In the Garden of Temptation Read online

  IN THE GARDEN OF TEMPTATION

  by

  Cynthia Wicklund

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Published by

  Cynthia Wicklund on Smashwords

  In the Garden of Temptation

  Copyright 2010 by Cynthia Wicklund

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes.

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  *****

  CHAPTER 1

  England—Spring, 1806

  Lady Catherine Bourgeault placed her fork on her plate and ended the pretense that she was enjoying her supper. She had scolded the cook repeatedly, but as long as the baron did not care nothing would change.

  “What’s the matter, my dear? Do you not find the meal to your liking?”

  Catherine stared down the long table to where her husband sat, though she felt no need to answer his facetious question. She would never understand how he stayed so thin, for he ate great quantities of food and drank copious amounts of wine, and quality of taste was never an issue.

  Lord Bourgeault expelled a loud belch and patted his stomach. “Robby,” he bellowed, “another bottle of Port and don’t dawdle.”

  The burly footman who stood at the dining room entrance rushed to do his master’s bidding, fetching the Port from the sideboard. Rather than waiting for the servant to pour the wine, the baron grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

  She’d had enough. One more night of dancing attendance on a drunken reprobate and her mind might go numb forever. Happily, he no longer demanded her presence when he was in his cups, rambling on at her until she felt like pulling her hair out in frustration.

  She stood to leave.

  “One moment, wife.” He paused, his manner sly. “I have an announcement to make.”

  Catherine felt a fissure of alarm sluice down her spine, but she allowed her face to register nothing more than mild curiosity. She knew he liked to disconcert her, and she refused to grant him the pleasure of believing he had succeeded.

  When she did not speak the baron began anew, although she knew she had irritated him. “If all goes according to plan,” he said, “we will have a guest coming for a short stay. I will expect you to play the hostess.” It was not a request.

  “When might that be, Edgar?” She allowed her tone to fall just short of insolence.

  He stood abruptly, knocking the chair he sat on to the floor with a crash. He wrapped his great hands into fists and, leaning them on the table in front of him, glared at her. “The arrangements haven’t been made.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. “Do not toy with me, Catherine, for I can and will make you very miserable.”

  “I have no such intention, Edgar. I simply do not understand what purpose it serves to have me preside over festivities no decent woman would allow. I’m aware that men engage in activities that are less than noble, but they usually protect their wives from the goings on. Let me greet your guests and then withdraw.”

  “This is no ordinary gentleman.” He spoke softly now, although she still detected his displeasure. “He is the Earl of Ashworth, and I wish you to be especially pleasant to him.”

  “What does that mean ‘especially pleasant’?”

  “It means,” his voice took on a silky quality that unnerved her more, “I want him to feel welcome in my home, and I expect you to do your part.”

  “Why would the Earl of Ashworth pay you a visit?”

  “Business if you must know. Nothing that need concern you. Robby, right my chair.”

  The baron sat down heavily and emitted another deep-throated belch as the footman once again hastened to do his master’s bidding.

  Catherine swallowed, unable to hide her disgust. “It’s Abel and Cain, isn’t it? Why do you continue to use those horses to entice the unsuspecting to this barren old castle? We both know you have no intention of selling them. No one will be able to meet the price you have placed on their hides.”

  The baron bit the end of one fingernail and spit it across the table. He smiled at her, his expression smug. “The earl can many times over—without a noticeable dip in his bank account, I might add.”

  “But you are also rich, Edgar. You have no need of the money.”

  “I would prefer you not mention that to the earl.”

  Catherine understood the threat attached to what seemed an innocuous request. “If that is all,” she said.

  She turned once more to leave, and once more he detained her.

  “There is one other thing, love.” Why must he always appear gratified when he knew he was about to tell her something she would hate? “I purchased you a new gown to wear the first night the earl is here. Cost me a pretty penny and, I assure you, it is very fashionable.”

  And she could put it next to all the other gowns he had bought her now hanging in her wardrobe, she thought disparagingly, gowns only a trollop would wear.

  Aloud she said, “Perhaps, if fashionable began in a bawdy house, Edgar. How could you wish the gentlemen you invite here to view your wife as someone so vulgar? Perhaps someday you will explain it to me.”

  “You know everything I wish you to know, my dear. You may go now.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. As always, the baron had had the last word.

  Catherine left the dining room and entered the great hall of the castle. Lifting her skirts, she dashed up the ancient staircase to the landing above. She went to her room and slammed the oaken door with a burst of angry energy.

  Damn him! Damn him! What had she done to deserve her fate? She would have cried, but the knot of pique that had formed in her chest would not allow her that relief. She paced back and forth across the moldering carpet, arms folded tightly across her breasts, trying to calm the maelstrom of loathing that had taken her emotions.

  She wanted to scream her hatred for that detestable man who symbolized everything wrong with her world. At times like this she envisioned planting a razor-sharp blade in the middle of his bony back. Then she was seized by a guilt so overpowering she feared losing her mind. Worst of all, she could see no end to the madness. Her bed had been made, albeit for her, and now she must lie in it until that drunken bastard in the dining hall cocked up his toes and released her from this prison.

  There came a timid knock at the door and, with Catherine’s permission, her maid slipped into the room. “I heard your door close and thought you might be needing my assistance.”

  “Edna, you know very well I slammed the door, and now I’m feeling miserable because I allowed that man to incite me into throwing a temper tantrum.”

  She was embarrassed by her loss of control, smiling an apology at her servant. She cringed inwardly because Edna’s neutral expression did not mask the little abigail’s concern. Catherine knew her situation aroused feelings of pity among the staff. All were aware of what she had suffered at the hands of her husband—not in a physical way, for the baron’s affliction precluded that, but emotionally, a more subtle form of abuse.

  Having spent all her pent-up rage, Catherine felt suddenly limp as though all her bones had been removed. She let Edna help her disrobe and don a soft flannel nightgown, and with unsteady legs she climbed into the middle of her four-poster bed
to lie on her back atop the counterpane.

  “After all these years I ought to be used to these little scenes with my husband. I suppose he would be gratified to know he can still disturb me so.”

  She turned her face to stare at the diminutive maid who stood patiently waiting at the foot of the bed for further instructions.

  Smiling wanly, Catherine shook her head. “You must grow weary of such self-indulgence, Edna. Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day to live through.”

  Having said that, Lady Bourgeault flung her arm over her eyes to block out what remained of the ruined evening.

  *****

  “Mother, you’ve done it again.” Adam Edward Stanford, Sixth Earl of Ashworth, bowed low over his parent’s hand and kissed her freckled knuckles. “However, it becomes boring to be so consistent. You should try being a disappointment. People like to gossip, and the morning following one of your parties all anyone can say is how wonderful this was and how marvelous that was. Tedious, don’t you think?”

  He spoke with fond generosity, for the earl wished nothing more than his mother’s continued social success. The dowager countess rarely entertained and, being choosy about where she was seen, this became her one time of the year to shine.

  “Would you grant your favorite and, I might add, only son a dance?” He winked at her, knowing he was the one individual who could impose on the countess’ dignity.

  “Naughty boy,” she said on a giggle and tapped him on the arm with her fan. “You should be dancing with the young ladies instead of partnering an old fossil like me.”

  “I hardly consider you an old fossil, Mother, but then that is what you were hoping to hear, wasn’t it?”

  She sniffed, but clearly pleased, followed him onto the dance floor. They joined the other couples, and Adam watched in amusement as his mother’s expression took on a haughty aspect. She was proud of him and she showed it. Perhaps her bias came from the fact that they looked so similar. At any rate, he suspected it strengthened her feeling of kinship with him.

  She was still a handsome woman, although her once dark hair was now ribboned with gray. The countess had told him more than once she was pleased that her height and large bones had been useful for something, as Adam had inherited his physique from her and not his father. Rest his soul. Though the earl had never given it a thought until he reached adulthood, he realized his parents had made an unusual looking couple.

  Adam knew the countess had been worrying about him of late. She wanted him to occupy his seat in the House of Lords, and yet having attained the mature age of thirty-two, he felt no desire to do so. She seemed to think a wife and children would provide stability in his life, forcing him to settle down. But Adam had no desire to marry without affection, much to his parent’s dismay. Such a bourgeois attitude, she had said.

  Only last week, she had given him her little speech about love. Love interfered with all the finer feelings. Love knew nothing about constancy or permanence or compatibility. It was passion and when the passion died, what was left? Not that she wished him to choose just anyone so long as the lineage was correct. He should like his perspective bride, she insisted. But respect and common goals were the cement that bound a successful marriage.

  The dowager countess sighed, and he could see even now her tongue itched to broach the subject. He smiled to himself. She would never learn. She always made the mistake of assuming his easygoing exterior betrayed a lack of resolve, but Adam had a will of iron and was not above displaying some temper.

  He now watched as she raised her eyes and scanned the gathering.

  Lady Ashworth came to an abrupt halt. “How did he get in here?” She was staring across the room, a look of horror altering her elegant features. “Adam, do something. We can’t possibly allow that man to stay. I’ll never be able to hold my head up in front of my friends again.”

  Adam glanced in the direction she indicated but didn’t detect anything or, rather, anyone out of the ordinary. “Which gentleman, Mother? Can you be more specific?”

  “I can and he’s no gentleman. That fellow, the uncommonly tall one, very thin. Do you see?” She sounded flustered and that surprised him, for the countess was usually the epitome of self-control.

  “Calm down. I see him. You did not issue him an invitation?”

  She gazed at Adam as though he had gone witless. “That man is not received in any decent household in London, possibly all of England. Don’t you know who he is?”

  “Can’t say I do. Enlighten me before I go and forcibly eject him from the premises.”

  Lady Ashworth gave her son a look of annoyance. “You are not taking this seriously.” She snapped open her fan and began to wave it vigorously in front of her face. “He is the Baron Bourgeault and his seat is near Bath. His family is quite upstanding, but he has spent the better part of his adult years sullying their name. It is said his brother took their mother and fled to Cornwall to escape the sordid life the baron led. The father died when his sons were still young. Just as well the old baron did not live to see what became of his heir.”

  “Now you mention it, I do believe I’ve heard of him, but the rumors are old. What has he done?”

  “Yes, he is from my generation so, of course, I would remember him more. I don’t believe he has tried to socialize in town for at least twenty years. Back then there was much conjecture and innuendo. Little of it could one discuss with one’s son, but his drinking and gambling escapades were legendary. Suffice it to say, he is not the sort of guest one invites to a special occasion.”

  “Well, Mother, I can go and enlist two or three footmen to remove this persona non grata, but I see no way of doing so without drawing attention to our predicament. Let me speak to Ames. The baron must have come through the front door. All the other entrances are guarded. I’ll see what I can discover.”

  “I know you are right, Adam,” she said. “Just, please, see what can be done.”

  The earl strolled casually through his guests toward the entry, stopping to chat with those individuals who hailed him and bestowing that special smile he saved for the fairer sex on any lady who happened to catch his attention. There were many of the latter, and so it took several minutes before he reached the front door.

  Ames stood at the entrance, back rigid, hands clasped at his waist, nose held at a proper forty-five degree angle. When Adam met the man’s gaze, the servant watched his master’s progress but did not relax his position.

  “Ames?”

  “Yes, my lord?” the butler responded.

  “Your mistress seems to think we have an uninvited guest who has managed to find admittance.”

  Still Ames did not move, but his eyes bugged in agitation. “My lord, that is impossible. No one was permitted to enter who did not have the required invitation.”

  “I see. You’ve been standing here for several hours. Could a footman have relieved you briefly and admitted someone he shouldn’t have?”

  Ames stiffened, quite a feat being as he looked fairly stiff already. “No one has relieved me, my lord. I have not left my post all night.” He sounded wounded.

  Adam hid a smile. “Beg pardon, Ames. Didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t doing your job. Would you help me determine how this dastardly fellow sneaked past our best defenses?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “I’ve lost my quarry for the moment. Station someone at the door and we’ll go look for him.”

  Ames motioned over the nearest footman and whispered in the man’s ear. The footman nodded and the butler turned to follow the earl.

  Adam advanced slowly into the ballroom. Again, he could not move through the press of people without being accosted from all sides by his guests. He graciously acknowledged everyone who spoke to him, but he strode purposefully toward the dining hall. Ames followed in his wake at a discreet distance.

  The earl stopped at each doorway and looked over the crowd. Not until he reached the card room, however, did he finally locate the obje
ct of his search. Of course—he should have come here in the beginning. Didn’t his mother indicate the baron had a reputation as a gambler? He gestured for Ames to join him, and the butler came to his side.

  “Ames, over at the faro table, do you see him? Unusually tall fellow, skeletal body, looks to be in his mid-fifties.”

  “Oh…I had a feeling about that one. I’m sorry, my lord, I should have used more discretion.”

  Adam turned to his butler. “Explain, please.”

  “He arrived late. Used that as an excuse for me not to announce him. Said he did not want Lady Ashworth to know how tardy he was. That did seem odd to me, my lord, because most people do not worry about being late. They are more concerned about being too early.”

  “Did he have an entree?”

  “Absolutely. I would not have allowed him to pass without that prerequisite.”

  “Mother swears she would never have invited Lord Bourgeault, especially tonight with all her friends in attendance. Though,” Adam mused, “I suppose it’s possible to obtain an errant invitation if one is determined. There were enough of them floating about.”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  Lord Ashworth continued conversing with Ames while he studied the intruder across the room. As if aware of the earl’s scrutiny, the baron looked up and directly at his host. A slow smile touched Lord Bourgeault’s lips. He nodded, apparently conceding his game had been detected.

  That’s odd, Adam thought. It would seem the man, far from being afraid he might be caught, had counted on it.

  The baron stood his ground, neither advancing toward the earl nor retreating in a more cowardly fashion. Clearly, the first move belonged to the earl.

  Adam closed the distance between himself and the baron in a half dozen easy steps. He never took his gaze from the man’s face and, though he managed to appear civil, his bearing purposely lacked any kind of warmth or welcome.