Once Upon a Christmas Eve

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  Doris shot her a smile. “It might be, but it’s Bet the scullery maid who’s my bedmate. We bunked together so as to give Lady Whimple’s maid her own bed. Bet always has a jest or two, not to mention all the best gossip.”

  “Well, I’m glad everything’s worked out,” Sarah said.

  “Yes, miss. Will the pale-blue dress do today?”

  “Please.”

  Doris helped Sarah with her toilet and then curtsied and left the room with a handful of linens for mending.

  Sarah inspected her hair in the mirror one last time, decided to change her earrings to a pair of blue enamel drops, and then left to make her way to the breakfast room.

  The house was quiet this morning, many of the guests perhaps still abed, so when she came to a corner of the hallway she could clearly hear a masculine voice talking.

  “There you are, sweetheart. What a lovely thing you are. I wonder what your name is?”

  For a moment she froze in outrage. She knew well that voice. How dared he…? Sarah set her chin and walked briskly around the corner to confront the brazen oaf.

  But as she rounded the corner she found Lord d’Arque crouched over Harriet, one of their two dogs. The spaniel was shamelessly splayed upon the floor as he rubbed her belly.

  His lips were quirked up, his eyes intent upon the happy dog, and his long fingers burrowed through her fur.

  Sarah felt a bit warm at the sight. Something about the lazy, sensuous slide of his fingers, the gentleness in his face…

  It was as if she had caught him unawares, as if his sharp, cynical walls had lowered for a moment and she saw a different man within. The intimate glimpse of the man caught her by surprise. Made her insides soften and tremble. Was this the real Lord d’Arque? The man who cared tenderly for his grandmother and apparently had an affection for dogs? Had she truly been wrong about the viscount all along?

  He glanced up and it was as if she could see those walls rising, shielding whatever—or whoever—lay at his core. “Miss St. John. Good morning.”

  She blinked, still a little dazed. “Harriet.”

  He raised his brows, looking amused. “I beg your pardon?”

  She inhaled, mentally shaking herself. “The dog you’re petting and who is making a regrettable display of herself is Harriet.”

  “Ah.” He looked down at the dog, who had become so debauched her tongue lolled out of her jaws. “Harriet. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He gave her a last rub and then uncoiled slowly, standing much too close to Sarah.

  She inhaled and stepped back, her heart—silly thing!—insisting on beating fast. She wasn’t a young girl anymore—a girl who’d once fallen under the spell of a cad. She was too intelligent, too experienced for this.

  Lord d’Arque smiled, his eyes alight with something wicked. “I’m afraid I’m rather used to females making themselves shameless for me.”

  Sarah was very proud of herself for not blushing at his risqué comment—he was so obviously trying to shock her.

  “Are you?” she asked, infusing her voice with just a smidgen of doubt.

  She turned and continued toward the breakfast room.

  If she’d thought to set Lord d’Arque in his place, she failed. He immediately matched his stride to hers, walking along beside her. Harriet scrambled to her feet and followed along, panting happily.

  “Oh yes,” he said, as if she’d truly been asking a question. “I don’t wish to seem vain, but it’s rather embarrassing, truth be told, how often ladies make a play for my attention.”

  “How awful,” Sarah said with mock sympathy. “You must be tripping over them constantly.”

  “Oh, indeed,” he replied, his voice lowered to a rich timber. “That’s why you are so utterly refreshing, Miss St. John. You resist my charms so completely, you might as well be a maiden hidden in a tall tower.”

  For some reason that rather hurt. Was he saying she was without passion, without interest to the male sex?

  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 wor
ld 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.