The thought made her grumpy, which was ridiculous. She didn’t want the viscount’s attention. She was glad he thought her unattainable.
Still she might’ve opened the door to the breakfast room with a little more force than was absolutely necessary before marching in.
“Good morning, Miss St. John,” Dr. Manning said as he rose along with Sir Hilary and Lord Kirby. The three gentlemen were at the long breakfast table, various foodstuffs piled before them.
“Good morning,” Sarah replied, consciously making her tone cheerful.
She crossed to the table and began to take a seat, but Sir Hilary pulled out the chair beside him. “Will you not sit here, Miss St. John, where the light will not hit your eyes?”
Since the sunlight outside wasn’t yet coming in the windows, this seemed a rather silly argument, but Sarah smiled and diverted her course toward Sir Hilary.
She sat in the indicated seat and couldn’t help noticing the triumphant look Sir Hilary gave Dr. Manning and Lord Kirby, who were on the other side of the table.
“You’re quite right, Webber,” Lord d’Arque said from her other side. Sarah turned to find the awful man lowering himself into the chair beside her. “The sun is much better here.” He picked up a basket and turned to Sarah. “Bread?”
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking one of the still-warm buns.
“Tell me, Webber,” the viscount continued, buttering a piece of a bun. “Are you a married man?”
“Ah,” Sir Hilary said, and unaccountably blushed. “No, no. Not as yet.”
The viscount raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? And you, gentlemen?”
“I have not achieved that happy state,” Lord Kirby said.
Dr. Manning simply shook his head.
“Three bachelors,” Lord d’Arque mused. He snapped his fingers. “Oh, pardon me. Four bachelors, for of course I haven’t a wife or even a fiancée.”
Sarah stiffened, waiting for the viscount’s next words and dreading them.
But it was Lord Kirby who spoke up. “Do you know that my father had four bachelor brothers? And my grandfather three? In fact there are quite a number of gentlemen who eschew the fairer sex.”
Oddly, this provoked a lively discussion among Lord Kirby, Dr. Manning, and Sir Hilary.
Sarah looked on bemusedly as she sipped her tea.
However, she was glad for their distraction when Lord d’Arque reached across her rudely to pick up a platter of gammon.
He was too close to her, she could feel his heat, smell the faint scent of sandalwood on him.
It was distracting.
So she was utterly unprepared when he asked, “Tell me, Miss St. John, are you on the hunt for a husband?”
Chapter Four
So the frog dove down, down into the icy waters of the pond and brought the dagger up to Prince Brad.
“Thank you,” he said. And he took the dagger from the frog, mounted his horse, and rode away with all his retinue, leaving the frog behind.
“Bugger,” said the frog.…
—From The Frog Princess
He leaned a little closer to her, inhaling the scent of roses. “I’m right, aren’t I?” His tone was light. Jovial. As if he didn’t care at all whom she might be considering marrying. “And three gentlemen courting you—an abundance of choice.”
Miss St. John’s cheeks turned a becoming pink, and he felt something inside him clench.
Ridiculous.
“I doubt this is any of your concern,” Miss St. John hissed under her breath like an outraged cat.
“No.” He ate a bite of bread. “But it could be.”
That got her to turn slightly in his direction. The tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lush lips, making him stare. “I hesitate to ask what you mean.”
“Well…” Adam brought his gaze back up to hers, trying to control the surge of heat in his groin. “It seems to me that you may need some help in deciding on a husband. Perhaps you need an older, more mature adviser, one who knows the world and has seen many a romance blossom…and then wither.”
She looked at him, one delicate eyebrow raised incredulously. “And I suppose you consider yourself such an adviser.”
“Oh.” He widened his eyes as if caught off guard. “I hadn’t thought to nominate myself, but now that you’ve most graciously suggested it…”
She rolled her eyes at him.
He had to control a grin at the sight of proper Miss St. John so far forgetting herself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so amused at a conversation.
Or so aroused.
Which brought him up short. This wasn’t a flirtation. He was merely passing the time until Grand-mère recovered and they could leave this home of family and Christmas merriment.
Miss St. John meant nothing to him.
“I will help you to decide which suitor would make the perfect husband for you,” he whispered graciously.
“Will you?” she replied, dry as dust. Really she was wasted in this backwater.
“Indeed.” He glanced at the other gentlemen, now discussing…Good Lord. It appeared to be something about manure and rapeseed. This might be harder than he’d thought. “I suggest we begin by listing the qualities you’ll want in a husband.”
“You are not helping me find a husband,” she said very firmly.
“Physical health, for instance,” he continued, ignoring her. He spoke low so as not to be overheard by the other gentlemen, but he might as well not have bothered. They were too caught up in their farming discussion. “Very important, I should think.”
She looked at him, widening her eyes in query.
“For the marriage bed, naturally,” he explained kindly. “A husband who can’t…er…come to attention is worse than useless.”
“We’re at the breakfast table,” she hissed. She appeared to be having trouble meeting his eyes. “This isn’t the place to discuss such things.”
“Then where? I should think it’s as good a place as any to contemplate wedded bliss.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Yes, I am.” He took a sip of tea to hide his smile. Her outrage was terribly entertaining. “So then health right at the top of our list.”
She opened her mouth and then slowly closed it, staring at him. Finally she said, “How do you know I wish to be married in the first place?”
“Don’t all women?” he asked lightly.
“No,” she replied seriously. “Most do, but not all. Just as most men wish to marry, but not all.”
He raised his teacup in a salute. “Touché.”
“But you’re right,” she said, turning back to her plate and damnably hiding her eyes. “I want a husband. I want children and a home and a family.”
He stilled, for he rather thought a note of seriousness had been inserted into their play.
“So sure,” he whispered. Of course she would want a family and a husband to give it to her.
A man who was as much his opposite as it was possible to be.
Ladies such as she did not choose rakes to father their children.
“Yes.” She looked at him and he saw that she had a defiant light in her eyes. “I am sure of what I want.”
He pushed aside his maudlin thoughts and gave her a dangerous smile. “Then permit me to help you obtain that which you want.”
Sarah stared at Lord d’Arque. What was he playing at? He didn’t like her—that much was obvious. Silly to pretend anything else—the man had made his feelings more than plain, and she was a woman who insisted on being scrupulously factual with herself.
Lord d’Arque was toying with her. And yet she felt drawn to him on an animal level.
She wanted him despite her own dislike for him.
How humiliating to be betrayed so by her body! She shouldn’t feel sensual attraction to a man she disliked. It was horrifying. Why couldn’t she be physically aware of Lord Kirby or Sir Hilary, both respectable gentlemen?
Why couldn�
��t her mind rule her body?
She studied him. His eyes were clear gray beneath heavy lids, cynical and world-weary. She knew she was staring into them too long, noting the darker ring around the iris and the fine laugh lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes.
He was a rake, she reminded herself.
He wasn’t to be trusted.
Why was it so hard to keep that thought at the forefront of her mind?
“Good morning!”
Mama’s cheerful greeting came from the doorway to the breakfast room, and Sarah started at her voice.
She saw Lord d’Arque’s sinful mouth curl at the corner, as if he knew how lost she’d become in his gaze, and then he turned away.
He stood with the rest of the gentlemen, bowing to her mother. “Mrs. St. John, you brighten the day like the sun, generous and lovely. I thank you again for your bounteous hospitality.”
Mama blushed, and Sarah narrowed her eyes at Lord d’Arque, examining him for any sign that he was mocking her mother.
Except…he seemed quite sincere.
Sir Hilary held out a chair for Mama while Lord Kirby poured her a dish of tea.
“I trust you slept well?” Dr. Manning enquired solicitously.
“Yes indeed,” Mama replied, nodding her thanks to Lord Kirby as she accepted her teacup. “I do so enjoy retiring for the night under a heap of coverlets while the snow blows outside. It makes one especially thankful to be warm inside, don’t you think?”
Lord d’Arque smiled at her comment while Sir Hilary looked nonplussed and Lord Kirby and Dr. Manning hastened to agree with her.
“And how is Lady Whimple?” Mama continued, looking with concern at Lord d’Arque.
“She slept well,” the viscount replied.
Sarah noticed that he didn’t actually say that the old lady was better this morning. She frowned, watching him, but he had his social face firmly in place and it was impossible to tell if he was worried for his grandmother.
Jane and Charlotte arrived at that moment, closely followed by Godric and Megs, and for a moment there was a flurry of greetings and the distribution of tea.
When the room had somewhat quieted, Mama looked around. “I’m so glad everyone is here. I have a task for you all. Well, everyone but Megs and Godric.” She glanced fondly at her stepson and his wife. “We plan a Christmas Eve ball, and I’d like to decorate the ballroom with holly branches. There’s some holly bushes along the road and at the edge of the copse. Could you young people go and gather holly for me?”
Jane immediately clapped her hands. “Oh, lovely! We can don cloaks and muffs and wooly mittens and have a tramp. Pat and Harriet will like that.”
“Let’s make it into a game,” Charlotte added. Her green eyes were alight with excitement. “We can divide into groups. The first ones to return to Hedges with the holly will be declared the winners.”
“Do we have a prize?” Jane asked.
“Oh,” Charlotte said. “Maybe a slice of the mince pie Cook is making today?”
“But everyone will be partaking of the pie tonight at dinner,” Jane objected. “That hardly makes a fitting prize.”
Lord d’Arque cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. The smile playing about his mouth was quite wicked. “A suggestion. Perhaps—with the blessing of our kind hostess—the winners can steal a kiss from whomever of the house party they choose.”
Sarah inhaled, carefully keeping her gaze from Lord d’Arque. Was there a particular lady whom Lord d’Arque wished to kiss?
From the way Godric was glowering at Lord d’Arque, he had a suspicion it was Megs the viscount was interested in. Even if she and Godric were not included in the holly hunt, Lord d’Arque had carefully worded his suggestion so that both Megs and Godric were included in the kissing prize.
Sarah’s heart sank. She remembered now Megs telling her that Lord d’Arque had flirted with her outrageously at a ball when she and Godric had first married.
Sarah bit her lip. She would not become jealous of her sister-in-law.
Meanwhile Jane was clapping with excitement while Charlotte clasped her hands together under her chin.
“Please may we, Mama?” Charlotte begged their mother, being sure to employ her extravagantly lashed eyes. “Oh, please!”
“Very well,” Mama said. Sarah could tell she was trying to look stern, but mostly she looked happy. “Since it is the Christmas season, I’ll allow this game and prize. Mind you,” she added, casting a stern eye about the company, “any kissing to be done will be in front of all of us so that no reputations might be sullied.”
“Huzzah!” Jane cried in what was a rather childish celebration from a lady who often reminded her sisters that she was nearly twenty.
“Hm,” a male voice murmured in Sarah’s ear. “I wonder whom you will pick to kiss should you win, Miss St. John.”
Chapter Five
That night Prince Brad had just begun cutting into his beefsteak when the doors to the royal dining room opened and the frog hopped wearily in.
“Pardon me,” said the frog, “but I do believe you forgot your promise to me.”
There was a short silence from the royal family before the queen turned a gimlet eye upon her son. “Bradley, is this true?”…
—From The Frog Princess
Adam watched as Miss St. John’s eyes widened at his words. They really were rather lovely eyes—a light brown surrounded by thick, dark lashes.
He was playing with fire, he knew. He should’ve walked away from Miss St. John the moment he’d realized his hunger for her.
Instead he’d traded quips with her, badgered her into responding, and, worst of all, inhaled the scent of roses in her hair like a starry-eyed schoolboy who’d just discovered his cock.
Pathetic.
And now, to cap off his insanity, he was making plans to kiss her.
His mouth twisted in self-mockery as he turned away to sip his tea. Why else make the suggestion of a stolen kiss as prize? Surely he knew well enough his own wants and desires by now. After all, he was five and thirty and had lived a life of debauchery. He’d never given an unmarried lady reason to hope for marriage—or anything else—with him.
But the thing was that he enjoyed speaking with Miss St. John. Enjoyed the sting of her barbs and the way she looked so indignantly at him.
Were she already married or widowed…
There was a burst of laughter from the table, and Adam glanced up, realizing he’d missed something as he was musing.
“No, no, the ladies must choose their partners,” Charlotte St. John said. “I think it only reasonable.”
“But there’s four gentlemen to three ladies,” Lady Margaret pointed out. “Someone will have the advantage of an extra person.”
“Actually”—Kirby cleared his throat with a slight grimace—“I wonder if I might be excused due to rather painful chilblains on my feet.”
“Naturally, my lord,” Mrs. St. John said with a sympathetic smile to Kirby. “Perhaps you can help me in planning the placement of the decorations for the ballroom while the others go on their adventure.”
Kirby nodded, looking as if he were having second thoughts about forgoing the holly gathering. If he truly were interested in Miss St. John, he might’ve realized the holly hunt was a perfect opportunity to woo the lady alone.
Adam hid a smile as he took a bite of gammon.
“Youngest first,” Jane St. John proclaimed, either ignoring or not hearing her sisters’ dissents. “Let me see…” She took her time in examining Manning, Sir Hilary, and Adam. “I choose Dr. Manning.”
That gentleman glanced quickly at Charlotte St. John before smiling and bowing to Jane.
Charlotte St. John looked between Adam and Sir Hilary. Adam winked at her and she blushed a deep—and quite becoming—rose.
“Sir Hilary,” Charlotte St. John proclaimed.
“Honored,” her choice intoned.
“Oh dear, Miss St. John,” Adam mur
mured, turning to her, “it seems you are left with only me.”
She pressed her lips together, looking less than pleased.
Which caused her mother to hastily say, “I’m sure everyone is quite happy with their partners.”
“Let’s leave at once after breakfast,” Jane St. John exclaimed.
Which was how, half an hour later, Adam found himself trudging through calf-deep snow, the eldest Miss St. John stumping along mutinously beside him.
All around, the bare branches of trees and the evergreen boughs bore a thick frosting of snow. The sky was a crisp blue, and the new snowfall was pristine and lovely.
A true Christmas scene, Adam thought cynically.
He threw his head back, inhaling freezing air and exhaling it in a great white cloud. “Ah, how wonderful is the country air.”
Miss St. John glanced at him, her eyebrows so high in disbelief they disappeared into the fur-trimmed hood she wore. “I would never have taken you for a man who enjoys the country, my lord.”
“No? But then you don’t entirely know me, Miss St. John. As it happens I grew up in the country.”
“You did?” she gazed at him with the same amazement she would have worn had he declared he’d been raised on the moon.
“Indeed.” His lips twisted. “My family’s country estate is outside Bath. Close enough to London that I could venture there several times a year, had I the desire—which I most certainly do not.”
She knit her brows. “But…you must not have been on the way there with your grandmother when your carriage wrecked?”
“Oh no,” he replied carelessly. “Our destination was a cousin of my grandmother’s. A lady nearly as old as she and quite bad tempered. Grand-mère enjoys inflicting our presence upon her for Christmas and then arguing in a veiled sort of way for a month or so.”
“That…” She screwed up her lovely red lips. “That doesn’t sound nice at all.”
“It isn’t.” He shot a sideways glance at her, noticing how the lightly falling flakes of snow caught on her eyelashes. Her cheeks were a bright pink and her mouth was wet and red. Dear God, she was beautiful. “I generally hide in the library. The old girl has quite a good library.”
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