Sarah blotted her eyes. “What?”
Megs sighed gustily. “It’s just that you’ve never let a gentleman court you. You don’t dance at balls and you’re so abrupt with gentlemen that most run away with their tails between their legs rather than try any more discourse with you.”
“I don’t…” Sarah’s words trailed away as she thought about what Megs had said. Was that how she truly behaved with men? Sarah felt a twinge of hurt. Megs’s description made her sound like a harpy. She met the other woman’s eyes. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No,” Megs hastily assured her. “It’s just that most men are rather cowardly. It seems to me that a gentleman who persists despite your sometimes daunting exterior must be very interested in you, don’t you think?”
“He’s a rake,” Sarah whispered, staring down at the sodden handkerchief in her hands. “I can’t. He can’t even tell me if he wants to marry me or not. How can I let him flirt with me, kiss me, when I don’t know if I can trust him?”
“My brother Griffin was considered a rake by many,” Megs said. “He never considered marriage. Yet once he met Hero she was all he thought about. I truly think he’d rather cut off his right hand than hurt her in any way.”
Sarah glanced at her. “You think I ought to encourage him?”
“Why not?” Megs asked gently. “As Lord d’Arque becomes more familiar with you, perhaps he will decide it is marriage he’s after. Or he may not, in which case you can turn your back to him then. But if you never make that small step of faith, never let a man try to learn your heart, you’ll never find the marriage you want. The marriage you deserve.”
Sarah looked down at her hands. “Perhaps I should simply forget Lord d’Arque altogether and settle for an ordinary man.”
“Tell me, are you at all interested in the gentlemen your mother invited for the Christmas house party?”
Sarah winced. Mama had the best of intentions, but her ploy appeared to be obvious to everyone. “They’re all nice men, of course—”
“Of course.”
“And I should find one of them interesting…”
“But?”
“I don’t,” Sarah confessed with a sigh. “I simply don’t.”
Megs smiled, looking beautiful and wise. “Then follow your heart.”
Chapter Nine
So, after breaking their fast, Prince Brad and the frog proceeded to a receiving room crowded with every sort of royal female imaginable.
Brad took one swift look, turned to the courtier, and had half the ladies dismissed.
“Why?” inquired the frog.
“Too plain,” Brad drawled.
The frog looked at him thoughtfully. “You really are very shallow.”…
—From The Frog Princess
That afternoon Adam sat by his grandmother’s bed and had a terrible suspicion. They were drinking tea together. Grand-mère sat up in bed wearing a lace-trimmed wrap, her cheeks pink as she delicately ate a bite of mince pie.
Grand-mère loved mince pie.
He narrowed his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
She set aside her plate, slumping a little, and turned sad eyes on him. “A little better, I confess.”
“Well enough to leave?”
“Oh.” She plucked at the coverlet and said in a quavering old woman’s voice, “If you think that wise. Although Christmas is the day after tomorrow and it does seem foolish to go now.”
He sighed. “Grand-mère.”
She raised her brows innocently.
“Miss St. John has made it plain that she does not enjoy my company.”
She straightened abruptly. “Whatever did you do to the gel?”
He spread his hands wide. “Nothing.”
“Well, perhaps that is the problem.” She glared at him. “A woman likes to know she is desired.”
“I fear we are past that.” Adam felt weary all of a sudden. “Miss St. John will not talk to me.”
“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 close 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 and 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?”
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