Tis the Season to Be Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  “I might have found one,” Miss Hardie called through a thicket some distance away. “What do you think of this tree?”

  “Perfect!” George yelled. “Come, everyone, and look. I do believe Miss Hardie has found it.”

  Juliet rolled her eyes and Richard’s smile widened. George’s opinion could hardly be counted upon when it came to anything to do with Miss Hardie. Her tree could be far worse than the last one they saw, but George would never admit it.

  “Let’s all take a look, shall we,” Juliet suggested.

  They all headed in the direction of Miss Hardie and George’s voice and found them both standing beside a majestic fir. It was deep green in color and perfectly symmetrical with full, dense boughs.

  “It’s beautiful,” Lizzy said softly.

  “You were right, Lord George. It is perfect,” Juliet said as the others all murmured in agreement. All except Uncle Horace, who still contended his choice should again be considered.

  “Would you do the honors, Richard?” Juliet reached into her pocket, pulled out a long length of bright red satin ribbon, and held it out. “Tie it as high as you can reach. This way the gardeners will know which one to cut down.”

  Self-consciously Richard followed her dictates. He had not altered his opinion of the entire outing, even if the tree was indeed splendid, but to please his lovely wife he was willing to make a bit of a fool of himself. The muscles in his legs stretched taut as Richard grasped the end of a branch well above his head and quickly attached the ribbon.

  The entire group broke into spontaneous applause, the sound muffled by the gloves covering their hands as they clapped enthusiastically. Another gust of stinging wind blew, but Richard realized with great astonishment that, despite the cold, he was tingling with warmth.

  As the guests huddled together, discussing their next move, Richard’s natural inclinations for efficiency and organization rushed to the forefront. In moments he had the ragtag bunch separated into various groups—one to cut down pine boughs, one to gather holly, and a group to search for mistletoe. “Why do we need to gather mistletoe?” James asked.

  “So the gentlemen can kiss all the pretty ladies,” George answered, winking suggestively at a blushing Miss Hardie.

  “Pah.” James shuddered with disgust.

  “It will take but a few short years before you change your mind on that score, young man,” George replied.

  James gave a stubborn shake of his head and the adults laughed.

  “Off we go now,” Uncle Horace interjected. “The daylight will be gone soon.”

  Taking the command to heart, everyone scrambled to comply. Ever the leader, Richard realized he hadn’t thought to assign himself to any of the groups. As everyone melted away, his inclination was to follow Juliet, but then he remembered the mistletoe. The younger men had insisted that was the task for them, so Richard set off in their general direction. He had gone only a few yards when he heard the rustling of footsteps behind him.

  “I thought you two were going to collect holly,” Richard said as James and Edward fell in step beside him.

  “We want to get the mistletoe,” Edward replied. “Everyone knows that’s the most important job, well, except for finding the Christmas tree.”

  “I don’t like the kissing part, but it’s still better than trying to pick the holly,” James added. “It pinches! See what it did to my coat?” The boy held up his arm, showing where the foliage had snagged the sleeve and torn the fabric.

  “Do you know where to find the mistletoe?” Richard strode on, knowing he was walking too fast for them, but not slowing his pace.

  “It grows in the tops of the older oak trees,” Edward insisted. “Didn’t you know?”

  “I grew up in the city,” Richard explained.

  “London?” James asked.

  “New York.” Richard halted, turning his head slowly to survey the area. He heard no voices or the sounds of footsteps; the other men must have gone to a different section of the woods. Lord knows, it was big enough. “So, where are the oak trees?”

  “I’ll show you!” James’s voice climbed at least two octaves in excitement.

  The boy raced ahead, Edward hot on his heels. Richard watched them. He considered turning off the path and heading in a different direction, then caught himself.

  Give them a chance. What harm could it do?

  Richard gritted his teeth and followed. They went deeper and deeper into the woods until finally they stopped beneath a cluster of very tall trees. Tilting his head back, Richard stared up the thick trunk of the one nearest to him. Sure enough, clustered in the top branches were clumps of greenery with distinctive white berries. The elusive mistletoe.

  “We’ll have to climb up to reach it,” Edward stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “It’s very high,” James said, his voice uncertain.

  “Come on, don’t be a baby,” Edward taunted, reaching for the lowest branch.

  Richard’s hand shot out instinctively, grasping the boy’s wrist. He could clearly picture Juliet’s stricken face if he returned with one of the boys seriously injured.

  “I’ll be the one climbing,” Richard decided. “You two wait here.”

  “I want to do it,” Edward insisted.

  “No,” Richard decreed.

  “But I—”

  “I’ll go first, Edward,” Richard interrupted. “Then if we don’t have enough, you can try.”

  Edward opened his mouth to protest. Richard raised an eyebrow, casting a quelling look at the pair, hoping to stave off any additional arguments. After a moment, the boys reluctantly nodded.

  Richard breathed a sigh of relief. Even if it killed him, he intended to strip every scrap of mistletoe from those branches, thus alleviating the need for the boys to attempt the climb.

  Richard removed his hat and greatcoat, then stomped his feet to ward off the cold. Swinging himself onto a lower branch, he carefully picked his way upward, all the while hoping the thinner lower branches would support his weight.

  It had been many, many years since he had scaled a tree, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten how it was done. Richard gingerly tested each branch before committing himself, and within minutes he was hot, dusty, and disheveled. He was also within an arm’s reach of his prey.

  “To the left,” James shouted.

  “No, there is more on the right side,” Edward yelled. “Go that way.”

  “Be sure to get the ones with the most white berries,” James called out. “Mama likes those best.”

  “She does not,” Edward whined.

  “Yes she does!”

  Richard shook his head and smiled. Will those two ever miss a chance to argue? Ignoring them both, he sat on the thick branch directly in front of him and began picking from the nearest cluster. When he had cleaned the branches of every trace of mistletoe, he paused to catch his breath and contemplate the situation.

  Climbing up a tree was always so much easier than getting down, he thought wryly. The boys had finally ceased their arguing and Richard relished the quiet. Getting a toehold against the gnarled trunk, he began a slow descent, having no desire to fall and break his leg.

  Suddenly, his foot started slipping. Bracing himself, Richard hung precariously for a few seconds, his heart racing. A quick shift and he was once again in control. His valet would probably start sniffling when he saw the condition of his boots. There were several deep scrapes on the inside, scarring the leather, that no amount of polishing or buffing would remove.

  But at least he was still in one piece. And it was all for a good cause.

  As he neared the bottom, Richard eyed the lower branches. Remembering how much they had bent on his way up, he decided not to test their resilience a second time. Taking a deep breath, he jumped, landing neatly on his feet.

  Feeling more than a little smug, he turned to observe Edward and James’s reaction, then realized why it had become so quiet.

  The boys had disappeared.


  For an instant, Richard panicked, worried they had decided to scale one of the other trees in search of mistletoe. He turned, glancing at the branches of the remaining oaks, sighing with relief when he confirmed that no one else, child or adult, was in the general vicinity.

  “James! Edward!”

  The sound of his voice echoed among the woods, deep and solitary. Richard shouted again, with the same result. Hell. The boys were gone.

  Between their constant chatter and his own wayward thoughts, Richard had taken little notice of the route that had brought them to this spot. He positioned himself in front of the tree he had just climbed, turned, and started walking back in what he believed to be the way they had come.

  After several hundred yards he decided he was going the wrong way. He tried backtracking, but wound up in a completely different section of the woods.

  Frustrated, he sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and plotted his next move. His initial worry that the boys might be in danger lessened. They had very easily found their way to the oak trees, meaning they could very easily find their way back.

  The more he thought about it, the more Richard decided that leading him into a dense section of the woods and abandoning him was a deliberate act. Maybe they were bored or angry because he would not allow them to climb the tree. Or maybe this had been the plan from the very beginning.

  Richard grimaced. Being the victim of a prank was hardly his greatest dilemma. He was being honest when he revealed to Edward and James that he was a city boy, born and bred. Indeed, Richard knew very little of the outdoors.

  He did, however, know enough to realize that he was now quite lost.

  Chapter 11

  Juliet smiled at Uncle Horace and nodded approvingly at the substantial piles of holly branches and pine boughs her uncle stood beside. Though Uncle Horace was quick to take the majority of the credit, it appeared as though everyone had gotten into the spirit and worked hard to accomplish the task of gathering holiday greenery. And more was to come. A few members of the group had not yet returned—mainly those who had gone in search of the mistletoe, which included the younger men, Lord George, and Richard.

  Oh, how she hoped Richard was enjoying himself ! Sharing Christmas with him was very important to Juliet. She wanted Richard to experience the traditions that brought her such joy, to feel the magical sense of anticipation, and to participate in the preparation, which barely felt like work because it was so much fun.

  She wanted him to feel the excitement build, wanted to see him relaxed and smiling as he listened to the Christmas music, peaceful and content as he beheld the splendor of the church service. She wanted his senses swimming with all the sights and tastes and sounds of the seasons, believing completely it would bring him some measure of happiness.

  “Look, Mama, I’ve pricked my finger again.”

  Distracted from her thoughts of her enigmatic husband, Juliet glanced down. “You must stop touching the holly, James,” she admonished her younger son. “Or at the very least keep your gloves on when you pick it up.”

  James thrust his finger in his mouth and sucked off the small droplet of blood before obediently putting on his glove. Narrowing her eyes, Juliet watched her son. James had been uncharacteristically quiet and subdued for the last hour. Ever since he and Edward had returned to the gathering spot, a few sprigs of holly in each hand, James had kept close to her side instead of playing with the other youngsters.

  Concerned, Juliet reached down and touched his forehead, searching for the telltale warmth of a fever. But the little boy’s brow was cool to the touch. Deciding instead he must be tired, she settled herself on a fallen log, pulling him down beside her.

  She wanted very much to give him a motherly hug, but knowing it would embarrass him to no end, she restrained herself. Giving him a comforting pat on the back, she left her hand there and gently rubbed the spot. He surprised her by making no protest and moving closer.

  After a few minutes the group of men returned, hands filled with a pitiful amount of mistletoe.

  “It was meager pickings, I’m afraid,” Lord George explained. “Perhaps we can give it another try tomorrow.”

  Juliet got to her feet, accepting the paltry offering with a smile. “A second attempt will be necessary to properly decorate each room,” Juliet said.

  “There can never be enough mistletoe and kissing boughs, that’s what I always say,” Uncle Horace chimed in.

  “That settles it, men. For the sake of Christmas, and kisses, we will forage in the woods again tomorrow,” Lord George replied dramatically and everyone laughed.

  Juliet looked beyond Lord George to the sheepish expressions of the other gentlemen. Not finding the one man she was looking for, she searched the group more intently. “Where’s Richard?”

  “Isn’t he here with you?” Lord George inquired.

  “No.”

  “Do you think he returned to the manor?”

  Juliet’s heart sank as Lord George voiced her biggest fear. Their eyes met and she could see that he believed that to be the case. Drat! She had thought Richard was willing to try and participate, at least for her sake. Apparently, she was wrong.

  She slowly twined a stray tendril of hair around her finger, abruptly stopping when she realized her actions. Quickly forcing the strands beneath her bonnet, Juliet attempted to put on a brave face. She didn’t want anyone else’s lovely time spoiled by Richard’s peevish attitude. “This was a fine afternoon’s work, but I think it’s time to return home. Hot drinks and sandwiches will be waiting. I know that I, for one, am famished.”

  Juliet turned back in the direction of the house, ready to lead the way out of the woods. As they emerged from the thickest section of trees, she heard a rustling among the bushes ahead and then Richard suddenly appeared.

  Juliet felt an instant burst of joy. He hadn’t gone back to the house! Wreathed in smiles, she approached her husband, but her initial delight was quickly tempered when she caught sight of his stormy expression.

  “I’ve got some mistletoe.” Richard lifted his right arm. Pinched between his thumb and forefingers, he held several large clumps of mistletoe away from his torso, as if they were crawling with vermin. “Where do you want me to put it?”

  “Good man, Richard,” Lord George said in a hearty voice. “You’ve gotten nearly three times as much as any of the rest of us. How did you find it?”

  “I had help.” Richard’s eyes landed first on Edward, then on James. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

  “You did?” Juliet whirled to gaze at her sons.

  James’s eyes were downcast, his attention drawn to the toe of the boot he was rubbing in a slow circular motion in the dirt. By contrast, Edward was standing still as a statue, staring straight ahead, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

  “Well, it was only a very little bit of help,” Richard said in a controlled tone. “It doesn’t surprise me in the least that the boys forgot to mention it.”

  Really? It had been her fondest wish that Richard get to know Edward and James, yet somehow she suspected this had not been a pleasant outing. She looked again at her sons. James now seemed apprehensive while Edward had straightened his shoulders and jutted out his chin, looking like he was spoiling for a fight.

  What had happened? She turned to Richard for answers, but his expression was closed. The boys regarded Richard silently for a few seconds. That silence was rather telling, increasing Juliet’s concern. There was obviously more to the story than anyone was saying.

  Juliet looped her arm through Richard’s, pulling him away from the others, so as not to be overheard.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Delightful,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  She didn’t buy that answer for a moment. “I can’t help but feel there is something you aren’t telling me,” she said briskly, though she kept her voice low. “Something that has to do with Edward and James. I didn’t even realize they were with you. I thought they ha
d gone with Uncle Horace and the others to gather holly.”

  She gazed at him expectantly, but he shook his head, frowning. “This does not concern you, Juliet. It is between me and the boys.”

  “But, Richard, I—”

  “I am a grown man. I can manage two young boys without any assistance.”

  Juliet drew a deep breath. She wanted to argue with him, to press home her point, but he fixed her with an icy stare and she knew she had no choice. She could see it in his eyes that he had made up his mind.

  Still, it was difficult to fight the impulse to insist. Fearing she might say something she would later regret, Juliet decided to do the last thing he would expect. She leaned forward so that her lips were but a whisper from his. “You know I will find out eventually.”

  Richard’s hands slid possessively around her waist. “Will you?”

  “Count on it.” Then she pressed herself closer and kissed him. She heard him suck in his breath in surprise. A flush of pleasure surged through her and she felt something pass between them. Something that went beyond the sensuality of the moment that made it intimate, special.

  “Well now, there’s the positive proof that the mistletoe you collected is especially potent, Harper,” Uncle Horace yelled. “Freya, the goddess of love, would be proud of you.”

  “Who?” Juliet asked, trying not to be distracted by the feel of Richard’s hands on her waist.

  “Freya,” Uncle Horace replied. “The custom of kissing a female who stands beneath a sprig of mistletoe is attributed to her in Anglo-Saxon legend.”

  “I always thought it was an ancient Norse myth that gave rise to the practice,” Miss Hardie interjected.

  “Well, whoever thought of the idea was brilliant.” Uncle Horace laughed. “Now show us again the proper way it should be done, Harper.”

  Blushing, Juliet turned to the group and smiled. That same stubborn curl fell across her cheek. She tossed her head to move it and then felt Richard’s gloved fingers on her face. Brushing the wayward hair aside, he stroked the side of her face more tenderly than he had ever done before. Juliet’s heart squeezed with longing.