Once Upon a Christmas Eve(11)

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.