Tis the Season to Be Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  “I will not be spoken to in such a disrespectful manner,” the earl insisted, nearly quivering with outrage.

  Juliet flinched as he slammed his closed fist down on the table next to her, rattling a delicate porcelain vase.

  “Disrespectful? Really, Gerald, I am not the one shouting and slamming my fist,” Juliet said calmly. Despite her rising fear, she was careful to keep her voice low and even.

  The earl’s face contorted into an angry grimace. “Do not push me any farther, Juliet, or I swear on my brother’s immortal soul that I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

  “A man is always responsible for his actions,” said a masculine voice from the doorway. “Especially the ill-conceived ones.”

  Juliet jumped. I know that voice. With a jolt of pure shock, the truth registered in Juliet’s brain. She turned and saw a man standing in the doorway. Oh, goodness. Tall, broad, and handsome, his face was devoid of expression, yet his eyes were hard and menacing.

  From behind the man’s imposing figure, Mrs. Perkins stood on her toes and gave Juliet a satisfied grin. “Mr. Harper to see you, ma’am.”

  On principle, Richard made it a point never to get involved in other people’s domestic disputes. Be it husband and wife, brother and sister, or parent and child, he steered clear of any and all of them.

  Yet as he stood in the doorway of Mrs. Wentworth’s drawing room, he knew he was about to ignore one of his own cardinal rules and become embroiled in something that was most likely none of his damn business.

  Richard eased into the room, smiling as he strode. “Regrettably, I appear to be the cause of some family disharmony, Mrs. Wentworth. What can I do to make amends?”

  “Crawl back under the rock from whence you came and never return,” the man beside her said, drawing himself up to his full height. Which wasn’t more than average.

  Coupled with a stocky build that was steadily running to fat, thinning hair, and soft, fleshy hands indicating an aversion to strenuous activities, the man posed little physical threat. But Richard was ever on the alert. The only way to avoid an ambush was to be prepared at all times and expect the worst.

  Mrs. Wentworth’s hand went to her mouth. “Gerald, please!”

  “What? That would solve all this rather neatly. He goes away and is never heard from again.”

  Richard stared for a long moment at Gerald, his stony expression giving no hint of his simmering anger. Mrs. Wentworth edged closer to him, an apologetic expression on her face.

  “Please forgive my brother-in-law’s rudeness, Mr. Harper. He’s had a bit of a shock.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize to this upstart!” Gerald screeched, his face red with rage. “Not when he is the cause of all this commotion.”

  Deliberately ignoring the man, and his ranting, Richard focused his gaze on Mrs. Wentworth. “I presume this has something to do with the sale of the estate?”

  Mrs. Wentworth fiddled with the lace on the cuff of her sleeve, a pink blush stealing into her cheeks. “I’m afraid it does.”

  Cocking his head, he eyed her thoughtfully. “The agreement is between the two of us. Your brother-in-law’s opinion is of no importance.”

  “No importance!” Gerald growled in frustration. “Good God, man, do you know who I am?”

  “Actually, no.” Richard turned with a grunt of disinterest. “We haven’t been introduced.”

  Mrs. Wentworth made a strange, inarticulate noise, then quickly recovered. “Gerald Wentworth, the Earl of Hastings, this is Mr. Richard Harper.” Her voice dropped an octave lower. “Mr. Harper, the earl is my late husband’s older brother. He also serves as a guardian to my son, Edward.”

  Damn, the British were an odd sort. Stopping in the middle of a heated argument to politely make introductions. It was ridiculous. But the interruption gave Richard a moment to think. Discovering the earl was also the boy’s guardian changed things considerably. Clearly the sale of the estate was in jeopardy.

  Walk away.

  Sensible, logical, smart. It was how Richard operated, but hell, he couldn’t get his feet to move. Mrs. Wentworth appeared to be holding her own when he came into the room. But things could turn ugly fast, and he felt compelled to be here if she needed his assistance.

  It had been quite a number of years since Richard had resorted to physical violence, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten how to land a punch square in a man’s jaw. Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Mrs. Wentworth wedged herself between the two men.

  “Gerald and I were discussing the sale of the estate,” she said quietly. “He has a few concerns.”

  “It sounded like more than a few, isn’t that right, Mr. Wentworth?” Richard asked.

  “Lord Hastings,” the earl said through clenched teeth. “That is the proper form of address for a peer of the realm.”

  Richard shrugged. “I’m an American. Titles don’t impress me much.”

  “Well, they should,” the earl replied, bristling with animosity. “They represent an established tradition of honor and integrity.”

  “No disrespect to your traditions, but in my world a man’s worth is judged by his accomplishments, as well as his actions. Character is not measured by birth, but instead by deeds. And I never thought there was anything remotely honorable in bullying a helpless woman.”

  The earl and Mrs. Wentworth stared at him in openmouthed astonishment. Richard crossed his arms over his chest and waited. As he expected, the earl exploded.

  “This is none of your bloody business. And you had best keep your remarks to yourself, especially when you are unaware of all the facts. I can assure you, Mrs. Wentworth is more than capable of inciting a man to violence. Restraining myself takes Herculean efforts.”

  “You must forgive me if I don’t applaud,” Richard drawled.

  The earl’s mouth opened and closed like a caught fish. The aristocracy might enjoy letting people know they firmly believed themselves to be superior in every way, yet it hardly seemed true at the moment. The earl was acting like a fool.

  “As the head of the family, it is my responsibility to set an example of respectability and decorum,” the earl huffed. “Selling you my nephew’s estate is a breech of that covenant and I will not stand for it. Under any circumstances. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Richard cut him off with an impatient gesture. “I possess a legal document signed by Mrs. Wentworth and myself that states otherwise. For a man who claims such great concern for his family name, you seem very eager to drag it through the courts.” Richard rocked back on his heels. “And the scandal sheets.”

  “Are you threatening me?” the earl asked, halting his tirade.

  “Merely stating the facts, your lordship, since you seem to like them so much.” Richard glanced out the window and saw how dark it had grown. A storm was on the way—perhaps one to rival the tempest taking place in this very room?

  The earl shot him a look of pure disgust. “I suppose this means you won’t behave like a gentleman and withdraw your offer?”

  “You suppose correctly.”

  “This is far from over, Harper,” the earl said, puffing out his barrel chest. Richard took a long look at him and knew it wasn’t an idle threat.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you in court. Have a pleasant day, Gerald.”

  The familiar use of his first name rankled the earl, as Richard knew it would. Casting him a scowl teeming with resentment and anger, Gerald stalked out of the room, slamming the drawing room door on his way out.

  There was a long moment of quiet until the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Richard hoped a teeming rain was on the way, one that would give the earl a royal soaking. Perhaps it would cool off his hot head.

  Mrs. Wentworth sighed, then pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well, that was unpleasant.”

  “He did seem rather upset.” Richard trudged to the window and gazed outside, glad to see the rain had started falling. “I gather old Gerald riles easily.”

>   “You could say that.”

  Richard brushed a speck of lint off the black sleeve of his jacket. “I’ve dealt with many men like the earl over the years. The trick is to carry yourself with confidence and speak with authority. Even when they glare at you with open contempt, as if you were something they scraped off the bottom of their shoe.”

  “I will have to remember that advice.” Mrs. Wentworth moved to tend the fire, then seated herself in a brocade wingchair near the marble fireplace. “I must confess that I enjoyed seeing Gerald so riled. At one point his face turned from puce to purple. Seeing it was almost worth losing the sale of the estate.”

  The tight lines around her mouth and across her brow eased and she smiled unexpectedly—a smile full of laughter and mischief. She was breathing deeply and he could see the expansion of her rib cage as she drew in air. Such a neat, trim, tight waist, for the mother of three children.

  Richard’s gaze skimmed over the slight cleavage of her gown, his breathing shallow. How fragile she looks, he thought. He tried mightily to ignore her tantalizing feminine fragrance, the sparkle in her brown eyes, and failed utterly.

  “I suspect Gerald did not find the situation as comical as we did,” he said, bringing himself back to the matter at hand.

  “No, he was not amused. And in this instance I’m sorry to say that he is correct. The sale of the estate will not go through if he objects.”

  “We signed a contract. I’m sure my lawyers will find some grounds to fight a lawsuit. They are the best money can buy.”

  “No doubt.” She sighed remorsefully. “But I fear it would be a fruitless exercise. Gerald is not without influence. He will tie you up in court for years, goodness, probably long enough until Edward reaches his majority. Though it pains me to admit it, Gerald has won.”

  “How will you cope?”

  For a moment she looked so stricken Richard was angry at himself for asking the question. But it had to be faced.

  “I will instruct Mr. Fowler to continue the search for a tenant,” she said, clasping her hands so tightly in her lap that Richard could see her knuckles turn white. “Unless you would consider a lease?”

  “Regretfully, that will not suit.” The manor house was exactly what he needed, but as he considered this move late last night, Richard knew there was one other essential element he required to go along with his new estate. “Mrs. Wentworth, you have already figured a way out of this dilemma.”

  She frowned in puzzlement and he smiled. “I don’t follow, Mr. Harper.”

  “You said it yourself yesterday afternoon.” He was not an impulsive man, but he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. Heaven help him if they failed him now. Richard took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. “You could marry me.”

  Chapter 4

  Juliet remained seated in her wingback chair—which was a wise decision. If not, she might have hurt herself when her knees gave way and she staggered to the floor from shock.

  “Marry you?” she repeated in a voice that sounded astonishingly normal. “Are you joking?”

  “Not at all. It’s the perfect solution. You said so yourself yesterday afternoon.”

  Well, now, he would have to throw that bit of nonsense in her face. Juliet covered her eyes with her hand, then rubbed her brow furiously. Considering all the unpleasantness she had just experienced with Gerald, it was somewhat ironic that Mr. Harper was the one with the power to render her speechless.

  “May I assume from your silence that you are giving careful consideration to my proposal?” he asked when she did not respond.

  Juliet looked over at him in astonishment. His face was deadly earnest, his countenance sincere. Oh, dear! She leaned forward, nearly mesmerized by the rich color of his blue eyes, the intensity of his stare. “I don’t smell spirits, so I can assume you haven’t been drinking. Did you hit your head on a low branch perchance as you rode here today? Or knock into a wall?”

  “Neither. Nor did I fall out of the very uncomfortable bed at the inn this morning and rattle my brain.”

  “Heavens, there must be some explanation for your ridiculous suggestion.”

  He looked at her with practicality in his eyes. “I am a man who deals in solutions. This one could work well for the both of us. Don’t peers usually marry for money?”

  “Or property or connection,” Juliet added. “Obviously I have property, but very few connections.”

  “And I have money. The connections we can forge together.” He took a deep breath, looking very pleased with himself. “See, we make an excellent, equal match.”

  “Except for the fact that we are virtual strangers,” Juliet retorted dryly, gripping the arm of the chair.

  “As are many other couples on their wedding day.” His lips twitched into a self-deprecating smile. “Indeed, some remain that way for the duration of their marriage.”

  “That is not the kind of marriage I desire,” she answered, her voice fleeting and wistful. It sounded so drab, so cold, so businesslike. Naturally romantic declarations were completely ridiculous given the circumstances, but did it have to be so staid and dull?

  Juliet understood that her life had changed drastically. She knew that she needed to be practical, sensible, had to do what was best for all of them, including her children. The children! Her heart skipped a beat. “What about my children? A marriage between us would greatly impact their lives also.”

  “Your children are your own affair,” he replied swiftly. “I will not question your decisions nor interfere in any way regarding their care and upbringing. In addition, I shall provide for their futures generously, giving them, and you, every material comfort.”

  “What about any children we might have together?” Juliet’s face flamed at such plain speaking, hardly believing she was the one asking.

  For an instant he looked almost . . . afraid? “I will take steps to prevent that from occurring.”

  Frowning, she looked over at him.

  “Leave it to me,” he said softly.

  Juliet squirmed on her seat. “I will admit that I have thought of marrying again. Quite often, actually, even though there have been no suitable men interested in me.

  “I don’t entirely agree with Mrs. Perkins, who claims a woman’s natural state demands that she be a wife. However, I know that marriage is the best way to secure my children’s future. It’s also the only way to escape my brother-in-law’s tyranny. But I never thought to marry a stranger.”

  “Yet you would consider marrying for convenience?”

  She nodded her head slowly. “I would.”

  “Well, then, given our current circumstances, I think it fair to say that it would be very convenient if we were to marry each other.”

  His calm, logical arguments served only to confuse her more. One did not enter into marriage with such reasonable detachment. Yet was it not reasonable to proceed in a sensible manner? Neither of them were youngsters, after all. There were no illusions of romantic promise, no expectations that at this stage in their lives marriage would be anything more than practical.

  On many levels Mr. Harper was right—it would be an excellent solution to both of their dilemmas if they wed. Yet the constriction in Juliet’s chest and the wild fluttering of her heart could not be ignored.

  “The earl will never approve of the match,” she mused quietly.

  “I should think that would be another point in my favor. A large one.”

  Juliet could not hold back her smile. “Just so, Mr. Harper.”

  “Call me Richard.”

  “I am Juliet.”

  “Juliet. The name suits you.”

  An odd tingle went through her hearing her name fall so intimately from his lips. She examined the cuffs of lace on her wrists, needing time to gather her rioting thoughts. “My head is fairly spinning with the things we need to discuss, but before we go any further, I need to know if you intend for this to be a real marriage, because I want a real marriage.”

  H
is eyes widened and she felt a moment of triumph, knowing she could surprise him.

  “By real, I assume you are referring to an intimate, physical relationship?” he asked.

  Juliet’s throat suddenly became very tight. She could feel the heat climb from her chest, up her neck, then settle on her face. “Yes.”

  He gave her an appraising look. “I’m flattered.”

  Juliet tried without success to suppress a groan. “Well, I, sir, am mortified.” When it came into her head, she thought it a simple, straightforward question, yet hearing it fall from her lips was far more embarrassing than she could have ever imagined.

  “You are open and honest, Juliet. I like that in a woman. I also like that you are a woman, not an innocent, simpering girl.” He moved to her side, settling his hand gently on her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting pleasure in your life.”

  The heat of his touch spread quickly through her body. How was it that the simple touch of his warm hand could be so thrilling? On her shoulder, no less. Juliet closed her eyes, fearing he could see the spark of longing that surely must have flared in their depths. “Though my question might give you cause to wonder, I would like to say that I am a moral, respectable widow. I don’t . . . that is to say, since my husband’s death I have not . . .”

  “Juliet, you owe me no explanations.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “I need a wife to manage my country household, be a hostess to guests and hopefully a friend to me. In return I can promise you financial security and a sense of freedom few women experience. Finding mutual satisfaction in our marriage bed I regard as a bonus.”

  Heavens, now she did feel like a proper tart! Richard most likely would have agreed to the match if she had asked him to relinquish all claims to his husbandly rights. But what chance would they have for a happy marriage if they neglected intimacy?

  Then again, he might not find her attractive. She was no longer in the first blush of youth. Her figure had been altered by three pregnancies, her hands roughened by mending and gardening and other tasks normally done by servants, not ladies.