In the Garden of Temptation Read online

  “There is no hope you might simply let the lady be?”

  “Let’s think of an alternative, shall we?” he said grimly.

  Charlotte sighed and then nodded as if conceding defeat. “You must stop carrying out your pursuit of Lady Bourgeault in public. It is bad ton and you know it.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was so blatant.” He was chagrined by her criticism.

  “You’ve been casting moon-eyes at her for all the world to see.”

  “I’ve done no such thing!”

  “You have.” Charlotte shook her finger at him, emphasizing her point.

  Silence filled the room as the earl brooded on this unwelcome observation. “I don’t wish to cause her harm,” he said quietly. “Is it truly a problem?”

  “My lord, when you took Catherine out on the balcony just now, the buzz of conversation in the ballroom rose to such intensity, I felt I’d entered a beehive.”

  His turned morose. “Then the situation is already irretrievable.”

  “Quite possibly, but you can minimize the damage if you take heed quickly. Become indifferent—people will wonder, but they won’t know. I don’t have to tell you, that makes all the difference.”

  The earl shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet. He felt like a lad who had been taken behind the stable and rightfully chastised. He was crestfallen.

  Lady Richards reached out and placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. “Adam, I’m not making a judgment, I swear. But no matter what happens, being an influential man you will come out of it unscathed. It won’t be that easy for Catherine.”

  He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I was so happy to see her, I just didn’t think. You will continue to sponsor her, won’t you?” he asked anxiously.

  “Of course, but I can’t create miracles. If you don’t behave, all is lost. So it is agreed, the public displays will cease.” It was not a question.

  Lord Ashworth nodded curtly and bowed to the lady. “Forgive me for making this little chat necessary. Catherine is waiting on the balcony, and I would be grateful if you’d go to her.” At the door, he turned and paused. “I meant what I said, Charlotte. This is not a passing fancy. For good or ill, I intend to see this thing through to its end. I have no choice—I’ve not been in love before.”

  *****

  “Sims, do not mistake the maid. Edna is her name.” The earl passed the folded piece of paper to his valet.

  “My lord, I can assure you, this missive will not fall into the wrong hands,” Sims said.

  “See it does not. The repercussions could be dangerous.”

  Sims sniffed his disapproval.

  Aware of his man’s distaste for the business at hand, he ignored the valet’s attitude. The situation was worrisome enough without having to soothe the ruffled sensibilities of a reproachful servant.

  Adam had not slept in nearly thirty-six hours. He came home from the party the previous evening exhausted, but try as he might he was unable to sleep. He tossed fitfully for most of the night before abandoning the effort. Crawling from the rumpled sheets, he paced the floor until daylight mercifully ended his torment.

  He still could not fathom how he had come to disclose his feelings for Catherine to Lady Richards. Why, he’d not even been able to admit as much to Catherine—or himself, for that matter. Somehow it seemed when Charlotte had put the question to him, Adam knew for the first time what dwelled in his heart. With that knowledge came a tidal wave of hopelessness.

  Hell and be damned! Was the most important issue in his life to be reduced to an exercise in frustration? Catherine was amenable to an affair, and that would ease some of the immediate craving he felt for her. But he didn’t like the subterfuge. And in the long run, a few clandestine meetings would not satisfy his less earthy needs.

  Catherine wanted to know if he liked her. Lord, what a question. He envisioned bringing her home as his wife, with all the pomp and ceremony that entailed, and enshrining her in the bridal suite. Could there be any doubt he liked her? Was the painful ache in his chest whenever he thought of her a physical sign of his devotion?

  Adam had wasted little time once the sun had drifted over the horizon in making the necessary arrangements for his meeting with the baroness. First he had to procure a room in an inconspicuous yet respectable part of town. The jangle of heavy coins was persuasive insurance that the landlord would hold his tongue. With Lady Richard’s strictures the preceding evening, that particular detail had taken on added importance.

  Now that he had begun to fit together the pieces of his little scheme, the earl was anxious that no problems should arise. He was irritated at Sims for passing judgment, for it nudged the guilt Adam was trying to suppress. Rather than think on the right or wrong of what he was doing, he focused on what could have been had fate taken a more satisfactory turn.

  One other reality put the matter into perspective. In the past when he formed a bond with a woman, there were financial matters to consider. Now the only thing being wagered was an emotional ante, and that made the stakes much dearer.

  And so Adam’s thoughts continued to taunt him as the hours passed into dusk. Tonight would not be the night, he thought miserably, and he wondered how to endure the wait. As he had done countless times that day, he began to pace.

  With the last vestiges of daylight ebbing, Adam decided that sitting at home and festering was a futile occupation. He forced himself to dress for the evening.

  There came a light tap at the door and Sims entered.

  “Sims, where have you been? I’ve worn a path in the carpet waiting for your return.”

  The valet’s attitude was impassive. “These things take time, my lord.”

  “Did you make contact with the maid?” the earl asked impatiently

  “Yes, my lord, but it took some finessing to get the deed done.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  The valet inhaled a deep, stoical breath and began his tale. “A description of the woman would have been helpful.” He paused as if to emphasize his criticism. “Since I had none, I found it necessary to approach every serving girl who emerged from the Bourgeault residence.”

  “My God, man, you weren’t indiscreet, were you?”

  Sims drew himself up, plainly offended. “My lord, I hope I have never given you reason to doubt my discretion.”

  Adam sighed. “Please, forgive me, but don’t keep me in suspense any longer. If you knew the strain I’ve been under, you’d put me out of my misery.”

  “My lord,” the servant began on a more conciliatory note, “I took the stable boy with me. I stayed well out of sight and allowed him to do the prospecting. Every time a maid left the Bourgeault mansion, our boy called Edna’s name. Eventually his ploy was successful because a young woman turned and answered him. Apparently, this Edna had been told to expect your missive, for she came immediately when the lad beckoned.”

  “What if Edna had not chosen today to make a foray into the outside world?” Adam asked on a smile.

  “Then I assume, my lord, I would be making a repeat visit to find Edna tomorrow,” came the valet’s dignified response.

  “At the very least.” The earl chuckled. “Tell me, was there a message?”

  “Yes, my lord. The communique is a verbal one.”

  “Proceed.” Adam’s heart began to thump expectantly.

  “Tonight at ten o’clock would be a convenient time. The lady asks that the carriage wait for her around the corner—”

  ”Tonight?” the earl interrupted excitedly. “Are you certain she meant tonight?” He grabbed Sims by the arms, beaming at the man in delighted anticipation.

  The valet politely disengaged himself from his lordship’s eager grasp and pulled at the front of his coat, restoring his disheveled countenance. “It would seem Lord Bourgeault is indisposed this evening and the lady is free to go abroad.”

  “Was this part of the message?”

  “Not exactly, my lord,” Sims said dryly. �
�Miss Edna is quite the talker when she warms to her subject. She detests her master and does not hesitate to say as much. Evidently, the baron follows a pattern. Lord Bourgeault is a habitually heavy imbiber, but on occasion he will drink copious amounts of alcohol over many hours, possibly days, and then sleep for an equal number of hours or days.”

  “And…?” Adam pressed.

  “And,” the valet continued, “the baron began drinking yesterday. This afternoon he became unconscious and was taken to his bed by his man. He is not expected to awaken until late tomorrow at the very earliest.”

  “Wonderful! Best news I’ve heard all day. Come, we have some plans to finalize.”

  *****

  Catherine stood at the top of the staircase to the servants’ entrance and adjusted the veil covering her face. Dressed in a nondescript ensemble of varying shades of brown, she hoped her clothing adequately disguised her aristocratic heritage, preventing unwanted attention. Of course, the hour being late, she was in danger of being accosted simply because she was a female alone. Pray the carriage was waiting at the designated location, she thought. Drawing in a deep breath, she made her way down the stairs and into the night.

  *****

  A door at the far end of the corridor closed on the darkened hallway. The spy turned to his employer. “She’s gone, my lord.”

  The oppressive gloom of the chamber hid the occupant who lay in a brandy-induced fog on the massive bed. “You are positive it was she and not a maid?” Lord Bourgeault’s tremulous voice croaked plaintively, slicing through the blackness of the room.

  “Aye, my lord, it could be no other.”

  Silence followed Willie’s confirmation, and the servant tiptoed lightly across the plush carpet to stand over the prostrate baron. Curious, he opened his mouth to speak, but shock caused the words to stick in his throat.

  Drink had forced his master to slumber, but Lord Bourgeault’s ravaged face told a story of secret grief. Moisture pooled in the hollows of the baron’s shuttered eyes and dripped salty tears from the edges of his lids onto the pillow cradling his head.

  Willie, though not a man given to the finer feelings, was of a sudden overcome by a surge of pity. He walked across the room to retrieve an old rocker. Retracing his steps, he placed it near the head of the bed. He settled himself into his seat, sighing in regret at his selfless act, and prepared for a night of sleeplessness as he stood watch over his stricken lord.

  *****

  CHAPTER 7

  “For God’s sake, man, would you hurry? I’m already thirty minutes late.”

  Lord Ashworth stood at the edge of the street next to his disabled carriage. His impatience was growing steadily with each passing minute as his coachman tried to reattach the wheel that had lost its hold on the axle and gone spinning several dozen yards down the road.

  “Beg pardon, Lord Ashworth, but I’m working as quickly as I can,” grunted the harassed driver.

  “I know, Shivers—carry on.”

  The earl stepped into the busy avenue to hail a hackney, and for the first time in recent memory there was none to be had. One vehicle after the other rolled past him and not one was a rented transport.

  “Bloody hell! She’s going to think I’ve forgotten her.” Adam walked back to the carriage, expletives spewing from his tongue like water off a hot griddle.

  Shivers straightened and stared at his master. “My lord, I’m impressed.” The coachman grinned and doffed his cap.

  Acknowledging his indecent verbal skills, the earl smiled wryly. “Ahem…right you are.”

  “I have an idea, my lord.”

  “And that would be…?” Adam asked, ripe for any suggestion that would speed him on his way.

  “Take one of the horses. I’ll repair the wheel and rig the equipage so one horse can get the carriage home.”

  “It can be done?” The earl looked at his servant in sudden hope.

  “Don’t see why not. Be a bit clumsy, but I’ll manage.”

  Adam cast a sidelong glance at Shivers. “I’ll have to ride bareback.”

  The coachman smirked. “That could be a problem, I suppose. I can give you a leg up if you think it would help, my lord.”

  “Blast your old hide!” Adam laughed aloud. “I can manage. I like your idea—let’s get to it.”

  *****

  No one was about as Catherine approached the door at the far end of the dimly lit hallway. She knocked once and then again, but her summons went unanswered. Reaching into her reticule, she blindly searched the contents. She withdrew a key, given to Edna by the earl’s man, and placed it into the lock with a hand that shook.

  Her breath whooshed through her mouth in relief as the key slipped the bolt and the door slowly opened inward. Catherine stepped over the threshold and the magic of another world washed over her, soothing her with the warmth of welcome.

  The baroness was not given to fancy, but at that moment she was consumed by a sense of tranquility. She sensed peace in this room, and it beckoned like a siren in the mist. Given another time and other circumstances, undoubtedly it would have been just a room. But for her, for now, this was her Eden and that seemed miracle enough.

  Someone had been there preparing for her arrival. The lamps were lit and the counterpane on the bed had been pulled back. A small table laden with covered dishes was ready for a midnight supper. Her only real complaint was the blaze in the fireplace, for the sultry evening was too warm to support the added heat. She moved to the window and threw the shutters wide in an attempt to cool the stuffy apartment.

  She turned back to the room. Adam had not arrived yet, and she was uncertain how to proceed without him. Catherine glanced at the valise she had left by the door. Embarrassment warmed her face as she thought of the nightdress she had hastily stuffed into the small leather bag. Somehow bringing the lingerie seemed so, well…premeditated.

  What a foolish notion, she thought, since she hadn’t come here to play a game of whist. Yet it was hard to dispel the inhibitions. Her fall from grace on her previous “outing” with the earl might be forgiven on the grounds nothing illicit had been intended. But she could hardly plead spontaneity when, in the future, she reflected on this evening.

  Catherine felt the old rebellion that appeared whenever she allowed her misgivings to get the upper hand. She had made her choice, so why castigate herself over a situation she wouldn’t change even if she could?

  She retrieved the valise and, snapping open the catch, pulled the nightdress from the bag. Catherine grasped the garment by the neck and shook it free of wrinkles. It was white cambric and a touch of lace, sleeveless with a drawstring neck. Quite simple, really—plain if she were honest. One thing for certain, no one would mistake it for the alluring gown of a lady who “entertained” gentlemen friends.

  Suddenly, she wished she were more worldly-wise and less naive. Lord Ashworth would expect a woman who knew what to expect. From his point of view, her marriage would have given her an understanding of the carnal side of wedlock. However, except for that wildly exciting episode in the glen, she was as untried as a newborn babe. She feared the earl’s tastes might be sophisticated, a thought that had not occurred to her until he had made the mistake of telling her about his mistress.

  Catherine could not completely erase the hurt that had followed Adam’s disclosure of the other woman, although it came as no surprise. He was youthful, a wealthy aristocrat, and he’d had a life before he met her. What she refused to acknowledge was the conclusion of her own romantic journey with him. For every beginning had an end, and therein lay the pitfall. She must continue to remind herself that one did not enter into a love affair with long-term planning.

  She donned the homely nightgown then reached for her valise again, removing her brush. Crossing to the small vanity that occupied one corner of the chamber, she pulled out the bench and sat down.

  Catherine began removing the pins from her hair. She started at the crown of her head and drew the brush through the thick
mass, repeating the process until the air around her crackled with static.

  Outside the mad dash of a horse’s hooves on the cobblestones disturbed the stillness of the night. Someone’s in a hurry, she thought absently. The ormolu clock on the mantle chimed the hour, and Catherine glanced at it in curiosity. Eleven o’clock—he will be here soon. Strangely, it never occurred to her that he might not come. She smiled serenely and resumed her brushing.

  *****

  Adam took the stairs two at a time, his heart pumping from exertion. He reached the landing and paused to catch his breath. Sighting the apartment at the end of the corridor, he moved toward it, his heart turning over in his chest for an entirely different reason. He placed his hand on the knob as he drew abreast of the room, but the latch must have been undone, for the door moved silently inward on its well-oiled hinges. Adam entered the chamber.

  Across the room from him, Catherine sat at a dressing table brushing her hair. She was not yet aware of him, and he took the rare moment to observe her when she thought herself alone.

  She bent her head forward, exposing her slim neck as she pulled her gilded tresses over her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she hummed tunelessly while continuing the hypnotic movement of the brush. Adam was captivated by the utter loveliness of the feminine routine. It occurred to him that he could watch this delightful ritual every day for the rest of his life if they were wed. The intensity of the ache that accompanied the wistful observation surprised him.

  *****

  “You should lock the door, my dear.”

  Catherine jerked around. “My lord! I didn’t know you were there.”

  He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest, looking more handsome in his casual attire than ever he had before. He stared at her with such intensity she stood and moved toward him in concern.

  “Is anything amiss, my lord?”