Raoul Charlebois, the beloved actor with the cobalt-blue
eyes and silver-blond curls is retiring from the London
stage. He's known as an enigma who doesn't answer to
anybody. His past haunts him as the illegitimate son of Lord
Merriot. Raoul was exiled from Cheshire to London, England
by his father to a school that taught other boys like him.
Raoul has bought the building he stayed in as a boy because
Dunnington, who ran the school, left Raoul and his boyhood
chums twenty thousand pounds. It looks as if Dunnington
extorted this shocking fee from his father, among others,
and wants to know why. Raoul will travel back to Cheshire
where his father and his wife reside and find out this deep
dark secret he hides that he would pay to keep quiet.
It has been twelve years since Raoul has been in Cheshire
and he is in for some surprises. Not only does he find a
young boy passed out on the side of the road, but the young
charge and his brother are orphans, left behind by a carless
mother and now being taken cared of by Miss Sarah Jefferson
who resides in the gamekeeper's cottage on Merriot's estate.
Sarah's father was Merriot's gamekeeper up to seven years
ago when he died. Sarah barely remembers Raoul because she
was so young, but now that Sarah has grown into a beautiful
woman, he is intrigued.
As Raoul gets closer to the truth, he begins to romance the
fair Sarah. She knows that Raoul is destined for better
things and if she allows him to seduce her, she will be like
all the other women he left behind. When Raoul is with Sarah
he feels he belongs and dreams of a future with her that
entails marriage and children. He must decide to let his
unfortunate past go and look towards a new and exciting
future with Sarah by his side.
SEDUCE ME BY CHRISTMAS is a warm holiday historical romance
with a touch of mystery within the pages. Raoul Charlebois
may seem to be a disillusion rake who only cares for his own
pleasure, but underneath this façade is a man looking for
love and acceptance. And Raoul is not your typical rake
because of his career as an actor. He also embodies the
spirit and charity of the holiday, especially in regards to
Sarah's two charges.
Sarah is more a stereotypical heroine where the reader won't
expect any big surprises in regards to her actions and
feelings towards Raoul. These two have some chemistry and
nice interactions, as well as their love scenes together
that lead to some more surprise. The mystery of Raoul's past
keeps the tension going and the outcome brings to light many
things Raoul has ignored about himself and the man he
thought of as his father and why he was treated so
poorly.
For some light and enjoyable reading, definitely give SEDUCE
ME BY CHRISTMAS a read. Deborah Raleigh has a delightful way
of taking the reader back in time, as well as writing a
romance that will leave you with a smile.
Raoul Charlebois
is nothing if not notorious. He's abandoned his wild life to
search out answers to his dark past, but that doesn't stop
his reputation as a rake from following him wherever he
goes. In this case, it follows him to the door of a
gamekeeper's cottage, where beautiful, optimistic, innocent
Sarah Jefferson resides. In all his exploits, he's never met
a woman like her. . .and that makes her all the more
tempting. . .
At first, Sarah will have no part in
whatever the devastatingly handsome visitor wants at the
estate. . .until she realizes what he wants is her. For as
the snow falls down around them, she finds that the
intoxicating scent of evergreen boughs can prove incredibly
seductive. And maybe there is some glimmer of good in Raoul
hiding deep within. After all, Christmas has a way of
bringing lost souls together. . .
Praise for Deborah
Raleigh and her novels. . .
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
It was a typical London day for late November.
In other another word…
Miserable.
The streets were shrouded in a damp, frigid fog, and
had long since been abandoned by the glittering ton who
preferred the comfort of their countryseats. Those
unfortunate souls who were forced to remain behind huddled
near their fireplaces or when pressed to venture outdoors,
dashed from one place to another with their heads bent low
and their faces covered with heavy mufflers.
Well, at least most did so.
Raoul Charlebois, on the other hand, did not huddle
or dash. He did not even waddle despite the icy slush.
Nature had bestowed upon him a languid, elegant grace
that had made him famous upon the stages of London (almost
as famous as his stunning cobalt-blue eyes and silver-blond
curls that perfectly framed his finely crafted countenance)
and with a measured gait he stepped down from his carriage
to stroll up the short walk and enter the modest house on
Lombard Street.
It was an elegance thoroughly appreciated by the
handful of elderly widows that contributed the lion’s share
of tenants in the quiet, growingly shabby neighborhood.
Oh, they might later agree that they disdained the arrogant
set of his wide shoulders beneath the multi-caped greatcoat
and the sardonic smile that curved his sensuous lips, but
peering through the lacy curtains at his magnificent form
there was not a one who could halt their hearts from
skipping a beat or a whimsical sigh from slipping between
their lips.
He was…spectacular.
The sort of gentleman who seemed created for the sole
purpose of fulfilling a woman’s fantasy.
No matter what her age.
Gloriously indifferent to the avid gazes that
followed his every step, Raoul used the key the land agent
had sent round earlier in the day to unlock the door.
Then, stepping into the small foyer, he paused to absorb
the familiar scent of pipe tobacco and leather-bound books.
He smiled, slipping off his coat and hat. With only
a little effort he could envision Dunnington waiting for
him at the top of the steps, or Ian and Fredrick racing
down the long hallway to the kitchen, whooping at the top
of their lungs.
Raoul had been ten years old when his father had sent
him to this small townhouse. At the time he only knew that
Mr. Dunnington was starting a select school for boys of
excellent, if not legitimate birth. Bastards. And that he
was the first student to arrive.
Not surprisingly he had been terrified when his
father, the Earl of Merriot, had quite literally dumped him
on the front stoop.
It wasn’t that he’d been happy at his father’s grand
estate in Cheshire. Lord and Lady Merriot made little
effort to disguise the fact he was the one blight on their
otherwise perfect life. After all, what leaders of the
fashionable world desired to have a bastard underfoot when
they were entertaining their influential guests with one
lavish party after another?
Still, he had not known what to expect from the thin,
bespectacled tutor who had opened the door to this
nondescript house and led him up the narrow steps to the
schoolroom.
Thankfully, it had taken only a handful of days in
Dunnington’s presence, not to mention the arrival of Ian
and Fredrick (two of his fellow students) to realize that
coming to London was nothing less than a miracle.
Suddenly his days were more than an attempt to melt
into the shadows and disappear.
He had a kind, intelligent man in his life who
offered him an unwavering affection and respect he had
never before experienced. He had two friends who he
bullied and loved and raised as if they were his own
brothers. And he had the opportunity to create a career
that had not only made him famous, but wealthy beyond his
wildest dreams.
Actually, the only kind thing his father had ever
done for him was dumping him on the doorstep of this house,
he acknowledged wryly, moving down the shadowed hall to
enter the library.
An hour later he had the Holland covers tugged off
the solid English furnishings and a cheerful fire blazing.
Seated in Dunnington’s favorite leather chair, he propped
his feet on the walnut desk and sipped deeply from the
bottle of brandy he had the foresight to bring along.
He closed his eyes, the chill slowly easing from his
body.
Yes. This was what he had needed.
Nothing could bring back Dunnington. Or heal the
sense of loss that had plagued Raoul for the past year.
But there was a measure of comfort in breathing life back
into this house that had been shrouded in darkness for too
long.
And perhaps, someday, he would…
His vague future plans for the house were forgotten
as Raoul stiffened in surprise. Was that the front door?
He frowned as the click of the door was followed by
the slow, steady tread of boots on the floorboards. Damn,
it was.
Who the devil would bother him?
The weather was nasty enough to keep the old tabbies
from barging in to sate their rampant curiosity. And he
hadn’t shared his intended destination with anyone beyond
his groom.
Besides, whoever was approaching was making an
obvious effort at stealth. As if hoping to catch Raoul
unaware.
On the point of rising to his feet, Raoul’s annoyance
suddenly eased as the intruder stumbled, knocking a
figurine off a hall table, and muttering a low curse.
He recognized this particularly clumsy gentleman.
“Mon Dieu, Fredrick, halt your tip-toeing around and
come in before you break your fool neck,” he called, the
French nurse who had cared for him as a tiny lad leaving
her mark on his faint accent even after all these years.
Turning his head, he watched the slender man step
into the library. Fredrick Colstone, heir apparent to Lord
Graystone, tossed his greatcoat and hat onto a nearby chair
before moving toward the desk.
“How did you know it was me?”
“You always did have the grace of a drunken sailor.”
Fredrick’s singularly sweet smile curved his lips,
adding to the impression of angelic beauty. As a
youngster, Fredrick had detested his fragile features and
honey curls that had made him the target of ruthless
bullying. Thankfully, maturity had added an edge of
masculinity, although he would never acquire that annoying
arrogance that came as easily as breathing to most
aristocrats.
Raoul hid a smile as he noted the dust marring the
rumpled cravat and ink staining the cuffs of the charcoal
gray coat. It wasn’t even tea time and already his friend
was a mess.
“No doubt my lack of grace explains why I became an
inventor rather than a burglar,” Fredrick readily agreed.
“That and the fact you cannot distinguish a
Gainsborough from a nursery school scribble,” Raoul pointed
out.
“True enough.”
Waiting for his companion to settle in a chair on the
other side of the desk, Raoul held up the bottle still
clutched in his hand.
“Brandy?”
Fredrick reached beneath his jacket to pull out a
silver flask. “I have come prepared.”
“So you have.” Raoul arched a pale, golden
brow. “Which begs the question of why you have come at
all.”
“I was passing by and noticed Nico standing guard by
the carriage out front.” Fredrick waved a hand toward the
bay window that overlooked the street. “If you wish to
travel incognito then you should hire a groom that does not
quite so closely resemble a cutthroat.”
“You were passing by?” Raoul demanded, ignoring the
insult to his groom. Nico did look like a cutthroat.
Possibly because that was precisely what he had been before
Raoul took him on as a servant. “Since when does your
route take you through Lombard Street?”
“I pass by quite often when I am in London,” Fredrick
confessed with a grimace. “Ian would claim I am plagued by
maudlin sentimentality, but…”
“There is no need to explain, mon ami,” Raoul
interrupted, his heart twisting with that ruthless sense of
emptiness. “Not to me.”
“This morning, however, I came with a purpose.”
“Ah, then it was not fickle fate that crossed our
paths?”
Fredrick narrowed his perceptive gray gaze. “Did you
know that the house was recently purchased?”
Raoul took a deep drink from the bottle. “I had
heard such rumors.”
“And by any chance, do you know the new owner?”
“Intimately.”
“You?” Fredrick’s silver-gray eyes narrowed as Raoul
dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Bloody hell.”
“Does the thought trouble you?”
“Quite the opposite. I am delighted to know the
house will belong to someone who will appreciate what
Dunnington accomplished here.” The unnerving gaze swept
over Raoul’s carefully guarded expression. “But I am
curious. You already possess an obscenely large
townhouse. What the devil do you intend to do with the
place?”
Raoul glanced toward the towering shelves that were
stuffed to the ceiling with leather-bound books.
“I have yet to decide,” he hedged, not yet willing to
commit himself.
“Then why purchase it at all?”
“Maudlin sentimentality, no doubt,” Raoul mocked his
desperate need to cling to Dunnington’s house. As if the
memories that echoed here could somehow fill the hallow
ache in the center of his chest. “Or perhaps I am merely
becoming batty in my old age, as Nico has kindly suggested.”
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