“They can entertain themselves,” Richard insisted hoarsely.
“But I promised them we would make the final selections for our Christmas Day menu this afternoon. Everyone is anxious to include their favorite dishes.”
“Tell Cook and Mrs. Perkins to make them all,” Richard instructed as he guided her toward the settee. She landed in an inelegant sprawl, her head and shoulders wedged in the corner. He followed her down, propping himself on his forearms.
“Preparing that many dishes would be an impossible feat, even for two such experienced cooks.” She felt the pressure of his lips tease her breast through the layers of clothing. Juliet closed her eyes as a swift longing swept through her.
“Then hire more kitchen help,” Richard muttered.
“What a wasteful extravagance!” Restlessly, her hands moved up and down his arms, then reached lower, clamping on to his thigh. “I can’t take on new servants the week before Christmas. Anyway, the point is, there will be far too much food if every dish is prepared.”
His arms tightened possessively around her. “Then invite more people.”
“You don’t like large numbers at social gatherings.”
“Invite the whole damn village, Juliet. As long as I’m with you, I honestly don’t care.”
Richard set his teeth into her neck and Juliet cried out, the menu for Christmas dinner forgotten. She pressed her nose into Richard’s shoulder, burrowing close. The familiar masculine scent excited her, yet also brought on a sense of comfort and love. Breathing in the enticing aroma, she savored the carnal feeling of his hard body pressed so intimately against hers.
Waves of heat seemed to rise around her, and she felt her passion come raging forward, fast and furious. She pulled his cravat from his neck, then fought with his waistcoat and shirt, sending buttons scattering in her haste to feel his warm, hard flesh.
Richard was equally busy. He pulled the pins from her hair, throwing them on the floor. She trembled with anticipation as he released the buttons down the back of her gown. Slipping the garment off her shoulders, he pushed it down until it bunched around her waist. His nimble fingers made short work of her corset lacings and silk chemise, and her top half was soon bare.
His gaze captured hers. “You’re very beautiful, you know.”
“Is that why you love me?” she teased.
He took her face gently in his hands. “I love you because you complete me, Juliet. Your beauty excites me, as you can plainly see, but the longing I feel for you goes beyond the physical.”
“Oh, Richard.” She trailed her fingers across his lips, over his jaw, and down his neck. Hungrily, she placed her palm inside his open shirt, splaying her hands over his warm skin, savoring the feel of his muscled body.
She circled his nipple with the tip of her finger and it pebbled as she stroked him. His broad chest heaved, but he allowed her to play. Humbled by his trust, encouraged by his love, Juliet shifted her position until she could lean forward. Placing her lips against his chest, she kissed him, brushing him tenderly, lightly with her lips.
His sudden intake of breath urged her on. She licked his nipple, circling it with her tongue, then took it between her teeth and bit gently. He made a sound that was half growl, half groan. Juliet smiled, and shifted again, a wicked need growing inside her.
His eyes widened, then heated further when he realized what she wanted. “Never let it be said that I denied my wife anything,” he exclaimed with a grin, rolling fully onto his back.
With a throaty laugh, Juliet wedged her hands between their bodies and fumbled at the buttons of his trousers, exposing his hot, bare flesh. His thick, hard penis stirred and pulsed against her palm, exciting her wildly. Eyes locked on his, she hiked her skirts and tore away at her own undergarments, then straddled his hips.
Richard stared at her, his eyes darkening with sensual anticipation. But it was the love lurking in their depths that made her heart catch. Surrendering fully to the promise he offered so openly, Juliet sank onto his hardness, her body almost sighing with pleasure as he filled her.
Aware of him in every inch of her body, every corner of her heart, she raised her hips, pulling herself as high as she could go before twisting back down. Groaning, he thrust upward in a powerful stroke, entering her more deeply than ever before.
Waves of pleasure unfurled through her body. She quickly picked up the rhythm and began to ride him. Slowly, with deep, long strokes that gradually grew faster, more frenzied as Juliet allowed herself to unguardedly embrace the yearnings in her heart, the love in her soul.
Richard felt as though he had died and gone straight to heaven. A sensual, lustful place where carnal sexual acts ruled, where love was expressed in the most basic, primitive way. How amazing that the connection of their bodies also encompassed their hearts, bringing their union a dimension that pushed it firmly beyond mere passion.
He loved her! And instead of weakening him, that emotion had given him strength and purpose. Happiness streaked through him, heightening his desire, fueling his need.
With agonized effort, Richard forced himself to hold back, to draw this perfect moment out as long as possible. It was difficult. Juliet was so beautiful, so giving. Her hair unbound, her face flushed, her eyes brimming with love, she was everything he wanted and more.
Holding tightly to her gaze, Richard thrust upward with long, languid strokes, their bodies rocking together in a timeless dance. Her breasts were tantalizingly close, and he covered them with his palms, tweaking the rose-colored nipples. Sighing, she arched into his grasp, and he watched her eyes slide closed, a sensual glow of excitement rising over her exposed skin.
The dazed, intense look on Juliet’s face was almost too much to bear. He could feel her inner muscles clenching tightly around his cock, stroking him, milking the pleasure from his body and sending it into hers. Their joined flesh moved together in fluid harmony, a perfect expression of physical, spiritual, and emotional commitment.
Richard’s chest burned with the love and tenderness that he felt for her, yet as his climax began to peak, he felt a stab of his old fear and panic, a worry that his seed might take root inside her body.
“I love you, Richard.”
Ah, how well she understood him. Emotion tightened his throat. He had not realized he could ever feel this close to anyone, this connected. He held her gaze, still dazed by the fact that somehow she was his, and then let himself go. Blood roared in his ears as the intensity of his release exploded, and with a blissful cry, he poured himself into her.
Above him, Juliet convulsed violently, her body shattering. Joy and triumph blazed in her face, and he drank in her sobs of ecstasy like a man who had spent weeks in the desert. He was still gasping for breath when she collapsed against him, her body dampened by a fine sheen of sweat.
They remained joined together for a long while, basking in the moment, bodies tingling with aftershock, both too dazed to move.
“That was fierce,” Juliet finally whispered.
“And profound,” Richard answered.
“Love truly does make everything better, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
Juliet raised her head and looked down at him, her face glowing. His heart turned over at the sight.
“We should have made more of an effort to prolong it,” she mused.
“And removed all of our clothing,” he added.
“Next time,” she promised with a sensual smile.
Juliet rubbed her chin lightly through the hair on his chest, and Richard shifted his hips, realizing he could be ready to go again in a very short time. She began to giggle and he knew she felt it, too.
“You make me feel like a randy, green lad,” he muttered.
“What a lovely compliment,” she said, beaming at him.
The adoration in Juliet’s eyes smothered Richard’s final impulse to behave civilly. Excitement flickering low in his belly, he claimed her lips once again with a kiss of equal parts passion and lov
e.
They emerged from the study two hours later, clothes neatly in order, the contented smiles and secret looks between them the only indicator of the miraculous transformation that had occurred.
Chapter 18
George stood in the long gallery and fingered the end of a red satin ribbon, then slowly pulled until the bow it made came apart. It had been on the floor, and after he found it, he determined that it had fallen off a pine bough placed above an impressive landscape painting.
Actually, he hadn’t exactly found it; he had stepped on it. Because he hadn’t been fully aware of his surroundings. Because this afternoon, as always, his mind had been preoccupied, dwelling on something—or rather someone—else.
Miss Olivia Hardie.
George raked an impatient hand through his hair. Things between him and the fair Miss Hardie were not going at all the way he had planned this holiday season. The heated tension that sprang into the air the instant they were together appeared to be slowly cooling. On her part. As for George’s feelings, well, they were heading in the opposite direction, growing stronger by the hour.
It was not simply infatuation, as Richard had claimed. Or the sorry state of wanting her more merely because she was elusive, unattainable. Oh, no. He was certain it went deeper.
Like many other gentlemen of his class, George admitted to possessing the rakehell tendencies that frightened away most moral females with sense. He was a practiced flirt who enjoyed a drink, a turn of the cards, and a night spent in the bed of a pretty, willing woman, be she a countess or a maid.
He was not, however, a debaucher with nefarious intentions. To be labeled such by Richard and Juliet had stung his pride and that in turn had forced him to view Miss Hardie in an entirely different light these past two weeks. The result had been a startlingly awakening.
He had listened to her conversation carefully instead of staring at her lovely breasts and quickly learned to appreciate her sense of humor, her honest nature, her indomitable spirit. Unable to ever predict what she would say or how she would react, George found her fresh and fascinating.
The more he came to know her, the more intensely he wanted to know more. For the first time in a very long time, he cared about someone else more than himself. And no matter how hard he tried, George had been unable to master these feelings. Each day, he found himself slipping farther and farther into a lovesick misery, the likes of which he had never dreamed possible.
He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t concentrate for any reasonable amount of time. He found himself lurking in the areas of the house Miss Hardie frequented, hoping to pass her in the hallway. He made excuses to interrupt Richard when he was working, merely for the chance of catching a glimpse of her.
He switched the place cards at supper so he could sit beside her, joined any activity he suspected she might participate in, even started reading the books she preferred so he could discuss them with her.
Owing to his promise to Richard not to openly pursue Miss Hardie, George was forced to restrain himself when they were in the company of others. Yet each day it was becoming more and more difficult to be cordial and polite, to hide his growing emotions.
Even worse was watching her spend an inordinate amount of time in the company of Mr. Barclay. Hell, she even danced with the man one evening, after rejecting George’s request to do the same. Clearly the young secretary was no fool; he recognized Miss Hardie’s unique qualities, realized that she was special.
It was almost too lowering to contemplate losing Miss Hardie to such a young, inexperienced pup. But it was not only George’s pride that stung at the notion—it was his heart.
What George needed was time alone with her, but with so many guests attending all the holiday activities, privacy was in very short supply.
And now it was Christmas Eve. Everyone would be gathering in the drawing room soon to decorate the enormous Christmas tree. Naturally, Miss Hardie would be there, but anything more than a brief private word between them would be impossible.
In the distance, George heard a female giggle, followed by a hearty male laugh, and then the unmistakable sounds of a lustful kiss. Despite his misery, George smiled.
He recognized Richard’s distinctive laugh, which meant the woman being so thoroughly kissed was Juliet. It had been impossible not to notice that for the past week, the pair had been unable to keep their eyes off each other. In a room filled with people, they were often unaware of anyone except each other.
The behavior had brought comments and teasing from the guests—most notably Uncle Horace and Aunt Mildred—but they seemed genuinely happy for the couple. Even Juliet’s children had been enthusiastic, and as far as George knew, there had been no additional pranks from the boys.
George was glad. Richard deserved marital happiness and a wife who loved and appreciated him, children who admired and respected him.
Yet seeing Richard so blissfully in love was a stark reminder of the dismal state of his own romantic life.
Then, almost as though his troubled thoughts had conjured her presence, Miss Hardie suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway. Arms crossed, head bowed, seemingly oblivious to his presence, she rushed down the wide corridor, coming toward him.
Heart thumping, George waited until she was very close before stepping directly in her path.
“Miss Hardie! What a delightful bit of serendipity. I was just thinking of you.”
She skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision.
George’s hands reached out to steady her, but she pulled herself back. Her soft green eyes narrowed as she regarded him suspiciously. “Why were you thinking of me? Was there something you needed?”
A shock of heat ran through him. Hell, wasn’t that a loaded question? With effort, George restrained himself from saying anything overtly suggestive. “There are many things that I need, Miss Hardie,” he replied solemnly.
She made a scoffing sound and moved to go around him. George quickly blocked her escape, holding the length of red satin ribbon aloft. “At the moment, however, my concern is with this bow that must be retied. I’m afraid my fingers are too clumsy. If you would be so kind?”
She stared at him without expression, glancing first at the ribbon, then back into his face. Releasing a soft sigh of resignation, she took the ribbon from his fingers, quickly tied it into a bow, and placed it back in his hands. “You’ll need a ladder to properly reattach it over the painting,” she warned.
“Possibly. But why go to all that bother? I can easily lift you up and you can tie it to the pine bough.” He smiled charmingly. “It neatly solves the problem as well as providing a delightful side benefit.”
“Side benefit?”
“The perfect excuse to at long last hold you in my arms.”
Her cheeks grew pink. “I imagine there are many women who find it amusing to be teased by you, but I am not among them. Frankly, I think it cruel.”
George shook his head vehemently, an ache of regret piercing his heart. “My dear Miss Hardie, the very last thing on earth I desire is to wound you. I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way.”
She looked scandalized. By his apology? “I am not your dear anything, Lord George.”
“But you could be,” he murmured, looking directly into her eyes. “If you wanted.”
She gave a prim sniff. “Not more than a few minutes ago I asked you to cease mocking me.”
“I have never been more serious in my life. More than anything, I would like the honor of being your suitor.”
To his great disappointment, she did not blush. Or stammer, or smile, or lower her eyes coyly. Instead, she frowned in annoyance.
Tensing, George met her gaze. “Am I too late? Are your affections already engaged? Has Barclay captured your heart?”
“Mr. Barclay?”
George’s fingers tightened into fists. “He is so often at your side, one cannot help but speculate about your relationship. By all appearances, you have grown very close.
”
Slowly, she shook her head. “We are recent friends who share a few common interests. Nothing more.”
George’s relief was so great, he was momentarily speechless. He took a deep breath. “I’m glad. So glad. You and Barclay are friends . . . which means . . . there is still hope . . . still a chance.”
“For what?”
“To win your heart.”
There was a brief, shocked silence.
“I won’t be your mistress,” she said bluntly. “It would be foolish and heartbreaking and in the end result in the complete loss of my self-respect.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” The outrage in her voice increased. “Because if I am not your mistress, then any romantic liaison between us is impossible. Unless I became your wife.”
Normally he would have turned pale at the mere thought. In George’s world, marriage was a fashionable institution where a man and a woman of the same class, with similar interests and views, raised in like circumstances, formed an advantageous and socially acceptable union.
They knew all the same people, socialized at the same events. Usually they stayed together long enough to produce a reasonable number of children and then resumed separate lives. Both outside and inside the bedchamber.
There was no excess of emotion, no messy sense of yearning or longing, no desperate need to be together. Hell, it seemed that in some of the most successful marriages he knew of, the couple barely liked each other, though they were always civil in front of others when forced to be together.
That morbid circumstance was precisely the kind of relationship George fully expected to have, which was in all likelihood the reason he never seriously embraced the idea of taking a wife.
Until now.
“I confess that matrimony is not a state I ever believed I would contemplate unless the circumstances were unspeakably dire,” he admitted. “And yet, I find that in order to have you in my life, I am willing to do anything.”
She looked stunned. George was trying to decide if that was good or bad when she spoke.
Tis the Season to Be Sinful Page 25