Theresa Romain - Season for Temptation

All right, so she wasn’t perfect; she might still be feeling a little bit angry. This whole situation really did sting, and maybe it was for the best that the viscountess wasn’t present right now, for everyone’s sake. Julia wasn’t entirely willing to promise that she wouldn’t have taken a very unladylike swing at the older woman’s face.

“Right,” James agreed, continuing with his narrative. “I must have just missed you by a few minutes, though I couldn’t have known that. Anyway, I decided to come home — here — and shake the dust of London from my feet for a time. I traveled all day yesterday, practically. I was determined I should get here before another day passed.”

“And what about me?” Julia pressed. “What were you going to tell me, and when?”

James stood, without a word, and shuffled through the papers atop his secretaire before laying hands on the sealed missive Julia had noticed earlier. He handed it to her, and she turned it over and noticed that it was directed to her.

“I was going to post this today,” he explained. “You can read it if you want to.”

Was the man crazy? Of course she wanted to read it. She was dying to see what he would have said to her to try to make things right.

Julia, my love,

I don’t know what happened in London, or how things went so terribly wrong yesterday. I came to your aunt’s house and you had left for Stonemeadows Hall. I felt like the worst sort of fool for letting you go, regardless of what your aunt might want.

I wish I could have spared you even the smallest amount of worry. I love you still — always — and I would like to be married as soon as possible. If you feel the same, please let me know and I’ll come for you at once, special license in hand.

Yours ever,

James

“Special license in hand,” Julia whispered, joy bubbling up in her. He meant it. He wanted her. He always had.

“It is in hand, as I said,” James replied, an answering grin on his face. “Well, practically. Here it is on my desk. I was determined to keep it until either we were married or I knew you didn’t want to have anything more to do with me.”

There followed a gleeful few minutes, during which the couple eagerly sorted out the last few lingering uncertainties with kisses, laughs, and hurried explanations. They decided to be married as soon as possible from Stonemeadows Hall. James was all for being married the next day, as soon as they could return to the barony; there was no one, he insisted, that he wanted to invite.

“I’m soured on London,” he said. “Honestly, Julia, I think you are my truest friend.” He looked warmly at her as he said this, but then a little bleak as he continued, “I don’t know if any of my others were ever even real.”

“That’s no way to talk,” Julia said, even as his compliment caused her to flutter inside. “You should at least have your family present at your marriage.”

She corrected herself conscientiously. “That is, you should at least have your sister at the wedding. I can’t say I’m eager to see your mother right now. But you must have your sister there.”

She cast her memory back a long way, to a Christmas fireside, and James’s trust that she could help him bear the weight of his family’s honor. “I’ll stand at your side, and we’ll offer her and your nieces a respectable home, just as you always wanted. I intended to invite them all to the country anyway. And they really should get out of that terrible house.”

James smiled and traced a fingertip over her face. “You remembered,” he wondered.

“I remember everything,” Julia replied. “Though I’m not sure I’ll always be able to be as respectable as you hoped.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re just as respectable as I’d want you to be.” He touched the tip of her nose. “My dear viscountess.”

So it would happen. They were going to get married. They would be able to spend their lives together. During the day, and at night. .

James’s thoughts seemed to be roving as well; his expression grew wolfish. “Now that we’ve got all the details sorted, what shall we do next?”

His hands roamed down her back and cupped her bottom, pressing her against him. Those hands positively stole the thought right out of her.

Julia felt warm, liquid, and eager, savoring his touch, allowing it to raise fires inside her even as her own hands began to explore his body with passionate curiosity.

Then an idea bobbed into her head that she was sure James would like, and she would, too.

After all, they were going to be married so soon. . what would be the harm in anticipating the ceremony, just once more?

“I’ll show you what we can do with our time,” she said, and with a gentle shove, she laid him out, amazed, on the study’s sofa and then turned the lock of the door.

Simone remained lost for two hours before she returned to the study to check on mademoiselle. Putting a cautious ear to the door, she quickly whipped her head back at the sounds from within.

“Nom d’un nom,” she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips as she scooted away from the door. “All is well. They will certainly be getting married now.”

And then she became dutifully lost again for several more hours.

The weather, in the days before the wedding between James, Viscount Matheson, and Miss Julia Herington, turned unromantically cool and overcast. Watching the skies, the Stonemeadows tenants reflected with avid superstition among themselves as to whether this was some type of omen for “the young miss’s” wedding day.

The bride and groom never even noticed the clouds, however; they were too wrapped up in one another and in the press of final arrangements. The five days that elapsed between Julia’s visit to Nicholls and the marriage ceremony seemed to them like an eternity, even though they hardly left one another’s presence (except to sleep, of course, since under the supervision of Lord and Lady Oliver, strict propriety as to bedroom matters was observed).

These five days were needed to bring an eager Gloria and her daughters from London and establish them in Stonemeadows Hall’s best guest bedrooms. Besides the usual inhabitants of the hall, these were the only guests, since the hurried nature of the wedding made it desirable to keep it as selective as possible.

James’s letter of invitation to his sister had included a rather ungracious postscript about how he supposed his mother could come to the wedding as well if she wanted to. Lady Matheson declined the honor of this invitation, finding herself not up to the rigors of the journey.

“Laziness,” decided Lady Irving. “Laziness, and vulgarity.”

In her stead, however, the dowager sent the couple a most unexpected wedding present.

Julia first opened the package, which Gloria brought from London with no idea as to its contents. When she saw what it was, her mouth fell open in surprise. She poked her finger into it to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Could it really be just what it seemed? Wasn’t it more likely that James’s mother would send her an artillery shell, disguised with a thin layer of confection and ready to explode in her face when she cut into it?

No, it was a plum pudding, all right. Interesting.

She carried this unusual gift around the house, looking for James, until she finally found him sorting through some correspondence. As she presented it to him, explaining its source, she added, “This should prove how much I love you. I didn’t even cut a slice.”

James was bemused at first, turning the partially wrapped sweet around in his hands as if he expected it to transform into a croquet ball.

Finally he shrugged and handed it back to Julia. “I suppose this is a peace offering of sorts. Do you remember when you came to dine at Christmas, and there was that—”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Julia cut him off, embarrassed to remember her faux pas in pointing out the absence of her favorite dessert on the viscountess’s table. “I know what you mean.”

Her cheeks turned pink, but she had to ask him. “Do you think she is being kind, or is she trying to remind me that I tend to say the wrong thing? Because I know I do, and maybe she is hinting that I won’t serve the title well. But I think I will, or at least I will certainly try my best, because I know how to run a large home, and of course there is your man of business to help with much of the estate management.”

James dropped a reassuring kiss on his bride-to-be’s lips, stopping their flow of words. “Everything you say is delightful,” he replied. “Even when it makes no sense. And I agree that you will make an excellent wife and viscountess. I don’t know what my mother meant by sending an unseasonal pudding, but let us assume it was kindly meant. It might be nice to serve it at the wedding breakfast.”

Satisfied, Julia rose to leave James alone with his letters again. As she reached the doorway, he added, “Except for that piece you poked your finger into, of course.”

So they were married, quietly and cozily, on a gray March morning. In honor of Julia’s long-lost father, they had arranged for the humble parish curate to officiate the wedding, a fact which, when drawn to Lady Oliver’s attention, caused her to clap her hands in mistyeyed delight.

The bride wore the ivory silk ball gown made for her by Madame Oiseau, the same one she had worn so recently to the ball at Alleyneham House. Lady Irving, looking at her niece before the wedding, told her that it was completely unsuitable.