“You may think talk is your most formidable weapon, dear grandson, but I very much doubt it is,” she stated. “Seduce the gel. It’s not as if you lack experience.” She picked up her plate of pie again. “What is it for if you don’t use it when needed?”
She eyed him wrathfully over a bite of the mince pie.
“Are you suggesting that I corrupt respectable ladies now?”
“Not ladies, merely Miss St. John. Adam…” She placed her empty plate carefully on the table next to the bed before taking his hands in her own. Her fingers felt fragile beneath his, her skin thin and so delicate. “I loved your mother, silly, foolish girl though she was, but you are the sunshine in my days. I am in my ninth decade. When I lie on my deathbed—” He shook his head, denying the mere thought, but she glared at him and squeezed his hands. “When I lie on my deathbed, I want to know that you will not be alone after I am gone.”
He closed his eyes. “Grand-mère, you needn’t worry about me. I’m hardly alone.”
“Are you not?” He opened his eyes to see her glaring fiercely at him. “I am your grandmother. I have the right to worry about you—do not try to deny me this. You are alone, my grandson. You may have so-called friends you drink with, ladies you dally with, acquaintances you greet when you see them on the street, but you have no one save myself that you are truly close to. Find someone. Please. For me.”
Adam brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I will try.”
But he rather thought that he was doomed to fail with Sarah.
That night Sarah sat in the sitting room after dinner sipping tea and trying very, very hard not to look at Adam.
It was nearly impossible.
She’d told him herself that she couldn’t be with him, and yet…
And yet.
Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? She simply couldn’t stop thinking about him. Megs said she should try again with him, but to herself Sarah could confess that she was frightened.
She didn’t want to be hurt again.
The question was, which was more powerful—her attraction to Adam or her fear? She found herself lighter when in Adam’s company. His humor and his quick wit drew her, but it was the somber intellect he buried underneath his banter that snared her.
She rather thought she could spend a lifetime discovering all his many aspects and never grow weary.
In the center of the sitting room several voices rose, among them Jane’s.
“A game! A game! Let us play a game.”
Sir Hilary called from his seat in a winged chair, “Shall we play charades?”
Jane pouted. “I’m tired of charades and hide the slipper and blindman’s buff. I want something new.”
“Hide-and-seek,” Charlotte exclaimed.
“That’s a child’s game.” Jane turned to scowl at Charlotte.
Charlotte looked as if she’d very much like to stick out her tongue and was prevented from doing so only by propriety.
“I haven’t played hide-and-seek since I was a boy,” Sir Hilary mused.
“It might be entertaining,” Megs said. “Though how I shall hide I don’t know.” She looked ruefully down at her tummy.
“Oh, very well, hide-and-seek it is,” Jane declared. “Who shall be the first seeker?”
This called for several minutes’ bickering and the final decision to draw straws.
Lord Kirby ended up with the honors.
“Now then,” Jane said, for she seemed to have taken charge of the evening’s entertainment. “These are the rules: You may hide anywhere within the house. Outside is not allowed, as someone might freeze to death. Once the seeker finds a person they become the seeker’s helper and will also look for those in hiding. The last person to be found wins.” She looked at Lord Kirby. “You must count to one hundred slowly before you start.”
His Lordship bowed solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”
And with that everyone scattered to hide.
Had either Charlotte or Jane been the seeker, finding a hiding place would’ve been much harder. All three of them had spent their childhood in this house and knew well every secret place to hide.
But since it was Lord Kirby, Sarah made a beeline for one of the easier hiding places: the room under the main stairs. One had to look very closely to find the seam of the door to the tiny room. It had been fitted with the same paneling as the wall and thus made the door near invisible. As long as Jane and Charlotte were equally clever with their hiding places, she was safe for quite some time.
Sarah found the little room looking much the same as it had when she was a girl: dusty, with various odds and ends stacked against the walls. Fortunately one of the odds and ends was a small chair. She sat in it, holding her breath for a moment to keep from sneezing from all the dust.
Then she waited.
She was almost nodding off when the door to the room creaked open.
A candle was held high, glaring in its brightness after she’d been sitting in the dark for so long.
The door closed with a click.
Sarah breathed in slowly. “You’re supposed to bring me to Lord Kirby. That’s how the game is played.”
“Is it?” His voice was a low dangerous purr.
She opened her eyes to see Lord d’Arque advancing on her.
Chapter Ten
Prince Brad held out his arm to an ethereally beautiful princess. “Would you care to walk in the gardens?”
“Why are you holding a toad?” asked the princess.
“I’m a frog, not a toad,” said the frog. “Please note the webbing between my toes.”
“What?” said the princess.
“She’s very pretty,” whispered the frog in Brad’s ear, “but perhaps you should think of the intelligence of your future children.”
Prince Brad sighed.…
—From The Frog Princess
He couldn’t help himself.
When everyone had scattered to hide, Adam had trailed Sarah and seen her hiding place. He entered with the idea of talking to her, but something broke loose inside him when he walked into the little room and closed them both inside.
He didn’t care.
Not that she was a virgin.
Not that she was the daughter of his hostess.
Not that she didn’t trust him.
He needed her like the air he breathed.
“Tell me to stop now or don’t tell me at all,” he rasped, setting down the candle.
He reached out a hand, brushing his fingertips across her cheek.
She was silent, her expression shocked, and his heart sank as he started to pull his fingers away.
Then she caught his hand and brought his palm to her lips.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered against his skin, and it was as loud as a shout.
He pulled her to him.
She was small and light and her body fit against his perfectly. He wanted to strip the binding clothes from her, feel the heaviness of her breasts, squeeze her bare arse in his hands, breathe her scent.
He wanted to wear her scent on his skin, wanted to mark her as his.
He’d never felt like this with any other woman.
This was animal.
Adam opened his mouth against her neck, licking her pulse, feeling her shiver under him.
She moaned.
He picked her up and set her on an old table against the wall.
She wound her arms around his neck as he brought his mouth to hers.
Sweet.
She tasted of the dessert eaten at dinner: honey, apples, and cinnamon.
The taste was addicting.
He could feel his cock throbbing against the placket of his breeches as he pulled her skirts up.
She made no protest this time, instead parting her lips beneath his.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth at the same time that he pushed his hand under her skirts.
She was hot. Her mouth silky wet and sweet. Her legs smooth a
nd long.
He trailed his fingers up her calf and behind her knee and she let her legs fall apart.
He wanted to press his hips between her thighs. To unbutton his falls and shove his cock into her.
To find the center of her heat.
But this was not the place for that.
Instead he drew his fingertips over the tender skin of her inner thigh, encountering curling hair.
She pulled away from their kiss, gasping. Her eyes were wild.
He held her gaze and slowly—so slowly—parted the lips of her vulva.
Her mouth opened without sound when he stroked a finger into her.
Wet.
She was so wet for him.
He couldn’t help a twist of his lips at the thought.
He brought his thumb to bear on her clitoris and her eyelashes fluttered.
“Adam,” she whispered.
She was his. The power of that moment shook him—his hand at her quim, her legs parted in invitation.
He wanted this woman—wanted her forever.
He tilted his head, taking her mouth again as he rubbed lightly across her clitoris and fucked her with his middle finger.
He felt her shudder, felt the minute movements of her hips.
God, what he’d give to be naked with her and in a bed right now.
As it was, he could only bite at her bottom lip and groan, attacking her mouth savagely.
She arched, her head falling back, but he held her to him, unrelenting. He wanted all of her.
“Come for me,” he husked against her mouth. “Come for me.”
She clutched his shoulders, her fingers digging into the cloth of his coat.
He could feel her rising. His hand was slippery with her essence. She panted.
“Sarah,” he whispered.
She froze and he opened his eyes to watch her.
Because he could. Because he’d done this to her.
Her face was flushed pink, her lips, red and wet, were parted, and her eyes squeezed shut as she shuddered.
She was beautiful.
She inhaled and opened her eyes, her expression dazed, and he pulled her against his chest as he petted her little quim.
When the sound came, at first he thought it was her.
He drew back and looked at her.
Then it came again: a faint cry from without.
The cry of a woman in distress: “No!”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “That’s Charlotte.”
Adam flipped Sarah’s skirts down and grabbed the candle, then strode to the door to the little room.
He flung it open and looked up and down the hall.
“This way,” Sarah said, darting past him. “She must have gone to hide in the old cupboard.”
She pointed to the next door, standing ajar.
Adam strode to the doorway.
And saw Charlotte St. John struggling in Kirby’s arms.
Lord Kirby had his hand on the upper slope of Charlotte’s bare breast—her fichu had been torn away.
Sarah gasped in rage. “How dare you—”
Adam had a much more active way to deal with the matter.
He strode into the room and up to the aristocrat, grasping him by the arm.
“I didn’t—” Lord Kirby started, but he was unable to finish whatever he was about to say.
Adam punched him in the face.
The baron stumbled back and fell, knocking over a table with a great clatter in the process.
Sarah couldn’t help but smile. Her heart swelled at the sight of Adam defending her sister so decisively.
“Oh, Sarah!” Charlotte exclaimed, and ran to her.
Sarah hugged her sister close. “Are you hurt? Tell me. Did he hurt you?”
“N-no,” Charlotte stuttered, trying to wipe the tears from her face. “Not really. He grabbed me roughly and as you saw he was embracing me against my will.”
“You little tart,” Lord Kirby said rather indistinctly from the floor. Blood was streaming from his nose. “You’re lying! You kissed me after the holly hunt. What was I to think but that you wanted more?”
Charlotte’s eyes widened in horror…and doubt. Sarah saw the moment when her sister wondered if the toad on the ground might be right.
She saw red.
“Don’t you blame this on the girl.” Adam bent and hauled Lord Kirby to his feet, shaking him. “You were to think that Miss St. John did not want your attention when she said so.”
Sarah walked up to Lord Kirby and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.
Lord Kirby stumbled, but was held upright by Adam. “Ow!” He held a hand to his cheek, staring at her with wide eyes.
“You disgusting little worm,” Sarah said, low and vicious.
“But—”
She looked at Adam. “Please escort Lord Kirby to the door.”
His eyes glinted with amusement, but his voice was grave when he said, “Gladly.”
“But it’s night,” Lord Kirby wailed as Adam took him by the collar and forcibly marched him down the hallway. “And I think you’ve broken my nose!”
His shouting drew the attention of not only the servants but also the guests, who came out of hiding.
“What’s this?” Sir Hilary said when he saw the small procession, for Sarah and Charlotte were following Adam.
“A cad who has revealed his true colors,” Adam replied, marching Lord Kirby past the other man.
Sir Hilary glanced at Sarah and Charlotte, who still bore tearstains on her face.
His brows lowered into a frown. “Has he indeed?” he growled.
“Lottie!” Dr. Manning’s complexion was gray. “Are you all right?”
He made Charlotte’s side and took her arm as she laid her head against his shoulder.
Godric came from one of the upstairs rooms. “What is happening?”
Sarah glanced at him and felt tears well in her eyes.
Godric’s gaze went from her to Charlotte and he stilled. “D’Arque?”
“I’m disposing of rubbish,” Adam replied, shoving Lord Kirby toward the door.
“Are you indeed?” Godric drawled.
Sarah shivered. She’d never heard her brother’s voice sound so dangerous.
“Darling.” Megs had entered the hallway, and she hurried to Charlotte. Gently she drew the younger woman away from Dr. Manning. “Won’t you come with me?”
Megs glanced meaningfully at Sarah.
Sarah looked to where her brother and Adam were tossing Lord Kirby into the snow and decided that she was no longer needed here. She nodded at Megs and moved to the other side of Charlotte. “Let’s find Mama and Jane.”
They made their way up the stairs. Sarah cast worried glances at her middle sister, trying not to be too obvious about it. At the top of the stairs they found Jane, who seemed to have overheard the fight.
They all went to Mama’s room.
Mama had already retired, not at all interested in a game of hide-and-seek. She was abed with cap and shawl, but she immediately rose when she saw Charlotte between Megs and Sarah in her doorway.
Charlotte sobbed out what had happened when Mama took her into her arms.
Sarah quietly turned and rummaged in the bottom of Mama’s cupboard. At the very bottom, under a pile of old chemises, she found what she was looking for: a bottle of brandy.
She took it to where the other women were gathered, poured a tiny bit into the glass that Mama kept on her bedside table, and gave it to Charlotte.
“Thank you,” Charlotte gasped when she’d drunk.
“Can I have a sip?” Jane asked, sounding unusually somber.
Sarah wordlessly poured more into the glass and handed it to Jane.
“Do you…” Charlotte inhaled and looked at Mama. “Do you think he was right? Did I entice Lord Kirby to attack me by kissing him at the end of the holly hunt?”
“No,” their mother said fiercely. “This is entirely Lord Kirby’s fault and frankly I’m sh
ocked at how ungentlemanly he’s acted.” She pursed her lips. “I shall have to warn my friends about him. No one wants a scoundrel like that around their daughters.”
“But what if he tells everyone that I’m…I’m a tart?” Charlotte’s bottom lip trembled. “That’s what he called me.”
Mama hugged her close, looking worried. “Then we shall tell everyone he is a liar. It will be his word against me.”
“And me,” Megs said quietly, and Mama’s expression cleared. “No one of any sense at all will believe that man against me.”
Sarah sometimes forgot that Megs was the sister of a marquess and thus a lady of importance in society.
“We’ll always stand with you, Charlotte,” Sarah said, and hugged her sister. She vowed that Charlotte would never feel the social rejection she had.
Sarah watched as Jane took charge of the bottle of brandy and poured a glass for Mama. Charlotte smiled when Mama coughed after drinking, and then they were off discussing the final plans for tomorrow’s Christmas Eve ball.
But as they chattered Sarah thought about Adam—his hands and his mouth and how he’d stared at her as he did intimate things to her body. She wanted to talk to him. To find out if he’d decided what he wanted of her. If tonight had been simply an interlude.
Or if it was the beginning of something more.
Chapter Eleven
Several hours later Prince Brad was deep in conversation with the last lady, a princess both erudite and beautiful, when she asked him how he best liked frog legs prepared.
There was an awful silence.
The frog opened her mouth indignantly, but Prince Brad beat her to it. “I’m afraid I do not care to dine upon frog legs as I consider this frog my friend.”
And he swept from the room—with the frog.…
—From The Frog Princess
Three hours later Adam silently walked down the hall to Sarah’s room. After the commotion of rushing Kirby out of the house—and then gathering his possessions and tossing them out with him—the members of the party had decided to retire for the night.
Adam had spent the last several hours pacing his room, waiting until it was late enough that everyone would be asleep.
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