In the Garden of Temptation Page 2

  “Bourgeault? It is the Baron Bourgeault, is it not?”

  “I see you’ve heard of me.”

  “By reputation, but it was my mother who recognized you.”

  “Ah yes, the eminent Lady Ashworth, a formidable societal institution even a quarter of a century ago.”

  The words were complimentary, but Adam detected sarcasm as well. He took in the rest of the occupants of the room. His conversation with the baron was garnering unwanted attention from those guests nearest them, and the earl decided to take their talk to a more private locale.

  “If you will follow me, Bourgeault, I think we can find a place where we won’t be disturbed.”

  Adam led the way out into the hallway and down the passage to a small parlor at the back of the house from where French doors opened onto a small garden. As he passed through the parlor doorway, he stepped aside so the baron could follow him into the room. He left the door slightly ajar, aware Ames had noted their departure from the card room. Within moments a servant would be stationed outside in the hall in case the earl encountered any difficulties with his “guest.”

  He turned to face the baron. “Now, Bourgeault, what can I do for you?”

  The baron grinned. “Here is a man after my own heart. Forget the niceties and move right on to the meat of the matter.”

  This time Adam made no effort to hide his grim expression. “I observe the niceties when they are warranted, but I see no reason to hedge. You entered my home without license, and rather brazenly, I might add. You must have had a reason, and I prefer you get to your point.”

  “Horses, sir.”

  “What?”

  “I wish to sell my horses.”

  The earl was astounded and he made no effort to hide it. “Good lord, man, make some sense. You went to all this subterfuge because you wish to sell me a few horses?”

  “Two horses, actually.”

  “Why didn’t you approach me at one of the clubs? It would have been easier—and more appropriate, if I do say so—than this ridiculous ruse.”

  “I doubt you and I frequent the same clubs,” the baron said in a dry voice. “It has been so long since I have been on the town, I have neither the required memberships nor the acquaintances needed to acquire them.”

  “You’re not hoping I will help you with that, are you?”

  For the first time the baron’s composure seemed to slip. Adam sensed he might have trod on an old wound, for something shifted in the man’s strange black eyes, something altogether unpleasant. He appeared to give himself a mental shake and, with that, his facile expression returned.

  “You need not worry, sir,” Bourgeault said. “I have no need of your sponsorship.”

  “If you have horses to sell, why not take them to auction at Tattersall’s? Surely, that’s the easiest way to accomplish your mission. I attend several times each month. I’ll keep a lookout for your horseflesh.” Adam deliberately made his tone dismissing.

  “I have no intention of allowing the bidder to decide how much to pay for my horses. I will set the price and it is firm. These are not just any horses.” The baron’s voice took on a fervency that betrayed his passion for his animals. “They are possibly the most beautiful pair of matched grays in all of England. They are too special to send to auction.”

  Despite himself Adam was intrigued. “What makes them so special?”

  The baron grinned hugely. “Twins, my lord, born at the same time, both male—identical in every way, right down to the last spot on their lovely hides. They are my pride and joy. I couldn’t sell them to just anyone. It’s my understanding you run a first-rate stable, and that is what I wish for them—a knowledgeable owner, someone who will care for them as I would.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you have come to me. There is any number of individuals with fine stables who would be pleased to purchase animals as remarkable as you describe.”

  “But there are not many people who are as plump in the pocket as you are. These horses are rare and they demand a rare price.”

  “Why are you selling them?”

  The baron’s eyes took on a hooded look, making him appear almost serpentine. “Money. I have a young wife, and she has expensive tastes. I try to mollify her where I am able. An older man and a younger woman, well, you catch my meaning. I don’t want to lose her.”

  Adam rubbed his index finger slowly back and forth across his lower lip as he watched Lord Bourgeault. What the baron had to say was not unreasonable. The man buys a young wife and then finds himself in financial difficulties—he would do what he must to keep her. It wasn’t the story that didn’t ring true, but the baron who raised suspicion.

  “How much do you want for the pair?”

  Here the baron hesitated. “I would prefer you saw them first. In all honesty, you are not the first person I have approached. I’ve had two serious buyers, and both were unable to meet my price. That is why I’ve come to you. Your known interest in horseflesh and your wealth make you a prime candidate for purchasing my beauties.”

  “Maybe you want too much for them. As magnificent as you say they are, maybe they are not worth your asking price.”

  “Come look,” the baron said, his attitude now insinuating. “See for yourself. You won’t be disappointed. My estate is off the road to Bath about twenty miles before you reach the city.” He reached inside his coat and produced a business card. “Plan to stay a day or two. I will give you ample opportunity to inspect my special ponies.”

  “Can’t you bring them to the London? It would be more expedient.”

  “I can’t risk injury to my beasts to meet expediency. A broken foreleg on an extended trip would be a financial disaster. It is a chance I am unwilling to take.”

  Adam took the card, aware he had been neatly maneuvered into a corner. Of course, he could say he wasn’t interested and end the interview at that point. But he was interested. He wanted to know what had brought the baron to him, for he believed there was more to it than the sale of horses. And if he were wrong, at least he would have the chance to examine the “most beautiful pair of matched grays in all of England.”

  “Next week?” Lord Ashworth asked casually, unwilling to admit to anything more than mild curiosity.

  “I wait upon your convenience, my lord. I’ll just let myself out so I don’t impose on you or your guests any longer.”

  The earl nodded tersely.

  Bourgeault reached for the latch on the French doors and opened them. As he turned to leave he looked back at Adam. “I do believe,” he murmured, an unnatural light flickering in his avid black gaze, “you will find your stay to be a most memorable one.”

  *****

  “Has Lord Wimberly been in today?” Adam stood in the foyer of White’s gentlemen’s club and handed his hat to the nearest waiter.

  “Yes, my lord,” responded the waiter. “He was here briefly but said he had some errands to run and would be returning about three o’clock. He asked you be informed in case you arrived.”

  “Right then, I’d like my usual table and a snifter of your best brandy.”

  Escorted to the designated table the earl took a seat, and within minutes the waiter returned with his drink.

  Adam swirled the brandy around the inside of the goblet and watched as the fragrant liquid coated the glass with an oily film. Putting the snifter under his nose, he drew in a deep breath and allowed the fumes to drift seductively over his senses. He followed this ceremony with a discreet sip that elicited a sigh of pure ecstasy.

  Adam leaned back in the comfortable leather chair he occupied and surveyed his surroundings. Wonderful. The next few hours would be spent in congenial, masculine company, imbibing fine spirits and dining on the finest victuals any establishment had to offer. And later he would pay a visit to the lovely, redheaded Helen. That expectation alone gave him reason to anticipate an enjoyable evening.

  It was a very mellow Lord Ashworth to whom Daniel Evans, Viscount Wimberly, was condu
cted sixty minutes later. The earl’s head rested against the padding of a wing-back chair, eyes closed, feet propped upon a brocaded footstool. He cradled a glass of brandy in his hands, his thoughts flowing nowhere in particular.

  “I say, old man, are you sleeping?” Daniel asked. “If you are, you must be dreaming something remarkably inane if the look on your face is any indication.”

  Adam did not move, nor did he lift his shuttered eyes. “Ah, Daniel, have a seat. I’m enjoying the restful atmosphere and ensuring my present languorous mood by tippling on that wonderful bottle of brandy.” As he spoke his lids eased upward, and he smiled.

  The viscount smiled in return, his crystal blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and the earl felt the old familiar affection that always came over him whenever he saw his friend. They were, in fact, the best of friends and had been since before Adam could remember.

  As boys, Daniel and Adam had grown up on adjoining estates and later had attended the same schools. They chased the same women without acrimony and found companionship with the same fellows. The earl knew himself to have the more commanding personality, but Daniel with his pale blondness and slender build projected a gentleness that seemed nearly poetic and, for some of the fairer sex, nearly irresistible.

  The viscount poured a drink then made himself cozy in a chair identical to the one comforting the earl. “That was quite an affair at your place last night. Every year your mother outdoes herself.”

  “Yes,” Adam said pleasantly, “and I will tell her you said so just as soon as she and I are on speaking terms again.”

  Daniel raised his brows. “Oh?”

  “I’ve had the misfortune of being on the opposite side of a disagreement with the countess,” the earl said. “She can make one suffer for having the temerity to counter one of her edicts. Judith accused me of running away—of course, that was said as she rushed passed me out the front door.”

  Daniel chuckled. “And how is your dear sister today?”

  “On her way back to the country with her husband Walter. I swear my mother can empty a house faster than any one I’ve ever met.” Adam paused before continuing. “Have you heard of a Baron Bourgeault?”

  Daniel shook his head slowly. “Can’t say I have.”

  Adam spent the next few minutes detailing the events of the previous evening. “Mother is determined I make no further effort to contact the baron. Despite her assurances that she is only worried about my safety, I believe her reasoning to be based in snobbery.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m so damned curious I feel compelled to go.”

  “I could accompany you, you know. I’d have to stay at the local inn, though. Bad manners to drop in without an invite. I know the baron would agree.” Daniel smirked at his companion.

  “You’re a cheeky devil. You think I need a nursemaid? And you’re just the fellow to keep me from harm’s way? Mother will be so relieved.”

  “Do I detect a note of sarcasm? Pour me another dab of that fine wine and I promise not to take offense.”

  Adam laughed and reached for the bottle. “I won’t be winning a war of words with you today.”

  The viscount’s lips twitched. “No sense arguing with the obvious.”

  Adam raised his glass to salute his agreement, and the two gentlemen settled back to enjoy their evening in complete harmony with one another.

  *****

  CHAPTER 2

  Adam had been riding the better part of the day, beginning with the predawn hours that found him packed and ready for his journey. The weather was glorious, and he reveled in being away from the city, soaking up the atmosphere of the lush countryside.

  Sims, the earl’s valet, was infuriated to be left behind. Why, he had asked stonily, was it so difficult to load the phaeton so a personal servant could accompany his master? That’s what a respectable gentleman would do. The earl had responded—tongue firmly in cheek—since he cared not a wit for respectability, he had none.

  Frankly, Adam had not relished being confined to a carriage, or relegated to the roads he must follow if he chose a vehicle over his mount. He also suspected his mother had asked Sims to go along as protection. He tolerated the dowager’s meddling with equal parts humor and irritation, however, he did not let her alter the outcome.

  Adam added an extra half hour to his trip by missing the road Bourgeault had insisted would be no problem to find. It was, in fact, an obscure turn-off, unmarked except for a small sign that had become overgrown with vines. Assured that he had found the spot he was seeking, he cantered down the weed-infested lane. He traveled another mile before he broke into a clearing, and the baron’s residence came into sight.

  Ahead of him stood a thirteenth-century Norman castle in the advanced stages of neglect and decay. It looked to be neither a large nor prime example of that architectural form. And since he saw no natural fortifications, such as a river or cliff formation, he was at a loss as to why the structure had been built in the first place. Adam sat on his mount, staring at the incongruous building in amazement. He shouldn’t be surprised, he thought, for it was exactly the sort of domicile he would have expected the baron to occupy.

  The earl urged his horse forward over what he believed had once been a moat but was now a large and unkempt circular drive. It occurred to him that he should tether his horse and announce his arrival at the front entrance, however, he was curious to see the condition of Bourgeault’s stables. Since he doubted the baron stood on ceremony, he risked a breach of etiquette. He rounded the corner and entered the stable yard.

  Here, at least, he saw activity. From the deserted aspect of the castle as he arrived on the drive, he had begun to doubt this pile of stones had any inhabitants. His horse Felix danced sideways through a squawking flock of hens that scattered in several directions in protest.

  “Steady, old boy, not going to let a few chickens get the better of you, are you?” He leaned over and patted his steed affectionately. Adam dismounted and, taking Felix by the reins, entered the stables.

  Here the neglect and apparent disregard sullying the rest of the baron’s estate was absent. The stables, clearly erected in more recent times, did not reflect the age of the castle. The odor of sweet-smelling hay scented the air.

  The stalls—and there were plenty of them—had been recently mucked out, and the fresh hay had been strewn on the wooden floor. A well-organized tack room to the right contained all manner of riding paraphernalia neatly placed on three of the four walls. In the middle of that room, an elderly man sat at a workbench repairing a harness.

  The man looked up as Adam entered. “May I help you?”

  “You are…?”

  “Name’s Brown, head groom. And you?”

  “I’m Lord Ashworth. I believe I’m expected.”

  The groom stared at him a moment then give a curt nod.

  “Lord Bourgeault mentioned a pair of grays he wished me to inspect.”

  “That would be Abel and Cain. They’re out in the back pasture gettin’ some exercise. I reckon the baron would prefer to make the introductions.” Brown’s tone was cool, just short of unfriendly. “Those horses are special to him. He likes to see the effect they have on people.” The groom returned to his work as though the matter were settled.

  “Uh…yes, I’ll make my presence known to your master,” the earl said, taken aback by the man’s lack of welcome. “See to my horse, please.”

  The man grunted a reply and Adam stepped from the darkness of the stables into the waning sunlight. Idly, he glanced around the dirt yard, his gaze sharpening as he caught sight of a woman scattering feed to the chickens.

  He didn’t know why he stopped to watch her, although his male interest was certainly aroused. He couldn’t see her face as she leaned over tossing grain to the hens, but he had a gratifying view of an attractive female backside. His footsteps took him in her direction.

  She straightened and turned at his approach. What he began to say would remain unsaid, for he was so overcome by the flawl
ess beauty of the woman, his train of thought deserted him.

  An oval face provided the setting for features so in harmony with one another he gaped at her like a callow youth. She had a straight nose over full lips and large, expressive gray eyes. Her wheat-colored hair was pulled into a casual knot atop her head, tendrils of near white hair dancing delicately about her cheeks and forehead in the soft breeze. With one lovely hand, she pushed the errant strands behind her ear.

  She watched him, brows raised in patient inquiry as though she were used to men responding to her in open-mouthed stupefaction. When he still did not speak, she broke the silence.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Her voice was cultured and melodic, and it sent a thrill over his heightened senses.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, aware his respiration had increased. “I was staring, wasn’t I? I’m not usually so slow-witted, but I’m afraid you took me by surprise. I was not expecting a goddess in the stable yard serving dinner to the chickens.”

  The compliment came easily, but all at once he felt sheepish, as her expression turned more and more skeptical with each successive word he uttered.

  “I see. I assure you I am no goddess, and I’m feeding the chickens because they’re hungry. Someone has to do it.” She tempered the gentle rebuke with a smile.

  Rather than being put off by her lack of flirtation, Adam was fascinated. “Are you employed here?”

  For several long moments she looked at him through those lovely gray eyes as though deciding how to answer him. That’s an oddity, he thought, for the question required either a yes or no answer. What else was there?

  “You could say I work for Lord Bourgeault,” she said at last.

  “You’re not sure?” he probed, surprising himself because he was genuinely interested in her response.

  The woman averted her gaze. “I’d best get back to it.” Her tone was dismissing, although she smiled at him once more.

  Adam reached out and touched her arm as she started to walk away. “Will I see you again?” He felt foolish for asking but could not prevent himself.