Tis the Season to Be Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  Dixon blinked. He said nothing, his expression giving no hint to his thoughts. Pressing Dixon to make a decision was a risk, but one that Richard knew he needed to take. He was tired of dancing around the issue.

  “You are a sly one,” Dixon finally said. “Distracting me with holiday cheer, then trying to turn my head with promises of great riches.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

  “I’m not so easily swayed.”

  “A strength, I believe. And a trait we share.”

  Dixon grinned. “To partnerships and profits.” He raised his glass and drank.

  Richard could barely contain his smile of triumph. He had won! Yet the jubilant feeling coursing through his veins was dominated by a single thought, one he never would have even considered a few months ago.

  He could hardly wait to share the news with Juliet.

  After dinner Uncle Horace organized a lively game of charades. Those who elected not to participate were playing cards or gathered together in small groups engaged in easy conversation. Juliet circulated among her guests, making certain all were having a good time.

  Lord George was ever vigilant in his attempt to catch Miss Hardie beneath the mistletoe, but the secretary was far too sensible to stand anywhere near it. Instead, she was immersed in a quiet conversation with Mr. Barclay as they sat side by side on a settee.

  The evening meal had been a considerable improvement over last night, though tonight Mrs. Dixon was hardly a bubbling dinner companion. Richard had been filled with mysterious smiles, seemingly pleased about something, and Mr. Dixon was not as brash or boastful.

  Juliet attributed everyone’s boosted spirits to the holiday cheer they had all shared and was anxious to continue the good mood. She was happy to see that the servants had followed her instructions and rolled up the carpet during dinner. There was now a respectable space for dancing, and Aunt Mildred had agreed to provide the music.

  The elderly woman dramatically played a few cords on the pianoforte to elicit everyone’s attention.

  Juliet nearly ran across the room to be near her husband. “Dance with me, Richard.”

  “Juliet—”

  Cutting off his protest, Juliet held tightly to Richard’s hand and pulled him into the center of the room. It was only then that she noticed his rigidly squared shoulders.

  “I’m sure it will be a waltz,” she whispered. “Aunt Mildred always starts by playing a waltz. She says it’s wildly romantic for a couple to be dancing face-toface, holding each other close as they twirl and sway.”

  Richard’s stoic expression did not alter. “I have grave doubts that your feelings will echo your aunt’s when the dance is over.”

  “Why?” She looked into his eyes as they filled with a mild panic.

  “I’ve never danced a waltz before.”

  “Never?” Juliet squeaked.

  “I have seen it enough times to have a vague idea of how to perform the steps. But I suggest you guard your feet very carefully. I’m afraid they are about to get stomped upon.”

  Juliet tried to smile. She could care less about her toes. She was more concerned about the distant mask Richard had retreated behind, a habit she had learned he always adopted in an uncomfortable situation.

  For an instant she thought of crying off, perhaps feigning a headache. But then Mr. and Mrs. Dixon took up the position directly to their left and the music began. She curtsied. He bowed. Richard set one hand behind her waist and took her right hand possessively in the other, his eyes never leaving her face. Juliet raised her left hand to his shoulder and squeezed.

  She felt his muscle flex. He tightened his hold on her waist and swung her sharply. Juliet let out a short shriek as she nearly lost her balance and went sprawling to the floor.

  “Too fast?” he whispered.

  “A bit.” She drew a deep breath and tried to assume an encouraging expression. “It’s not a race.”

  They tried again, this time going much slower. Juliet made exaggerated movements of the basic steps that Richard imitated with varying success. It was so tempting to try to assume the lead, yet she knew she could not embarrass Richard in such a cruel manner.

  “You are doing splendidly,” she said, hoping to soothe his male pride.

  His eyes seemed to spark. “There’s no need to speak to me as though I were one of your children,” Richard said through clenched teeth. “I am very aware of how well I’m doing.”

  A denial was on her lips. But she knew he was right. Pretending he was good at this was not helping either of them. “Listen to the beat of the music and let it guide you.”

  “If it weren’t so cold outside, I’d let it take us right out the French doors and onto the terrace,” he muttered.

  Juliet laughed out loud. Richard pulled her closer and she stepped on the top of his foot. He grunted beneath his breath and twirled them slowly as they turned. Miraculously they avoided each other’s feet and stayed in time with the music.

  Juliet laughed again. “This is our very first dance together, Richard. I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m certain I look like a clumsy idiot.” He tipped his head slightly to one side and gave her a mournful look. But Juliet was not fooled. She looked into his eyes, delighted to see his pleasure.

  “Liar. You are having fun. Now stop counting the steps and let yourself get swept away in the moment.”

  Richard rolled his eyes. “How can you say that I am counting the steps? Are my lips moving?”

  “No. But I vow I can see the numbers being ticked off in your brain.”

  “That’s an utterly fearful thought. A female who can read minds.”

  “I disagree. It greatly improves a relationship when a couple shares their innermost thoughts.”

  “Oh, really,” he said, clearing his throat. “What am I thinking now?”

  He leered at her with a sexual intensity that sent a sharp pang of awareness deep in the pit of her stomach. She stumbled, feeling herself going weak in a flush of heat. His arms tightened around her, his strength keeping her upright. A great swell of emotion rolled through her. He stirred her senses, but it was her heart that answered.

  Her breath was coming fast, but her expression remained serene. Juliet strove to sound normal. “I hardly need to know how to read minds to understand the thoughts in your head, Richard Harper.”

  Her gaze locked with her husband’s, and Juliet shifted her body to shield her action. Then with a boldness that she never dreamed she possessed, she pulled her hand off his shoulder and reached between his thighs, squeezing the thick, pulsing erection she knew she would find.

  Richard gasped, his lower body jerking forward, his blue eyes darkening in shock. At that moment the music grew louder, and the noise jolted her back to reality. Red-faced, Juliet hastily pulled her hand away.

  My God, what madness has come over me?

  It was one thing to explore their sexuality in the privacy of a bedchamber and quite another to act so wickedly uninhibited in public. They twirled past another couple, and Lord George shouted a comment that Richard answered, but Juliet didn’t comprehend their words. She panicked, convinced that everyone was aware of what she had just done. Yet as she hastily glanced about, Juliet saw that everyone was wrapped up in their own enjoyment of the dancing and conversation.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she glanced up at her husband. Richard’s handsome face was still wreathed in the same expression of shock. She found herself unable to speak.

  Humiliated by her own boldness and out-ofcontrol actions, she had to turn her head away. Eyes lowered, hand nervously twisting into the muscles of his shoulder, Juliet tried to form an explanation, an apology, anything. But her mind went blank.

  Honestly, what can I possibly say?

  “No one saw anything,” he whispered, an undercurrent of somber dignity in his voice.

  The words did not bring the relief she had hoped, though she was able to risk a glance into his
face. Their eyes met and held. Hardly able to breathe, Juliet waited in misery for the dance to end. Flushed, she continued to struggle with her embarrassment, convinced Richard’s silence was a certain condemnation of her wanton gesture.

  Wordlessly he pulled her closer, laying her cheek against his chest. She could hear the steady beat of his heart, but her distress was so great it failed to bring her the usual comfort. They twirled one final time, and then suddenly, Richard threw back his head and began laughing heartily, drawing several glances their way.

  At the sound, the crease in Juliet’s brow eased, and then to her complete astonishment, she found herself laughing right along with him.

  Chapter 14

  Richard could feel the blood pounding through his body, could feel the passion fierce and tight gripping him. He was hard and primed, almost aching for release. But it was Juliet’s laughter that spoke to him, the joy and uninhibited emotion that reached inside him.

  Her cheeks were flaming and Richard surmised she was regretful of her earlier conduct. He wasn’t surprised. It had been damn shocking to be so lustily grabbed and in the middle of a dance, no less. But it hadn’t distressed him. Quite the contrary. After taking a much-needed moment to recover his breath, Richard decided he very much approved of being pursued in such a manner by his lovely wife.

  He wished he could tell her that, but suspected she’d grow even more embarrassed. The music reached a crescendo, then stopped. Moving away from him, Juliet dipped into a graceful curtsy. As she sank before him, Richard took note of the triple rope of pearls she wore around her neck. They were pretty, resting against the swell of her creamy breasts, but something about them struck him as youthful and girlish.

  Diamonds, he thought. She should be glittering in priceless gems, the sparkle reflected in her eyes. Tomorrow morning he would instruct Miss Hardie to make arrangements for a London jeweler to bring his finest diamond pieces to the manor so Richard could make a selection.

  After the waltz, Aunt Mildred played a number of country dances and then a quadrille. There was a great deal of laughter and joking as everyone switched partners. Except for Juliet. She remained by Richard’s side.

  He noticed her foot tapping in time with the music, yet he was selfishly pleased she chose to sit with him. Dance lessons, he decided on a whim. Miss Hardie could be counted upon to hire someone who was skilled and discreet to teach him. It would be a delightful surprise for Juliet and an assurance that she could participate fully the next time.

  By dancing every dance with him.

  Richard watched the guests as they danced, waiting for signs they were growing fatigued. When that moment came, he signaled for a servant. Nodding in understanding, the footman discreetly left the drawing room, returning soon with the items Richard had requested be made ready. He happily noted all his instructions had been carried out exactly as he had ordered.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Since you have so generously shared your holiday traditions with me, I would now like to share one of my favorites with you,” Richard announced to the interested crowd. “Snapdragon.”

  “Ha!” George exclaimed. “That game originated here, not in the Colonies.”

  “Typical that you claim it as your own,” Dixon added. “Upstart Americans.” He gave a mocking sneer and everyone laughed.

  “I don’t think snapdragon is played much anymore,” George said. “Only in those households with a waning sense of humor. And an unnatural preoccupation with fire.”

  “Fire?” Juliet said faintly.

  “Don’t be melodramatic, George,” Richard said. “It’s all part of the holiday fun.”

  “Fun?” Lord George rolled his eyes.

  Richard leaned in and lowered his voice. “Isn’t that what you’ve been urging me to do, George? Indulge in all this merriment and frivolity?”

  “Within reason, Richard.” George cast a jaundiced eye on him. “Snapdragon can be a dangerous game. All that brandy and flames, you know. I believe I preferred it when you were more of a Scrooge.”

  Richard frowned. “Who?”

  “Never mind. You’ll understand after you’ve opened and read my Christmas gift to you. A book by Mr. Dickens.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  George peered at Richard skeptically. “A Christmas Carol is a story about the redemption of a sour, stodgy gentleman named Ebenezer Scrooge who is obsessed with business and making money. Remind you of anyone in particular?”

  “Not at all,” Richard said wryly.

  “There are many who say the book has sparked a resurgence in Christmas traditions,” George added.

  “Then your Mr. Dickens would approve of my game of snapdragon, since it is a tradition,” Richard countered smugly. “Dixon asked specifically to play it tonight.”

  A sarcastic glint shone in George’s eyes. “If you wish to indulge in childish games with Dixon, may I suggest blow-the-feather? I believe he has more than enough hot air inside him to keep a feather aloft for hours.”

  Richard bit back a sharp retort, then turned to see if Dixon had overheard George’s remarks. This newly formed partnership was far too fragile to endure any strife; the last thing he needed was Dixon to feel insulted. Fortunately, the other man’s attention was fully centered on the footman who had carried in the bowl and warm brandy that were needed for the game.

  “I’ll play snapdragon,” Aunt Mildred said, rising majestically from the pianoforte.

  “Are you certain?” Juliet asked, worry etching her brow. “It sounds rather intimidating.”

  “No need to look so concerned,” Aunt Mildred replied with a cheeky grin. “I used to trounce my brothers at this every Christmas Eve. Fast, nimble fingers are the key.” The older woman held up her right hand and fluttered her fingertips to demonstrate.

  The frown line on Juliet’s brow deepened. There were mutterings of interest as the other guests gathered around the table that had been moved to the center of the room. On it, a footman had placed a shallow bowl filled with warm brandy, and next to that was a small dish of raisins. Richard motioned to the servants and they quickly extinguished a majority of the candles, casting the drawing room into semidarkness.

  “Would you do the honors?” Richard asked Dixon.

  His chest puffing with importance, Dixon dropped a handful of raisins into the warm brandy, then set a match to the contents.

  “Ah!” Mrs. Dixon yelped as the liquor ignited and an eerie blue flame hovered over the mixture. “My word!”

  “Now remember, whoever eats the most raisins wins.” Richard smiled. “Who’s first?”

  He felt someone tug at his hand and looked over to see Juliet. “Are you really going to try and snatch the raisins out of the burning brandy and pop them into your mouth?” she whispered.

  “I’m not going to just try,” he clarified. “I’m going to do it. And I’m going to eat the most raisins.”

  “Wouldn’t it be prudent to let Mr. Dixon win?”

  Looking at her in bemusement, Richard shook his head. “It’s better if I best him. One usually desires a partnership with someone who is superior.”

  “Is that why you married me?”

  Color crept up Richard’s face. He knew she was teasing, but the comment had fallen uncomfortably close to the mark. She was his superior in birth and class, and no matter how much money he made or how much success he garnered, that would never change.

  A gasp escaped from Juliet’s lips. “Oh, Richard, I didn’t mean . . . that is, I don’t think . . . actually, I have never thought . . .”

  “Shall we begin?” Dixon’s voice bellowed through Juliet’s stumbling apology.

  Richard clamped down on his embarrassment and turned his attention to the table. Aunt Mildred went first. With surprising swiftness—given her advanced age—she reached into the bowl and plucked out a raisin. Her elegant fingers dripped with blue flame as she expertly flung the stillburning morsel into her mouth, never hesitating for an instant.

  There were gas
ps of surprise, along with a smattering of cheers. Richard saw Dixon’s face tighten and he realized they were both probably thinking the same thing—it was going to be somewhat humiliating to lose the game to a seventy-year-old woman.

  Mr. Barclay made the next attempt. His face dark with purpose, the secretary blithely plunged his entire hand into the burning liquor, howling with surprise and pain. Richard calmly yanked it out, then thrust a damp linen cloth at him.

  There were a few murmurs of female dismay, the loudest coming from Miss Hardie. In a flash she wrapped the cloth around Barclay’s injured hand, giving him a comforting pat when she was done. Drama over, the crowd returned their attention to the game.

  An hour later only three players remained—Richard, Dixon, and Aunt Mildred. By then, Richard had lost all feeling in the thumb and index finger of his right hand. The brandy-soaked raisins he had consumed felt like acid churning in his belly. Worst of all, he had to continually suppress a belch.

  “We need more raisins,” Aunt Mildred called out jovially, amusement gleaming in her eyes.

  Richard winced, turning his gaze away when the servant arrived with the fruit. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Dixon doing the same.

  “Are you ready to declare a victor?” he asked Dixon haltingly, praying the other man would be sensible.

  Dixon, in the act of reaching for another flaming raisin, stopped and swallowed hard. “It would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” he replied gruffly.

  “I need no concessions from either of you cheeky lads,” Aunt Mildred said with a touch of defiance.

  “And none is given,” Juliet interjected. “Now be a gracious winner and accept your accolades with humble dignity, Aunt Mildred.”

  The older woman pursed her lips. Richard suppressed another burp and vowed if Dixon elected to continue with the game, so would he. Somehow.

  “I suppose this is as good a time as any to stop,” Aunt Mildred finally decided. “My remaining two opponents are starting to look a tad green around the gills. I remember all too well what can happen if we press on.”