Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

  With a frown, Raoul caught and held her gaze. “I am not a gentleman of leisure who frets over the perfection of the knot in my cravat, Miss Jefferson. During my years in the theater, I have swept the grime from any number of stages.”

  Sarah hesitated, sensing he was attempting to reassure her. As if she would ever believe he was no more than a common actor.

  “I think your cravat is bang-up,” Jimmy proclaimed, his loyalty unfettered by the confusion of emotions that plagued Sarah.

  “Thank you, Master Jimmy.” Raoul ruffled the boy’s hair, his gaze sliding to Sarah. “I can only wish that everyone shared your impeccable taste.”

  Sarah refused to rise to the bait. “If you boys wish to have your tea, then you must first wash your hands.”

  Jimmy bounced from the sofa. “Can Mr. Charlebois stay for tea?”

  “Mr. Charlebois no doubt has other plans…”

  “No plans, Miss Jefferson,” he smoothly interrupted, rising to his feet. “I would be delighted to share your tea. So long as I do not intrude?”

  Her lips thinned, well aware he had effectively maneuvered her into a corner.

  “Hurry along, boys.”

  Vibrantly aware of the man standing at her side, Sarah watched in silence as the two boys tumbled from the room, their laughter echoing through the still air. She was so tense, she nearly leaped from her skin when he stroked a finger down her cheek.

  “You do not seem as eager as the boys to have my company.” He studied her with a searching gaze. “Are you not pleased to have me here?”

  “It is not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “This is all new to me,” she confessed, her voice unsteady. “I am not certain how I should behave when you are near.”

  His grim expression eased. “How do you behave with your friends?”

  “Friends?”

  “I should like to believe that we are friends,” he said softly. “Am I wrong?”

  She paused before giving a shake of her head. “No.”

  “Not that I have abandoned my determination to have you as my wife.”

  “Mr. Charlebois…”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “But I am willing to give you time to become accustomed to your future.”

  She took a hasty step backward, feeling as if his simple touch had branded her skin.

  “What of your father? Is that not why you came to Cheshire?”

  His expression was brooding as he allowed her to put a bit of much needed distance between them. Not that it did a damnable bit of good. The entire room pulsed with his powerful presence.

  “It was, although, I find it increasingly difficult to recall my original purpose.”

  “Surely you should be concentrating on discovering the truth he has hidden?”

  “I am doing what I can.” He grimaced. “My father has wrapped his past in so many layers of mystery, I am not certain I can ever unravel the truth.”

  Sarah frowned, suddenly sensing she was not the only one with conflicted emotions.

  “Have you considered the possibility it might be best to leave the past alone?”

  “More times than I can count, ma belle.” A slow smile curved his lips, and without warning he had closed the small space between them to wrap his arms around her waist. “Unfortunately, once I set upon a path, I find it impossible not to see it to the end.”

  Sarah shivered, pleasure exploding through her body. “The boys…”

  He buried his face in the curve of her neck, easily discovering that sensitive hollow just below her ear.

  “I want to be with you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the powerful urge to melt against his hard body.

  “You know that is impossible.”

  “The boys revealed they will go to the Vicar’s tomorrow. We could spend the entire day together.” He trailed a path of kisses down her throat. “Say yes.”

  Sarah could not deny the temptation that flared through heart. Her logic might whisper that she had taken enough foolish risks, but her body was already stirring with a need increasingly difficult to deny.

  “I…”

  The sound of approaching footsteps brought her back to reality with the force of a bucket of cold water. Giving a low moan, she wrenched herself out of Raoul’s arms and took a hasty step backward as the boys rushed into the room.

  Blithely unaware of Sarah’s tension and Raoul’s muttered curse, Willie and Jimmy headed straight for the tray of food.

  “Martin promised he will come in the morning to take us to the Vicar’s in his cart, and he says I can take the reins if I behave myself,” Willie announced, filling his plate with sandwiches.

  “Me too, me too,” Jimmy piped in.

  On the point of moving forward, Sarah came to a breathless halt as she felt Raoul run his fingers down the curve of her spine.

  “Tomorrow, Sarah,” he whispered.

  December 20

  Great House

  Lord Merriot grimaced as he watched his wife pace the expensive carpet of her bedchamber, a petulant expression marring her once beautiful features.

  He had purposely delayed this encounter until he had his belongings packed and the carriage called for. Over the past days, it had been increasingly difficult to meet his wife’s bitter gaze, even with his mind fogged by brandy.

  Reasonably sober, it was damned near impossible.

  Spinning on her heel, she glared at his stoic countenance, her too thin body enveloped in a satin dressing gown that was the precise shade of lavender as the walls. The effect might have been charming if not for the gray pallor of her skin and the hectic glitter in her eyes.

  “This is foolishness, Jonah,” she accused, her voice shrill. “You cannot leave me here alone.”

  “Hardly alone. There are two dozen servants in the house.”

  Her expensive jewels shimmered as she waved her hand in dismissal. “And what do servants matter?”

  “You were the one to insist that I do something.”

  “I never thought that you would abandon me for London.”

  His temper flared. This ghastly nightmare was as much her fault as his. Perhaps more.

  “Listen to me, Mirabelle,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “There is only person in this entire world who remembers the truth of Raoul. Once she is…” He smoothed a shaking hand down his exquisitely tailored black coat. “Dealt with, there will be no means by which the past can be known.”

  The faded brown eyes widened. “What do you intend to do, Jonah?”

  He turned to hide his expression, unwilling to admit even to himself just what he was willing to do to keep the past hidden.

  “I will send her to France,” he muttered.

  “And what if she refuses to leave?”

  “Then I will have her transported, as I did that bloody gardener.”

  She moaned. “Do not speak of that.”

  With a growl he turned to glare at his wife. “She will go, and that will be the end of the matter.”

  “You keep saying that, but it never ends,” Mirabella whined, wringing her hands in growing agitation. “Never, never, never.”

  He stepped forward to grasp her shoulders and give her a small shake. “Gather your composure, Mirabelle. Or do you want the servants gossiping in the village? Raoul is suspicious enough.”

  She reached up to shove him away, any love she might have once felt for him now lost in the bitter recriminations.

  Yet another price for his sins.

  As if the death of Peter was not enough.

  “He is more than suspicious, he is dangerous,” she hissed. “You said yourself he managed to slip in the manor unhindered. How do you know he will not use your absence to sneak in and cut my throat?”

  “If he wanted to harm us, he would have done so already.” His jaw tightened with fury. Damn Raoul and his meddling. “Besides, he is too anxious to discover his past to risk putting us in our graves.”

&
nbsp; “Fine for you to say. You will not be here to…”

  “Enough,” Jonah sharply interrupted. “I have made my decision.”

  “You do not believe I have suffered enough from your decisions?” she demanded, her arms wrapping around her waist.

  Jonah gave a weary shake of his head as he turned for the door. “Say what you will, Mirabelle, we are both in this together.”

  Leaving his wife sobbing in the middle of the room, Jonah made his way down the long flight of stairs, unable to enjoy the elegant marble that glowed in the morning light, or the exquisite chandelier that he had shipped from Venice near twenty years ago.

  How the devil could he enjoy anything? Since Raoul’s arrival in Cheshire, he had been plagued with a sense of doom that not even the finest brandy could dull.

  Reaching the foyer, he smoothed his expression and regarded the footman with a cold composure.

  “Is the carriage waiting?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The uniformed man opened one of the heavy oak doors.

  Jonah shivered at the blast of frigid air. Damn, he hated traveling in the winter.

  “I want the staff to remain on guard in my absence,” he commanded as he moved forward. “And ensure that the windows and doors are kept locked at all times.”

  An unmistakable surprise crossed the footman’s face before he was giving a hasty dip of his head.

  “As you command, my lord.”

  Jonah grit his teeth, knowing he had no doubt stirred precisely the sort of curiosity he hoped to avoid.

  “Lady Merriot is anxious at the thought of being here without me. I promised that the servants would see to her protection.”

  “Of course.”

  Dismissing the servant from his mind, Jonah swept through the door and walked down the steps. He had nearly reached the bottom when a man stepped from behind a large stone urn.

  “So the great Lord Merriot at last crawls from his lair,” the man snarled.

  “What the devil…” Coming to an abrupt halt, Jonah ran a condemning gaze over the man’s ragged clothing. A nasty beggar was his first thought. It was not until his gaze lifted to the filthy countenance that his heart gave a sharp jerk of alarm. Drabble. Standing on his property as bold as brass. Had the entire world gone mad? “Get off my land you nasty bit of rubbish.”

  “I may be rubbish, but I ain’t got blood on me hands.” Drabble cackled, pointing a gnarled finger directly at Jonah’s face. “You will pay.”

  Panic held Jonah paralyzed for a brief moment. Did the man have proof? Could he have spoken with Raoul?

  No. Jonah gave a shake of his head. It was impossible. He had covered his tracks too well. This was nothing more than an effort to rattle his nerves.

  Squaring his shoulders, he glared down at the pathetic toad. “Do you dare threaten me?”

  “I warned you,” the man hissed. “I said your evil would come back to haunt you.”

  “Leave before I have you hauled before the magistrate for poaching.”

  Drabble ignored the threat, his eyes glittering with a festering hate.

  “Do you think I can’t see how yer hands shake, or the fear in your eyes?” the man taunted. “Deal with the devil and he will demand his price.”

  “Shut your mouth. You know nothing.”

  “I know you as good as killed my brother.”

  “Your brother was a thief.”

  The man rasped in a sharp breath, his face flushing at the lie that tumbled so easily from Jonah’s lips.

  “Never you say that, you bastard. He was a decent and honorable man, and you will rot in the pits of hell for what you did to him.”

  Jonah felt another surge of alarm, wondering if the man had finally tumbled into insanity. God knew he had never been particularly stable.

  “Sawyer,” he called, relief scouring through him as the burly footman rushed from the carriage where he was securing the last of the luggage.

  “Aye?”

  “Get rid of this man.”

  “At once, sir.”

  Sawyer attempted to grasp Drabble, only to have the wily man dance out of reach.

  “You can toss me from yer land, but you can’t be rid of those you hurt. They will never leave you in peace.”

  His last warning delivered, Drabble turned and darted across the snow, swiftly disappearing into the hedges.

  Sawyer muttered a curse. “Do you want me to call for the magistrate, sir?”

  “No. I have no time for this nonsense.”

  Jonah strode angrily toward the carriage, more rattled by the encounter than he wanted to admit. Loose ends. Too many damned loose ends.

  He felt as if his entire life were unraveling.

  “Very well.” The groom rushed to pull open the door of the carriage and let down the steps.

  Settling on the soft leather seat and tugging the fur rug over his legs, he regarded his groom with a grim expression.

  “Sawyer.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “If Drabble returns, I want him shot.” Ignoring the servant’s shocked expression, he reached to slam shut the door. Then, digging beneath his coat, he pulled out the silver flask that held his brandy, and rapped on the ceiling of the carriage. “Drive on.”

  Chapter 16

  December 21

  Cheshire

  Sarah was in the kitchen when she heard the front door open and then close.

  Removing the apron, she smoothed her hands down the skirt of her pale amber gown and headed for the parlor. She knew precisely who would be waiting for her.

  Of course, that did not ease the pounding of her heart as she stepped through the doorway to discover Raoul tossing his hat and caped greatcoat onto a chair.

  At her entrance, he slowly turned, his lean muscles rippling beneath his tailored sapphire jacket and black waistcoat embroidered with silver thread.

  Heavens, would she ever become accustomed to his golden beauty? Or the shocking power of his smile?

  Obviously not, she wryly accepted, feeling her mouth go dry and her knees weaken as he moved forward and pressed her hand to his lips.

  “Good morning, ma belle,” he husked, his brilliant blue eyes dark with a primal emotion that sent a thrill of excitement down her spine.

  “Mr. Charlebois.” She reluctantly pulled her hand from his grasp. “This is rather early to call.”

  “Early?” His lips twisted. “I spent the past three hours awaiting a decent hour. The boys have gone to the Vicar’s, have they not?”

  There was another tingle at the reminder that they were completely alone in the cottage.

  Oh lord, this was dangerous.

  “They have, but I have a number of chores…”

  “Your chores can wait,” he interrupted, stepping close enough to wrap her in his male scent.

  “Easy enough for you to say.”

  “Come, Sarah, is there any task so pressing it cannot be delayed a few hours?” he demanded, his fingers toying with a curl that had come loose from her braid to lie against her cheek.

  She stepped to the side, moving toward the window in an effort to catch her elusive breath.

  “Where is your horse?”

  “I left him in the woods.” He prowled to stand at her side. “You seem reluctant to allow anyone to know of my frequent visits.”

  “The area is isolated, but there is always the chance that someone will stumble across Hercules and decide they have need of such a fine animal.”

  His chuckle brushed over her cheek. “I pity anyone foolish enough to try and steal Hercules. The last man who did so ended up with broken ribs and a number of teeth missing.”

  “You trained him to attack?”

  “I had no need to train him. Hercules is merely fastidious in who he allows to handle him.” He deliberately paused. “Much like his master.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I believe it of Hercules.”

  He grasped her shoulders to turn her to meet his fierce gaze. “You can be certain of it w
ith me as well, ma belle. No hands but yours shall ever touch me again.”

  An aching need clutched at her heart. For all her determination to be sensible, there was a secret part of her that could not deny a wistful yearning that this man could feel more than guilt.

  “Do not be absurd,” she breathed.

  “What is absurd about a man desiring to be faithful to the woman he has chosen as his wife?”

  Once again she pulled away, turning to walk toward the fireplace, desperately needing to hide her expression.

  “Please, do not.”

  “Why?” He moved until he could face her, his brows drawn together in a frown. “Do you not believe me sincere?”

  She sighed, knowing he would not be satisfied until he had wrung the truth from her. For all his charm, he could be as stubborn as a mule.

  “I believe you too honorable for your own good,” she grudgingly muttered.

  “Now that is an accusation I have never had thrown at my head before.” His voice was tight, as if angered by her words. “Perhaps you should explain.”

  “You believe it your duty to wed me after…”

  “After we shared a night of wondrous passion together?” he supplied as her words faltered.

  “Yes.”

  He leaned an elbow on the mantel, his expression unreadable. “As you have repeatedly pointed out, you are not the first woman I have taken to my bed. I felt no compulsion to offer them marriage.”

  “No doubt they were far more sophisticated than myself.”

  “Perhaps, but I fail to comprehend what that has to do with my decision not to offer marriage.”

  She clenched her hands, annoyed by his refusal to simply admit the truth, acutely embarrassed by the entire conversation.

  “They are experienced in the ways of men,” she muttered. “They would have no expectations.”

  A golden brow arched. “But you did?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then what is your point?”

  “You are deliberately attempting to misunderstand me.” She glared at his impassive countenance. “You feel compelled to wed me because I was a virgin.”