In the Garden of Temptation (13 page)

Catherine ate a scant meal in her room then
climbed into bed between the cool, muslin sheets, drawing them to
her chin. Now that she had eaten and felt comfortable, she was
unable to sleep. Her mind churned with the questions still haunting
her.

Though excited by the prospects before her,
she was afraid. She had always wanted to join society but had never
dreamed it might actually happen. Would she be accepted? She did
have the onerous burden of being attached to the baron, and even
far from the center of things she knew that to be a deficit.

Sleep has of way of persuading even the most
resistant mind to give into its demands. Before many more minutes
had passed, Catherine fell into a dreamless slumber. Near daybreak
a handsome face insinuated itself on her peace, and she woke to
another day of uncertainty.

*****

“
The money I’ve spent to put
on a ‘London face’ has been astronomical.” Lord Bourgeault crossed
the floor of the refurbished sitting room and leaned his bony frame
against the mantle. “I fear I’ve taken this ridiculous farce too
far.”

“
Maybe a little taste of
society will be a nice change of pace,” Willy ventured, following
behind his master.

“
I know you’re going to find
this hard to credit,” the baron stated, an ironical twist to his
mouth, “but I’m not well received in most quarters.”

The servant gave the appearance of one trying
to look shocked, but his lack of acting ability betrayed him. “I
don’t believe it,” he offered weakly.

“
Oh yes, indeed, it’s
absolutely true,” the baron mocked.

The witless servant ceased to speak, and
Edgar smiled to himself. Poor Willy—how easy he was to manipulate.
The baron continued talking, pretending to be unaware of the effect
he had on his hapless companion although little escaped his
scrutiny.

“
Fact is, we must move
quickly if my wife is to be accepted by those who matter. It’s
unfortunate, but I am afraid there will be people who’ll make her
suffer due to their dislike of me. I hope Ashworth stands up to
that harridan who is his mother or we are doomed before we
begin.”

*****

The baroness arrived on the
stoop outside the townhouse with several trunks and two awestruck
servants. “
Grosvenor
Square
, Jack?” Catherine whispered in
disbelief. “Are you certain you have it correct? I’ve never been to
London and even I know what an exclusive address this
is.”

“
Aye, my lady, I swear. It
do look fancy, don’t it?”

As they stood there the front door was thrust
wide, and the baron appeared on the step.

“
My love!” he welcomed.
“Come in, come in. What do you think of my humble
abode?”

Catherine, taken aback by his effusive
reception, stepped into the entry. “I’m flabbergasted, Edgar. How
were you able to obtain such wonderful lodging?”

The baron’s affable mood dissipated at once.
“This is not a lease, wife,” he said in an annoyed voice. “I own
this property. It was part of my inheritance. Why should that
surprise you?”

“
I didn’t mean to offend,
Edgar. You never mentioned it before, so I was unaware.”

Appearing somewhat mollified, the baron
allowed as how that might have caused confusion. “Right then, how
about a tour?”

After the starkness of the castle, Catherine
was impressed by the refined beauty of the baron’s London townhouse
and said as much. Though frankly, she was amazed by her husband’s
pride in his city dwelling, for he rarely showed any concern for
his surroundings.

“
Of course, there is only so
much that can be accomplished in a fortnight,” he explained. “The
renovations are only partially complete, but I’ve called a halt to
them for now so we might live in relative peace. I think I’ve not
done so badly with the time I’ve been allotted.”

Why, he actually was dangling after a
compliment! She sensed a vulnerability in the unasked question, and
she was shocked. Her husband never permitted anyone a glimpse of
his innermost feelings unless he had a reason. Catherine did not
trust him, but on the possibility he was sincere she couldn’t let
him down.

“
I think you’ve done
wonderfully, Edgar,” she answered, and he beamed with
pleasure.

Later that evening the congenial atmosphere
continued during the evening meal. The baron had left his country
manners in the country and, though she would not call his execution
of the London gentleman a perfect work, he had made a vast
improvement on his usual display.

She had just begun to let her guard down,
when the baron’s ever-mercurial disposition took a sudden swing.
Catherine glanced up to see him watching her darkly. Something was
bothering him, and his mood change was so intense her stomach
dropped, making her dinner an indigestible lump in her belly.

“
You look particularly
fetching this evening, my dear.”

That’s not what she had expected him to say.
But dressed in a frothy dinner gown of lavender silk and antique
gray lace, she did feel especially attractive.

“
Thank you, Edgar,” she said
cautiously.

“
Naturally, I much prefer a
dress with more lascivious lines. The neck on that gown is so
modest one would think you’d just left a nunnery.” His moody stare
was unrelieved by even a blink.

He exaggerated, of course. Her husband was
tormenting her, and she wondered why he would want to start a
disagreement when things were going along smoothly.

“
Oh, Edgar,” she could not
hide the regret in her voice, “what is the purpose in starting a
disagreement after such a pleasant day? I’ve almost felt as though
we were friends.”

The baron’s face turned an alarming purple.
“Friends?” he bellowed. “Is that what you think we are?”

Catherine remained outwardly calm, though her
stomach continued to contract in anxiety. “No, most often I don’t
think we’re friends but I would like to be. Frankly, I don’t know
what we are to one another.”

“
I’ve never wanted to be
your friend. This damned affliction holds me back from what I
really want, and you know it!”

She felt the blood drain from her face at the
bald admission.

“
You were supposed to heal
it! I handpicked you for that purpose. I’ve spent a bloody fortune
and I’m no better off than I was seven years ago. You’ve been a
disappointment, Catherine, make no mistake.”

“
How am I supposed to right
something I don’t even understand?” she challenged indignantly. “I
did everything you asked of me. Everything. You insist on blaming
me for your inadequacies.”

The baron stood from the table. “God, I hate
you!” he said venomously. “I hate you for the needs you arouse in
me. And I hate you because I cannot act on those needs. You were
supposed to make me better.”

He sounded like an anguished child in pain,
and even in her fear she pitied him.

“
I don’t want to be here,
you know.” He spoke wildly now. “I have no choice and it’s your
fault.”

“
Why are we here, Edgar, and
why is it my fault?” she delved gently.

The calm sanity of her words seemed to bring
him around, and as quickly as the storm broke it ended. He stared
at her as though suddenly aware of the shameful scene he had
created.

“
I need to get drunk.” His
voice was dull with expended emotion. Without another word or a
backward glance, he exited the room. Moments later the front door
opened then slammed into place.

Catherine sat motionless for some time,
trying to ascertain what had just happened. “It’s not me you hate,
Edgar,” she said to the empty room. “You hate yourself.”

Too bad, she thought, that her insight could
be of no help to either one of them.

*****

The Earl of Ashworth discarded another
wrinkled neckcloth onto a growing stack of neckcloths and snorted
disgustedly. “Damnation, Sims, I’m all thumbs this evening.”

Sims handed his master one more ironed strip
of linen to massacre, his expression never hinting at the surprise
he must have felt over his lordship’s inability to perform the
simple knot.

Unfortunately, tonight even simple was too
difficult as Adam proceeded to destroy that one as well. He tossed
the mangled cloth on the pile of rejects and with a sigh dropped
down on the nearest chair.

“
Don’t want to attend that
dreary musicale of Lady Mortimer’s, anyway,” he said in self-pity.
“Edwina Huffington will probably exercise her vocal cords at the
top of her homely voice, and my head will ring for a week. Why do
we insist on giving an audience to individuals who have no talent
whatsoever?”

“
I really would not know, my
lord,” Sims answered blandly. “I gave up trying to understand the
machinations of my betters many years ago.”

Adam glanced at the servant in surprise. “Oh
ho, Sims, having a go at me, are you? I believe you are pulling my
leg,” he said on a bark of laughter.

“
Not at all, my lord,” came
the valet’s dignified response.

Sims had only now begun to unbend where his
master was concerned. Lord Ashworth had endured weeks of
unremitting indignation traced directly to his decision to travel
to Lord Bourgeault’s sans his phaeton, extra luggage and, most
importantly, his valet. Adam had begun to wonder if the temporary
freedom he had experienced was worth the subsequent misery of
dealing with an outraged servant.

The ensuing weeks had been difficult for Adam
on another front. The trip back from Lord and Lady Bourgeault’s
castle had been long and tedious and, as if to emphasize his
melancholy attitude, the heavens had parted and presented him with
a torrent of unexpected rain.

He had returned home to life as usual, and
yet nothing had been quite the same. He felt as though he had
stepped into a beguiling dream and, once conscious, had been unable
to dispel its effects. And when he did sleep she was there, more
lovely than any flesh and blood woman could possibly be. The
disappointment when he awoke was unbearable.

He had gone back to Helen his mistress. No
reason not to, he had reasoned. But his relationship with her had
changed because he had changed, and he had come from her restless
and dissatisfied.

Adam knew he had hurt Helen. She was an
intuitive woman and quick to understand. He had not been able to
hide his lack of eagerness, and so rather than face her bruised
feelings, like a coward he had stayed away.

The earl sighed as he came to his feet and
once again endeavored to wrap his neck in one of those blasted
neckcloths. For reasons not completely understood, this time his
effort was rewarded without a single misstep.

“
There!” he announced in
satisfaction.

“
I knew you could do it, my
lord,” said Sims, sharing in his master’s success.

“
Get me in my coat quickly
before the cravat decides to slip from my throat, and I have to
start all over again.”

“
I hardly think that
possible,” the valet indicated in a dry voice.

“
Anything is possible, my
good man.” Adam adjusted the cuffs on his evening jacket and
stepped back from the mirror. “It’ll have to do.” He strode toward
the door and threw it open. “Don’t wait up, Sims,” he tossed over
his shoulder.

“
Mother, beautiful as
always,” he greeted his parent moments later as he arrived in the
drawing room. His legs took him immediately to the brandy decanter
where he splashed himself a liberal measure in a crystal
goblet.

Lady Ashworth’s nostrils flared in
disapproval. “Now, Adam, you’re not going to overindulge this
evening, are you? There is nothing more discommodious than being
squired about town by a tipsy gentleman.”

“
Mother, be fair. I need
fortification for Lady Mortimer’s little gathering. I have to
steady myself on the chance some fool requests a ballad from the
esteemed Miss Huffington. I swear, when she hits that high note, my
nerves literally vibrate.” The earl took a generous gulp,
emphasizing his words.

Lady Ashworth sighed and nodded her head.
“That girl should never been told she has talent. Diana Huffington
is trying to make an exceptional match for her daughter, and
instead she has made the poor child an object of fun.

“
I see nothing fun about it,
Mother,” Adam objected.

“
Exactly. Diana is a friend
of mine, and I’ve tried to put a bug in her ear, but she will have
none of it. Instead, she used the opportunity to test me on your
availability.”

Her son intercepted the dowager’s calculating
glance. “Don’t start, Mother. I have no intention of rescuing Lady
Huffington from her parental duties. It’s going to take a special
gentleman to husband Edwina, and I can promise you I’m not the man
to make the attempt.”

“
Your must make a decision
before very long,” she stated. “Why do you insist on
delaying?”

“
If I marry in ten or twenty
years, as long as my wife is young and sturdy, we should be able to
produce many offspring.”

“
Men are a conceited lot.
They are all convinced their virility will go on
forever.”

“
Mother!” Adam said, shocked
by his parent’s plain speech.

“
Bah!” Lady Ashworth
countered. “What if your wife has the misfortune of producing only
daughters? What if she presents you with few children or they are
sickly? You’ve reduced your fruitful years dramatically, and you
may never have a worthy heir.”