Once Upon a Christmas Eve

  He did as instructed, lowering himself to the chair and giving her a report of the holly hunt…with several key moments omitted.

  But perhaps he hadn’t been as discreet as he thought.

  Grand-mère half closed her eyes and said, “Miss St. John seems an interesting gel. What do you think of her?”

  He paused to choose his words carefully. “She’s intelligent, quick witted, and bent on marriage.”

  Grand-mère’s eyebrows rose to points above her eyes. “She told you this?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “But the three gentlemen invited to spend the holiday at Hedge House are unwed and of age. No doubt she’s thinking of ensnaring one of them.”

  “Hmm,” his grandmother hummed noncommittally. “Her mother probably made the invitations.”

  He tilted his head. “You think Miss St. John is uninterested in wedding?”

  Grand-mère waved an irritated hand. “Most ladies want to be married. I’m only suggesting that she may not have had these three gentlemen in mind.”

  Adam looked away from her, his mouth twisted. “It hardly matters to me. I have no intention of marrying—and certainly not Miss St. John.”

  “Not all marriages are as vitriolic as your mother’s and father’s,” Grand-mère said softly. “A wife—a partner—can be a great comfort.”

  Adam stared at his grandmother. If he ran mad and some day decided to marry, he might choose a woman such as Miss St. John.

  But that was never going to happen, and besides.

  The lady was clearly not interested in him.

  Chapter Seven

  That night Prince Brad took the frog to his bed and laid her on his pillow.

  “Oh no,” said the frog. “I’m a frog, not a toad. I need water. You’ll have to fetch a basin.”

  Brad muttered under his breath, but as the queen had followed him to his bedroom to see to the comfort of their guest, he was forced to comply.

  The frog jumped into the basin of water beside Brad’s pillow and sighed sleepily. “Good night.”

  “I hate you,” Prince Brad replied.…

  —From The Frog Princess

  Three days later Adam lounged in the sitting room. It was after dinner and the party had all crowded into the room, where a silly game was in progress.

  He took a sip of his brandy and watched Miss St. John—Sarah—as she tried to find the other members of the party. She wore a scarf tied about her eyes and she walked haltingly, her hands outstretched, and with a small smile on her face.

  He hadn’t spoken to her save to say, “Good morning” or “Pass the bread” since he’d kissed her.

  Which was all for the best. He knew that. She wasn’t for him, and that strange feeling of…intimacy, of recognizing someone alike in mind and soul, all that had been false.

  There was a cheer, and Adam looked up to see Miss St. John holding Dr. Manning. The doctor was smiling gently as Miss St. John ran her fingers over his face to try to guess who he was.

  Rot.

  Adam threw back the last of the brandy in his glass and stood.

  “Had enough, d’Arque?”

  The soft voice was St. John’s, and Adam paused to look at him. The other man was watching him carefully and for once without malice.

  Adam inhaled. “As you can see, sir.”

  “I never took you for a man who retreated from…festivities.”

  Was St. John…approving of Adam’s interest in his sister? The world had turned upside-down. “Perhaps then you should revise your opinion of me.”

  St. John glanced at his sister and then at Adam. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Adam gritted his teeth. “Good night, sir.”

  The other man inclined his head and drawled, “My lord.”

  Adam strode from the room, a sort of black mood overcoming him. He’d done the only thing he could, he thought as he sprang up the stairs. He’d let Sarah go when she requested it. Had backed away.

  Had conceded the field to other men.

  Respectable men.

  He paused at the top of the stairs and grimaced. St. John had come close to calling him a coward and perhaps he was.

  He turned and strode to Grand-mère’s room. He knocked softly on the door before opening it.

  Inside, Cannon was perched in her chair by the bed, her head at an awkward-looking angle, asleep. He approached the bed and saw that his grandmother was asleep as well. She lay there, her white hair tucked beneath a cap, her hands holding the coverlet to her chest.

  Her gnarled fingers were bent by arthritis, the backs of her hands bruised and liver-spotted. The sapphire ring looked huge on her bony hand.

  She looked so frail.

  He turned and found a blanket, then gently draped it over Cannon and left the room.

  He wasn’t yet sleepy, so he made his way to the library. He’d found in the last several days that though the Hedge House library was small, it had several interesting and rare books.

  But when he entered the library door he found a light within.

  Sarah was at the far end, her back to him as she perused the shelves, her candle held high.

  He turned to retreat, but he must’ve made some noise.

  “My lord,” she called.

  He stopped without facing her. “I thought I told you to call me Adam.”

  “Adam, then.” He heard her venture nearer. “Have I offended you?”

  “No.” He closed his eyes.

  “Then will you look at me?”

  Had she no sense of self-preservation?

  But it was as if he were controlled by an outside force…or perhaps merely her voice.

  He turned to face her.

  She wore a blue dress tonight, the color of a robin’s egg, her hair bound simply at her nape. Her eyes were wide and uncertain, but her chin was level and proud.

  She was irresistible to him.

  He prowled toward her, feeling a sort of reckless urge rise within his blood. “What is it you want, Sarah?”

  Her rose-red lips parted. “I never gave you permission to use my given name.”

  “Did you not?” He walked right up to her, close enough he could see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. “I think you’re wrong. I think you gave me all the permission I need when you returned my kiss.”

  She blinked, and he could see her swallow. He smelled the scent of roses and it nearly maddened him.

  Or perhaps he was already mad.

  “Run now,” he whispered.

  She stared at him, refusing to move.

  “Very well,” he snarled, and took her into his arms.

  She’d stayed away from him as long as she could, Sarah thought dazedly as she opened her mouth beneath Adam’s assault. She’d never come within a couple of paces of him, had sat at the opposite end of the dining table from him every night, had made sure not to be alone with him.

  And all for naught.

  She fell now as easily as she had three days ago.

  More easily if that were possible.

  It was as if he were a wine she craved without ceasing.

  She clutched at his broad shoulders, struggling to get closer.

  To feel all of him.

  She moaned, suckling his tongue. Gasped at the heat that flamed at her center.

  He picked her up, and she broke their kiss to squeak.

  He smirked at her, his lazy gray eyes half-lidded and filled with desire as he walked to a settee. He sat down and arranged her across his lap.

  Then he bent and kissed her again.

  She wound her arms around his neck, feeling drunk from his mouth, from his lips moving over hers.

  She was lost.

  He broke their kiss and laid his forehead against hers. “Make me stop.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Then we’re doomed,” he said, his voice husky and low. “For I’m unable to stop myself. I want you. Day and night and all the time in between. I want you.”

  Sh
e pulled his head down to hers, capturing his lips, running her hands over his cheeks, his neck. He wore a white wig as he always did, and when her fingertips brushed it she was impatient. She reached up and pulled it off, then dropped it to the floor.

  He had dark, nearly black hair, cut close to his head.

  She gloried in this intimate knowledge, running her palms over the crown of his head.

  He pulled back, panting, and began to tug up her skirts.

  The realization woke her from her delirium of want and into near panic.

  She jolted and frantically shoved at his arm—the one under her skirt. “No. No.”

  Had she thought about it, she would have expected anger.

  Instead he carefully pulled his hand from her skirts and smoothed them down.

  Then he looked at her and said, “I think it’s time you told me about him.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning Prince Brad rose from his slightly damp bed and dressed under the interested gaze of the frog.

  “Pervert,” he said, scooping up her basin and walking swiftly down to the breakfast room.

  “Your Highness,” said a courtier, bowing low on his entrance. “The ladies have arrived for your inspection.”

  “Inspection?” murmured the frog.

  “I’m to be married,” said the prince, “and I need to choose a bride.”

  “Oh, good,” replied the frog. “I’ll help.”…

  —From The Frog Princess

  Sarah stared at him and for a second looked utterly betrayed.

  Then she burst into a flurry of movement, shoving at him, kicking, trying to escape from his arms.

  Adam dodged a flying hand and then caught it. She arched her back and he wrapped his other arm around her middle, pulling her up against his chest.

  “Sarah,” he said.

  She stopped all at once, sagging back.

  He didn’t let go of her. “Sarah.”

  She turned her head away from him.

  He sighed. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll let you go. But know that I cannot continue with you like this—me advancing, you retreating. I need to know why.”

  Slowly her head turned to him, and he saw that she had tears welling in her eyes.

  His heart swelled at the sight. Whoever had done this to her would pay. He’d find the man and destroy him.

  “I was sixteen,” she said in a small, precise voice. “I’d gone to stay with a friend for a month. Her family was hosting a house party and many people came. Among them was an older gentleman—a man of seven and twenty. He…”

  Her voice trailed away, and she closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at him while she told her tale. “He was a well-known man about town in London, but his notoriety only made him more interesting to me. I used to sneak glances at him, watching him as I thought in secret. But he knew, I think. He knew.”

  Adam let go of her arm and raised his hand to her cheek, stroking over the soft skin there.

  He knew when a woman watched him as well. He’d hunted women who fluttered with interest about him.

  But they’d never been so young as Sarah had been.

  The man who had hurt her was without honor. Without common decency.

  “He began looking back,” she whispered. “At first I thought I imagined his glances. It was so exciting. So wonderful. I spent every moment thinking about him, wondering with great anxiety if he truly returned my regard. The smallest thing became of great significance. When he held the door for me as I entered the room. If he nodded as I passed him in the morning. At night I couldn’t sleep for my excitement. I was a fool. Such a fool,” she murmured as if to herself.

  He brushed a kiss over her cheek. “You were young. It’s not entirely the same thing.”

  She inhaled shakily. “One day he found me in the garden alone. He said things—grand, flowery things—and they were everything I’d been dreaming of. When he kissed me I was completely his.”

  Adam closed his eyes, cursing this nameless man who had taken her girlish hope and trembling awareness.

  “He…” She swallowed. “He touched me. Raised my skirts and revealed my legs…and more. I think he was opening his breeches when my friend, her mother, and half a dozen more of the house party came upon us.” She chuckled, but it sounded broken. “If ’twere possible to die from chagrin I would’ve done so then. I tried to hide behind him, but he stepped away, exposing my shame to all that were there. My friend’s mother was shocked, but she accused him of seducing me. He…he told her—told them all—that I was no innocent. That I’d come to him and made an assignation with him in the garden. That I’d enticed him.”

  He opened his eyes, looking at her, this self-possessed, strong woman. “What happened?”

  “They believed him,” she said simply. “I was sent home in disgrace. My friend’s mother wrote a note to my parents informing them of my terrible conduct. Mama burned the letter. She really was quite wonderful.”

  Her smile was sad.

  He inhaled. “I’m glad that your mother is a levelheaded woman.”

  She nodded. “I missed the next three London seasons. There was too much talk. When I did return I didn’t receive any suitors—the few who came calling didn’t have honorable intentions.”

  Eleven years ago he had probably been too busy whoring to worry about society gossip. Or at least, if he had heard rumors about her, he’d long since forgotten them.

  He looked down at her small, delicate hand. “What became of the cad?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “He continued to be a man about town in London. He continued to be invited to country house parties. He continued to be popular with hostesses.”

  “And does he live in London now?” Adam asked softly.

  “I don’t know.” She looked at him, her light-brown eyes sad. “But that no longer matters. What matters is you and I.”

  “What about us?” he whispered, stroking a lock of her hair back from her face. It was like silk. Spun golden silk.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked simply.

  “I want you.” He fought to keep his voice level. Civilized. “In every way.”

  “In marriage?” Her words were soft but held an edge of steel.

  He stared at her, feeling wild. “I don’t know.”

  Her sigh was inaudible. “You must understand why I cannot do this.” She gestured in the small space between them. “I don’t wish to risk my reputation again.”

  “You don’t trust me not to expose you to gossip,” he said, and it felt like a slim stiletto slipped between his ribs.

  “I…” She looked at him, but to her credit she did not prevaricate. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Adam could’ve argued. Could’ve said that he wasn’t the cad from her youth. That he’d never seduced an innocent before. But he doubted mere words would win her trust.

  So he opened his arms and let her go.

  Three days later, Sarah sat with Megs in her rooms, watching as her sister-in-law attempted to fit into a dress with the aid of Daniels, her maid.

  “I don’t think it’ll do, my lady,” Daniels said, surveying the gap at the back of the dress.

  “Pooh,” Megs said, wrinkling her nose in the vanity mirror. “I don’t understand why my upper body should expand along with my lower. After all, it’s the lower that has a baby in it.”

  She frowned down at her bosom, which was indeed fuller than it had been before her pregnancy.

  “Although,” she mused, “Godric is awfully fond of my body this way.”

  “I don’t think I want to know that,” Sarah muttered.

  “Don’t you?” Megs turned sideways to view her tummy in the mirror. “I really look rather like a boiled pudding, don’t I?”

  “But an attractive boiled pudding,” Sarah said loyally.

  “Oh, thank you.” Megs began the process of taking off the dress. “Now tell me, what will you be wearing to the Christmas Eve ball?”
r />   Sarah shrugged, glancing down at her hands in her lap. “Perhaps the pink brocade or the blue stripe.”

  There was a silence until Sarah glanced up curiously.

  Both Megs and Daniels were staring at her, though Megs was the only one with a frown. “Really? Those are both years old. What about the new forest green you had made when you came to visit us in London last?”

  “I suppose I could wear that,” Sarah conceded. Would Adam like her in the forest green? She’d thought the dark, lush color had set off her pale complexion…

  Except she didn’t want his attention anymore, did she?

  “Darling.” She glanced up to see Megs looking at her worriedly. “Are you feeling quite the thing? You’ve seemed down these last few days.”

  Sarah burst into tears.

  She was horrified, absolutely horrified, but try as she might, she could not stop.

  Warm arms enclosed her as Megs pulled her down to sit with her on the side of the bed. “Oh, my dear.”

  Sarah inhaled shakily and looked up, mortified, but Megs must have sent Daniels away. It was just the two of them in the bedroom.

  Her sister-in-law got up and brought back a glass of water and a handkerchief and pressed both into her hands.

  Sarah gratefully accepted them from her and sipped the water. “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Don’t you?” Megs asked very softly. “I noticed that ever since Lord d’Arque arrived you follow him with your eyes. Has he done something?”

  Sarah choked back a bitter laugh. “No. It was I who did something—I told him that I did not wish to be alone with him anymore.”

  “Ah.”

  She looked up at Megs’s noncommittal reply.

  The other woman was watching her with a small frown. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Oh no, quite the opposite,” Sarah said, sounding depressed even to her own ears.

  “Then…?”

  “He’s a rake.” Sarah waved the damp handkerchief. “You know that. Everyone in all of England knows that. And you’re aware of how I feel about rakes.”

  “Ye-es?” Megs said slowly, but she bit her lip. “But—”