Seduce Me By Christmas

by Deborah Raleigh

  Raoul gave a sharp laugh as his servant neatly outmaneuvered him. “Why did I ever think I desired a valet with intelligence?”

  Nico shrugged. “Because you have no tolerance for stupidity.”

  Raoul grimaced and unfolded the second message. “Perhaps I should read Ian’s note before we make our plans.”

  Unlike Fredrick, Ian’s handwriting was a florid scrawl that was nearly impossible to decipher.

  “Well?” Nico at last prompted. “Did he discover anything of worth?”

  “I am not entirely certain.” Raoul struggled to make sense of the message. “He managed to discover that Merriot did come into a great deal of money several years ago.”

  “That tells us precisely nothing.”

  Raoul’s voice hardened as he realized the risk Ian had taken. “Not in itself, but Ian has managed to have a glimpse at my father’s private ledgers that are kept in the office of his Man of Business.”

  Predictably Nico smiled at the thought of Ian sneaking into the private office, no doubt in the dead of night.

  “I have always liked Breckford.”

  “You should. The two of you are terrifyingly similar.”

  Nico’s smile widened. “What did he find?”

  Raoul dismissed his annoyance at Ian having risked his respectable position as an investor, and instead concentrated on what he had managed to uncover.

  “The bulk of his supposed inheritance was in actual money rather than bank notes, as well as a large collection of rare art that was sold to private collectors.”

  Nico snorted. “Since my only inheritance was a backhanded slap from my mother before she cocked up her toes, you might as well be speaking Greek. Is something wrong?”

  “More odd,” Raoul conceded, his thoughts shifting through the various implications before coming to the only logical conclusion. “Most inheritances are passed on through lands or entailed property. And any art would have brought more money at a public auction.” He lifted his head to meet Nico’s puzzled gaze. “Of course, a public auction would include a listing of the art work as well as the buyers.”

  “Christo,” Nico breathed.

  Raoul nodded. “My father has ensured that no one can discover where his inheritance came from.”

  “More than odd.”

  “There is more.” Raoul returned his attention to the message. “Ian managed to track down a broker who admits that he sold several fine jewels for Lord Merriot. All of them removed from their previous settings.” He crushed the paper in his hand, recalling his conversation with Drabble and the man’s crazed accusations against Lord Merriot. “Damn. Perhaps Drabble was not the raving lunatic that I presumed him to be.”

  Nico shook his head. “Not even the best thief could have stolen so much without creating a stir.”

  Raoul grudgingly agreed. A gentleman might be capable of stealing a few coins, or even one or two pieces of jewelry, but to filch large works of art would be nearly impossible.

  “Always more questions with no answers,” he growled.

  “Lord Merriot cannot hide behind smoke and mirrors forever.” Nico placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Allow me to travel to London to speak with your nurse.”

  Raoul gave a slow dip of his head. Even if he were not reluctant to leave Cheshire, he had to acknowledge that Nico could conduct an investigation far more discreetly than himself. There were times when his fame was nothing more than a nuisance.

  “Very well, but take care, mon ami.”

  Nico headed for the door, clearly anxious to be on his way. “I am not the one in danger.”

  “Do not be so certain,” Raoul growled, knowing his servant too well to believe he would not risk his fool neck.

  “I will watch my back, you worry about your own.” Nico paused at the door. “And do not leave the house without Pickens.”

  Raoul rolled his eyes. “You are worse than a nagging wife.”

  Nico arched a brow. “You might as well become accustomed to it, eh, Charlebois?”

  The servant disappeared before Raoul could answer the taunt. Not that it mattered. What could he say?

  He did intend to take a wife.

  The sooner the better.

  With a shake of his head, Raoul left the library and climbed the stairs to his chamber. He was relieved to discover that Mrs. Dent had brought up a pitcher of hot water, and stripping off his clothes, he washed away the dust from the road.

  He was becoming soft, he ruefully acknowledged, noting the aches in his lower back from jolting over the rough paths. Or perhaps he was just growing old.

  In either case, he knew he could think of nothing that would please him more than to spend the rest of the day seated next to a warm fire with Sarah at his side, listening to Willie and Jimmy filling the air with laughter.

  Unless, of course, it was spending the afternoon with Sarah tucked in his bed.

  Shivering at the mere thought, Raoul crossed to the wardrobe and chose a moss-green jacket that he matched with a striped waistcoat and black breeches. Then, tying a simple knot in his cravat, he returned to the library and gathered his outer garments.

  His stomach rumbled at the smell of baking bread that filled the Lodge, but ignoring his hunger, he left by the door he had entered and returned to the stables.

  Pickens made no comment as he saddled Hercules, but even as Raoul hauled himself into the saddle, the groom was leading his own horse from the stall.

  Clearly Nico had convinced his fellow servant that Raoul was in dire peril. Raoul rolled his eyes, but made no effort to try and dissuade his silent companion.

  Pickens could be as stubborn as a mule, and in truth, Raoul was not stupid enough to ignore the danger. If his father was truly desperate, he would not hesitate to see Raoul dead.

  Still, he could not help grimacing as he urged Hercules along the frozen lanes, Pickens trailing behind him. How often had he and his friends mocked those ridiculous dandies who could not step out their front doors without a dozen servants to dance attendance upon them?

  Nearing Sarah’s cottage, Raoul turned in his saddle to order Pickens back to the Lodge, assuring the doggedly obstinate man that he would not step foot from the cottage until the groom returned at nightfall.

  He watched the groom ride away, ruefully hoping that Sarah did not turn him away at the door.

  Continuing the short distance to the walled back garden, Raoul slid from the saddle and led Hercules toward the tall hedge that would keep him sheltered from the bitter wind. Then, following the sound of voices, he discovered Willie and Jimmy piling firewood near the back door.

  At the sound of his approach, both boys turned, their faces lighting with a gratifying pleasure as they raced through the snow toward him.

  “Did you get ’em?” Willie demanded as they skidded to a halt.

  “I did.” Raoul held up a slender hand as Willie’s lips parted. “And before you ask, I have the box properly wrapped and safely hidden at the Lodge. I will bring them to you the day before Christmas.”

  Willie squared his shoulders. “And we sent enough money, sir?”

  “More than enough,” Raoul smoothly lied, reaching beneath his coat to pull out a few small coins. “These are yours.”

  A frown of suspicion marred Willie’s brow as he slowly tucked the coins in his pocket, but before he could ask any awkward questions, Jimmy tugged on Raoul’s sleeve.

  “Miss Sarah says we can hang the evergreen tomorrow,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Then she says we get to sing carols and have hot cider.”

  “And plum cake,” Willie added, his thoughts easily distracted by the promised treats.

  “A fine day’s entertainment.”

  “Did you hang mistletoe when you were a boy, Mr. Charlebois?” Jimmy demanded.

  Raoul paused, scouring his mind for a memory of past Christmases. Vaguely he recalled standing on a stool to play with a sprig of holly.

  “No doubt the maids decorated the nursery w
hen I was a very young child, but my father did not possess Miss Sarah’s appreciation for Christmas traditions.” His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Or for young boys like yourselves.”

  “Aye.” Willie hunched his shoulders. “Not all folks care for boys.”

  “Mum called us filthy brats,” Jimmy added. “Even after I scrubbed behind my ears.”

  Raoul crouched downward, looking the young boy straight in the eye. Suddenly, he realized that beneath Jimmy’s brittle happiness was a hint of fear.

  “Never you mind that, I have been called far worse,” he said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. “Besides, you are with Miss Sarah now, and she loves you whether you always remember to scrub behind your ears or not.”

  Jimmy bit his lower lip. “You don’t think she might get tired of us?”

  Raoul grasped one of his tiny hands. “Never.”

  “That’s what I keep trying to tell him,” Willie said, his expression troubled.

  “What is it?” Raoul squeezed Jimmy’s fingers. “You can trust me.”

  When Jimmy refused to speak, Willie at last revealed the truth.

  “Jimmy overheard Mrs. Kohl tell the Vicar that we have bad blood, and that Miss Sarah should send us to the orphanage afore we kill her in her sleep.”

  “We would never do such a thing,” Jimmy denied anxiously.

  Raoul muttered a curse before he could rein in his fury. Damn the evil bitch. She could not have done more damage if she had taken a dagger and stuck it directly in the young boy’s heart.

  He better than anyone understood how words could fester and scar as deeply as any weapon.

  “Of course you would not. Mrs. Kohl is obviously a repulsive mawworm who takes delight in spewing vile to any who will listen.”

  “But what if Miss Sarah believes…”

  “Listen to me, Master Jimmy,” Raoul firmly interrupted. “You are an extraordinary young man who is worthy of holding your head high, no matter what anyone might say.” He turned his head to study Willie’s carefully guarded expression. “And you, Master Willie, may be certain that your talent with horses will not go unnoticed. Soon enough, gentlemen will be pleading to have you in their employ.” Straightening, he included the both of them in his steady gaze. “Do you know how I can be so certain?”

  They regarded him with wide, hopeful gazes. “How?”

  “Because that is what Miss Sarah told me. Does that sound like a woman who fears to sleep at night?”

  Willie slowly smiled. “No, sir.”

  Jimmy took a half beat longer, but at last he gave a shake of his head. “No, sir.”

  Knowing that only time and Sarah’s unwavering love could heal their wounds completely, Raoul wrapped an arm around each of the boy’s shoulders and steered them toward the nearby door.

  “Now that is settled, perhaps we should continue our practice for the Christmas charades.”

  Chapter 15

  Placing the large plate of sandwiches on the tray next to the warm scones and pitcher of milk, Sarah was pleased to discover her hands had stopped shaking.

  A small victory, she wryly acknowledged, considering that her entire body still tingled with awareness of Raoul Charlebois.

  He had been in the parlor with the boys for the past two hours, and while she had yet to catch sight of his impossibly beautiful face, the small cottage had been filled with the sound of his smooth, dark voice and occasional laughter. Gads, there were moments when Sarah thought she could actually catch the scent his warm, spicy skin.

  A part of her wanted to be angered by his casual arrival. After all, it was only polite to await an invitation before simply appearing on the doorstep. And besides, she had made it quite clear in Chester that she would not allow herself to be lured into a scandal that would hurt the boys.

  This man was a danger.

  To her all too susceptible body.

  To her reputation.

  To her future.

  To her heart.

  But a larger part of her could not squash the thrill of excitement that made her heart race and her breath quicken.

  Bustling from the small pantry, Maggie paused as Jimmy’s laughter filled the air.

  “Them boys are getting mighty attached to Mr. Charlebois,” she murmured.

  Sarah heaved a sigh. Yet another concern. “Yes, I do hope they will not be disappointed when he returns to London.”

  The maid sent her a speaking glance. “You are so certain he intends to leave?”

  Sarah’s breath threatened to tangle in her throat at the disturbing memory of Raoul holding her tightly in his arms, his expression one of determined nobility. She had known in that moment she had only to allow Raoul to be consumed by his guilt, and he would demand that she become his wife.

  And for one brief moment of insanity, Sarah had been shockingly tempted.

  Not because he was the renowned Raoul Charlebois. Or because her life could be one of elegant ease. Or even because she was certain he would do his best to ensure the future for both Willie and Jimmy.

  No.

  The temptation had been the simple desire of a woman who was utterly bewitched by a man.

  Thank goodness her wits had returned in time to avoid such a disaster. Raoul had never been allowed to know the affection of his mother and father, and while he had managed to find success, Sarah sensed that beneath his arrogance was still a young boy in need of love.

  When he wed it should be to a woman who would fill his heart with joy, not one he felt obliged to marry.

  Meeting Maggie’s curious gaze, Sarah forced herself to give a decisive nod, ignoring the pang of regret.

  “Quite certain.”

  “Ah well, ’tis the season for miracles,” Maggie said, refusing to concede defeat. “Who can say what the future might hold?”

  Sarah squared her shoulders. Enough. She had never been one to mope over things that could not be changed, and she was not about to begin now.

  “I do know the future will hold two hungry boys,” she said, briskly lifting the tray. “I had better get this to them before they start gnawing on the furniture.”

  “I will finish the dishes. You join the boys with their tea tray.”

  Her heart banged against her chest. “There is no need. They are being well entertained.”

  “Perhaps, but they are still troubled by what the nasty Kohl woman said.” Maggie crossed to the stack of dishes. “They need to have you near for a few days.”

  The pleasurable excitement was abruptly dampened by the memory of Jimmy’s heartbreaking sobs that had woken her in the middle of the night. It had taken some prompting, but at last the boy had confessed what he had overheard Mrs. Kohl say to the Vicar.

  Later Sarah intended to confront the horrid woman, but at the moment she was far more concerned with reassuring Jimmy.

  He would not be allowed to believe, even for a second, that he was anything but a welcome member of her small family.

  “You are right.” She headed for the door, pausing to glance over her shoulder. “Once the dishes are done, I want you to leave. It is too cold to be walking home in the dark.”

  “No fears,” Maggie assured her. “Martin has promised to fetch me before nightfall.”

  Sarah smiled, wondering when the maid was going to put the young man out of his misery and agree to become his wife.

  “Now that is a gentleman who knows how to win a woman’s heart.”

  Maggie offered a pointed gaze. “He is not the only gentleman.”

  With a snort, Sarah stepped through the door and walked the short distance to the parlor.

  She steeled her nerves before stepping into the cozy room, but that did not halt her stomach from clenching and her pulse from racing as her gaze landed on Raoul.

  Seated on the sofa nearest the fire, he had one boy on each side of him, their faces turned upward as they regarded Raoul with a rapt adoration.

  Sarah heaved a rueful sigh, knowing she would happily have joined the boy
s in their obvious enchantment if she were not sensible enough to accept what could not be changed.

  As it was, she had to be prepared to comfort the boys when Raoul at last discovered the secret his father was hoarding, and returned to his life in London.

  Conjuring a smile, she set the tray on a table near the sofa.

  “And here I thought you were busy practicing your charades,” she said, straightening to discover three gazes trained on her.

  The boys, of course, were filled with a ready affection that always warmed her heart.

  Raoul’s, however…

  She shivered as it swept over her with a heat that seared its way through her blue woolen gown.

  If she thought that he had lost his peculiar fascination for her after their night of passion, then his grimly determined expression was enough to bring it to an end.

  Struggling to recall how to breathe, Sarah was thankfully distracted as Jimmy bounced on the threadbare cushion.

  “Mr. Charlebois was telling us about meeting the king. He shook his hand. Can you believe it?”

  Of course she believed it. Why would the king be any more immune to this man’s charm than everyone else?

  “Astonishing.”

  Raoul held up a hand. “Before you presume me to be utterly vain, I also told them of the night I was driven from the stage by a barrage of rotten tomatoes.”

  Willie giggled. “He was hit right in the eye.”

  “Hmmmm.” Sarah’s smile became genuine. “Was he?”

  “An experience I would prefer not to repeat,” Raoul quickly added.

  “I shall keep that in mind.”

  “Mr. Charlebois says we need some stuff for our charades,” Jimmy broke in, unaware of the intimate awareness that stirred in the air. Thank goodness. “Stage stuff…”

  “Stage settings,” Raoul supplied.

  “I have begun with the costumes,” Sarah said, readily allowing herself to be distracted. “But I confess I know nothing of stage settings.”

  Raoul lifted a shoulder. “As I recall, you have a number of old pieces in your workroom. I can choose a few and have them hauled to the orphanage.”

  “You are welcome to whatever you need, but I warn you, they are bound to be covered in dust and cobwebs.” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “It has been years since they have been properly cared for.”