“Is there a chance it will be denied?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “I am assured this is only a formality, but to be honest, I have more important matters to claim my attention.”
“Yes, I suppose you do,” she said, abruptly realizing that he might have more than one reason for traveling to Cheshire. “Is Lord Merriot to be charged with a crime?”
A hard smile touched his lips. “The Foreign Minister is considering what should be done, and Prinny is rumored to be furious. He would rather have his tongue removed than to offer a formal apology to the French government on behalf of one of his noblemen. No doubt he would send Merriot to the gallows if he could.”
“Is that what you desire?” she asked softly.
“I no longer have the least interest in Lord Merriot, or his fate. All I desire is to put the past behind me.”
She studied his expression, caught off guard by his complete lack of fury.
Lord Merriot had done everything in his power to destroy Raoul’s life. For God’s sake, he had tried to kill him.
Surely any gentleman would be eager for blood?
“But after the misery he…”
His hand reached to cup her cheek. “Sarah, I now understand that I had parents who loved me enough to give their lives to save me. That is all that matters.”
Sarah understood, she truly did. For a man who had lived his entire life believing he was unwanted and unloved, the knowledge that he had two parents who were willing to sacrifice their lives for him must be a powerful force.
Perhaps powerful enough to heal his deepest wounds.
And yet, her own festering anger toward Lord Merriot, and his cold cruelty toward Raoul, was not at all satisfied.
“It is still grossly unfair he should go unpunished,” she muttered.
His smile became one of genuine amusement. “So Nico assures me with tedious regularity.”
“It is a wonder he did not take matters into his own hands,” she said, recalling the sense of lethal danger that clung to the servant.
“He wished to, but I refused to offer him leave to slice the bastard’s throat.”
“Why?”
His thumb teased the corner of her mouth, his gaze darkening with a heat that sent a dangerous thrill of excitement sizzling through her.
“Because I did not think you would approve,” he husked.
She blinked. He had denied his opportunity for a well deserved revenge and stayed Nico’s hand because he was concerned what she would think?
“I…”
He chuckled as the words stuck in her throat. “Yes?”
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, not prepared to admit just how touched she was by his words.
“Well, I would not wish for Nico to hang for having murdered Lord Merriot, but I would not mind the horrible man spending at least a few years in Newgate prison,” she muttered.
Raoul grimaced. “I suspect he is already living in a prison of his own making.”
Sarah slowly nodded, unable to deny the truth of his words. Lord Merriot might never face the gallows, but his years of guilt had taken their toll. He was a broken man who could not so much as leave his house.
“You are very forgiving.”
“No,” he denied, his fingers trailing down the length of her jaw. “I simply refuse to waste any more of my life fretting over a man who is not worthy of my attention.”
She hastily stepped away from his distracting touch. The urge to toss sanity aside and give in to his seduction was a potent temptation.
One of them had to cling to a bit of reason.
Ignoring his growing scowl, Sarah smoothed her hands down her skirt, wondering why the kitchen suddenly seemed far smaller than usual.
“Have you discovered if you have any relatives in France?”
With a resigned sigh, Raoul leaned against the edge of the wooden counter, his expression that of a predator willing to give his prey a brief reprieve before pouncing for the kill.
“A few distant cousins who have written to ingratiate themselves with the new Comte de Suriant, and my mother’s sister, who seemed genuinely pleased to know I survived,” he said, his thoughts clearly distracted.
“Of course she is pleased.” A genuine happiness stirred in her heart. Raoul would at least have some connection to the parents he had never known. “You must seem like a Christmas miracle to her. And you must be happy as well. You discovered the truth of your past, and now have a family of your own.”
His gaze swept down her tense body before returning to regard her with an unnerving intensity.
“I hope they are not to be my only family,” he said, his voice low and compelling. “If you will recall, I asked you to be my wife before I was forced to return to London.”
Her breath caught, a helpless yearning tugging at her heart. “Yes, but you must realize that it is utterly impossible now.”
His jaw tightened. “I realize no such thing.”
She frowned. He was being deliberately obtuse. But why? Surely he had to comprehend that the situation between them could never be the same?
“You are the Comte de Suriant.”
“I am Raoul,” he stubbornly countered. “The same man who played Snapdragon with the boys, and stole plum cakes from your kitchen, and held you in my arms as you…”
“That was before you knew you held a title,” she interrupted, her voice harsh as a raw pain jolted through her. “A French aristocrat will be expected to wed a woman of his own world. You must see that.”
He straightened, stepping forward to grasp her shoulders in a firm grip.
“All I see is that you are the woman I intend to make my Comtesse, no one else. Sarah, you are everything I desire in my wife.” He peered deep into her eyes, as if willing her to believe his sincerity. “Never before have I known a woman with such a kind heart and giving spirit and, of course, I have not failed to notice that you also happen to be exquisitely beautiful. But just as importantly, you are the only woman in the world with whom I can truly be myself. No barriers, no masquerade. Just me.”
Her heart melted. Dear God, she did understand him. To her he was more than a brilliant actor, or charming rake, or a wealthy and powerful Comte.
He was a man who had endured a lonely, barren childhood, and yet with courage and a refusal to give into bitterness, had created a life that was not only the envy of London, but was filled with a generosity of spirit that allowed him never to forget those less fortunate than himself.
That was the man she loved and respected and desperately desired.
Still, she could not forget the gaping chasm that now stood between them.
“You are not thinking clearly,” she muttered, her voice unsteady.
His hands shifted to cup her face. “I love you, Sarah Jefferson, and more than that, I need you.”
Trembling, Sarah regarded him with a longing that she could not disguise. He loved her?
She had known that he was fond of her, and that he desired her. She had even suspected that a part of him was comforted by her presence.
But love?
It was…unbelievable.
“Just think of the scandal,” she forced herself to point out. “I am the daughter of a simple gamekeeper. Do you think society will ever accept me?”
“Scandal?” Without warning, he tilted back his head to laugh with a rich amusement. “Mon Dieu. I spent my life as the bastard son of Lord Merriot who made my living upon the stage. Do you truly believe I shall be able to take the title of Comte de Suriant without scandal?”
“Which is all the more reason that you should choose a proper wife. She will give you the respect you need.”
He shook his head, his hands tightening on her face. “I do not want a proper wife. I want a raven-haired gypsy who can give something far more important than respect.”
“And what is that?”
“Happiness,” he said, the simple sincerity touching her in a manner that no amount of flowery
speeches could match. “It is something that has eluded me for too long. Only you can give me that, ma belle.”
Her arms instinctively lifted to wrap around his neck, all the hope she had held at bay beginning to swell and fill her heart with a near painful intensity.
Raoul did deserve happiness. Perhaps more than any man she had ever known.
And if he truly believed that she was the one to offer him such an elusive treasure, then who was she to argue?
Arching closer to the welcome strength of his body, she allowed all the doubts and worries to fade away.
She had tried to be self-sacrificing and offer Raoul the opportunity to reconsider his proposal. Had she not refused to agree to a swift marriage before he had discovered the truth of his past? And even now, she had pointed out all the reasons he should seek a wife among society.
Clearly he was not to be dissuaded.
Thank God.
There was only one issue left to be discussed.
“What of the boys?”
His expression softened at the mere mention of Willie and Jimmy.
“You must know they will always be welcome in my home, although I hope we can discover a proper school so they can grow into young men capable of following their dreams.” An affectionate smile curved his lips. “You are not the only one who cares about them.”
“Or perhaps we shall have to establish a proper school, so we can be certain they are being given the very best education possible.”
She felt him stiffen, his jaw clenched as if fearing he might receive an unwelcome blow.
“Is that a yes, ma belle?” he rasped.
She smiled, her fingers tangling in the satin-smooth curls at the nape of his neck.
“I suppose it is.”
“Sarah?”
“Yes, Raoul,” she breathed. “Yes.”
He groaned, his head swooping down so he could steal a heart-stopping kiss.
“I knew I would eventually hear my name on your lips,” he muttered, his voice rough with emotion.
“You were so very certain of me?” she teased.
“You know very well I have never been so uncertain of anything in my life.” He kissed her again, then nipped her bottom lip in gentle punishment. “You have led me in a merry chase.”
She pulled back to meet his gaze with a somber expression. “All I have ever desired is your happiness, even if that meant allowing you to walk away.”
He shuddered, his arms wrapping around her as if to assure himself she was going nowhere.
“Without you, my life would be nothing more than an empty shell.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I love you.”
She brushed her lips over his smooth cheek, her entire body filled with a shimmering happiness that she could barely contain.
“We are going to make a very odd Comte and Comtesse de Suriant.”
He nuzzled a tender spot at the base of her throat. “No more odd than any number of aristocrats I have known. I assure you, society will willingly accept a raving madman into their parlors, so long as he carries a title.”
She grimaced, daunted by the mere thought of facing the London ton, let alone the French aristocracy.
“I suppose that is true enough,” she attempted to reassure herself. “They did, after all, welcome Lord Merriot to their homes.”
His lips became more insistent as they skimmed up the line of her throat, his hands exploring the curve of her spine.
“I believe our best choice is to mix as little as possible among the fashionable hypocrites,” he husked.
Heat swirled through the pit of her stomach, making her toes curl in anticipation. No longer plagued with those pesky doubts, she made no effort to deny her reaction to his touch.
“Whatever would we do?” she asked, her lips brushing his ear.
He sucked in an unsteady breath, his erection abruptly pressing against her stomach.
“I have a few suggestions.”
She kissed a path to the edge of his mouth, a thrill of pleasure racing through her as she felt him tremble beneath her soft caress.
She might never comprehend why this beautiful, fascinating, intelligent man had chosen her to love, but she intended to appreciate each and every day she had with him.
“Do you?” she whispered.
He muttered beneath his breath, his fingers digging into her hips.
“Where are the boys?”
“At the vicarage preparing for the Twelfth Night ball.”
“Then we are alone?”
“For an hour or so.”
“Time enough,” he declared, scooping her off her feet in one smooth motion to cross toward the kitchen door.
Sarah chuckled, happily snuggling against his chest. “Time enough for what?”
His stride never slowed as he gazed down at her flushed face, a wicked smile curving his lips.
“To unwrap the finest Christmas present I have ever received, ma belle.”
Epilogue
September 26
London
The town house tucked in Lombard Street was a perfectly respectable brick structure, with a perfectly respectable garden, in a perfectly respectable neighborhood.
Just as Dunnington had left it.
Well, not precisely as Dunnington had left it, Raoul acknowledged with a wistful pang.
Over the past months, he had paid a fortune for a large crew of workmen to renovate the house, as well as add several rooms onto the back.
Not that he regretted one single quid.
A sense of satisfaction eased the bittersweet regret that Dunnington was not here to see the revival of his school. Slowly he allowed his gaze to roam over the small front garden that was overflowing with children, teachers, and several of the most important politicians in London.
Although the school had been opened nearly three weeks ago, Sarah had insisted that they host a gathering to celebrate the event. She had also been the one to insist that they include those gentlemen who were in a position to assist children in need.
Raoul had attempted to warn her that those who might accept his invitation were more likely there to gawk at the elusive Comte and Comtesse de Suriant than to share any true interest in the plight of orphaned boys, but she had refused to budge. She could not believe that anyone, no matter how frivolous, could fail to be moved by the near dozen urchins who now called Dunnington’s School for Boys home.
A flare of contentment warmed his heart at the mere thought of his wife.
They had been wed quietly in Cheshire with only the boys, Nico, and Maggie in attendance. A part of him had regretted denying Sarah the lavish wedding that many women desired, but she had assured him she was far more pleased to hold the ceremony in the small country church, with the local vicar presiding over the vows. And, in truth, he had been too impatient to at last have her as his wife to have to wait for a more formal London affair.
Besides, Sarah would have hated having a hundred near strangers gaping and whispering during such an intimate moment.
On the point of going in search of Sarah, who had disappeared along with Mercy and Portia (Ian and Fredrick’s wives), Raoul was halted as Ian suddenly appeared at his side to thrust a glass of champagne in his hands.
Slender and dark with whiskey-gold eyes, Ian Breckford had once been a hardened gamester, and an even more hardened rake. Now he was a devoted husband who spent his days making an embarrassing fortune with his numerous business affairs.
More importantly, he was one of Raoul’s largest contributors to the school.
“Dunnington would be proud,” Ian murmured, his expression revealing his lingering pain at the loss of their old tutor.
Raoul nodded. “Yes, I think he would.”
They both turned their attention to the crowd overflowing from the house.
“However did you ever lure Kingston from Cambridge?” Ian demanded, referring to the red-haired teacher who was currently surrounded by a strange combination of avid young boys and
several elderly statesmen, many of whom had long been attempting to convince the brilliant young scholar to choose a career in the government.
“Actually he approached me,” Raoul confessed. “He was acquainted with Dunnington, and when he heard I was opening the school, he asked to be included.”
“Astonishing.”
“I have every expectation he will be an extraordinary teacher.”
Ian chuckled as Willie and Jimmy streaked past them to join the throng around Kingston. It had only been a week since a tearful Sarah had left the boys in the care of the meticulously chosen staff at Dunnington’s, but already they were delighted with their new home.
“Your boys seem happy enough with him.”
Raoul smiled with rueful amusement. “I fear I have been replaced as the most bang-up chap in the world.”
“Kingston does seem to possess Dunnington’s magic touch when it comes to wayward brats.”
“He is not the only one.” Raoul heaved a dramatic sigh. “I am fairly certain that I have also been cast in the shade by the assistant teacher, Mr. Stewart, who has just returned from China with an endless number of adventures to share with the students.”
“It was bound to happen, you know,” Ian drawled. “You are not nearly so interesting as the Comte de Suriant as you were as the infamous Raoul Charlebois.”
“Thank you.”
“I am always delighted to be of service.”
Raoul snorted, although he was inwardly pleased by his friend’s teasing. He knew that he could always count on Ian and Fredrick to treat him as the same Raoul Charlebois they had always known.
It was a considerable improvement on those in society who were eager to ingratiate themselves with the Comte and Comtesse de Suriant.
Sipping his champagne, Ian frowned as yet another carriage halted to allow several elegant noblemen to alight.
“Where the devil is Fredrick?” he muttered.
“The last I saw, he was surrounded by eager boys in the basement as he demonstrated his latest invention.”
Ian shuddered, recalling clearly the last occasion they had visited Fredrick’s warehouse and had nearly been decapitated when the steam engine he was perfecting had exploded.
Seduce Me By Christmas Page 26