Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

As hoped, the dark gaze lifted. “Actually, I intend to tie this impossible scamp to his bed so he cannot sneak out and do even more damage to his battered brain.”

  “And the tarts?”

  “They tend to make any wound a bit more bearable for the boys.”

  “Actually I believe it is you, Miss Jefferson, that makes wounds, not to mention life in general, more bearable for the boys.”

  Chapter 2

  Sarah Jefferson had known Raoul Charlebois was in the neighborhood.

  How could she not?

  All of Cheshire was buzzing with the excitement of having such an important personage attending the local assembly, and even taking luncheon at the local pub.

  She had not, however, given him much thought.

  It never occurred to her that their paths would cross. After all, she didn’t move in society, and for the most part, she was kept far too busy tending to the boys and working on her paintings to join in the village amusements.

  Now she discovered herself strangely…unnerved by his close proximity.

  It was not just his magnificent beauty, although that was enough to make any woman weak in the knees. Pale golden curls. Cobalt blue eyes that were framed by indecently long lashes. Finely crafted features that included a wide brow, an aquiline nose, full lips, and chiseled cheekbones. Or even the odd sense that she had seen the precise face before, but on another person…

  No, it was the shock of his powerful presence that seemed to overwhelm the small cottage.

  Gads, it was little wonder critics claimed he could light an entire stage without the benefit of gas lamps.

  Thankfully, Sarah was a sensible woman who was content with her life without foolish dreams. Her mother had taught her that every day was a blessing that was meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. They were words she had taken to heart.

  Which was why she was capable of ignoring her racing pulse and the pleasurable flutters in the pit of her stomach.

  Raoul Charlebois was like Christmas punch.

  Far too potent for more than a small sip once a year.

  “It was very kind of you to bring Jimmy home, Mr. Charlebois, but I believe we have imposed upon you long enough.”

  A stillness settled about his large form. “My dear, Miss Jefferson, am I being dismissed?”

  Distracted by her tingling awareness of the gorgeous gentleman, not to mention concern for Jimmy, Sarah missed the dangerous edge in his smooth voice.

  “I am certain you have a better means of passing your afternoon.”

  “Not particularly.” His lips curved into a practiced smile that could make a woman swoon at a hundred paces. “Master Willie, will you see that Hercules is given water and perhaps a few oats?”

  Pleasure flared through the gray eyes as Willie bolted toward the door.

  “Aye, sir. You can depend on me.”

  Belatedly, Sarah realized her error.

  Lud, she’d taken care of her father after her mother’s death when she was just fourteen, and for the past three years she’d tended to two spirited boys who were as skittish as untrained colts.

  She, better than anyone, knew better than to directly challenge a male.

  Especially a male accustomed to women fawning at their feet.

  It was the one certain way to ensure they dug in their heels and did the precise thing you did not want them to do.

  Clumsy, Sarah, very, very clumsy.

  Hiding her annoyance behind a serene smile, Sarah waved a hand toward a nearby chair.

  “Please make yourself welcome. There is sherry on the sideboard. I fear I never keep stronger spirits in the house.”

  “A wise choice with two inquisitive boys underfoot.” He tossed aside his hat and greatcoat to reveal an exquisitely tailored blue jacket and buff breeches before sprawling with elegant ease in the wing chair. Then, slipping his hand beneath his ivory waistcoat, he removed a silver flask. “As you see, I am always prepared for emergencies.”

  Sarah busied herself by wetting the compress in the basin of water. Why was her throat dry? Surely it could not be because Raoul’s expensive attire molded to his hard muscles with wicked perfection?

  Or because those impossibly blue eyes were skimming over her as if he was considering the pleasure of devouring her?

  “I assume you are staying at the Great House?” she asked, pleased to discover her voice revealed none of her inner disturbance.

  “You assume wrong, ma belle,” he drawled. “I have accepted Mr. Baxter’s generous offer to occupy his hunting lodge while he is forced to take the waters in Bath.”

  She returned the compress to Jimmy’s lump, pleased by the hint of color returning to the boy’s cheeks. It wasn’t his first, or even worst, injury, but a head wound was always worrisome.

  “Do you come with a party?”

  “No, I am quite alone, unless you count my valet and groom.”

  “Ah, so this is what they call a repairing lease?”

  “Mon Dieu,” he breathed. “Now where would a young, innocent maiden hear such a vulgar term?”

  She shrugged. “It is a common enough occurrence here in Cheshire.”

  “No, ma petite, I have no need to retrench.” There was a pause. “More a journey of discovery.”

  “Really?” She refused to glance in his direction. Pretend indifference, and eventually he would go away. “And what is it you hope to discover?”

  “I am not entirely certain,” he said meditatively.

  “Then how will you know you have discovered it?”

  He gave a startled chuckle. Gads, even that was heartbreaking.

  “An astute question.”

  “And the answer?”

  “Not nearly so astute.” She heard him shift, as if discomforted by his inner thoughts, then he deliberately turned the conversation. “I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He devoted many an afternoon to teaching me to fish, or how to shoot without causing too much carnage among the neighborhood.”

  The familiar pain tugged at her heart. “I miss him every day.”

  “You live here alone?”

  The question and his tone were unexpectedly abrupt.

  “I have the boys and Maggie Stone, who comes daily to help with the laundry and heavy cleaning.”

  “I am surprised Lord Merriot would rent his cottage to a young maiden and her two strays. He was always such a judgmental ass.”

  Why would her living arrangement matter to this man? Unless…

  “The cottage and the surrounding gardens were given to my father by the Earl as a portion of his salary some years ago. It was passed to me upon his death.”

  “An unusual arrangement.”

  Common sense was forgotten as she turned to stab him with a proud gaze.

  “From my understanding, the lands east of the paddock are not part of the entail.”

  A golden brow lifted, his sinful lips curving into a smile. “You need not jut that lovely chin at me, ma petite. I am a bastard, not the legal heir keeping count of every pence and pound of my birthright. If it were in my power, I would offer you the entire godforsaken estate. My dislike is a natural concern for the thought of a lone woman and two young boys living in such an isolated spot.”

  Oh. She battled the urge to blush.

  “Not so alone,” she corrected. “If you would peek into the back garden, you would discover two very large and very protective dogs that I bring into the cottage during the night. Besides, there are few in the vicinity I haven’t known since I left the cradle.”

  “There are others beyond the local residents who can pose a danger to a beautiful young woman,” he strangely persisted.

  “Others?”

  Something that might have been bitterness darkened the blue eyes.

  “As I recall, Lord and Lady Merriot enjoy hosting lavish parties with guests that linger for weeks. There are few creatures more dangerous than a bored nobleman. They possess an unshakable belief that the world and all who inhabit it are si
mply here to serve their pleasure.”

  She frowned, silently wondering if the bitterness was directed toward Lord Merriot, or those bored noblemen.

  “You have been gone a long time, Mr. Charlebois.”

  His gaze deliberately skimmed down to the modest cut of her bodice before returning to her face.

  “True, but I am uncertain what bearing that has on our conversation.”

  She refused to be flustered. “There are never guests invited to the Great House. Lord and Lady Merriot have remained in deep mourning since their son’s death.”

  “Still?” There was genuine surprise in his voice. “Peter drowned what…three, or is it four, years ago?”

  “There are some tragedies that no amount of time can heal.”

  “I suppose that explains their absence from London.”

  Having been raised in a loving family, Sarah was startled by his seeming disinterest.

  Of course, he had been barely ten when he was sent to London, and his occasional visits had halted altogether after the birth of Lord and Lady Merriot’s only child. Perhaps it was not unexpected he would feel a measure of resentment.

  “You did not know?”

  “Does that astonish you?” His smile remained, but Sarah sensed the darkness beneath the smooth charm. “I have not been invited to Cheshire since Peter’s birth, and certainly my father has never made an effort to correspond with his bastard son. I daresay you are far better acquainted with Lord and Lady Merriot than myself.”

  “Perhaps your arrival in the neighborhood will ease their suffering.”

  He snorted. “More likely it will terrify them into boarding over the windows and barricading the door.”

  Realizing that she was allowing the dangerous man to stir her fascination, Sarah determinedly returned her attention to Jimmy. She was a confirmed spinster. There was no place in her world for magical creatures that were surely made of mist and enchantment.

  “Very dramatic,” she said, dryly. “You should consider a career on the stage.”

  Again that delicious chuckle. “Brat.”

  “Do you truly believe they will not desire your company?”

  “I believe they will demand me to make an appearance at the Great House, but not because of any desire for my company.”

  “People do change, you know. It could be your father will be anxious to heal the rifts with his only remaining son.”

  “Only if you believe in miracles, ma petite.”

  “It is the season for them, Mr. Charlebois.”

  “Season?”

  “It soon will be Christmas.”

  Beneath the tender stroke of her hand, Jimmy sighed and struggled to open his heavy lids.

  “Will we have plum cakes, Miss Sarah?”

  She hid her smile of relief. His words were clear and coherent.

  “I promised, did I not, poppet? Although…” She heaved a faint sigh.

  “What?” The guileless blue eyes that should have belonged to a saint, not a mischievous imp, gazed at her with growing concern. “What is it?”

  “Well, I fear that boys who are sickening from a pain in their head must content themselves with gruel.”

  “I ain’t…” He swiftly bit off the word. Sarah demanded proper speech, as well as the ability to read and do sums. It was the only means by which two boys without family or money would ever make something of themselves. “I mean, I am not sickening, I swear. Why, I can show you I’m as right as rain.”

  She gently pressed on his shoulder, keeping him flat on the cushions.

  “Oh yes, I can see you are a determined young man, which is precisely how I know you will balk at being sensible enough to remain abed until you are fully healed, thus ensuring that by Christmas day you will be laid up with a fever and scattered wits. I should not be at all surprised if you shall be too weak to even hang the holly wreath.” She offered a sympathetic smile. “Still, I am certain you will feel that sneaking from your bed the moment my back is turned will be a grand jest and well worth missing our simple celebrations.”

  “Nay,” he breathed, horrified by the mere notion. “I swear I won’t stir without permission.”

  “You swear?”

  “Aye.” He brushed a hand over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

  “Well then, I suppose I shall be baking plum cakes after all.”

  Jimmy flashed his lethal dimples. “You might even need a double batch seeing as I shall be dreadfully hungry from all that nasty gruel.”

  “Scamp.” Bending down, Sarah brushed a light kiss on the tip of his nose. “Close your eyes and rest, and I shall put the kettle on.”

  “Are there any biscuits?”

  With a soft laugh, she rose to her feet. “We shall see.”

  She had barely taken a step toward the kitchen when a large, decidedly male body was blocking her path. With effort, she resisted the urge to back away from the imposing form, and instead tilted up her head to meet the amused blue gaze.

  “Deftly done, Miss Jefferson,” her intruder drawled. “You have a frightening talent for forcing your will without need of ropes. I shall keep that in mind.”

  “Pardon me?”

  He offered a dip of his head, then turning, he collected his coat and hat before crossing toward the door.

  “Adieu, ma belle.”

  December 12

  Cheshire

  Baxter’s hunting lodge was not the finest house in the neighborhood. Certainly it could not compete with Lord Merriot’s grand mansion, or even the local squire’s tidy Queen Anne home.

  Still, it was comfortably shabby in a masculine fashion, with a back parlor, a dining room, a large billiards room,and a surprisingly well-stocked library that overlooked the small, currently frozen lake.

  Settled in a large wing chair that was situated close to the marble fireplace, Raoul absently leafed through a book that described some traveler or another who seemed to have spent an inordinate, not to mention uncomfortable, amount of time among the African natives.

  It wasn’t that he was incapable of enjoying a good book.

  The library in his London town house was the envy of many devoted bibliophiles, with a collection that was as wide and varied as Raoul’s interests.

  On this cold afternoon, however, he was far too distracted to properly concentrate.

  And not distracted in the manner that he should be distracted.

  Slamming the book shut, he tossed it onto a walnut pier table. Why the devil couldn’t he get the image of a raven-haired, dark-eyed minx out of his mind?

  It wasn’t as if she were the sort of woman who usually occupied his thoughts.

  She was beautiful, certainly. Astonishingly, breathtakingly beautiful. And there was a compelling vibrancy shimmering about her that would capture the fantasy of even the most jaded gentleman. So blessedly different from the boring, languid grace of society women.

  And that lush body…

  His blood heated for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he’d left the cottage three days ago.

  Sacrebleu. He was an idiot. Miss Sarah Jefferson might look like a woman who could offer a man paradise, but she was in truth, the most dangerous creature known to man.

  A proper, virginal maiden.

  His dreams should not be filled with visions of ripe, cherry lips nibbling over his chest. Or full breasts spilling over a modest corset.

  And most certainly, he should not be obsessed to know why such a beautiful, intelligent woman was content to become a spinster. And why she would take in two high-spirited lads who seemingly had no connection to her family.

  He should not.

  But…

  His broodings were disturbed as the door to the library was thrust open. Nico crossed the polished wooden floor to toss a folded message, along with a shilling, on top of the book Raoul had so recently discarded.

  Raoul pocketed the shilling and absently fingered the thick ivory parchment paper that had been folded and impressively honored with the
Merriot seal.

  “Ah, so it has arrived.” He studied the message, unable to sort through the mix of emotions warring through him. “Excellent.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Nico muttered, his dark, handsome features hard with annoyance.

  When they had arrived in Cheshire, the servant had stewed and fretted at Raoul’s refusal to directly call upon Lord Merriot. The one-time thief was a master of disguise and capable of ferreting out any information Raoul might desire, but he had little experience with nobility. Nico was quite convinced that the Earl would never lower his pride to contact his bastard son.

  Convinced enough to bet a shilling on the outcome.

  “Bastard, most certainly, but it is a painful understanding of my father, not luck, that allowed me to win this particular wager,” Raoul drawled. “He is nothing if not predictable.”

  Nico grimaced, smoothing a hand over the dark hair he had tied into a tail at his neck.

  “Are you not going to open it?”

  “In time.” Raoul stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle, the fine gloss of his Hessians reflecting the flames from the fireplace. “First I desire to know if you managed to acquire the information I requested.”

  Nico snorted. “You mean, did I snoop around and spy like you wanted?”

  “I asked for a discreet inquiry.”

  “And the difference?”

  “One sounds less offensive than the other.”

  “Ah.”

  “What did you discover?”

  Nico moved to lean against the black marble chimneypiece, holding his hands toward the fire. Although he’d left Rome when he was just a child, the cutthroat still cursed the damp, frigid winters of England.

  “Surprisingly little, despite my extraordinary skills.”

  “So modest.”

  A dangerous smile curved his lips. “The meek might be destined to inherit the earth, but the gutters will always belong to the bold.”

  Raoul tapped the folded message against the arm of the chair.

  “You must have learned something.”

  “Miss Jefferson lives very quietly in her cottage and, from all I could discover, is beloved by the locals for her talent with herbs.”

  “Ah yes, I seem to recall her mother possessed a similar talent.” His eyes narrowed. “There are no scandals?”