Tis the Season to Be Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  Miss Hardie, seated across from him, was reading aloud the letter he had just dictated, but he listened with only half an ear. Instead, his mind was occupied with images of Juliet as he replayed the events of last night, wondering if there was something he could have done differently.

  Wondering if there was some way he could have ended up in her bed, her warm body pressed sensually against his, instead of alone in the coldness of his solitary chamber. Sleep had been difficult, since every time he closed his eyes, he saw Juliet. Her face flushed with eager passion, her lips begging for his kisses.

  Her sweet eyes round with hurt and confusion.

  Damn! Juliet’s deep capacity for passion was an unexpected gift for both of them. Yet instead of indulging in the lovemaking they both wanted—nay, craved—they had slept apart. Even worse was knowing that if he could not amicably resolve the issues of their relationship and having children, this frustration might remain—an unqualified depressing thought.

  Richard knew that for him, the issue of having a child together was not negotiable. His reasons were long-standing and heartfelt, born of bitter pain and disappointment. And the very idea of revealing this vulnerability and dredging up his painful past left him feeling unsettled.

  There had to be another way to resolve this problem. All he need do was find it.

  “Is that all, sir? Do you require any corrections or changes before I send it?”

  Miss Hardie’s voice invaded his thoughts. Richard glanced over his shoulder. His secretary regarded him with uncertainty, almost as if she knew he hadn’t heard one word she had just read.

  There was no mistaking that he wasn’t himself today, and not being able to concentrate on an important business matter was proof positive. “Leave the letter with me,” he answered. “I might want to add a sentence to the second paragraph.”

  Wordlessly, she handed over the missive. Richard nearly sighed when she reached into her leather binder and pulled out a contract, knowing what was coming next.

  “Mr. Sinclair’s lawyers have sent the revisions and your counsel has started—”

  There was the barely perceptible sound of a knock and then the door flew open. Lizzy, her eyes sparkling with excitement, barged into the room. Richard felt himself bracing for her inevitable hug, but before she could reach him, Edward came chasing after her, clasping the little girl firmly by the shoulder.

  “You must come at once!” Lizzy announced as she struggled to release herself from her brother’s grip. “It’s time to make the Christmas pudding!”

  “You weren’t supposed to come in here if the door was shut,” Edward scolded. “That’s what Mama said.”

  “I knocked first,” Lizzy retorted defensively.

  “I’m sorry she bothered you, sir.” Edward barely looked at him as he tried to wrestle an uncooperative Lizzy from the study. “I’ll take her back to Mrs. Bickford.”

  Richard said nothing, waiting for his bothersome visitors to depart. But Lizzy was apparently a lot stronger than she looked. Wriggling mightily, she escaped from Edward and ran around the desk to stand in front of Richard.

  She studied him, her sweet eyes wide. “You must come with us right now and help make the Christmas pudding.”

  “Isn’t that something the cook does?” he asked, puzzled by the child’s insistence.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Harper. If made traditionally, everyone in the household participates.”

  That remark came from a blushing Miss Hardie. He gave his secretary an incredulous look and she hastily lowered her gaze. He glanced over at Edward, and the boy shrugged.

  “Don’t you like Christmas?” Lizzy asked, worry invading her voice.

  “I don’t celebrate . . .” he began, but the earnest expression on her innocent face cut into his words. How could he explain to this eager little girl that the much-touted magic of the holiday was a sentimental illusion? One that he was wise enough not to indulge.

  “You don’t have to come, sir,” Edward muttered, his tone bordering on belligerent. “Mrs. Perkins and Cook made the real puddings a few weeks ago. Mother asked them to do this one today for the people who weren’t here, so they would have a chance to stir.”

  Richard turned to Miss Hardie for guidance and she quickly explained. “Each person takes a turn stirring the pudding mixture, from east to west, in honor of the Three Kings.”

  “You make a wish when you stir,” Lizzy added. “But you have to keep it a secret or else it won’t come true.”

  Richard grimaced. Stirring east to west and secret wishes? It sounded like a strange pagan ritual, just the sort of nonsense he normally mocked. But the earnest look in Lizzy’s eyes and the spark of interest on Miss Hardie’s face kept him from expressing his true feelings.

  He sat back in exasperation. “Well, if Mrs. Perkins and Cook have gone to so much trouble, it would be rude to disappoint them. Miss Hardie, I assume you’d like to participate?”

  She straightened in the chair, her eyes astonished. “That’s very kind, but I’m not a member of the family, or the household, for that matter.”

  “Nonsense. Of course you are to be included, if you wish. Run along. This is a good time to take a break anyway.”

  The secretary practically jumped out of her chair, displaying her delight. Shaking his head, Richard started reading the contract Miss Hardie had left on his desk, but soon felt the weight of a pair of eyes trained upon him.

  Lizzy.

  “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

  “Perhaps later,” he answered vaguely, wondering where this streak of tenacity in the little girl originated. Lord, he hoped she didn’t get it from her mother.

  “But it won’t be any fun if you don’t take a turn stirring. Please come, too.”

  Richard fumbled for an answer, yet everything that came to mind sounded too harsh. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes,” he finally replied, regretting the words almost the moment he had spoken them.

  Lizzy let out a squeal and clapped her hands together enthusiastically. Edward favored his sister with a disgusted look, and then marched out the door. Richard reluctantly left his study and followed a sprightly Miss Hardie and skipping Lizzy to the kitchen.

  They had just started down the stairs when he heard a hearty male voice call out his name.

  He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “George! When did you arrive?”

  “An hour ago. I was told you were working, so I didn’t disturb you.” George leaned close. “I see Miss Hardie survived the journey in good health.”

  “Easy, George,” Richard warned. “There are children present.”

  Both men turned to gaze down at Lizzy. She gave them an impish smile, batting her long eyelashes at George. “Hello.”

  “Enchanting to see you again, Miss Lizzy.” George bowed. “And may I add that you are looking especially fetching this afternoon.”

  Lizzy giggled and took a step closer to Richard. He had the most absurd impulse to clutch her protectively to his side, an instinct he immediately quashed.

  “We are on our way to make Christmas pudding,” Richard explained, feeling like a complete idiot.

  “That’s why I’m here,” George responded cheerfully. “It’s very considerate of your wife to arrange this for us.”

  Us? Richard’s puzzlement over George’s choice of words was soon answered as they neared the kitchen and saw the sizable group of people that had gathered. He then realized some of the other houseguests had arrived.

  Richard vaguely recalled Juliet mentioning in her letters that some of her relatives would be joining them for the holidays, but didn’t realize it would be this soon. It was nearly two weeks until Christmas.

  As he reluctantly entered the kitchen, Richard’s eyes immediately sought his wife. He met Juliet’s gaze across the room, and a delicate flush stole into her cheeks. Richard realized he wasn’t the only one who had been mulling over last night’s events. The thought unexpectedly cheered him.

  Juliet was brig
ht with smiles as she mingled among the small crowd, introducing him to her various aunts, uncles, and cousins. At one point he thought he detected a note of pride in her voice, then laughed at himself for being such an ass. Her esteem was not what he craved most from his beguiling wife—was it?

  Mrs. Perkins and the family cook took their places in the center of a wide oak worktable. Everyone gathered close as the two women began tossing ingredients into a large bowl. Bread crumbs, suet, brandy-soaked raisins, chopped apples, orange, lemon, and almonds and then the spices: nutmeg, mace, cinnamon, and ginger. The room soon filled with a pungent aroma, one that Richard found surprisingly appealing.

  “How shall we start, Mrs. Harper?” Cook turned toward Juliet.

  “Mr. Harper should be first,” Juliet announced. “Then after him, the children, starting with the youngest first, the ladies, and finally the gentlemen.”

  Richard nearly flinched as all eyes turned to him. Feeling ridiculous, he accepted the wooden spoon from the cook and stared down at the concoction in the bowl. He plunged the spoon inside, intending to make a quick stir, then suddenly remembered.

  “Which way is east?” he asked.

  Juliet’s eyes softened. She reached down and placed her hand over his. “This way.”

  Richard gripped the spoon handle tighter as she slowly guided his hand. The contact of her warm, delicate fingers made his blood sizzle.

  “Me next,” Lizzy cried, nudging herself between them. “I’m the youngest child.”

  For once Richard was glad of the little girl’s exuberance. He relinquished the spoon and stepped away, hoping to fade into the background. But his wife had other ideas. She hooked her arm through his and held him at her side.

  “Don’t they make Christmas pudding in the Colonies?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure. All I know is that I’ve never eaten one.”

  “Since there isn’t time for the flavors to fully develop, we won’t serve this one at Christmas dinner,” Juliet whispered. “Cook has been diligently feeding the cakes she made several weeks ago. I’m sure they will be delicious.”

  “Feeding?”

  “Sorry. That does sound odd, doesn’t it?” She grinned. “Each week Cook pokes holes in the cake and pours in a small amount of brandy. It gives the dessert a lovely taste and makes it much easier to set the cake aflame when it’s served.”

  “You set the cake on fire when serving it?” Richard asked. “Is that how it’s cooked?”

  “Goodness, no. It’s placed in a pudding bag, tied closed with string, and then tied to the handle of the kettle in which it will be boiled.”

  Richard made a face. “Is it then lit on fire to hide the awful taste of being boiled?”

  Juliet giggled, shaking her head affectionately. “Granted, the pudding is an acquired taste—rather rich and heavy—but most people enjoy it. The flame is part of the theatrics. It represents Christ’s passion, just as the sprig of holly as a garnish in the center is a reminder of His Crown of Thorns.”

  Richard nodded as if he understood, but truly none of this made sense to him. Christmas was a time for religious reflection and celebration, something that had never played a major role in his life. His working-class parents had been concerned with keeping a roof over their heads and feeding their hungry family; there had been no time or money to indulge in frivolous traditions such as Christmas pudding.

  Yet as he stared at the smiling, eager faces of the people gathered around the oak worktable, Richard was a bit surprised to realize this domestic interaction was the most enjoyable part of his day thus far.

  “Why is Cook throwing coins into the bowl?” Richard asked. “How will they possibly enhance the flavor?”

  Juliet’s eyes twinkled. “Those who get the coins in their serving will be blessed with wealth, health, and happiness. And their wish will come true.”

  “And now for the gold ring.” Mrs. Perkins proudly displayed a thin band of gold and everyone murmured their delight. She held it over the bowl, poured a splash of brandy over it, and then dropped it into the batter.

  Choking hardly seemed like a festive way to celebrate the holiday. Richard raised his brow.

  “The finder of the ring will get married in the coming year,” Juliet promptly answered.

  “Ah, so that explains why George’s jaw clenched when the ring was dropped in the bowl,” Richard replied with a smile.

  “My dear Mrs. Perkins, if you add a ring, then you must add a thimble and a button,” George proclaimed. “It’s only fair.”

  There were a few groans from the women, along with a shout of approval from one of Juliet’s younger male cousins.

  “I cannot even hazard a guess about thimbles and buttons,” Richard admitted, shaking his head.

  Juliet grinned and leaned into his arm. The momentary contact startled him, relaying a feeling of unfulfilled yearning deep in his gut. He took a small step back. But he remained close enough to still touch her, for some reason unable to fully break the connection. As the discussion over thimbles and buttons continued in earnest, his eyes kept straying to her.

  With the sunlight streaming through the windows lighting the cheery space, Richard admired Juliet’s profile. Her skin was nearly flawless, her nose pert, her lips full and moist. He recalled one of the few Christmas traditions that appealed to him—the hanging of mistletoe—and vowed if it was not already on his wife’s holiday preparation list, it would be added immediately.

  The debate over adding the thimble and button continued among the guests, laughter mixing in with the raised voices. Staying out of the good-natured argument entirely, Juliet explained all the fuss to him.

  “Unlike the happy result for the finder of the gold ring, those who find the thimble or button will remain a spinster or bachelor forever,” she said. “It’s a somewhat depressing tradition that very few are eager to embrace.”

  “Unless they wish to remain a bachelor,” Richard commented dryly. “Like George.”

  “He does seem to be the loudest voice,” Juliet said. “I vow he will get his way.”

  “Don’t count Miss Hardie out so quickly,” Richard cautioned. “She seems equally determined to avoid the thimbles and buttons.”

  Juliet chuckled. “They do both seem rather passionate. And I must give Miss Hardie credit for standing firm and not allowing herself to be bullied. Yet I will put my money on Lord George carrying the day.”

  Amused, they watched from the sidelines, as Lord George and Miss Hardie each made their case. There was a brief discussion among the guests, then a small cheer erupted as Cook dropped the items into the bowl.

  “I’ll say it again, George, I still firmly believe you’ve missed your calling in life,” Richard said, stepping forward. “You should be debating policy in Parliament.”

  “I wouldn’t know which side to support,” George replied, wrinkling his nose. “Though I’ll admit the arguing is nearly as fun as getting my way.”

  “You are incorrigible, sir.” Juliet admonished Lord George with a grin.

  “Only when forced.” His gaze glinted with amusement.

  “This might have been one time when it would have been wiser to acquiesce,” Richard muttered, his eyes on Miss Hardie.

  The secretary shuddered with disapproval as the thimble and button disappeared into the batter. After a moment, she blinked, then drew herself up and quietly left the kitchen. The satisfactory smile vanished from George’s face at her exit.

  “Darn, I fear you might be right this time, Richard. Excuse me.”

  George fought his way through the crowd, hurrying out the doorway. Juliet glanced at Richard and he tried to ignore her surprised expression.

  “Lord George and Miss Hardie?” she asked.

  “I know it’s ridiculous, but George has developed a fondness for Miss Hardie,” Richard answered, his eyes on the kitchen archway. Now that the Christmas pudding had been made, everyone was starting to leave the room. Might he be so fortunate to have a fe
w moments of privacy with his wife?

  Looking again at Juliet’s profile, he remembered how delicate her soft, ripe lips tasted, how luscious her body had felt as it yielded to his touch. She was wearing a lovely day gown the color of ripe wheat, with a ruffled collar high on her neck. It was tightly fitted to the curves of her body, and instead of being prim, the garment looked soft and feminine.

  Richard’s fingers itched to unfasten the delicate pearl buttons that ran from her throat to her breasts and spread the wispy lace apart. He knew how much he would enjoy kissing her creamy flesh as he slowly, sensually, exposed every inch of it.

  Richard shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to think about something that would dull his arousal, but the pull of attraction grew stronger by the second. Cook and Mrs. Perkins had removed themselves to the far side of the kitchen near the stove. To begin boiling the Christmas pudding, no doubt. He gazed above their heads to the impressive array of pots hanging on a wrought-iron rack.

  Methodically, Richard began counting them. Seven, eight, nine . . .

  “Richard? Is there something you aren’t telling me about Lord George and Miss Hardie?”

  At the sound of Juliet’s voice, hungry thoughts entered his mind. He imagined himself pulling her hard against his chest and kissing her. Thoroughly, passionately, wildly, until jolts of searing exhilaration coursed through them both.

  Richard closed his eyes, nearly groaning. He was a strong-willed man with a determined mind. Yet somehow he had completely lost control of his physical desires, as well as his relationship with his wife. In the span of twenty-four hours.

  “George’s momentary fascination with my secretary is no cause for concern.” Richard opened his eyes and stared fully into Juliet’s lovely face.

  A mistake. She had caught her bottom lip between her teeth and it glistened invitingly. One touch of his own on those sweet lips and he knew he could awaken her passion, fanning it to heights they had not yet experienced.