Once Upon a Christmas Eve(7)
She followed.
Her eyes gleamed with righteous rage.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Adam caught her and pulled her against his chest.
Sarah stared up into Lord d’Arque’s face, startled by his swift action. He’d wrapped his arms around her, and he held her tight against his broad chest.
As if he embraced her.
She inhaled and smelled mint and tea and something lemony, and her breath hitched.
“Do you concede the battle, Miss St. John?” he asked, his voice deep and slow.
“I…” He was so close.
And so big.
The snow fell forgotten from her mittened hands.
His eyes dropped to her mouth and his head bent toward hers.
Her heart started beating so fast she knew he must hear it.
“Over here!” The shout, coming from just ahead of them, drove them apart.
Lord d’Arque stepped back just as Jane walked out of the copse of trees. The doctor was a step behind her, carrying the basket that was meant to hold their holly.
Jane waved to them. “You had better hurry! We’re almost to the holly behind the thicket.”
She turned and disappeared around the trees, Dr. Manning trailing behind.
Sarah busied herself smoothing her skirts, suddenly shy. “We should continue on our way.”
Lord d’Arque gave her a look she couldn’t quite read and picked up the basket she’d dropped when she’d gathered the snow to attack him. “Lead on.”
She nodded, picking up her skirts and stepping through the snow carefully. “There’s more holly up ahead past the copse.”
He didn’t answer.
She inhaled, desperate for something to say. Her face was hot and she ached low in her belly. Had he been about to kiss her? Or was she merely imagining things?
She felt quite cross for a minute. Surely she didn’t want Lord d’Arque to kiss her? He was a rake.
And yet…
“Do you always decorate Hedge House for Christmas?”
“Yes?” She peered at him sideways. “It’s tradition. Don’t you bring in green boughs and holly at your houses—or at your grandmother’s cousin’s house?”
He had a strange little twist to his mouth. “My grandmother’s cousin isn’t one to make merry. She provides a feast and plenty of mulled wine, but that’s all. I don’t celebrate Christmas at my residences.”
She stopped. “Not at all?”
He shrugged. “I give a purse of money to each servant and direct the cook to serve them plum puddings and goose on Christmas. Besides that, no.”
“But why?” Sarah frowned as she attempted to step over a snow-covered log. Really it was much too big and she wasn’t sure she could straddle it. “I always loved the Christmas season as a child. We would have guests and games and puddings and—”
She broke off with a squeak as he wrapped his hands around her waist and simply lifted her over the log.
He set her down and arched an amused eyebrow at her.
“Thank you,” she said somewhat breathlessly.
“Not at all,” he drawled, turning to continue on their trek. “My own childhood Christmases were not so idyllic. There were no guests and no puddings.”
“Oh.” She studied him. Lord d’Arque seemed quite stoic about his lack of childhood Christmases. Except…he was such an expressive man usually, even if it was often in mockery. His very lack of expression now seemed most suspect. She cleared her throat and asked hesitantly, “Was there a reason your family didn’t celebrate Christmas?”
“Not an ideological one, certainly.” He gave her a sardonic glance. “I hardly hail from Puritans.” He faced forward again as they trudged on. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Both my father and mother had numerous affairs.”
Sarah blinked, feeling a little shocked. What did one say to such a confession?
But he didn’t wait for her response. “No, I think my parents were simply too caught up in their own battles and petty arguments to bother with Christmas.” He shrugged carelessly. “And then they died on Christmas Eve when I was thirteen.”
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Lord d’Arque continued for another few steps before realizing. He turned and looked at her.
What…what was she supposed to think of his story? She couldn’t feel sympathy for this man. She couldn’t.
And yet, staring at him standing in crystalline snow, the flakes blowing against reddened cheeks, his eyes unable to hide his sadness, she felt herself fall headlong.
He wasn’t just a rake. He was a man. A man with feelings—well hidden, but there all the same.
She licked her lips. “How did they die?”
He glanced away. “They had an argument. Yet another argument. My mother shrieked that she was running away with her lover. My father forbade her, even though he had mistresses of his own. She made to run from the house, but my father caught her at the top of the grand staircase.”
Sarah drew in her breath, not wanting to hear what came next, though it had happened long ago.
“They fell,” he said, his voice flat. “All the way down the staircase. My mother broke her neck and died instantly. My father broke both arms and also hit his head. He never woke up again, though it took him another week to die.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said with real regret.
He turned to her. “Why? It happened over two decades ago, and besides you never knew them.”
“Yes, but I know you,” she replied gently, “and I am sorry that such a terrible thing happened to you.”
He shook his head and whispered, “You are too soft, Miss St. John. If you’re not careful, someone may take advantage and pierce your vulnerable heart.”
She lifted her chin. “What makes you think someone hasn’t already?”
Chapter Six
Now the queen had quite strong opinions on keeping one’s word. Prince Brad gritted his teeth, smiled, apologized to the frog, and lifted her to the table beside his gold plate.
“I’m going to get you for this,” he murmured under his breath to the frog.
“Will you?” she replied. “Perhaps so, but in the meantime, be a good lad and cut me a bite of that steak, won’t you? I’m simply famished.”…
—From The Frog Princess
Adam’s brows snapped together. The thought of anyone hurting Miss St. John caused something inside him to twist and scrabble to get out.
She shouldn’t be hurt.
He was about to ask who had caused her this pain when a shout came from up ahead.
Charlotte waved from the copse. “We’ve found the holly! You’d better hurry—we already have a full basket!”
“Oh dear,” Miss St. John said from beside him. “I do believe we’re going to lose.”
Forty-five minutes later they arrived back at Hedge House, their pitiful basket holding only a few branches of holly. Everyone else had returned ahead of them.
“I never seem to win these games,” Miss St. John sighed, watching her mother exclaim over the baskets of holly.
“A pity,” Adam drawled. “I suppose you were looking forward to stealing a kiss.”
She blushed—which rather intrigued him—but before he could tease her more, Mrs. St. John spoke.
“Charlotte and Sir Hilary are the winners.” Their hostess glanced at her middle daughter. “Charlotte, would you like to claim your prize?”
Adam leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings.
Charlotte St. John glanced first at Sir Hilary, then Dr. Manning, and finally Lord Kirby, who, although he’d not participated in the holly gathering, had come to see the judging.
She hesitated for a moment, and the good doctor looked pointedly away from her.
Charlotte St. John lifted her chin and walked to Lord Kirby.
That man’s eyes rounded as she stood on tiptoe and gave him a quite chaste kiss.
That was interesting. Since Charlotte had chosen not to steal her kiss from her holly-hunting partner, that left Sir Hilary to pick a lady to kiss. Adam watched cynically to see if the man would ignore Charlotte St. John’s slight and take his kiss from her anyway.
But he was already walking past Charlotte St. John.
Adam straightened as realization hit him.
Sir Hilary stopped before the eldest Miss St. John—standing only feet away from Adam—and bowed. “With your leave, madam?”
She smiled, blushing a little, and nodded.
Sir Hilary bent to set his mouth against hers and Adam felt his hands clench.
It was only a second or two, but during that time he could feel the pulse beating in his temple.
A kiss. A simple kiss. Nothing to become agitated about, especially since Miss St. John wasn’t important to him.
Except it was rather hard to continue thinking that, wasn’t it? Not when he felt perilously close to hitting a man he hardly knew.
Sir Hilary stepped back and made some sort of light comment. The rest of the party was moving toward the sitting room, presumably to participate in more juvenile games.
“Come with me,” Adam said to Miss St. John.
He took her wrist and swiftly pulled her from the room, away from everyone else. The hallway outside was empty, but Adam kept going, turning a corner. He opened the first door he came to—a study or small sitting room of some sort—and led her inside.
“What—?” Miss St. John started, but he silenced her.
By pressing his mouth to hers.