Unfortunately, the past few moments had only hardened her determination.
Until Raoul had healed his wounds, he would be incapable of offering his heart.
To anyone.
“You are not thinking clearly…”
“I have never been more clear in my life,” he interrupted, his fingers tracing lightly over her face. “Sarah, whatever truth I might discover in my past is meaningless if I do not have a future.” He lowered his head to brush her lips in an achingly gentle kiss. “You are that future.”
She trembled, savoring his touch. “If I am your future, then there is no need for a hasty marriage. We have all the time in the world.”
His lips thinned before he was heaving a rueful sigh. “I suppose this is only justice.”
“What is?”
He slid his arms around her, leaning his cheek on the top of her head.
“I was the one to lecture Ian on patience when Mercy refused to elope with him. Now I know precisely how he felt.”
Unable to resist, Sarah snuggled closer, breathing deeply of his enticing scent.
“And did they eventually wed?”
“Yes, but it did not make the wait any easier.”
She smiled, amused in spite of herself at his peeved tone. He was not a gentleman who was often denied what he desired.
“This is not a decision to be made lightly.” Her smile faded as she considered a future that suddenly seemed far too uncertain. “By either of us.”
“My decision has already been made, ma belle.” His arms tightened until she had to struggle to breathe. “You will be my wife.”
“Then go wherever it is you have to go to discover your past, and then return,” she urged, proud that her voice was nearly steady. “The boys and I will be here.”
Pulling back, Raoul regarded her with a searching gaze. “You promise?”
“Promise what?”
“That you will be here.”
A wistful smile touched her lips, her hand lifting to touch his beautiful face.
“We are not going anywhere, Mr. Charlebois,” she whispered.
With a tormented groan, he swooped down to capture her lips in a desperate kiss she felt all the way to her toes.
“I swear I will come back to you,” he muttered against her lips.
“I will be waiting.”
With a last, passionate kiss, Raoul was pulling away and gathering the large portrait, awkwardly hauling it to the side door that led directly to the back garden.
Blinking back the threatening tears, Sarah turned to make her way back into the cottage. She would not watch him climb into the waiting carriage and drive away. Not when she might toss sanity to the wind, and chase after him like a madwoman.
She crossed through the kitchen, ignoring Maggie’s curious gaze as she paused in the hallway to hang up her cloak and give herself a moment to gather her composure.
Only when she was certain that she had battled back her tears and smoothed her expression did she enter the parlor where the boys were sitting beside a pile of evergreen branches.
“Where is Mr. Charlebois?” Willie demanded, looking beyond her shoulder as if expecting Raoul to magically appear. “I want him to help us make the crowns.”
Conjuring a smile, Sarah moved to kneel next to Jimmy. The sensitive boys were bound to be disappointed by Raoul’s abrupt departure, but she was determined it would not ruin their Christmas.
“I am afraid he had to leave.”
Jimmy wrinkled his brow. “But he just got here.”
“Yes, he was called away unexpectedly.”
Always keenly perceptive, Willie studied her with an unwavering gaze.
“Called away by who? There isn’t anyone here but us.”
“His business is his own, Willie,” she reminded him gently. “And we should respect his privacy.”
“He’ll be back won’t he?” Jimmy demanded. “He promised to help with the charades.”
She reached to ruffle his hair. “And he has helped. Indeed, he has ensured your performances will be far better than they would have been otherwise. Now he has other duties that demand his attention.”
Jimmy’s bottom lip trembled. “But I wanted him to be there.”
“He would be, my dear, if it were at all possible. He has become very fond of the both of you.”
Willie heaved a disappointed sigh. “It won’t be the same without him.”
“Of course it will,” she promised, her tone bracing. “We must remember we are performing for the children at the orphanage, and they are all very excited. Do you think Mr. Charlebois would ever disappoint his audience?”
“No,” Willie grudgingly agreed.
“Jimmy?” she prompted.
There was a pause before he bravely tilted his chin. “No.”
“Good.” She offered an encouraging smile. “Then we will do our very best and when you are done, we will go to the Vicar’s house for dinner and then we shall all go caroling. It will be a lovely evening.”
“Aye,” Willie agreed, although he could not entirely hide his disappointment.
Searching her mind for a means of reassuring the boys, Sarah was distracted as Maggie entered the room.
“What are these gloomy faces?” the maid demanded, her hands on her ample hips.
“Mr. Charlebois had to leave,” Jimmy said in a small voice.
“Did he now?” A hint of a smile touched Maggie’s mouth. “Well, perhaps he would not mind if I told you his secret.”
As one, the two boys were on their feet.
“What secret?” Willie demanded.
“When he first arrived this morning, he popped into the kitchen for a chat, and while he was there he hinted there might be Christmas presents hidden in the back garden.”
“Presents?” Jimmy breathed.
“For us?” Willie demanded.
Maggie nodded. “I believe so.”
Willie turned his excited gaze to Sarah. “Can we go look for them, Miss Sarah?”
Jimmy bounced up and down, barely capable of containing his anticipation.
“Yes, please.”
“Only if you put on your coat and boots. And do not forget your mittens,” she warned, knowing the boys were quite capable of charging outside without any thought to the cold.
Presents of any sort were a rare treat.
With a noisy whoop, they raced from the room, tugging on the outer attire they had so recently shed. Then arm in arm, they dashed down the hallway.
Following at a much slower pace, Sarah frowned, attempting to sort through her feelings.
There was the expected bittersweet pain at the thought of Raoul. And a warm pleasure at his thoughtful gesture. But there was also…uncertainty.
Why would he have brought the presents the day before Christmas?
Entering the kitchen, Sarah moved directly to the window that overlooked the back garden, her brow still furrowed as she watched the boys dash through the snow.
“I hope you do not disapprove?” Maggie asked, moving to stand beside her. “It seemed as if the boys could use a treat.”
“They could, indeed,” Sarah murmured. “I am just surprised.”
“That Mr. Charlebois would have bought Christmas presents for the boys?”
“No, he is a very generous gentleman, especially towards children. But…”
“Aye?”
She kept her gaze trained on the boys, hoping to keep her expression hidden from the overly curious maid.
“His decision to leave Cheshire was quite abrupt, or so I thought,” she said, her voice a shade too casual. “Why would he bring the gifts today?”
Maggie chuckled. “He said something of young boys being overly eager on Christmas morn, and that while he was quite fond of them, he refused to rise at some ungodly hour to play Father Christmas. He did ask that I tell you that he had hidden them. I also have a gift that he helped the boys to purchase for you, but I am under strict orders not to reveal it to you be
fore the boys have the opportunity to hide it in your stocking.”
She released the breath she did not even realize she was holding. Good lord, she was a fool.
Or perhaps she was merely like any other young woman who had suddenly tumbled into love, she wryly conceded.
Giddy. Confused. And terrified that it was all a dream that could not possibly be real.
“I see.”
Maggie cleared her throat. “He left rather abruptly, did he not?”
“He recalled business he needed to attend to.”
“Did his business include a portrait from the Great House?”
Turning, Sarah met Maggie’s gaze with a somber expression. Lord Merriot had already proven he was a danger. Sarah would do nothing to alert him to Raoul’s discovery.
“For now it is best no one know those portraits were ever in the workroom, Maggie.”
Maggie gave a wise nod of her head. “Like that, is it?”
Sarah snorted, unable to imagine what the woman was implying. “I am not entirely certain what it is.”
“Is he coming back?”
She gave a slow shake of her head, returning her attention to the boys as they discovered the two wooden sleds that had been hidden among the hedge. A sad smile curved her mouth as their shouts of joy echoed through the frozen air.
“I do not know,” she whispered. “I truly do not know.”
December 25
London
Raoul was cold and weary as he pulled his carriage to a halt in front of the London town house.
He had purchased the mansion on Hertford Street a dozen years ago, and devoted a near fortune to having it enlarged and remodeled. There was little to be done with the exterior that was styled with a plain stonework and Doric porch, but within the house, the once cramped and dark rooms had been combined to form state rooms lined with lavish gold-veined marble and gilt, as well as long galleries with Grecian columns and arched windows that overlooked the formal gardens.
Raoul had never given a tinker’s damn about the elegant French furnishings or the works of art his secretary had chosen. For him, no amount of renovations could make the house seem any less empty.
Tonight, however, as he climbed the shallow steps and watched the front door being pulled open, he was suddenly fiercely pleased that he had such a fine home to offer Sarah. Her dark, exotic beauty would be perfectly framed by the stark, classical style.
Stepping into the vaulted foyer with a domed ceiling and shallow alcoves that held Grecian statues, he turned his attention to the short, nearly bald butler with a gaunt face and the dignified expression expected of a London servant.
He was also fiercely loyal, and embarrassingly protective of his master.
“Welcome home, sir, and a Happy Christmas to you,” the servant murmured with a stiff bow. “I fear we were not expecting you for another day or so. Still I am certain that Cook can…”
“You were expecting me?” Raoul demanded in surprise. For all of Burke’s skill, he had never before displayed a talent for clairvoyance.
The older man sniffed. “That valet of yours said he sent a message demanding your return to London. Gets above himself, that one. What right does he have to order about his master?”
Raoul ignored the outburst. Burke had always been bitterly jealous of Nico’s close relationship with Raoul. Instead, he concentrated on the realization that Nico must have discovered something. He would never have sent word without reason.
“Where is he?”
“Do you think he would bother to tell me?” Burke said tartly. “He left a message for you in the library.”
Raoul swallowed a weary sigh, sensing that his hope for a warm brandy before the fire was about to be delayed.
“Come with me,” he commanded, bypassing the stairs to head toward the back of the house.
He entered the library and crossed the Oriental carpet to the massive oak desk that was set beside a long bank of windows overlooking the back garden.
Unlike the majority of the house, this room had been personally overseen by Raoul, who had commanded the walls be lined with sturdy shelves to hold his ever growing collection of books. He had also hired an unknown artist, one who had begun his career creating scenery for the theater, to paint the ceiling with toga-clad actors on a Roman stage.
It was the one room where he felt utterly comfortable.
Easily finding the folded scrap of parchment, Raoul snatched it from the desk and smoothed it to read the brief message:
Meet me at Shakespeare’s Boudoir. I have your Christmas present waiting.
Raoul’s lips twitched. Clearly Nico feared the message would fall into the wrong hands, and had written it in a code that only Raoul could decipher.
Well, at least partially decipher.
He knew that Shakespeare’s Boudoir was a small hotel just off Drury Lane that was actually called the Swan’s Nest, although it was used so often by actresses entertaining their noble patrons, it had gained a less respectable nickname among the theater community.
As for his Christmas present…
Well, he could only hope that it had something to do with the mystery that was his past.
Accepting that his brandy was indeed going to have to be postponed, Raoul turned toward the hovering butler.
“There is a painting in my carriage that I wish to have taken to my private chambers.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I also wish two armed footmen to keep a constant guard on Lord Merriot’s town house. Tell them to be discreet, but I want to know his every movement, and if he has any visitors.”
Burke lifted his brows in surprise, but was wise enough to keep his questions to himself. “Did you wish them to begin their duties tonight?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Well, it is Christmas,” the servant explained in apologetic tones. “Most of the staff have been given the day to spend with their family. There is only myself, Cook, and a groom here.”
Raoul experienced a flare of frustration, swiftly followed by a stab of regret.
Dammit, he wanted to be in Sarah’s small cottage, watching the boys play with the sleds he had been so eager to give them. He wanted to be sipping warm cider, and roasting chestnuts, and making plans for a swift wedding.
“Of course.” With an effort, Raoul turned his thoughts to his more immediate problem. Sarah had promised to wait for him. He could do nothing but trust her word. “Send word to Pickens’s family,” he at last commanded. He had left his servant in Cheshire to keep watch on Sarah and her brood, but the majority of his groom’s family resided in the seamier part of London. “He has a half dozen brothers who are always desperate for extra coin. Tell them I’m willing to pay each a pound for their efforts.”
Burke pinched his lips, as jealous of Pickens as he was of Nico.
“Rather generous.”
Raoul shrugged. “I am willing to pay for loyalty, as you know Burke.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Have a horse brought from the stables.”
“At once.”
Returning to the foyer, Raoul was forced to wait only a few moments for the one under-groom on duty to bring around a spirited stallion.
He vaulted into the saddle and offered the lad a coin before urging his horse to a brisk pace.
The day had been chilly, but with the setting sun, the air had become downright frigid. Of course, the inhospitable weather, combined with the promise of Christmas dinner, ensured the streets were all but empty, allowing Raoul to swiftly cross town with no fear of being recognized.
Reaching the small, whitewashed hotel, Raoul rode directly to the back stables, leaving his horse in the capablehands of the groom before entering the establishment through the back door.
With remarkable speed, a gentleman with distinguished gray hair in a modest black coat and gray breeches appeared from a side office, his eyes widening with shock as he offered a deep bow.
“Mr. Charlebois, this
is an honor. A great honor,” he murmured.
“I believe Mr. Dravali is expecting me.”
“Yes, of course.” The man motioned toward the front lobby. “I will take you to him.”
Raoul gave a shake of his head. “I would prefer my presence not attract notice.”
“Ah, of course. This way.” Leading Raoul to the servants’ staircase, he glanced over his shoulder. “Without modesty, I may say that I am well-known for my discretion, sir. You can depend upon me.”
Raoul did. It was not just the proximity of the hotel to the theater district that made it a favorite among the nobles and politicians.
Reaching the third-floor landing, the man moved down a short hallway. “This way.” He halted at a door, turning to regard Raoul with a hopeful smile. “Shall I have tea sent up? Or perhaps you prefer brandy?”
“No.” Raoul’s tone made it obvious he did not want to be interrupted. “That will be all, thank you.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
With another bow, the man turned to leave Raoul alone in the hallway, and lifting his hand he rapped on the door.
“Nico?” he called softly.
There was the muffled sound of footsteps. “Charlebois?”
“Yes, open the door.”
He heard the scrape of the bolt being drawn, then the door was tugged open to reveal a decidedly tousled Nico.
“How the devil did you return so swiftly?” his servant demanded.
Stepping into the room, Raoul shut the door behind him and studied his companion. Nico always appeared disreputable, but with his linen shirt loose and wrinkled, and his jaw unshaven, he looked as if he had spent the past few days in the gutter.
“Well I did not sprout wings and fly,” Raoul assured him.
Nico snorted. “So much for the legend that Raoul Charlebois is an angel come to earth.”
“More likely I was spit from hell.”
Nico ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “You still have not told me how you came to be in London.”
“I will explain later.” Raoul turned his attention to the small parlor of the suite. It was a refreshingly plain room with sturdy English furnishings and applewood paneling. Clearly the Swan’s Nest understood that most gentlemen detested the cheap opulence attempted by so many dens of iniquity. “You said in the message you left at the town house that you had a Christmas present for me?”
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