Tis the Season to Be Sinful Page 9

  “I thought it sounded rather pretty. What did you say?”

  “Hello, husband.”

  “Tres bien.” He nodded. “Bonjour . . .”

  “Femme,” Juliet supplied. “Which I believe is correct. Though the direct translation could be ‘woman’ instead of ‘wife.’ I’m afraid we’ll both need lessons if we ever travel to France.”

  “We can hire an interpreter,” Richard said dismissively.

  Juliet smiled wanly. It was a logical solution, she supposed, but one she would never consider. Half the fun of traveling abroad was trying to speak the language.

  He took the seat beside her and her eyes widened at the contents of his plate. Eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, kippers, toast with butter, and blackberry jam. He began eating with gusto and she found herself gazing at his mouth as he chewed, then swallowed.

  Such a normal domestic moment, yet her mind was summoning an erotic image of his kisses last night—hot and raw and sweet. There were moments when they were together in bed that she felt as though he wanted to devour her with his lips and teeth and tongue, just as he was devouring his breakfast right now.

  A wave of desire swelled through her as she remembered the feel of his mouth on her heated flesh and the wild pleasure he had evoked. It had been all-consuming, with an intensity she was looking forward to repeating. Soon.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  Startled, Juliet nearly fell from the chair. “No,” she squeaked. I am merely becoming a wanton lunatic while watching you eat your breakfast. Breakfast!

  He considered her for a moment, then returned to his meal. Trying to keep her expression neutral, Juliet let out a quiet sigh.

  “I wanted to discuss the renovations and redecorating plans for the manor,” he said, pushing away his empty plate. “There’s a great deal that needs to be done. Can you give me the name of the individual who created the master suite?”

  Juliet lifted her cup, realized it was empty, then returned it to the saucer. “I designed the room, putting in the personal touches that appealed to Henry and me.”

  Richard’s brow lifted. “I had no idea. I like it very much the way it is now, but naturally understand that you will want to make it over again.” He hoisted the silver urn and filled her cup.

  “Why?” she asked as she stirred a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.

  He gave her an astute look. “Aren’t you uncomfortable with me using it?”

  “Not at all.” He continued to stare at her and then Juliet realized the cause of his puzzlement. “I never occupied the room. Henry became ill before it was finished. Then once it was completed, it became necessary to move to the dowager house.”

  “Do you mind if I take the room as mine when I’m here?”

  Juliet tried not to squirm. Two things about his question bothered her. He had not asked her to join him in the suite and the words “when I’m here” suggested he didn’t plan on staying at the manor very often.

  “As owner of the manor, I suppose the right to occupy the master’s suite falls to Edward, but I think it’s a bit too much space for a ten-year-old boy, don’t you?” she asked, answering his question with one of her own.

  “Yes.” Richard smiled. “The running of the household is naturally your domain, but if you are interested, I’d like you to oversee the renovations and refurbishment of the manor.”

  “That’s a very important job.”

  “Yes, and you’ll need help. Mr. Barclay has said he would be happy to stay and be your assistant if you decide to take on the project.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “The master suite is the only major project I’ve ever attempted,” Juliet said, but her mind was already filling with possibilities.

  Most of the original manor staff had already been rehired, along with a few extra servants to ease the burden. Thanks to their skill and efficiency, her daily involvement in running the household was minimal. A house project of this magnitude would be a welcome challenge. She looked into Richard’s sparkling blue eyes and her heart fluttered. It would also provide her with the perfect opportunity to prove her worth to her new husband.

  “If the rooms turn out half as well as the suite, I shall be very pleased.” He stretched out his legs under the table. “Plus the money I save by not paying you a salary can be put toward the renovation.”

  He named a figure that made Juliet gasp. With such a large amount of funds, she could do wonders with the place.

  “I have one request,” he continued. “The floral bedchambers must be the first to go.”

  She laughed. “Agreed.”

  “And the Egyptian drawing room next.”

  She nodded. Richard made a motion with his arm, then pulled back suddenly. He coughed a bit and she realized he had been ready to offer his hand to her to shake.

  The cold formality brought a twinge of despair, but Juliet quickly decided instead of being hurt, she would view it as being treated like a professional. Boldly she extended her hand across the table, hoping Richard wouldn’t be offended by her audacity. He looked momentarily taken aback, yet didn’t hesitate to clasp his hand in hers.

  The feel of Juliet’s warm, delicate fingers sent a jolt of heated excitement straight to Richard’s groin. He barely managed to contain his groan. Yet he immediately shoved any lascivious thoughts out of his mind, certain that lusting after one’s wife at the breakfast table was something frowned upon and discouraged by polite society.

  He let go of her hand and Juliet gave him a sweet smile. Her smile did ridiculous things to Richard’s stomach. Or maybe it was the kippers? Either way, he knew it was time to depart. She had agreed to take on the renovations and he was confident she would do a splendid job. Besides, anything he didn’t like could always be changed later.

  There was nothing to keep him in the country, well, except for his luscious new wife. And that was a danger he needed to avoid.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.” He took a final sip of his coffee and stood.

  Her face fell. “I thought you’d be staying longer. At least until the end of the week.”

  She lowered her gaze. He disciplined himself against the urge to say something soothing, comforting. No doubt it would have been the polite, gentlemanly thing to do. But he was far from a gentleman and most definitely not a man to be cosseting a female, even if she was his wife.

  She gazed at him with delicate eyes and he felt the force of her need so fiercely it almost had him breaking out in a cold sweat. For an instant he considered abandoning his plans, but good sense soon ruled. He truly couldn’t stay here dallying with his wife.

  Profits on two of his new ventures had gone down alarmingly and he needed to make changes before he lost any more money. A prospective partnership with real potential was emerging and the final negotiations for the sale of a steel mill were nearly complete. Those and many other responsibilities required his immediate and undivided attention. Surely Juliet would understand.

  “I have important business to attend to in London,” he said quietly. “I assumed you would prefer to stay here with your children instead of coming away with me.”

  “Quite right. Though I do confess that I shall miss you.” Her smile trembled, making him feel like a cad. But the momentary regret was soon followed by a sense of relief knowing he would soon be gone.

  It was clear that his wife was forming an attachment to him. That was not necessarily bad; however, he worried that Juliet’s female nature would turn this emotion into a romantic feeling and that could lead to real heartache. For her. Which was the very last thing he wanted.

  George’s warning about a lovesick wife resonated in the back of his mind. Their marriage was a practical arrangement, with equal benefits on both sides. Muddling that line would be disastrous.

  Richard had no illusions about himself. There were some things that he excelled at and others where he failed—miserably. He could provide Juliet with financial s
ecurity, protect her from her nasty brother-in-law, and insulate her against the cruelties of the world.

  He could not be a devoted, loving, romantic husband. He could not be a substitute father to her children. Detachment from others gave him the edge needed to build his empire and succeed beyond anyone’s expectations, including his own. If he lost that edge, he could very well lose everything else along with it.

  Continued success in his business ventures would provide the necessary funds to keep Juliet in luxury for the rest of her life, assured that she had all the money she needed to renovate the manor in any way she desired. Surely that would please his new wife?

  Richard consoled himself with that thought as he walked out of the room, leaving an obviously confused Juliet behind.

  Juliet’s emotions rioted as she watched him leave. The sight of his back made her feel as though she were admitting defeat. Married only one day and already living apart. This was not what she had expected, what she had hoped.

  She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, telling herself to remain calm. Turning, she gazed out the front window and saw Richard striding purposefully across the gravel drive. A footman held the waiting carriage door open, but before he entered, Richard gave a quick, darting glance over his shoulder.

  He was too far away to see her clearly, or to even know that she watched him. But there was something in the rigid line of his body that told her he was uncomfortable. At leaving?

  Juliet felt her anger slowly drain away. This was an encouraging sign. His manner could be brisk and distant at times, but he had a heart. Appetite returning, she buttered a piece of toast, added a dollop of blackberry jam, and then took a bite. If she was not mistaken, her stoic, self-assured husband was a bit nervous around her.

  How delightfully intriguing.

  He had not meant to stay away for so long.

  First there were the copper mines in Cornwall to inspect before the sale could be finalized. The process, along with the negotiations for the property, took far longer than Richard had anticipated, but the successful completion of the deal made it worth the weeks spent in the area. Or so he told himself.

  Leaving Cornwall as the heat of summer faded, Richard had every intention of stopping at Highgrove for a few days, perhaps even a week, but a strike at the steel factory in Leeds sent him off in another direction. By the time that was all sorted out—successfully—he was needed back in London for an important shareholders meeting.

  Once he was back in town, it was far too easy to get mired in more business obligations, making even a weekend visit to the country impossible. News of his sudden marriage had reached the ears of many of his associates. There were congratulations and well-wishes, even a few wedding gifts, yet none of these men seemed to think it unusual that he lived apart from his new wife.

  As the color of the leaves changed from green to burnt orange, Richard acknowledged that too much time had passed for him to make a brief appearance in the country. He could not present himself at Highgrove and spend a handful of nights at the estate—in Juliet’s bed—then turn around and leave.

  No, when he next ventured across the threshold of the manor, he needed to stay for at least a month, perhaps longer. Repeating that plan to himself each evening eased the weight on his conscience, but it was Juliet’s letters that lifted the occasional twinges of guilt from his mind.

  They began arriving within a week of his departure. Always starting with a report of her progress on the manor renovations, then neatly transitioning into asking his opinion on the next set of changes she wanted to institute, and finally ending with a few chatty, casual remarks about herself or the children.

  He soon learned that his new wife had a preference for blue, disliked nearly all shades of orange, had an aversion to spiders, yet whenever possible, instead of squashing them, she had them removed while very much alive, and placed in the far-flung areas of the gardens.

  She had an eye for quality and a nose for a bargain. She had swatches of many of the fabrics she ordered from London brought to him so he could voice an objection if he found any distasteful, a precaution that had not been necessary. Richard could not help being impressed with how well Juliet seemed to be managing the myriad of problems involved with a major renovation and redecoration.

  Her efficiency and work ethic earned his admiration, but it was the personality that she revealed through her words that piqued his interest. She had a wry sense of humor and a caring heart. She was tough, yet fair with the merchants who sought her business and quick to praise the efforts of others.

  Richard began looking forward to receiving her letters, and in turn, his responses became longer, more detailed, and eventually more personal.

  He was a man who kept his own counsel. He was used to being alone, to solving his own problems, to charting his own course. This wall of isolation had served him well, yet somehow these almost daily missives from Juliet had breached that wall. It was a feeling that was hard to define, but grew stronger with each letter.

  He could not help wondering if being together would strengthen this unique bond that had somehow formed between them. Or instead would it break?

  “I’ll be leaving for the country tomorrow, George,” Richard announced as he made a few corrections to the report he was reading. He placed it on the growing pile on the corner of his desk and reached for the next report. “Will you be leaving town soon to join your family for the Christmas holidays?”

  “Not this year. My sister-in-law is increasing.” George gave him a bleak look. “Her conversation could never be called sparkling, but these days all she can speak about is her condition. And my poor milksop of a brother simply nods his head and gazes at her with worshipping eyes. I fear I will be driven to shoot my brains out if I am forced into their company.”

  “Can’t have that happen, now can we? It would make a damn unappetizing sight at the dinner table.” Richard smiled, but he felt a deep sense of sympathy for George. Pregnant women could make a man very nervous—it was best to avoid them whenever possible. “I would be pleased to have you come to Highgrove for the holidays. Juliet has already started planning the celebration and specifically asked me to extend an invitation to you.”

  “I accept!” George smiled broadly. “Wangling an invitation to the country was the very reason I plunked myself in front of you in the middle of the afternoon.”

  The door to Richard’s study opened and his new secretary bustled into the room. A fresh pile of papers was placed neatly on the edge of Richard’s desk while the remaining stacks of papers and books were efficiently straightened.

  “Is this the last of it?” Richard asked.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve packed all the materials you requested along with various correspondence, the contracts for the steel merger, your address and appointment book.”

  “Very good. That will be all.”

  The secretary nodded and swept silently from the room. Richard crossed out a sentence and reworked the wording. “Stop staring, George,” he warned.

  “How do you know I’m staring?” George asked indignantly. “You haven’t taken your eyes off that bloody paper since I sat down twenty minutes ago.”

  “I can feel your eyes boring into the door my secretary just passed through,” Richard replied.

  “It’s not entirely my fault, you know,” George grumbled. Huffing loudly, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me again why you hired a female secretary?”

  Richard’s eyes never left the document. “Miss Hardie was qualified and badly in need of a job. I hired her on a temporary basis so that she could be trained, but have been so pleased with her work and efficiency that I plan to keep her on permanently.” Richard signed his name with a flourish, then lifted his head to meet his friend’s gaze. “And I fail to see how this is any concern of yours.”

  “She’s damn distracting.”

  Richard stared at his friend in amazement. “I don’t see how. First of all, Miss Hardie is in my employ, no
t yours. Second, you rarely have contact with her and most certainly have no cause to engage her in conversation. And finally, not to be unkind, but she is a rather plain, average-looking woman.”

  “Upon first acquaintance she might appear all prim and prudish,” George agreed, polishing off his drink. “But you must agree she has a marvelous figure. Fabulous, full breasts.”

  Miss Hardie voluptuous? Richard hadn’t noticed. “I apparently have not studied her various attributes with the same intensity that you have employed.”

  “That’s because you’re working all the time.”

  Richard could not hold back a small grin. George, who could effortlessly charm any woman with a pulse, had finally met his match—the immovable Miss Hardie. “You’re just annoyed because she doesn’t sigh beneath her breath when you enter the room and glance at you with adoring eyes when she thinks you are not looking.”

  George shrugged philosophically. “True, she does neither of those things.”

  “As a female with sense, she obviously sees the many flaws in your character and wisely chooses to keep her distance.”

  George shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m not that much of a reprobate.”

  “Enough of one to make her wary. Plus you are a lord and she is a working female, an oddity if you will. She is a sensible, practical woman and as such would not expect anything virtuous to result from an alliance with you.”

  “I am not a debaucher of defenseless women,” George retorted hotly. “Anyway, at her age, I’d wager she’s hardly innocent.”

  Richard slapped his pen down sharply on the mahogany desk. “She is my secretary, not your next plaything. She is traveling to Highgrove and will be there working over the holiday. You are to treat her with respect, George. If you start harassing her, I will send you packing. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.” George slumped in his chair, looking like a disgruntled toddler who had lost his favorite toy.

  “If you have a true interest in Miss Hardie, then you should court her. Properly. Respectfully. With grace and finesse.” Richard’s grin widened. “Hell, George, you should see the expression on your face.”