Lord Merriot felt necessary to support his luxurious lifestyle, Raoul had little difficulty slipping through a side door and making his way to his father’s private study.

  As a child, he had memorized the best means to travel through the spiderweb of rooms and corridors without attracting attention. A skill that he used today to bypass the sleepy footmen and various maids who scurried about the house.

  Entering the elegant room that had always been kept strictly off-limits to Raoul, he briefly glanced over the satinwood furnishings and ivory satin panels. Across the room, a white marble fireplace was intricately carved with a wide mantel that held his father’s collection of enamel snuffboxes, and a miniature portrait of Peter as a child.

  Not surprisingly, he had never been requested to sit for a portrait. At least not by his father.

  Which suited him just fine, he thought with a small grimace.

  Perhaps it was simply because Lord Merriot had proven to be a treacherous bastard, but the entire house seemed to reek of a slow, relentless decay.

  Shaking off the strange sense of bleak gloom that seemed to permeate the air, Raoul swiftly moved to the desk situated near the long bank of windows and riffled through the various papers and ledger books, searching for anything that might appear out of place.

  He discovered two letters that were swiftly dismissed, along with a small leather-bound journal that was filled with his father’s tight handwriting, rather than his steward’s more fluid strokes, but proved to be no more interesting than a list of various supplies needed from the village.

  Then, convinced he had found all that was to be discovered in the desk, he moved to the shelves of books, searching for anything that might be hidden among the leather-bound tomes.

  Finding nothing of interest, Raoul was at the point of searching the walls for a hidden safe, when the sound of footsteps had him spinning around as the door was thrust open.

  Lord Merriot entered the study, momentarily unaware that his private sanctuary had been invaded. Remaining silent, Raoul watched his father move with slow, heavy steps toward the desk, the once handsome countenance lined with a strange weariness.

  Or perhaps not so strange, Raoul cynically acknowledged, the festering sense of betrayal clenching his heart.

  His father was accustomed to sleeping until luncheon. It must be draining to force himself from his bed at the crack of dawn to pay off his henchmen.

  Folding his arms over his chest, Raoul leaned against the bookshelf and smoothed his expression. His ability to conceal his innermost emotions might annoy Sarah Jefferson, but it did come in handy when dealing with a homicidal relative.

  “Good afternoon, Father,” he drawled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Jerking in surprise, Lord Merriot swung around, his face a sickly shade of gray.

  “For God’s sake, Raoul, you nearly gave me heart failure.”

  Raoul snorted. “To have heart failure, one would have to presume you have a heart. And we both know that is absurd, do we not?”

  “How the devil did you get in here?”

  Raoul arched a brow. “Are you not more curious as to why I am here?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Yes, Father, you most certainly should be.” He deliberately paused, petty enough to enjoy watching the older man squirm beneath his steady gaze. “You see, I just had the most intriguing conversation with the Simmons brothers.”

  The Earl’s brown eyes darkened with genuine fear as he realized Raoul had discovered his attackers.

  “I haven’t the least notion who you are referring to,” he attempted to bluff.

  “Perhaps this will refresh your memory.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Raoul pulled out the coins he had taken from the Simmons brothers, and tossed them at his father’s feet.

  Merriot stumbled backward, as if he feared the coins were cursed.

  “What is that?”

  “The money you paid the brothers to ambush me outside the Lodge, supposedly in the hopes of frightening me out of Cheshire.”

  “Outlandish,” the Earl barked, reverting as always to intimidation when he felt threatened. “How dare you accuse me of such…”

  “Cut the line, Father. You were seen this morning behind the stables paying your henchmen for thrashing your own son,” Raoul interrupted, his voice harsh.

  “You are spying on me? How dare you?”

  “At least I did not hire cutthroats to beat you like a stray dog.” Raoul clenched his jaw, unable to halt the question that had plagued him since he was attacked. “Did it occur to you that I might have died on that icy path? Or was that what you hoped for? Perhaps you desired to be rid of your bastard without getting your hands dirty?”

  He did not truly expect an honest answer. Certainly not from this man who had been willing to risk his own son’s life to keep his secrets. So, it was no surprise when Lord Merriot turned his back and walked jerkily toward the fireplace.

  “I want you out of my house.”

  “Believe me, there is nothing I want more. Unfortunately for both of us, I have no intention of leaving until you have answered a few questions.”

  Without hesitation, the Earl reached to tug on the rope near the mantel.

  “If you will not leave of your own accord, then I will have you thrown from the estate.”

  “So brave as long as you have others to enforce your will,” Raoul mocked, his hands curled into fists as he resisted the urge to cross the floor and knock the blustering sod on his ass. “But you are a coward at heart, are you not, Father?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Why did you pay Dunnington twenty thousand pounds?”

  “How…” With a hiss, Merriot turned to meet Raoul’s unwavering stare, a hectic flush staining his cheeks. “You are mistaken. I paid Dunnington for your schooling, nothing more. And a sad waste of money that was.”

  Raoul clicked his tongue. “A coward and a liar. I begin to wonder if you have any redeeming qualities, Father.”

  “I took you in when I could have allowed you to be…” The words were sharply cut off, as if his father had nearly revealed more than he desired.

  “Be what?”

  “Left on the streets.”

  It was not what his father had intended to say. He would bet his life on it.

  “If you expect my appreciation for making my childhood a misery, then you are even more a fool than I thought,” he retorted.

  A bitter regret twisted the older ma
n’s expression. “I wish I had refused you beneath my roof. You have brought nothing but ill fortune since you stepped over the threshold.”

  Even accustomed to his father’s callous disregard, Raoul was shocked by the outrageous accusation.

  “I have brought you ill fortune?” he rasped. “I did nothing but try to earn your affection, and when that proved impossible, I disappeared from your life.”

  “If you had not come to England, I would never have been tempted.”

  “Tempted?” Raoul’s eyes narrowed. “Tempted by what?”

  Clearly regretting his impetuous words, Lord Merriot moved toward the door and yanked it open.

  “Leave this alone, Raoul. It is too late to change the past.”

  “Perhaps I cannot change the past, but I am no longer a helpless child. You will not be allowed to destroy my future.”

  Hearing the approaching footsteps that heralded the arrival of the servants, Raoul moved to stand directly before his father, his expression hard with warning. “If it is a question of who survives, Father, do not think for a moment I will not protect myself. By whatever means necessary.”

  Chapter 12

  Luncheon had passed and Sarah was settled in the stone workroom attached to the back of the cottage when the sound of Delilah’s low growls warned that someone was approaching.

  It would be Mr. Charlebois, of course.

  She had known from the moment she had crawled from her sleepless bed that he would come in search of her.

  Not because she was naïve enough to believe that their intimate encounter meant more to the infamous rake than a brief distraction. For her it might have been a night that would be forever branded into her memory, but Raoul had no doubt enjoyed such trysts on countless occasions.

  No, she simply had enough hours in the long night to realize that Raoul was not a man who often had his will crossed. The mere fact that she was struggling to resist his potent charm was enough to stir his predatory nature.

  A pity, really.