Free Tis the Season to Be Sinful by Adrienne Basso Page A

underneath this facade, there was a shrewd intellect, and a biting wit that could cheer even the dourest of individuals. Given their vastly different upbringings, social position, and personalities, the two men should have gotten on together as well as oil and water. Yet amazingly they had become close friends.
    “Your usual room has been made ready for you, Lord George,” the butler said stiffly, drawing himself up to his full height.
    “Good man, Pearson.” George patted the servant amicably on the back. The butler straightened noticeably, releasing a long-suffering sigh. Then with a low, formal bow, he quit the room.
    “I see the old boy’s as stiff as ever,” George said as he flopped into the leather chair across from Richard’s desk. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why you keep him on staff.”
    “Isn’t having a prick as a butler a mark of my wealth, status, and cultural superiority?”
    “No. It’s a sign of burgeoning insecurity.”
    “Shut up.” Richard pushed to his feet, feeling the need to stretch his restless legs. “If you find my servants so distasteful, you can always take yourself off to the family mansion in Grosvenor Square.”
    George shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not! My brother Lawrence and his wife are in town. They arrived this morning. Apparently, their recent trip to Italy has done wonders to revive their foundering marriage. They were cooing and smiling at each other constantly, holding hands, calling each other by these ridiculous pet names.”
    “Nauseating.” Richard poured two glasses of whiskey, handing one to George.
    “That’s not even the half of it. I accidentally interrupted their amorous adventure in the conservatory this afternoon. God, it was awful.” George shuddered, then took a long sip of his drink. “They were cavorting like a pair of young lovers, nary a stitch of clothing on either of them. Among the flowering orchids, of all places! No, Richard, I cannot return to the mansion until they leave. And I strongly doubt I shall ever be able to set foot in the conservatory again nor look at an orchid without getting a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
    George released another shudder before gulping more of his drink. Richard laughed. He swirled the whiskey in his own glass, idly watching the amber liquid spin. “You may stay as long as you wish,” he said cordially.
    “I’m grateful.” George slumped into his chair and gave an appreciative sigh. “Despite the sneering Pearson, it’s very comfortable staying with you.”
    “It warms my heart knowing one of us will be sleeping well tonight,” Richard said with a trace of irony in his tone.
    “Some monumental business problem keeping you up at night?” George inquired sympathetically.
    “Actually no. I think it’s my upcoming nuptials that have upset my normal routine.”
    George looked up from his empty whiskey glass. “My hearing must be affected by all this fine liquor and my trauma from earlier in the day. I thought I just heard you say you were getting married.”
    “I did. I am. This weekend, as a matter of fact.” Richard cocked his head as the thought suddenly entered his head. “I suppose I need a best man to stand up with me. Would you like to come to the wedding?”
    George scrambled upright, moving so swiftly he dropped his glass. It bounced harmlessly on the thick carpet. “Where? Who?”
    Richard smiled. George was the personification of casual, indolent ease. It was amusing to see him so uncharacteristically rattled. “I’m getting married in the country. The bride is Juliet Wentworth.” Richard’s smile vanished as his brow furrowed. “Do you know her?”
    “Can’t say that I do.” George retrieved his glass from the carpet. He walked gingerly to the sideboard and poured himself another drink. “Are you really getting married?”
    “Stop sounding so damn surprised. Am I so hideous no woman would want me?”
    “Quite the contrary, as you well