“Thank you,” the viscount said. “I confess your help is much appreciated.”
“Think nothing of it,” Godric replied. “We have several rooms to spare. I trust you’ll stay as our guests until your carriage is mended and you and your grandmother can travel again.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sarah said more soberly. “I know Mama will want you and your grandmother to stay. We’ll see to readying the rooms while you fetch her.”
Lord d’Arque’s heavy-lidded gray eyes seemed to glint as he bowed toward her. “Your graciousness humbles me, Miss St. John.”
The words were serious enough, but the viscount’s drawl always seemed to hold a mocking undertone, giving Sarah the uneasy feeling he was making fun of her.
Her eyes narrowed, but she refrained from snapping at him. Lady Whimple was the main concern at the moment.
Godric was already donning gloves and a hat as well as a fur-lined cloak. “Let’s fetch your grandmother,” he said to Lord d’Arque, and both gentlemen went back out into the storm.
Sarah eyed the closed door. “Evidently our Christmas party has expanded.”
“It has indeed,” Megs exclaimed, withdrawing an errant lock of her hair from baby Sophie’s mouth.
Sarah nodded, turning to the back of Hedge House—or simply Hedges, as the locals called it. She and Megs had been taking tea when they’d heard the knocking at the door. “We’d best inform Mama and then Mrs. Harris so she can make ready two more bedrooms.”
“Mm,” Megs murmured beside her. “What do you think? Old Dreary and the blue and white that overlooks the back garden?”
Sarah knit her brows. “Old Dreary for Lady Whimple?”
“Oh no,” said Megs, looking a little scandalized. “What if she woke in the night and saw him? It might give her a fatal fright. Old Dreary for Lord d’Arque, I think. He doesn’t seem the sort to turn a hair at anything he might find after midnight.”
“You sound very like the viscount now,” Sarah said with deep disapproval, “dropping double entendres here and there.” She stopped to lift her niece from Megs’s arms before continuing to the buttercup sitting room. “I think he’s a bad influence.”
“You’d say that anyway,” her sister-in-law replied, not unkindly. “We all know your views on rakes.”
“Humph,” said Sarah, and chose to kiss Sophie with a loud smack that made the baby giggle instead of replying.
She knew whatever she said would sound petty and mean.
She was biased. It was a simple fact. She had reason to know that rakish gentlemen caused heartache to ladies and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—simply turn aside from their flirtatious ways with a simper or a mere censorious frown.
“But you must admit he’s very exciting,” Megs mused as they arrived at the door to the sitting room.
“Perhaps,” Sarah said, “but I don’t especially like exciting gentlemen.”
“Don’t you?” Megs asked doubtfully.
“No,” Sarah replied quite firmly and squashed the small rebellious voice inside her head that whispered, Liar.
Chapter Two
One day while Prince Brad was jaunting around the forest with his retinue he stopped by a pond. There he decided to demonstrate his skills in throwing a dagger and in doing so dropped the dagger into the pond.
“Bugger,” said Prince Brad. “I liked that dagger.”…
—From The Frog Princess
An hour later Adam reached into St. John’s carriage and gathered his grandmother into his arms. St. John himself was dealing with the horses and Adam’s servants.
“Such nonsense,” Grand-mère said breathlessly as he lifted her. “I can certainly walk to the door.”
“Humor me,” he replied lightly as he turned and made his way through the snow. She hardly weighed anything at all. Grand-mère was such a forceful personality that sometimes he forgot how frail she really was. “Every now and again I enjoy a bit of physical labor just to remind myself that I’m not quite a fop yet.”
Miss St. John held open the door to Hedge House as they neared.
She bestowed a sweet smile on his grandmother, all but ignoring Adam. “Welcome to Hedge House, my lady. We’ve prepared a room for you with a fire, and I’ve asked for tea to be brought to your room.”
“Thank you,” Grand-mère said, and then had to stop to cough. “I don’t suppose you have any brandy as well?”
Miss St. John didn’t even blink. “Of course. I’ll send for some.” She nodded to a hovering footman and then turned to lead them up the stairs.
“Really, Adam, you can set me down now,” Grand-mère growled.
“Nonsense,” he replied. “Miss St. John already thinks me a feckless rake. Were she to see me abandon you in the hallway she would lose what little respect she might still have for me.”
The lady ahead of them didn’t bother turning, but he heard a faint “Humph.”
He grinned, watching the sway of her skirts as she climbed the steps.
When he glanced back at his grandmother she was eyeing him thoughtfully. “You and Miss St. John have met before?”
“Only once,” the lady called back.
“Yes, but even that once was enough for her to set me down,” Adam said cheerfully, and then, in a loud whisper to his grandmother, “I have the feeling she doesn’t like me.”
Miss St. John made the upper level and shot a scornful glance at him over her shoulder as she turned down a hall.
Grand-mère hummed. “How unusual. Most ladies fall at your feet.”
“Indeed they do,” Adam replied without a trace of modesty. “I begin to think that Miss St. John simply does not like men.”
“Not at all,” the lady in question said sweetly. She’d paused in front of a door and she gestured him inside. “I am quite fond of most gentlemen.”
Adam found himself perilously close to losing his temper with the little virago.
Which was ridiculous. He’d traded far more cutting barbs with other ladies. There was just something about Miss St. John that made him feel savage.
Not that he was about to let her know that.
“Gentlemen in their eighth decade, no doubt,” he murmured as he edged past her with Grand-mère in his arms. He shot Miss St. John an easy, guileless smile. “I do understand. A lady such as yourself might find any younger gentleman too fearsome.”
He turned before he could see her reaction, but he rather thought his volley had hit by her indrawn breath.
“A lady such as myself?” she asked with terrible calm.
Oh, yes indeed, he’d gone over the walls with that last one. Adam lowered Grand-mère to the bed before glancing up at his feminine adversary. “A lady of…” He paused delicately. “A certain age.” Adam widened his eyes innocently. “That is why you’re not wed, yes? Because you’re, what? Two and thirty?”
“Seven and twenty,” she bit out. “And I can’t believe you’re so concerned about my age when you’re older than I.”
“Ah, but I’m a man,” he replied, “And but five and thirty. A mere youth relatively.”
A blush had risen in her cheeks—no doubt a sign of ire rather than embarrassment—and he couldn’t help but note how ravishing it made her look. Her light-brown eyes were wide and nearly shooting flames at him, her head thrown back, her soft red lips parted in outrage…
Well.
He wondered if this was how she might look in the throes of passion.
The thought went straight to his groin. He might not particularly like Miss St. John, but he couldn’t deny her allure.
Even if he suspected she was quite unaware of it herself.
He cursed under his breath, glancing away, just as Grand-mère spoke.
“I wonder…” She paused to cough and his attention was immediately on her. Grand-mère’s hand shook as she raised a handkerchief to her lips, the huge sapphire ring on her left hand winking in the candlelight. “I wonder if I might have that tea now. And perhaps the brandy as well.”
Her voice sounded thin and frail.
Adam’s brows snapped together. “Of course, darling. Let me help you out of your cloak so that you can rest.”
He glanced up to see that Miss St. John was already pouring a dish of tea from the teapot sitting on a nearby table.
He bent over his grandmother, helping her to remove her cloak and shoes. Cannon, her lady’s maid, should be up soon. The maid was nearly as old as her mistress and had been with Grand-mère since her marriage. They were fiercely loyal to each other, and Grand-mère would not hear of acquiring a younger lady’s maid.
Even if that meant waiting on the elderly maid climbing the stairs.
“Here,” Miss St. John murmured.
He looked up to find her at his elbow, holding the dish of tea. Her brows were drawn together, and when she met his gaze, her eyes held concern. “Dr. Christopher Manning is one of our guests for Christmas. He’s a friend of Godric’s and quite a good physician. Perhaps I might have him attend Lady Whimple?”
“Thank you,” he replied, truly grateful.
She turned and quickly left the room.
Adam picked up his grandmother’s hand and chafed her cold fingers between his hands, absently noting that her sapphire ring was loose on her finger. She’d lost weight. “I know that you don’t like doctors, but perhaps a quick look before you undress for bed.”