In the Garden of Temptation (4 page)

At the front of the castle
again, Adam approached the metal-studded front door, grasped the
ancient knocker and gave it three quick raps. Several moments
passed before he heard a distant sound emanating from deep within
the stone structure.
By Jove!
This old heap is inhabited, he thought.

There came the sound of a large bolt being
thrown from inside then the door, with much protest, opened slowly.
A wizened little man stared out at the earl with something akin to
impudence.

“
You’re late,” the man
accused without preamble.

Adam blinked. “Excuse me?”

“
You’re late,” he
repeated.

“
Since the missive I sent
did not promise the exact hour of my arrival, I hardly believe one
could call me late.”

The servant’s demeanor so irritated the earl,
if he hadn’t been driven by curiosity, he would have spun on his
heel and immediately returned to London. He couldn’t decide whether
to laugh or administer the setdown this obnoxious twit so richly
deserved. The man stepped back, his attitude grudging as he allowed
Adam to enter.

The interior of the castle looked as
dilapidated and neglected as the exterior. An enormous staircase
rose to a second-story landing. The landing traversed the entire
length of that floor and was bounded by apartments on one side and
a banister on the other, overlooking the great hall below. Adam
suspected there had been major renovations over the centuries to
modernize the building, but recent history would indicate a lack of
any real care or improvement. The atmosphere was dank, dark and
depressing.

“
Follow me.”

Adam fell in behind the servant who led him
down a hall past several doors. The last doorway on the right was
their destination.

“
Enter,” a voice beckoned
from within the room in response to the servant’s knock.

The baron sat behind a large mahogany desk,
and he looked up expectantly as the earl was shown into the
library. “Ah, Willy, I see our guest has arrived. Bring us some
sherry. You do like sherry, do you not, Ashworth?”

“
Yes, of course.”

The baron reached into his desk and,
retrieving a pair of white gloves, proceeded to don them as he
spoke. He stood and crossed the room to the earl and offered his
hand in greeting. A limp affair at best, Adam had to control the
urge to shudder as he shook the baron’s flaccid fist. Fortunately,
it was also a brief encounter.

“
Please have a seat.” The
baron indicated a dark green leather chair and returned to his own
chair at the desk.

He sat down and meticulously peeled off the
gloves, starting at the wrist, turning them inside out in the
process. With the tips of his fingers, he took the gloves and
tossed them into the rubbish container on the floor. He glanced up
at that moment and, catching sight of Adam’s face, appeared to
hesitate.

“
Don’t concern yourself,”
Bourgeault said, his attitude a study in nonchalance. “It’s a
peculiarity of mine. I find casual contact has an unpleasant effect
on me. It is an inconvenience, nothing more.”

Adam merely nodded for lack of anything
better to say. Unable to understand the bizarre ritual he had just
witnessed, he could not shake the feeling he had stepped into the
macabre world of a Shakespearean drama. Between the oppressiveness
of the castle and the weirdness of its inhabitants, the expedition
had taken on a nightmarish quality.

Willy returned bearing a tray with the sherry
and two glasses. He placed the tray on the desk and, after darting
one more suspicious glance in Adam’s direction, left the room.

The baron splashed a large measure in each
glass and pushed one toward the earl. Reaching for his own drink,
he inhaled a prodigious slurp and belched.

“
Nothing like a fine wine to
start the evening. Not a bad way to start the morning either.”
Bourgeault emitted a raucous guffaw, apparently having amused at
least himself.

Adam took a discreet sip and rolled the
liquid on his tongue. He was not impressed. However, he supposed
getting intoxicated might be in order considering the oddity of the
circumstances. Settling back, he prepared to drink himself into a
semblance of normalcy. He did not affirm the quality of the baron’s
“fine wine,” but evidently it wasn’t necessary.

“
I paid a visit to your
stables before I announced my arrival at the house.”

“
Did you now?” The baron
eyed Adam over the top of his glass. “And what have you
decided?”

“
I would say it’s one of the
finer stables I’ve encountered. I was disappointed not to see your
grays at that time. Your groom said they were out to
pasture.”

The baron beamed. “My cattle are my passion.
But come,” he said as he took another gulp of his drink, “let’s not
worry about business this evening. There’s plenty of time to
inspect the horseflesh tomorrow. My wife will be joining us soon.
We keep country hours so dinner will be served shortly.”

The earl nodded absently, but he could not
help wondering what manner of woman would tie herself to a man of
the baron’s stamp. If money were a problem, and the condition of
the castle suggested this was a possibility, the lady had made a
poor bargain indeed.

*****

Catherine stepped out of the lukewarm bath
water and into a towel held by Edna. She dried off quickly and
donned a cotton floral dressing gown. Distracted, she could not put
two lucid thoughts together. Her unexpected meeting with the
nobleman who was visiting downstairs had left her disconcerted and
confused.

She had gone to her room immediately after
leaving Lord Ashworth, assailed by an unaccustomed churning in her
stomach. Nerves, she decided, which mystified her.

After all, this was not the first time Edgar
had extended hospitality to a gentleman in their home. He made a
frequent habit of inviting company, sometimes a crowd, and her
husband expected her to play the hostess. But the earl seemed a cut
above the usual guest. Though only a first impression, a first
impression was often a good gauge by which to judge a person’s
character.

Perhaps it was because Lord Ashworth was
handsome enough to make her pulse stutter. When she had turned
around in the stable yard and found him towering over her, his
broad shoulders seeming to block the sun, she was shocked almost as
speechless as he.

She remembered his sensuous mouth as he had
grinned at her in amazed delight, his lips parting to reveal a
perfect set of white teeth. He had fine black hair that curled in a
thick mass against the collar of his shirt. But his eyes were his
most riveting characteristic. They were a deep evening blue, dark
and compelling, and when he had rested them on her, for a
protracted moment the world had stop spinning. Even now her skin
prickled hotly at the recollection.

“
And what will my lady be
wearing this evening?” Edna’s pragmatic voice broke the
uncomfortable flow of Catherine’s thoughts.

“
If I didn’t know you were
pure of heart, Edna, I would swear you asked me that question just
to taunt me. I am to wear the red dress.”

The little maid looked justifiably horrified.
“Oh, my lady, not the red one! No respectable lightskirt would wear
that dress.”

Catherine laughed. “Is there such a thing as
a respectable lightskirt?” She sobered suddenly. “What will Lord
Ashworth think when he sees me?”

She dashed across the room to the cherry
wardrobe, wrenched the doors open and yanked one dress after
another along the wooden clothes pole, looking for
something—anything—more suitable. Succumbing to a moment’s
desperation, tears clouded her vision.

“
There’s nothing, absolutely
nothing.”

A quick rap brought her head around with a
startled jerk as the door was flung wide. The baron’s angular frame
filled the entrance to the room. He stood, hands on hips, and
surveyed the two women who stared back at him in frozen alarm.

A malicious grin spread across his features.
“You’re not dressed yet, my dear. I hope you intend to wear the red
gown I bought for you. I will be disappointed if you don’t.”

She could beg him to see reason, but it would
be useless. He would listen patiently, taking great enjoyment from
her misery then demand she obey him. Catherine refused to
relinquish that victory. If he must gloat, let him think she did
not care.

“
I intend putting on that
horrible dress, Edgar. If you would be so kind as to withdraw and
allow me some privacy, I will do so now.” She deliberately grasped
the collar of her dressing gown to emphasize her
meaning.

The grin slipped. He was annoyed and no doubt
he would make her suffer later. But it was worth the momentary
pleasure, and she refused to regret her defiance.

“
I’ll be back in ten
minutes. Be ready.” He turned on his heel and slammed from the
room.

Catherine held her posture until her husband
was gone then her shoulders slumped in resignation.

“
Get the dress. Let us see
if the baron’s taste is as vulgar as we remember.”

Edna pulled a white box from the bottom of
the wardrobe and brought it to the bed. She lifted the lid and
pushed the tissue paper aside, revealing red polished satin.

Several minutes passed as Catherine, helped
by her untiring servant, struggled and shimmied into the gown. With
the last hook in place, she turned to her mirror and took a peek.
She opened her mouth to vocalize her shock, but the words died in
her throat. Her gaze shifted to the little abigail, and her worst
fears were confirmed.

How does one describe a monstrosity? If one
were being subjective, perhaps it wasn’t so bad. The garment fit
perfectly, thus it didn’t seem altogether ugly. However, its sole
intention left no doubt.

A bright, raspberry satin,
the gown was trimmed in black lace and fashioned after the
Empire
style. But the
skirt, rather than flowing loosely about the body, hugged her all
the way to the floor. Tiny cap sleeves fell from her shoulders, and
the neckline was scooped so low she feared for the modesty of her
bosom. But none of these features concerned Catherine as much as
the hem. It dipped dramatically in the back to form a short train
and curved so far upward in the front her ankles were
exposed.

“
My lady,” Edna wailed, “you
look like a berry tart ready to be gobbled up by the first man who
sees you.”

Catherine assumed this was Edna’s way of
saying she looked enticing. “I believe you have the tart part
correct.”

She spoke with such ironical good humor both
women began to giggle. Within moments the room was filled with
peals of unrestrained mirth.

“
Please, I mustn’t laugh
anymore,” the baroness said. “I’m beginning to perspire. That won’t
improve the looks of this red satin abomination.”

That observation brought forth another burst
of hilarity. Raucous laughter drifted from the baroness’ room and
echoed down the drafty hallway.

That laughter is what greeted the baron when
he finally returned. He stood at the open door, a scowl deepening
his ugly features as he took in the chaotic scene. Catherine was
leaning against the bedpost, her body convulsed in near paralytic
amusement. Her timid maid had collapsed on a nearby chair in a
similar state.

“
What’s going on in here?”
The baron did not mind being the source of gloom and doom, but it
seemed he disliked being the butt of a jest. By the look on his
face, he feared that might currently be the case.

Catherine glanced at her husband, dabbing at
the tears in her eyes. “Oh, Edgar,” she wheezed, “we were just
marveling over the dress.”

She tried unsuccessfully to stifle another
gust of laughter, but it came anyway. Placing her hand over her
mouth, she willed herself to regain control, for she could see the
baron was becoming angry.

“
Stop it!” he barked. “Stand
straight and let me have a look at you.”

He might as well have dashed cold water in
her face. The gaiety easing the tension of a few minutes earlier
evaporated into the air like steam from a boiling kettle, leaving
behind the old familiar dread. She pulled herself to attention,
drew in a deep breath and steeled herself to endure his
inspection.

His eyes started at her ankles and, with slow
deliberation, traveled up her figure until he reached the exposed
flesh threatening to spill from her bodice. His gaze rested there
for several moments, and a slow, lascivious grin eased the corners
of his mouth.

“
Perfect. Turn around.” His
words had taken on that odd, gravely sound that indicated he was
aroused, and Catherine’s stomach curdled in disgust. She could
almost feel his eyes as they burned a trail along the length of her
back.

“
Ah, wife, you always did
have a splendid
derriere
.” The tone in his voice had
intensified.

She swallowed convulsively as bile pooled in
her throat. A wave of nausea threatened to engulf her. Years had
gone by since the baron had shown so marked an interest in her
appearance. He had her dress for his guests, but his involvement
was impersonal and remote. Catherine preferred it that way. She was
appalled and humiliated that he had allowed his baser nature to
erupt in front of her maid.

He always found some way to punish her if she
were foolish enough to anger him, and she suspected this degrading
display was a result of his displeasure with her. But when she
turned around, the hot intensity of his gaze caused her to
reconsider and she became truly alarmed.