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.
Sarah gasped as Lord d’Arque kissed her. His mouth opened wide over hers, one thumb brushing her cheek. He held her with sure knowledge and embraced her as if he’d won the right.
He pulled her tighter against him, her breasts crushed against his hard chest, one of his legs thrust into her skirts between her thighs. He angled his face over hers and nipped at her bottom lip.
“My lord,” she whispered between their mouths.
“Call me Adam,” he demanded, and then thrust his tongue into her mouth, preventing her.
She moaned.
She couldn’t help it. It had been years since anyone had touched her like this—Sir Hilary’s chaste peck hardly counted—and the only other man to do so hadn’t had a quarter of Adam’s skill.
He made her feel. Made her want to cast away her inhibitions and doubts and just let him do as he wanted with her.
The thought brought her up short.
She’d felt this way before…and that man had taken everything she’d offered up and then thrust her away.
Not again.
She tore her mouth from his. “No.”
“Sarah,” he murmured, and her heart clenched at the sound of her name on his lips.
She couldn’t let this happen.
She turned her head to the side.
He pulled back and she could actually feel his gaze on her.
Then he abruptly let her go.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice flat and formal.
She looked at him and saw that everything she’d discovered in him was gone. His face was without expression, as closed as a locked gate.
“My apologies if I’ve given offense.” He bowed, pivoted, and left the room.
Adam took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to Grand-mère’s room. What a fool he was—becoming jealous over a country squire and Miss St. John. She was a respectable lady, determined to marry some poor man and birth a pack of blond, brown-eyed babies, chubby cheeked and solemn.
He paused on the landing. Damn, Miss St. John’s babies would be adorable.
He shook the ridiculous thought from his mind. Perhaps he’d contracted a brain fever from the snow tossed in his face. If so it was a relief: he’d be dead within a week and out of his misery.
He turned his thoughts to Grand-mère as he continued up the stairs. She’d seemed better this morning. Perhaps she would be well enough to travel in a few days. He could leave Hedge House and never see Miss St. John and her respectable ways again.
The thought made him unaccountably irritated.
When he pushed open the door to Grand-mère’s room, she was sitting up in bed enjoying a late breakfast.
“How are you feeling, darling?” he asked her, bending to kiss her cheek.
He straightened and examined her critically. Her cheeks seemed to have more color than yesterday.
“I’m feeling much better,” she said, but her voice was still weak and she started coughing as soon as the sentence was out of her mouth.
Adam looked on with barely concealed concern as she bent over, gasping for breath.
“Perhaps…” She stopped to inhale and take a sip of her tea. “Perhaps we can continue our journey tomorrow?”
Adam pasted a smile on his face. “The roads are near impassible,” he lied. She was clearly in no condition to travel. “I think we shall stay another week—until at least after Christmas.”
She took his verdict with better grace than he’d expected.
“Then sit here and tell me what is happening in the house.” She indicated the chair next to her bed.
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.