Tis the Season to Be Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

He simply needed to figure out how.

  The following morning Richard awoke in an even frame of mind. A good night’s sleep had a way of putting a new perspective on matters. There was no pressing business to attend to today, which gave him the entire morning to spend with his wife and begin his campaign to set their relationship on the course he wanted.

  Faint rays of early morning sunshine were just starting to brighten the interior of his bedchamber. He stretched, easing the tension from his back, and left the comfortable mattress. Nude, he padded into the bathing chamber where he began shaving.

  His valet, Hallet, entered just as he was finishing.

  “You should have rung for me, sir,” Hallet said in an imploring tone.

  “No need. I can manage on my own,” Richard replied, pleased to have won this round in the ongoing battle between himself and his servant.

  Richard tolerated a valet because he realized it was necessary to have someone to keep his clothes in proper order, but he refused to allow himself to be dressed and undressed as if he were a backward child. It was, he reasoned, just one more example of how he would never truly belong in this upper-class world, no matter how much money he acquired.

  Hallet entered the dressing room and soon returned with Richard’s clothes, laying them carefully on the bed. Richard regarded the dark suit with approval, but a flash of silver caught his eyes. Good Lord, were those mother-of-pearl buttons on that heavily embroidered silver waistcoat?

  “Is anything wrong, sir?” Hallet asked.

  Richard managed a pained smile. He had a vague recollection of George insisting he order the garment, but no memory of agreeing. “It seems you are determined to make me into a dandy, Hallet.”

  The valet sniffed. “I can assure you, sir, this waistcoat is the height of fashion and taste. I will however, be pleased to fetch another if you wish.”

  They squared off. After a moment of hesitation, Richard yanked the garment from Hallet’s outstretched hand. He quickly buttoned it, then shrugged into his jacket, never once glancing in the mirror. Leaving the smug-faced valet behind, Richard strode from the room.

  He made his way to the dining room, assuming with a house filled with guests, Juliet would be hard at work seeing to everyone’s comfort. His plan was to catch her alone before everyone began making demands on her time. It was therefore disappointing to find the room empty, except for the servants who were setting out plates, cutlery, and silver chafing dishes on the sideboard. The lack of any delicious aromas let Richard know those dishes were empty.

  “Good morning, sir.” A young sandy-haired footman approached, looking uneasy. “Cook said breakfast won’t be ready for another half hour. May I bring you some coffee while you wait?”

  “Where’s my wife?”

  The footman drew in his breath and it occurred to Richard that he should probably not have spoken so sharply. He tried to temper his scowl but that only made the young man’s hands tremble. Where did his wife find such timid servants?

  “Mrs. Harper is taking her coffee in the morning room, sir,” a second footman answered.

  “Which is . . .”

  “Right this way, Mr. Harper.”

  The second footman led the way swiftly through a short maze of hallways. Richard stopped in the doorway. Juliet was seated at a cozy table positioned beside a long row of glass-paneled doors that opened onto a garden, busily writing on a piece of paper. A glow of light streamed across the entire room, warming the red accents on the rug, brightening the gold colors on the wall.

  “The room is lovely,” he announced. “You’ve done an amazing job redecorating.”

  Juliet stiffened at the sound of his voice, then lifted her head, turning a questioning eye on him.

  “Good morning, Richard.”

  Her tone was not quite sullen, but very close. He lifted his chin, determined not to squirm.

  “How is Lizzy this morning?” he asked, diving right into the lion’s—or rather lioness’s—den.

  Juliet pursed her lips. “Still sleeping, which means she is fine. It was precisely as Mrs. Perkins said last night; Lizzy’s stomach was unsettled by too much dessert. Not an uncommon occurrence at this time of the year, I’m afraid. ’Tis bound to happen. Children usually become excited during the Christmas holiday. With lots of tempting, rich food around, I’ll have to make sure someone watches what she eats more carefully.”

  Answer delivered, Juliet turned her head dismissively and went back to writing her list. With her eyes firmly on the paper, she added, “Thank you for asking.”

  “I was concerned.”

  Juliet’s pen halted. She raised her chin, then lifted a brow, clearly displaying her disbelief. After staring at him for a long moment, she grunted softly before returning her attention to her paper.

  Hmm. This was going to be a bit trickier than he’d first thought. Richard tried to look contrite. “I probably should have accompanied you to the nursery last night when you asked.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. Her hand moved faster as she scribbled on the paper, her knuckles nearly white as she gripped the pen. “It would have been a kindness to me and a comfort to Lizzy.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  She kept writing. Perhaps she hadn’t heard? Well, he wasn’t about to repeat it. He watched Juliet’s pen fly across the paper for a full minute before reaching out and grabbing the end.

  “That’s the problem with women,” he said, trying to pull the pen from her grasp. “They demand an apology, yet when you offer one, it’s rejected.”

  “Oh, really?” Juliet’s eyes narrowed as she struggled to regain control of her writing instrument. “What about men? They think that by simply saying they are sorry, all is instantly forgiven and forgotten. I think not, sir.”

  She yanked hard on the pen, her mouth curving in triumph when she successfully wrestled it away from him. Richard stood inert for a moment, staring at her lips. They were plump and rosy, perfect for kissing. Yet somehow he doubted his wife would be receptive to his kisses at this particular moment.

  “Juliet, I’m trying to make amends for my behavior last night.”

  “I understand that, Richard. What I don’t understand is why it is necessary.” She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself before continuing. “Answer me this, if you please. Do you dislike all children in general or my children in particular?”

  Ah, so now she was going on the attack—tackling the problem head-on. He could not help admiring her courage, but this was where it got very tricky. How much was he willing to reveal?

  He watched her for a moment, this lovely woman who was now his wife. Bringing him closer to her and her children was a mission she seemed determined to accomplish, and though a part of him firmly resisted the idea, another part was selfishly pleased that he meant so much to her.

  “I don’t dislike children on principle,” he said, his mouth twisting at his own irrational emotions. “I’ve never been around any and therefore know virtually nothing of them.”

  Her expression softened. “They are not so very different from adults. They appreciate attention and the effort by others to spend time with them. Basically, they wish to be noticed and acknowledged and valued by those they love.”

  Richard flinched visibly. Love? What did he know about loving a child except the pain that squeezed the very breath from your lungs? The day he had buried his infant son—a week after burying his wife, who had died birthing the boy—Richard had truly felt as though every ounce of light and joy and hope had been blasted out of his life.

  At first he had hardened, and turned bitter, but soon channeled the power of his grief into work. Endless, tireless work. A risky investment paid big dividends and he parlayed those profits into the next project. Bit by bit his fortune grew, but the need driving him remained.

  Richard crossed his arms. “I’ll be rather busy with work, and Mr. Dixon, in the next few days,” he said, not meaning to sound so defensive. “There won’t be time for much el
se.”

  “I understand.” She waved away his excuse. “But you won’t be working every minute. Mr. Dixon will need to be entertained. Everyone enjoys preparing for the holiday; these activities often include children and adults.”

  Her expression was so eager, so hopeful, Richard couldn’t bear to see it crushed. “Perhaps there will be an opportunity to spend some time with the children,” he offered.

  “You will join in on the Christmas preparations?”

  “As much as possible.”

  It was a lie. He had no intention of being surrounded by merry guests and scampering, playful children. Especially Juliet’s scampering children. How could he?

  Avoiding them was the best solution. Why, already there were moments when being around Lizzy brought on a rush of emotion. Feelings that were gentle, protective, and completely terrifying. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t adequately explain it; all he did know was that they needed to be firmly pushed down into the deep, dark recesses of his heart.

  A footman entered, carrying a tray laden with hot food and a fresh pot of coffee. Richard sat in the chair next to his wife and allowed Juliet to fuss over making him a plate of food, hoping their discussion was at an end. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on without blurting out part of his painful past and disgracing himself with unmanly emotions.

  “I’m uncertain exactly when the Dixons will be arriving,” he said as he slathered a thick slab of butter on his hot toast. “That is assuming he will even accept my invitation.”

  “Who have you invited?” a masculine voice inquired. “Some luscious, amusing female, I hope. Naturally, you know that would make the ideal Christmas gift for me.”

  Juliet laughed. From the corner of his eye, Richard saw the man who had spoken enter the room. George? Really? At this hour of the morning? Richard removed his watch from his vest pocket, consulting it with a frown.

  “Do close your mouth, Richard,” George drawled as he eased himself into a chair at the cozy table. “You are going to start catching flies if you keep it open that wide.”

  “You must forgive my shock,” Richard replied. “The only time I ever see you at this hour of the morning is when you are coming in after a night on the town.”

  “I know. Extraordinary, isn’t it?” George took a sip of the coffee Juliet poured for him and smiled. “I awoke as the dawn was breaking this morning, with a clear head and a ferocious appetite. I vow the country air does ridiculous things to my constitution.”

  “As well as your brain,” Richard muttered sarcastically.

  George took another long sip of his coffee and glared at Richard. “Why aren’t you locked in your study busily poring over your papers?”

  “I’m taking the day off,” Richard announced.

  “Truly?” The delight in Juliet’s eyes was instant and overpowering. Richard swallowed hard.

  “And Miss Hardie? Is she also at leisure today?” George asked, attempting to appear casual and failing miserably.

  Juliet gave Richard’s forearm a subtle nudge. Richard narrowed his eyes, recalling his promise to her to speak with George about his secretary. “Miss Hardie does indeed have the day off, but that does not give you leave to pester her. Now, we have already—”

  “Yes, yes,” George interrupted, raising his hand in supplication. “No need for an additional lecture on the subject. You’ve made your feelings about my infatuation with the delectable Miss Hardie very clear. I shall strive to behave. It is, after all, Christmas.”

  Juliet smiled sweetly. “You must do more than strive, my lord. You must promise. On your honor.”

  A corner of George’s mouth lifted slightly. He turned toward Richard for support, but Richard merely shrugged, his enjoyment over his friend’s discomfort obvious. “I promise that I shall not distress Miss Hardie.” George exhaled loudly. “Tell me, Richard, if you aren’t working, what will you be doing?”

  Spending the day in bed with my wife. Richard released the pent-up air in his lungs, disappointed that was not the case. Though perhaps later in the day . . . “Juliet is going to take me on a tour of the manor. I haven’t had an opportunity to view all of the renovations,” he finally answered.

  A gleam lit George’s eyes. “That sounds most interesting.”

  “Would you like to come along?” Juliet asked politely.

  George’s expression brightened. Richard longed to reach over and jab him sharply in the ribs, but knew he had to be more subtle. He shifted in his seat, moving his hand across the table. With a quick flick of his wrist, Richard upended George’s coffee cup. Streams of dark liquid quickly spread across the white linen cloth.

  “Oh, sorry. That was rather clumsy of me,” Richard said as George leaped from his chair with a yelp to avoid the river of steaming liquid.

  “My goodness, Richard, what a mess,” Juliet exclaimed. She, too, rose from her seat, hurrying out of the room to fetch a servant.

  Pleased with the result, Richard turned with a smug grin toward a bristling George.

  “Bloody hell, Richard, give me some credit. I wasn’t going to accept her invitation,” George protested as he swiped at the spilled coffee.

  “I had to make certain,” Richard said unapologetically.

  “I thought married people didn’t need an excuse to be alone together,” George grumbled. “And might I add that if I wanted to see a gentleman casting hungry looks at his wife and quaking with eagerness whenever she is near, I would have spent the holidays with my lovelorn brother Lawrence and his wife.”

  Hungry looks? Richard grimaced. Was he truly that obvious?

  Juliet returned with a parade of servants behind her. A clearly irritated George plopped back in his seat. Fresh coddled eggs, sweet rolls, kippers, and toast appeared with the clean linens, and they were all soon back to eating breakfast.

  “After luncheon I plan to organize an outing to gather holiday greenery,” Juliet announced. “I hope you both will come along.”

  “Isn’t that something the servants do?” Richard asked, hardly enthralled with the notion.

  “Servants?” Juliet seemed deeply offended by the suggestion. “This is meant to be fun, Richard, not a chore.”

  “Oh.”

  “I, for one, will be delighted to go,” George answered. “But isn’t it too early for Christmas greenery and decorating?”

  Juliet shook her head. “We won’t do everything. We can gather the evergreens for the garlands, but not all of them will be hung. Naturally, the tree will be erected on Christmas Eve, so it shouldn’t be cut until then, but it will be fun to select it today. The holly, mistletoe, ribbons, and such can be put up now, along with some of the garlands. I want the Dixons to feel the Christmas spirit the moment they walk through the front door. Who knows, that could improve the chances of a business success.”

  “Egad, the Dixons.” George clucked his disapproval. “Don’t tell me that windbag is coming for the holidays?”

  “They won’t be staying long,” Richard answered, pleased that Juliet was willing to make such an effort on his behalf.

  “I suppose this means you are still pursuing him like a fox after a hen,” George said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm.

  “I need his influence,” Richard insisted.

  “You don’t,” George countered, his tone revealing his weariness over this long-standing disagreement. “And I can’t understand why you refuse to believe me.”

  “You know Mr. Dixon, Lord George?” Juliet asked.

  “I do. Or more precisely he knows me. We have a mutual disrespect and dislike of each other.” George wiped the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin. “It’s very civilized.”

  “Not always,” Richard quipped.

  “Yes, well, that’s hardly an appropriate conversation to be conducted in the presence of a lady,” George said hastily. “I shall be on my best behavior when in his company, all the while fervently praying the Dixons’ visit will be of short duration.”

  R
ichard snorted. George on his best behavior? Lord help them all. “And there is to be no flirting with Mrs. Dixon either.”

  George rolled his eyes. “No Miss Hardie, no Mrs. Dixon. This is fast becoming a very depressing holiday for me.”

  Richard looked at Juliet and they both burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” James’s eager voice cut through the room.

  Richard stiffened instinctively, relieved Juliet’s head was turned so she missed his involuntary grimace.

  “Grown-up things,” Juliet answered, catching the boy in her arms and giving him a hug. “Why aren’t you in the schoolroom doing your lessons with your tutor? And where is Mrs. Bickford?”

  James gave his mother a noncommittal shrug, and then reached for a slice of toast. Richard’s eyes traveled to the doorway, knowing James rarely went anywhere on his own. Sure enough, not ten seconds later Edward and Lizzy also appeared. The little girl rushed to her mother, burrowing close, hiding her face against Juliet’s shoulder.

  “Feeling a tad shy this morning, Miss Lizzy?” George teased. “Can’t say that I blame you. Mornings filled with sunshine always make one feel as though they should hide from the world.”

  Lizzy’s head popped up and she giggled. “You’re silly,” she declared.

  Richard smiled. “Only four years old and she’s already on to you, George.”

  “Superior intelligence.” George sniffed. “Like her mother.”

  “I know.” Richard’s eyes met Juliet’s. “Lizzy is a very clever girl. I have no doubt she was the one who devised the plan that enabled all three of the children to escape from their lessons this morning.”

  Juliet’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. James shook his head vigorously. “It wasn’t Lizzy, it wa—”

  “Nobody!” Edward snapped, his face pink. “Our tutor gave us the morning off.”

  Richard quirked a disbelieving brow.

  “Well, he would have, if we’d asked him,” Edward muttered defensively.

  “Then do so,” Richard instructed.

  “I’ll go,” James volunteered cheerfully, running toward the door, leaving a trail of bread crumbs as he chomped on the last of his toast.