A Christmas Seduction: A Regency Anthology (21 page)

She straightened her shoulders, ready for another all out war that would leave her exhausted. “Yes well, I had no idea the fire would leap from the ground to your short sleeves. And we were only twelve.”

“And last night? During the maze? What is your excuse then?”

“Oh, that…” She turned to face him, “…was entirely on purpose. They say memories are good for the soul, I was merely providing you with my favorite.”

“Ah.” His eyes twinkled. “Why doesn’t it not surprise me that your favorite memory of us includes my almost dying?”

“To be fair,” she mused. “At one time it had been my favorite game. The many ways to kill Jackson Mayford.”

He nodded seriously then offered his arm. Begrudgingly, she took it as they made their way outside toward the still torch-lit maze.

“There were the spiders.” His voice pierced through the chilly silence.” And my personal favorite, strangulation by bed sheets.”

“Don’t forget a horrible carriage accident that leaves you disfigured.”

He shuddered. “It worries me, the way your mind always leans towards the most graphic of affairs. Have I not warned you? All I have is my face?”

She snorted.

“Did you not threaten to drown me once, too?”

Sara smiled. “You took my favorite doll! Of course I threatened to drown you, for what other option did I have? You’ve always been taller!”

“Death is a very unladylike threat.”

“Funny, I’ve never felt very ladylike.”

“Impossible.” He stopped walking, causing her to stumble forward. “You act like a lady.” He offered a heart-stopping smile. “Sometimes.” Jackson released her arm and began to slowly circle her as if she was a zebra, and he a lion. “You look like a lady, save for that constant venomous glare you often save for me and only me…” He stopped directly behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You are… every inch the lady, the lady, I am sure, many a woman tries to measure up to… and fails.”

Sara gasped, unable to help her reaction as her chilled body suddenly filled with warmth from her slippered toes all the way up to her chest — the sore chest, the chest that held the heart that cautioned her to not allow it to break — again.

“What are you about, Jack?” she whispered, unable to keep her voice from trembling. “Is this a true cease fire?”

“It is,” he said softly. “But, before I lay down my pistol for good… a simple game. Winner takes all.”

“Oh?” Her heart leapt. ”What is this game, and what shall I win?”

“So certain?”

“I never lose,” she snapped, feigning an arrogance she didn’t feel.

Jack moved to her side and pointed with a gloved hand. “The maze, we’ve both been through it now… I shall race you, without clues, to the end. It must be done entirely of memory. If you beat me, I shall give you the cease fire you so desperately want, and I will leave first thing this evening, never to bother you again.”

It was what she wanted. Right?

Confused, she stared down at the frosted glass. “Good.” It was said completely without conviction. “And if you win?”

“A kiss,” he said in a low whisper. “I get a kiss.”

Her eyes widened in horror. It was a bad idea. A terrible idea, she would be left exposed, vulnerable, all over again.

But if she won.

She glanced back at the maze, her eyes quickly calculating all the different ways to be free of the ice and make it to the other side.

“Afraid?” he taunted in her ear, the whispered word no less than a challenge.

With a shiver she took a step back and held out her hand. “Deal.”

He gripped her fingers tightly and smiled wickedly. “Ready. Set. Go.”

CHAPTER FIVE

E
ITHER WAY, HE WOULD
win, but she need not know that. After leaving the ball he’d rummaged around the maze only to see her staring out at the garden, completely unaware of his dark mood. Her eyes were lifted towards the moon. She’d looked like an angel — as beams of light streamed across her soft face.

And he knew.

In that moment.

If he was going to burn.

If he was going to get rejected.

If he was going to live out the rest of his days without her — he needed to at least know for sure, that it was because she had no interest.

Let her say it to his face.

Let him stop living with justifications.

No more
before
Sara.

No more
afters.

No more
because
of Sara.

He needed her to be the solution — not the problem. And she would always be the problem, if he allowed her to be. Therefore, one more game.

For old times’ sake.

For
Sara.

He fastened the mistletoe directly above the end of the maze where it was well lit, and made his way back into house to set about challenging her.

She was never able to turn down a chance at besting him.

And he knew it, regardless of how she felt about him.

She would jump at the opportunity to eradicate him from her life — the only jarring part was how fast she’d agreed.

Did she want him gone so desperately?

“Ready. Set. Go!” The words left his lips as Sara raced past him. He allowed it, because he’d walked through the maze thrice now. In her desire to win, she would be blinded by the second turn.

He quickly ran after her, and took a left, then another right. He saw the flutter of her skirts as she raced ahead.

Jack’s breathing came out in short laborious bursts as the cold froze to his lungs, coating his throat and every other useful organ he’d need come Christmas morning.

The end was in sight.

But Sara was nowhere to be seen.

He frowned, glancing from left to right, ready to turn on his heel and run in search of her when he heard a yelp and then ”Jackson!”

She never used his full name.

Not unless he was in trouble — or she was in trouble.

Panicked, he raced back through. “Sara? Are you alright? Where are you?”

“Here!” Her voice was weak, defeated.

“Say something else,” he called out. “So I can locate you.”

“Something else.”

He chuckled. “You can do better, Sara.”

“I hate you!”

“More talking, less threatening.”

“You’re a horrible man!”

He took a left and came face to face with an ice wall. Irritated, he ran back the other direction.

“And you, you, you—” she cursed.

It was impossible to keep his laugh in.

“Stop laughing at me!”

Her voice sounded closer, he turned the next corner to find her sitting on her bum, in a pile of snow.

“Are you pouting? Or did you simply give up?”

She pointed to her ankle.

“Ah, my one weakness. Very cruel, I suppose the very moment I get on bended knee you’ll jump to your feet and race past me. Unfair.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

His chest tightened as he lunged forward. “Oh, Sara. Does it hurt?”

She nodded. “I slipped on the bloody ice!”

Jackson laughed.

“Stop laughing!” She joined in. “And don’t you dare tell Meredith I said bloody.”

Jackson easily leaned down and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll just add it to the list, shall I? Things that Jackson Mayford may never reveal to Meredith or Louisa. Like the time we smoked cheroots until we both got sick over the balcony. Or when we drank enough whiskey to breathe fire and promptly passed out in the same room for more than five hours.”

Sara pressed her lips together in a smile.

“What about the time you asked me how to kiss?”

“Lord help us,” Sara muttered under her breath. “Good thing cook overheard us and stopped that disaster from taking place.”

“Yes, well, we were only six.”

They made it safely out of the maze.

As Jack slowly set her to her feet, her body slid down his. “Or how about the time, three years ago, when I held your hand and kissed you with all the passion I’d kept pinned inside… only to have you run away.”

Sara took a startled breath, her cheeks tinting with red. “You told the duchess it was a game!”

“Of course I told the duchess it was a game!” He threw his free hand into the air. “You had not even had your come out ball yet! You could have easily been ruined because of my lack of self control.”

She frowned, and then hunched her shoulders. “It matters not. It was for the best, right Jack? Besides, it didn’t take you long to move on.”

She tried to escape his grip but he held her body tight. “Not a chance in hell I’m letting you get away. I’ll chain you to the ice before I let that happen.”

“That’s quite violent, even for you, Jack.”

“You bring out the worst in me, I’m afraid. Always have,” he muttered.

She leaned against him, probably more out of pain than affection, but he would be thankful and take what he could get.

“Now, what do you mean by that statement? It didn’t take me long to move on? Have I a mistress I know nothing about? A wife?”

She rolled her eyes. “The Rawlings’ annual ball, you were kissing the Dowager of Prine.”

Jack burst out laughing then sobered. “Oh, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes.

“Sara,” he whispered, shock etched into his voice. “Why did you not say something? The woman was insane. She launched herself at me before I had the chance to utter no, and she had just lost her husband. I may be an ass, but I wasn’t about to show her disrespect just because she was lonely and in mourning — that’s not the way I am.”

Sara’s blue eyes seemed to brighten. “So… you were not—”

“I most certainly was not.” He shook his head and then winced.” But, soon after, when I thought you had rejected me, when you gave me the cut direct, I may have… gone a touch mad.”

“A touch?” Her eyebrows rose in mock shock. “A touch mad would be taking your breakfast with the staff, a touch mad is collecting waistcoats, a touch mad,” she continued her voice rising an octave, “is dancing naked in the rain. Not bedding half of London!”

“To be fair, we don’t really have an accurate assessment of the current London population, at least in town. I sincerely doubt it’s half.”

“Jack…”

He grinned. “One-tenth? Maybe a quarter. But half, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“You are — impossible.” She snorted, tossing up her one dainty hand into the air then making a fist with it.“ Impossible.”

He nodded. “Yes. Because living a life of impossibilities seems to be my calling… being impossibly impossible is what I do. Loving the impossible… Desiring the impossible… wanting what is within my reach sounds quite boring doesn’t it?”

“What are you saying?” She searched his face.

With a smile, Jack pointed up. “I won.”

Her eyes widened at the mistletoe. “You cheated!”

“I still won, and I rescued you, therefore, I think two kisses are in order.”

She scoffed, “You rake!”

“The word loses its effect after being thrown at a person so many times… Calling me a rake is like throwing a dull arrow in my direction. I’ll simply flick it out of the way and keep marching.”

Sara was back to making a fist with one hand while the other clung quite tightly to his jacket. “One kiss.”

“Three.”

She burst out laughing. “You just said two!”

“Right, but it just occurred to me that I also saved you,” Jack said with a smug grin. “Not only did I win, but we’re standing under mistletoe, and I just saved your life.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Three kisses.”

“Saved my life?” she said in disbelief. “Had I known you would have demanded payment, I would have crawled on my hands and knees!”

Jack made a face. “Cease teasing me, woman. What I wouldn’t do to see you on your—”

She slapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t make me add another way to kill you in my little book.”

He smiled against her fingertips, her very bare, cold fingertips, then slowly removed her hand and kissed the open palm. “Oh, I think you should. It amuses me greatly when you pretend you would rather kill me than kiss me, when we both know…” He leaned in so his mouth nearly brushed hers. “…you’ve been thinking about it for the past ten minutes. They say anticipation is the best part.”

“Oh, it is,” she said with fake sweetness. “For the kissing almost always falls flat.”

“Who the devil have you been kissing?”

“Frogs.” She smirked.

“Damn it.” He lifted her into his arms, she wrapped her legs around his waist; he steadied her against the icy wall as his mouth descended towards her warm neck. “I’m not a frog.”

“Then what, pray tell, are you?” She arched into his body. “A prince?”

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “I should think you’d know by now. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

And then, he kissed her.

CHAPTER SIX

S
ARA SHOULD HAVE
helped herself.

She should have slapped him in his perfect face.

She should have done a lot of things. Instead, she kissed him back, her hands giving his cravat a greedy tug as she jerked him forward until his masculine warmth crowded against her.

With a groan, he deepened the kiss, pressing his palms flat against hers, pining her against ice — his mouth was like fire, hot, aggressive, its tiny flames licking and swirling until she had no choice but to give in — to allow herself to be burned alive by his heat.

It seemed it was Jackson Mayford’s turn to set
her
on fire.

And it was so much better than she remembered.

He rocked his body against hers, greedily suckling her lower lip as he rained kisses down her neck, with one free hand keeping her steady while the other dipped into her bodice, the chill from his fingertips caused a sizzle of awareness to spread down her legs.

And then.

As luck would have it.

A throat, once again, cleared.

Jackson didn’t drop her this time, simply pulled back and barked out, “A little busy.” And kept kissing her! The arrogance! The… absolute… She answered him kiss for kiss, their mouths bruising under the desperate pleasure.