Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

  Without warning, Sarah felt Willie stiffen, his nose pressed to the frosty panes.

  “Look, it’s that Mr. Charlebois. I think he’s coming here.” Slipping past a startled Sarah, Willie darted toward the nearby entryway, bellowing for his brother who was upstairs finishing his day’s schoolwork. “Jimmy.”

  “Please do not shout, Willie,” Sarah pleaded, her brows knitting as Willie hastily tugged on his coat and scarf. “Where are you going?”

  Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a shriveled piece of fruit.

  “I’ve been saving this here apple for Hercules.”

  “But, my dear…”

  Her words were cut short as Willie slammed the front door behind him and Jimmy clamored loudly down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of the parlor window.

  “Mr. Charlebois is here.”

  “Yes, I am certain the entire county must know of his arrival by now,” she muttered, her eyes narrowed with a growing suspicion. “The question is, why is he here?”

  Jimmy ignored her pointed inquiry, his gaze trained on the gentleman leading his horse through the gate. Not that Sarah could blame him. Raoul Charlebois was a riveting sight.

  Not just his flawless countenance, or the white gold curls, or the magnificent body shown to advantage in his caped coat. His beauty was the stuff of legends. No, it was the smile of genuine pleasure that touched his lips as Willie ran toward him that made her breath tangle in her throat.

  He possessed a near magical ability to make another feel as if they were the most fascinating person in the world.

  A dangerous talent for the unwary.

  Sarah watched as Raoul bent his head to listen intently to Willie, the two seemingly involved in a private conversation that once again stirred Sarah’s curiosity. What the devil was the man doing here?

  “Simon swears that he is a famous actor.” Jimmy broke into her thoughts. “One of the most famous in all of England.”

  “Yes. I believe he is hailed as London’s leading man.”

  “He isn’t nearly so toplofty as you would think he would be, is he Miss Sarah?”

  A wistful smile touched her lips. “He does possess a remarkable charm.”

  Jimmy tilted his head to regard her with a hint of surprise, perhaps sensing her conflicted emotions.

  “Do you not like him?”

  She swiftly shook off the odd sensations gripping her, and reached out to ruffle Jimmy’s hair. The young boy was far too sensitive to her every mood.

  “We are barely acquainted, but I do not doubt that I find him as enchanting as most of England seems to.”

  Reassured, Jimmy turned back to the window. “He’s coming in.”

  “So I see.” Before she could halt herself, Sarah reached up to smooth the curls that had escaped from her simple braid. “Perhaps you could run and ask Maggie to put the kettle on, poppet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jimmy darted toward the kitchen, leaving Sarah a few moments to gather her composure. Ridiculous that she would need to do so, but there it was.

  She was still standing near the window when Raoul entered the tiny cottage, removing his outerwear before stepping into the parlor, followed closely by his young companion.

  Performing an elegant bow, he straightened to flash her a smile that promised all sorts of wicked pleasure.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Jefferson. I hope I don’t intrude?”

  Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. His presence seemed to fill her tiny parlor, his tantalizing scent already teasing at her nose.

  “Not at all…” Her polite greeting trailed away as Raoul closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Is there a problem?”

  He opened his eyes to regard her with a warm gaze. “Your cottage always smells like…”

  “What?”

  “Home.”

  He, of course, couldn’t have said anything to please her more. She had done everything in her power to make this small cottage a home for the boys.

  As he must well know.

  “Thank you.” Her expression revealed that she was aware of his deliberate attempt to charm her. “I trust your hanging of the evergreen met with Mrs. Dent’s approval?”

  Undisturbed, Raoul allowed his smile to widen.

  “She was frankly astonished that I managed so well. In truth, I have greatly risen in her esteem.”

  “Have you?”

  “Indeed. I have gone from a frippery lobcock to a cunning rogue.”

  “Ah, a great improvement.”

  “I have hopes of eventually reaching a pompous sapskull.”

  “It is important to hold onto your dreams.”

  “So I have been told,” his voice dropped, becoming low, intimate.

  Her heart gave another of those discomforting flops. He was weaving a spell between them that was near tangible. Definitely time for a distraction.

  She found it as she glanced toward the silent Willie. His expression was far too innocent. A certain warning that some plot was afoot.

  Turning back to Raoul, she regarded him with a hint of suspicion, vaguely aware that Jimmy had returned to the room.

  “Is there a particular reason for your visit?”

  “Can’t a bloke just happen by?” Willie demanded.

  Her gaze never wavered, holding Raoul’s twinkling blue gaze. “I am beginning to wonder.”

  “Actually it was something you said that brought me to your doorstep,” Raoul replied, his expression equaling Willie’s in faux innocence.

  “And what is that?”

  “You mentioned that the boys are planning to perform charades at your Christmas party.”

  Jimmy moved to Raoul’s side, regarding him with a hint of adulation.

  “We wrote them ourselves and everything.”

  He tapped the end of Jimmy’s nose, clearly at ease with young boys, despite being a bachelor.

  “I have decided to assist you.”

  “You, sir?” Jimmy breathed in wonder.

  “I have developed some skill over the years.”

  “Aye, but…”

  “I can at least look over the script and give you some assistance with your staging,” he assured the enthralled Jimmy.

  “Do you mean it, sir?” Willie demanded, all too familiar with empty promises. “You ain’t…I mean, you aren’t bamming us, are you?”

  Raoul met the boy’s searching gaze with a somber expression. “I never jest about my work, Master Willie.”

  Sarah frowned, as baffled by this gentleman’s offer as the boys.

  “That is very generous, Mr. Charlebois,” she said slowly. “But may I inquire as to why you would be willing to assist with a simple charade?”

  He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Let us just say I am diligent in upholding the dubious reputation of the English theater.”

  “Hmmm.”

  He arched a brow at her disbelieving tone. “And you did mention that it is for the local orphanage.”

  “And what interest would you have in an orphanage?”

  “I never forget that it is a place that I could easily have been raised,” he said, his lips twisting. “I always lend my support in causes that help children.”

  Her breath caught.

  She was becoming adjusted to his assault on her senses. Perhaps even to relish the tiny tingles of excitement that raced through her body.

  But she was unprepared for the hint of vulnerability she had just glimpsed in his eyes. Or his ready kindness to the boys.

  It was one thing to lust after a man. After all, what woman in her right mind wouldn’t? He was dazzling. But, it was quite another to actually…like him.

  “May he help, Miss Sarah?” Jimmy pleaded.

  Sarah hesitated. A part of her warned it was dangerous to encourage this gentleman. Especially if he thought to use the boys to gain entrance to her bed.

  Then she swiftly dismissed the unpleasant notion.

  Mr. Raoul Charlebois ha
d no need to play such foolish tricks on women. Besides, not even an idiot could fail to notice how his features gentled whenever he glanced at Willie or Jimmy.

  She wasn’t about to steal this rare treat for the boys because of some vague unease.

  “Do you promise to be on your best behavior and mind your manners?”

  Jimmy brushed his finger over his chest. “The very best, cross my heart.”

  “Me too,” Willie added.

  “Very well.”

  Willie released a war cry before grabbing his brother by the arm and dragging him toward the door.

  “Come on, Jimmy, let’s get the script.”

  Chapter 8

  Acutely aware of the woman standing just a few steps away, Raoul watched her expression of fond indulgence shift to one of guarded curiosity as she turned her midnight gaze in his direction.

  He had no reasonable explanation for the compulsion that brought him to the cottage. Or the strange sense of contentment that was spreading through him merely by being surrounded by Sarah and the boisterous lads.

  He only knew that of all the lavish mansions and sprawling country estates he’d visited, none could compare to this simple cottage.

  The silence stretched before Sarah at last cleared her throat.

  “Will you have a seat?”

  Raoul glanced toward the satinwood settee that had clearly seen better days. His brow lifted as he realized why he had been struck by a sense of familiarity the first time he had entered the cottage.

  “I recognize this,” he muttered, his hand running over the worn blue and silver striped satin.

  “Yes, most of the furniture came from the Great House,” she admitted. “My father was always a frugal man and when he discovered your father intended to burn a large portion of his old furnishings, he retrieved them. He brought a few pieces here, along with a pile of old paintings I’ve stored in my workroom, and the rest he gave to those who were in need.”

  Of course his father would never consider the notion of donating the furnishings, rather than burning them like a pile of rubbish.

  “I am happy to know that there are a few men of sense in Cheshire.”

  “If there are any pieces you desire…”

  “Mon Dieu, no.”

  Her eyes widened at his harsh tone, then without warning, she tilted back her head and laughed.

  Raoul stilled, his heart halting at the rich, full-bodied sound that filled the room.

  He was accustomed to the artful laughs of society women, or the simpering giggles of debutantes. They were nothing but pale shadows in comparison.

  Just as the women themselves were pale shadows in comparison to Sarah.

  She was vibrantly, unashamedly full of life.

  And he was…captivated.

  “No, I do not suppose you do,” she said, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “I doubt it would complement the furnishings in your fine London mansion.”

  “To be perfectly honest, I have not paid enough attention to my furnishings to know what might complement them.”

  “Are you jesting?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I know gentlemen care little for such things, but surely you are familiar with your own home?”

  “It is not a home, ma petite. It is merely a place I go when I wish to be alone.”

  Her amusement faded. “How sad.”

  He moved to brush a stray curl from her cheek, drawn to her warmth like a moth to the flame.

  “I never thought so.” His thumb brushed the edge of her mouth. “I had my career, endless acquaintances, two very dear friends, and all the entertainment that London has to offer.”

  A faint color touched her face, but she made no move to pull away.

  “It does sound like an existence most people would envy.”

  “But not you?”

  “I prefer a more simple life.”

  He smiled deep into her eyes. “It does have its charm.”

  Her tongue peeked out to dampen her dry lips, unwittingly sending a jolt of need through his body.

  “You said you had never thought your life sad, implying that you have had a change of heart.”

  He paused, his gaze sweeping over her beautiful face. A dozen flip comments flitted through his mind, but he could not force them past his lips.

  The lies he could weave so skillfully evaporated beneath her innocent gaze.

  “I recently lost the man who I considered my true father.”

  Genuine sympathy softened her expression. “Oh, I am sorry. I can understand how that can make you question what is important in your life. A father is…” She struggled for the proper words. “Like an anchor. When he is gone, you feel adrift.”

  “Adrift.” He considered the past year of aimless apathy that had plagued him. Slowly he nodded his head. “Yes.”

  Without warning, her hand lifted to touch his face. Her touch was gentle, but it was enough to make his gut twist with awareness.

  “You will always miss him, but the days do get easier to bear.”

  He regarded her with a sense of baffled wonder. Since he had left the schoolroom, women had been dazzled by his looks, his easy charm, and his innate ability to know precisely how to please them.

  Not one had ever seen him as a man like any other. A man who might have fears and uncertainties that keep him awake at night.

  Not until Miss Sarah Jefferson.

  “You are unlike any other woman I have ever known.”

  “That I well believe.” Her hand dropped, leaving him with a feeling of loss. “I have little in common with ladies of society. Or even actresses, for that matter.”

  “It was meant as a compliment.”

  “Yes, I know.” Her smile was wry. “You are very good at them. No doubt you have had a lot of practice.”

  He arched a brow, oddly offended. “You think me a rake?”

  “Are you not?”

  “I have enjoyed a few discreet affairs, but most of the rumors surrounding my conquests are grossly exaggerated.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “I prefer quality to quantity.”

  “Conquests.” She met his gaze squarely, but she couldn’t disguise the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat. She was as susceptible to the raw passion that simmered between them as he was. “Yes, that does seem to be an appropriate description.”

  He chuckled. “A direct hit. Did your father teach you to fence?”

  “No, but I am quite handy with a pistol.”

  “I shall try to avoid a duel,” he murmured, his head lowering to brush his lips over her lush mouth. She tasted of womanly spice, making his body clench with yearning. “At least with pistols.”

  For a breathless moment, her lips softened, inviting him to deepen his kiss, then, with a soft gasp, she was abruptly stepping away from his touch, her cheeks flushed with a delightful confusion.

  She smoothed her hands down the skirt of her buttercup-yellow gown.

  “How long do you intend to remain in the neighborhood?”

  He briefly wrestled with the overwhelming urge to yank her into his arms and kiss her until she moaned her pleasure. She wanted him. She belonged to him. And he would be damned if he allowed her to pretend otherwise.

  Thankfully, common sense overruled his purely male impulse.

  Any moment, the two boys would be rushing back into the room. He would do nothing to disrupt their sense of contentment. Not even if his thwarted need was becoming downright painful.

  “My plans are not yet fixed,” he said, allowing her to drift further away, at last coming to a rest near the stone fireplace.

  She regarded him with an all-too-knowing gaze. “Because you are still adrift?”

  “I suppose that is part of it,” he admitted.

  “And the other part?”

  “Fascination.”

  “I cannot imagine anything fascinating to be found in such a dull community.”

  “Then perhaps you should glance in a mirror.”
/>   Her gaze narrowed. “Mr. Charlebois.”

  “Yes, Miss Jefferson?”

  “I do not believe for a moment I am the reason you remain in Cheshire.”

  “Dine with me at the Lodge tonight, and I will prove my sincerity.”

  He heard her breath catch, but her expression revealed nothing but faint disapproval at his low, husky invitation.

  “Do not be daft. I cannot dine in the home of a bachelor.”

  “Then I will visit you. Once the boys are abed…”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Even if I promise to be on my best behavior?”

  “That is what frightens me.”

  Caught off guard by the tart retort, Raoul tilted back his head, and laughed with genuine amusement. Then, allowing his gaze to drink in her dark, exotic beauty, he slowly shook his head.

  “If I were a true gentleman, I would put you from my mind.”

  Something flashed through her eyes before she was tilting her chin.

  “Indeed, you would.”

  He smiled wryly, knowing there wasn’t the least hope he could follow the urges of his conscience. The woman had stirred a need he had to ease before he went mad.

  “Thankfully, I have never been burdened with such tedious rules.”

  “You do not consider yourself a gentleman?”

  “A man is born to such a position.”

  She frowned at his flippant tone. “I prefer to judge others on the content of their heart, not their position in society.”

  “As I said…” His gaze drifted down to the modest neckline. “Fascinating.”

  “We got it!” Willie’s shout echoed through the cottage, along with the clatter of footsteps on the stairs. “Mr. Charlebois, we got it!”

  Raoul swallowed a groan. “I want it.”

  It was not until dinner had been cleared away and the boys sent upstairs to prepare for bed that Sarah was at last able to return to her mending.