Once Upon a Christmas Eve(5)
“Good morning,” Sarah replied, consciously making her tone cheerful.
She crossed to the table and began to take a seat, but Sir Hilary pulled out the chair beside him. “Will you not sit here, Miss St. John, where the light will not hit your eyes?”
Since the sunlight outside wasn’t yet coming in the windows, this seemed a rather silly argument, but Sarah smiled and diverted her course toward Sir Hilary.
She sat in the indicated seat and couldn’t help noticing the triumphant look Sir Hilary gave Dr. Manning and Lord Kirby, who were on the other side of the table.
“You’re quite right, Webber,” Lord d’Arque said from her other side. Sarah turned to find the awful man lowering himself into the chair beside her. “The sun is much better here.” He picked up a basket and turned to Sarah. “Bread?”
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking one of the still-warm buns.
“Tell me, Webber,” the viscount continued, buttering a piece of a bun. “Are you a married man?”
“Ah,” Sir Hilary said, and unaccountably blushed. “No, no. Not as yet.”
The viscount raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? And you, gentlemen?”
“I have not achieved that happy state,” Lord Kirby said.
Dr. Manning simply shook his head.
“Three bachelors,” Lord d’Arque mused. He snapped his fingers. “Oh, pardon me. Four bachelors, for of course I haven’t a wife or even a fiancée.”
Sarah stiffened, waiting for the viscount’s next words and dreading them.
But it was Lord Kirby who spoke up. “Do you know that my father had four bachelor brothers? And my grandfather three? In fact there are quite a number of gentlemen who eschew the fairer sex.”
Oddly, this provoked a lively discussion among Lord Kirby, Dr. Manning, and Sir Hilary.
Sarah looked on bemusedly as she sipped her tea.
However, she was glad for their distraction when Lord d’Arque reached across her rudely to pick up a platter of gammon.
He was too close to her, she could feel his heat, smell the faint scent of sandalwood on him.
It was distracting.
So she was utterly unprepared when he asked, “Tell me, Miss St. John, are you on the hunt for a husband?”
Chapter Four
So the frog dove down, down into the icy waters of the pond and brought the dagger up to Prince Brad.
“Thank you,” he said. And he took the dagger from the frog, mounted his horse, and rode away with all his retinue, leaving the frog behind.
“Bugger,” said the frog.…
—From The Frog Princess
He leaned a little closer to her, inhaling the scent of roses. “I’m right, aren’t I?” His tone was light. Jovial. As if he didn’t care at all whom she might be considering marrying. “And three gentlemen courting you—an abundance of choice.”
Miss St. John’s cheeks turned a becoming pink, and he felt something inside him clench.
Ridiculous.
“I doubt this is any of your concern,” Miss St. John hissed under her breath like an outraged cat.
“No.” He ate a bite of bread. “But it could be.”
That got her to turn slightly in his direction. The tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lush lips, making him stare. “I hesitate to ask what you mean.”
“Well…” Adam brought his gaze back up to hers, trying to control the surge of heat in his groin. “It seems to me that you may need some help in deciding on a husband. Perhaps you need an older, more mature adviser, one who knows the world and has seen many a romance blossom…and then wither.”
She looked at him, one delicate eyebrow raised incredulously. “And I suppose you consider yourself such an adviser.”
“Oh.” He widened his eyes as if caught off guard. “I hadn’t thought to nominate myself, but now that you’ve most graciously suggested it…”
She rolled her eyes at him.
He had to control a grin at the sight of proper Miss St. John so far forgetting herself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so amused at a conversation.
Or so aroused.
Which brought him up short. This wasn’t a flirtation. He was merely passing the time until Grand-mère recovered and they could leave this home of family and Christmas merriment.
Miss St. John meant nothing to him.
“I will help you to decide which suitor would make the perfect husband for you,” he whispered graciously.
“Will you?” she replied, dry as dust. Really she was wasted in this backwater.
“Indeed.” He glanced at the other gentlemen, now discussing…Good Lord. It appeared to be something about manure and rapeseed. This might be harder than he’d thought. “I suggest we begin by listing the qualities you’ll want in a husband.”
“You are not helping me find a husband,” she said very firmly.
“Physical health, for instance,” he continued, ignoring her. He spoke low so as not to be overheard by the other gentlemen, but he might as well not have bothered. They were too caught up in their farming discussion. “Very important, I should think.”
She looked at him, widening her eyes in query.
“For the marriage bed, naturally,” he explained kindly. “A husband who can’t…er…come to attention is worse than useless.”
“We’re at the breakfast table,” she hissed. She appeared to be having trouble meeting his eyes. “This isn’t the place to discuss such things.”
“Then where? I should think it’s as good a place as any to contemplate wedded bliss.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Yes, I am.” He took a sip of tea to hide his smile. Her outrage was terribly entertaining. “So then health right at the top of our list.”
She opened her mouth and then slowly closed it, staring at him. Finally she said, “How do you know I wish to be married in the first place?”
“Don’t all women?” he asked lightly.
“No,” she replied seriously. “Most do, but not all. Just as most men wish to marry, but not all.”
He raised his teacup in a salute. “Touché.”
“But you’re right,” she said, turning back to her plate and damnably hiding her eyes. “I want a husband. I want children and a home and a family.”
He stilled, for he rather thought a note of seriousness had been inserted into their play.
“So sure,” he whispered. Of course she would want a family and a husband to give it to her.
A man who was as much his opposite as it was possible to be.
Ladies such as she did not choose rakes to father their children.
“Yes.” She looked at him and he saw that she had a defiant light in her eyes. “I am sure of what I want.”
He pushed aside his maudlin thoughts and gave her a dangerous smile. “Then permit me to help you obtain that which you want.”
Sarah stared at Lord d’Arque. What was he playing at? He didn’t like her—that much was obvious. Silly to pretend anything else—the man had made his feelings more than plain, and she was a woman who insisted on being scrupulously factual with herself.
Lord d’Arque was toying with her. And yet she felt drawn to him on an animal level.
She wanted him despite her own dislike for him.
How humiliating to be betrayed so by her body! She shouldn’t feel sensual attraction to a man she disliked. It was horrifying. Why couldn’t she be physically aware of Lord Kirby or Sir Hilary, both respectable gentlemen?
Why couldn’t her mind rule her body?
She studied him. His eyes were clear gray beneath heavy lids, cynical and world-weary. She knew she was staring into them too long, noting the darker ring around the iris and the fine laugh lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes.
He was a rake, she reminded herself.
He wasn’t to be trusted.
Why was it so hard to keep that thought at the forefront of her mind?
“Good morning!”
Mama’s cheerful greeting came from the doorway to the breakfast room, and Sarah started at her voice.
She saw Lord d’Arque’s sinful mouth curl at the corner, as if he knew how lost she’d become in his gaze, and then he turned away.
He stood with the rest of the gentlemen, bowing to her mother. “Mrs. St. John, you brighten the day like the sun, generous and lovely. I thank you again for your bounteous hospitality.”
Mama blushed, and Sarah narrowed her eyes at Lord d’Arque, examining him for any sign that he was mocking her mother.
Except…he seemed quite sincere.
Sir Hilary held out a chair for Mama while Lord Kirby poured her a dish of tea.
“I trust you slept well?” Dr. Manning enquired solicitously.
“Yes indeed,” Mama replied, nodding her thanks to Lord Kirby as she accepted her teacup. “I do so enjoy retiring for the night under a heap of coverlets while the snow blows outside. It makes one especially thankful to be warm inside, don’t you think?”
Lord d’Arque smiled at her comment while Sir Hilary looked nonplussed and Lord Kirby and Dr. Manning hastened to agree with her.
“And how is Lady Whimple?” Mama continued, looking with concern at Lord d’Arque.
“She slept well,” the viscount replied.
Sarah noticed that he didn’t actually say that the old lady was better this morning. She frowned, watching him, but he had his social face firmly in place and it was impossible to tell if he was worried for his grandmother.