Authors: Adrienne Basso

Tags: #Fiction, #General

Tis the Season to Be Sinful (19 page)

BOOK: Tis the Season to Be Sinful

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“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 had 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.

She turned to look at him. His face was smiling, but his eyes were serious, watching her with fascinated intensity. It made her tingle all over, being stared at in such a way, and she realized the emotions came not only from him, but from deep inside her.

Juliet sighed, knowing in that moment that she had irrevocably lost her heart to him.
I love him.

It had been coming on for a while now, she decided. Starting with his gallant defense of her against her odious brother-in-law, continuing on their wedding night when they shared such sensual bliss. She was well aware that physical intimacy could be an illusion of closeness, but her admiration for him had blossomed and grown through their lengthy correspondence.

Yet it was not until they were once again together that her feelings came fully to fruition.

Oh, yes, she loved him.

The realization made her happy, hopeful. A marriage that included love was far more preferable than one of convenience. And as she stood in the cold, encircled in Richard’s arms, her lips moist from their kiss, her heart brimming with love, it felt as though her dreams that he one day would return that love were so close she could almost reach out and grab them.

“‘The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown,’” James sang suddenly.

“‘Of all the trees that are in the wood,’” Edward piped up.

With a laugh, most of the others joined in the next verse. Soon they were all singing merrily, mostly off-key. The carols continued until they reached the house. Swept up in the spirit of the songs, Juliet pressed her head closer to Richard’s and sang loudly. He smiled, but did not join in; yet as they reached the manor she distinctly heard him humming along.

Humming, not singing.

Juliet smiled. It was a start.

By late afternoon Juliet had come to completely appreciate the old adage that too many cooks spoil the broth. It seemed that everyone had a strong opinion about how the rooms should be decorated, where the greenery should be placed, and what color ribbons should be used.

Uncle Horace complained that his fingers were being pinched unmercifully as he spread holly along the top of the many fireplace mantels, and Cousin Andrew nearly fell off the ladder while reaching up to balance a pine bough along the top of a picture frame.

Richard retreated to his study, and for once, Juliet could not blame him for needing an escape. As her two maiden aunts almost came to blows while arguing if the bells on the kissing boughs should be silver or gold, Juliet wished she could join him.

Thankfully, good moods were restored by supper time, though Juliet could not help noticing that her two aunts sat on opposite sides of the drawing room when the women left the dining room to allow the gentlemen to enjoy their port and cigars.

The men did not linger long, but soon rejoined the ladies. Weary from the unaccustomed outdoor activity and excitement, it was a contemplative, silent group. Even Lord George was quiet for once, though Juliet noted his eyes strayed often to Miss Hardie. The secretary pretended not to notice.

“Time for bed, I think,” Uncle Horace announced suddenly. “I have a feeling you’ll have a list of tasks a mile long for us tomorrow, dear Juliet, and I need my rest if I am to keep up with the younger members of our party.”

“It’s no use trying to make her feel guilty, Uncle Horace,” Cousin Andrew insisted with a cheeky grin. “You know Juliet delights in seeing her relatives hard at work.”

“It wouldn’t be Christmas without some effort, young man,” Aunt Mildred scolded. “Everything doesn’t just magically appear on Christmas Day, organized and prepared.” Then turning to Juliet, she asked, “What will we be doing tomorrow?”

“Cook will need help decorating the gingerbread cookies,” Juliet said with a twinkle in her eye. “But if that is too taxing for some of you, I know she will understand. Perhaps the children will be able to help instead.”

“Ha! They’ll eat far more than they will decorate, that’s for certain,” Uncle Horace scoffed.

Juliet raised a brow. “And you won’t?”

The sound of giggles filled the room. Uncle Horace feigned indignity for a moment before joining the laughter, then amid pleasant good nights, they dispersed for the night.

“Will everyone now go to sleep dreaming of gingerbread cookies?” Richard asked her as they climbed the stairs side by side.

“Probably. Cook’s gingerbread is legendary,” Juliet replied. “Just wait until you taste it.”

“I have another treat in mind.”

BOOK: Tis the Season to Be Sinful

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