Tis the Season to Be Sinful (14 page)
“What’s going on? Why did you leave?” Juliet asked as she stepped away from him, putting a maddening distance between them.
“I had to get something.”
“What?”
Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket. “A condom.”
“A what?”
“You might have heard of them referred to as a French letter. Or an English riding coat.”
Silently, he handed the packet to her. She opened it and gingerly removed one. Holding it between her thumb and index finger, she held it aloft between them, tilting her head from side to side as she examined it carefully. “I don’t understand.”
“It prevents conception,” he explained.
“What?” Her fingers flew apart and the device fell to the carpet. She stared at it for a long moment before raising her chin and meeting his eyes. “You used one on our wedding night, didn’t you?”
“I promised to protect you, Juliet.”
Color flooded her face. “From you? From a baby? What nonsense.”
“Not to me.”
“Oh.”
Richard tossed his head back, grinding his teeth in frustration. The mood had not merely been broken; it was shattered. Juliet’s confused, hurt expression over the damn condom told him how effectively her ardor had cooled. Unfortunately his cock had not yet gotten the message—it was still hard and ready.
Richard inhaled a deep breath and instantly realized it was a mistake. The scent of Juliet’s spicy lavender perfume surrounded him. He closed his eyes and tried to master his breathing.
“We discussed children before we married,” Richard chided, his voice gruff.
“I know, but I didn’t really understand that this was what you meant.” She seemed to have great difficulty meeting his gaze.
“It offends you?”
“Not precisely.” She shrugged helplessly. “I can’t really explain . . . I’m feeling . . . sad, I suppose. Very sad.”
His gaze locked on hers as he bit back a growl of frustration.
“It just seems so cold, so extreme a measure. Couldn’t you just”—she swallowed hard—“pull out?”
Christ, she was killing him! Erotic visions of withdrawing and spilling himself on her soft belly titillated his mind, heated his blood, but he pushed them away. “That’s hardly a foolproof method.”
Closing her eyes, Juliet let out a short sigh. “Well, obviously this is very important to you.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. He had thought she understood, even agreed with his choice not to have any children. For a moment he toyed with the idea of ending this discussion by seduction. She was a passionate, giving woman who clearly desired him as much as he desired her. It wouldn’t take too much effort to soon have her mindless with excitement.
Yet those tactics smacked of manipulation and dishonesty, and he found he could not bring himself to be so ruthless with her. She was his wife and, as such, deserved his respect. Despite how much his balls ached.
“Clearly you need some time to adjust,” he said regretfully.
There was a lengthy silence. Juliet was looking at his chin. He waited for her to lift her gaze, and when she did, a deep frown creased her brow. “I want the closeness that we have developed these past few months through our letters to continue, to grow stronger.”
He nodded. “I’m not entirely opposed to that idea, but we both need to be realistic. I believed that we were too mature, too sensible to succumb to impulsive, romantic notions about each other and having a child together. Was I wrong?”
She gave him a level look. “Babies are a natural part of marriage.”
“Not always.”
He saw her jaw clench. Obviously not the answer she sought, but he felt no shame in it, for it was an honest one.
“True intimacy will only be reached if we agree not to hold back a part of ourselves, not to keep ourselves hidden, separate.”
“It’s a barrier of rubber,” he said quietly.
“That represents so much more.” She let out an audible sigh. “I’m sorry, Richard. As you said, I need time to adjust.”
So did he. He forced his gaze away. Careful not to touch any part of her luscious body, Richard leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on Juliet’s forehead. “Good night.”
Then clutching the door handle so hard it left dents in his palms, Richard quietly exited the bedchamber.
Chapter 8
Richard leaned back in his desk chair and stared out the window of his study. The sun was shining, but he could see the wind rustling the dead leaves and particles of loose dirt on the barren landscape. The somber, almost desolate view was a somewhat depressing picture, serving only to heighten his already sour mood.
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 bright 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.
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