In the Garden of Temptation (9 page)

*****

CHAPTER 4

Adam paced the floor of his apartment,
agitated. He was put out with himself, for he had offended
Catherine. He hadn’t meant to hurt her by apologizing. He had
wanted her to understand that he respected her, that he held her in
highest regard. Instead, she had been insulted as if he were trying
to ease his conscience by taking responsibility. She had certainly
disabused him of the notion that she thought him to blame. His
admiration for her had grown dramatically with her refusal to play
the innocent.

A knock at the door brought his head around.
“Enter.”

A pair of footmen came into the room and
poured two buckets apiece of hot, steamy water in the tub next to
the hearth. In the following ten minutes the process was repeated
twice again before the tub was full enough to accommodate the earl
with a comfortable bath. He waited for the footmen to exit after
their final trip then began to disrobe.

He removed his shirt and riding breeches and,
as he unbuttoned his undergarment, he noticed a red-brown stain
spattering the front of his crotch. Curious, he peeled off the
drawers to examine them. On closer inspection, much to his
amazement, he decided it was blood.

Where had that come from? Had his lovemaking
been so rough he had hurt Catherine? He had to admit he didn’t know
for certain. She had not complained. In fact, he could have sworn
she was in the same condition that had driven him. And yet, since
he could detect no bodily injury to himself, it must be Catherine’s
blood.

He stepped into the bath and sighed as the
heated water enveloped his body. Puzzled, he continued to ponder
the odd turn of events. Surely, if he had been hurting her
Catherine would have said something.

All at once the simplest of solutions
occurred to him. The high drama of their lovemaking had brought on
Catherine’s menses. The thought pleased him, maybe because the
hypothesis was so sensible he could absolve himself from the
unwelcome guilt. He accepted the argument because he could think of
no other, completing his bath in thoughtful reflection.

*****

Catherine stared at herself in the mirror.
The young woman who looked back at her appeared no different than
she had this morning when she had dressed for the day. And still,
there was something, something she could not quite put her finger
on. She stepped closer to the glass, trying to discern the subtle
change. It wouldn’t show on her face, would it? Of course not. The
loss of one’s virginity did not alter one’s features, but no doubt
about it, between dawn and dusk this day a transformation had taken
place.

Perhaps it wasn’t so much a visual thing as
an emanation from within. She felt different, therefore, she was
different. But that did not explain the ache that was now her
heart. Deep inside tears poured in a torrent of grief, but
outwardly her eyes remained dry and remote.

What a fool I am, she thought. How could she
possibly believe she could touch the fire and not get burned? What
had she told the earl? She wanted to know what she had been denied.
It would have been better had she remained ignorant.

Why had he ruined everything by apologizing?
The most dramatic moment of her life had been reduced to an
impetuous act that begged pardon. She wanted him to rejoice with
her, to be as profoundly touched as she had been. Instead, he had
distanced himself from her by pleading temporary loss of control.
The letdown hurt unbearably.

Catherine believed his remorse was genuine,
but rather than regretting their lovemaking, she wished him to
regret that they might never love again.

She grasped the bell pull and gave it a yank,
sending an echo through the drafty halls. Several minutes passed
before a breathless Edna appeared at the door.

“
I’m sorry to keep you
waiting, my lady, but Lord Bourgeault sent for me. I have a message
for you.”

Catherine sighed. “And what might that be,
Edna?”

“
He said you are expected at
supper.”

Catherine whirled around. “I should have
known. I’ll not get out of it tonight. Damn! Damn!”

Edna stared at her mistress, eyes wide with
shock.

Catherine caught the look on the servant’s
face and cringed in self-disgust. “Oh bother—please, just have my
tub filled so I can bathe. I can’t go downstairs like this.”

“
Lord Ashworth is having his
tub filled at the moment. As soon as that is completed, I will see
to your bath.” Edna paused then whispered in a conspiratorial
voice, “Isn’t our guest the most handsome gent you’ve ever seen?”
She smiled at her mistress guilelessly.

Catherine sent her maid a look of such
displeasure, Edna gulped and dashed from the room.

“
He’s probably tossed up her
skirts as well,” she fumed aloud. An illogical assumption and
unfair, she realized, but her feelings were battered and she was
unable to be fair.

Of course, the earl would be taking his bath
right at the moment she wanted to wash! His convenience before
hers, naturally. She stormed on in this unreasonable fashion for
the better part of fifteen minutes before the footmen entered her
room with the first of several buckets of water.

Catherine was left to undress herself because
Edna had not yet returned, and she fumbled with the hooks of her
dress until she was scarlet with rage. She flung herself into the
bath, causing a cascade of scented water to slosh over the edge of
the tub onto the woolen carpet.

At that unfortunate moment, an unbidden
thought of the earl reclining in his bath came upon her. She
imagined his strong shoulders and broad chest as they rose above
the surface of the water, the steamy liquid glistening on smooth,
masculine skin. He would stand then, the foamy suds slipping down,
down—oh my! What was she thinking?

How could she entertain such thoughts about a
man she had just been cursing to the depths of Hell? She forced
herself to remember her anger. Much less disturbing to be incensed,
she thought, and less painful than the self-pity she had allowed
herself to wallow in upon returning home.

She finished her bathing in haste, scrubbing
her skin until it shone pink. Was she washing away more than an
afternoon’s perspiration?

“
Some things never change,”
Catherine spoke aloud a short while later as she stood in front of
the wardrobe, once again trying to choose an ensemble that would
not make her hang her head in shame. She had nearly given up hope,
when her hand grazed the skirt of a rose silk gown hidden in the
back of the cabinet behind its more garish sisters. How had she
forgotten this little gem?

Not to say the dress was perfect, just less
imperfect than her other choices. She slipped the wispy garment
over her head and stared into the mirror.

The gown was the first one
Edgar had bought her after their marriage. It still had her
husband’s hallmark neckline which was embarrassingly low, but aside
from that it was quite attractive. Soft puffy sleeves to the elbows
were enhanced by a bow on each cinched cuff. Nipped at the waist,
the full skirt flowed gently to the tips of her feet, while
floral
appliques
edged the rounded bodice and hem.

All in all, though outdated, it would do.
Even the problem of the plunging neckline would be solved if she
found a piece of lace to insert in the bodice to cover her chest.
The baron would not like it but she felt too belligerent to
care.

“
My lady, you look
beautiful.” Edna had returned to the apartment and stood
uncertainly in the doorway. She dropped her gaze and scurried
across the room to where her mistress waited for her
assistance.

“
Would you please do my
hooks, Edna?”

“
Aye, my lady.”

The baroness faced the mirror and exchanged a
glance with the little maid in the looking glass. She felt a stab
of remorse, for Edna’s eyes were red-rimmed from weeping. How could
she have hurt her devoted servant?

She knew she should apologize, but the words
stuck in her throat like a lump of cold porridge. Perhaps later
when the wound was not so raw and her anger had abated, she would
do the right thing. For now she felt incapable of assuaging
anyone’s pain but her own.

In a voice less than steady, she directed her
maid to the dressing table. “In the top drawer right-hand side, you
will find a square of lace. Bring it to me.”

The servant retrieved the lace, and Catherine
tucked it into the immodest neckline. Several minutes passed as she
adjusted and readjusted the delicate netting so it would fall in
precisely the right way. When she felt certain she could not make
it look any better, she turned to Edna for approval.

“
What do you
think?”

“
Yes, yes, my lady,” Edna
breathed. “It’s just the thing. Now you look perfect.”

“
Thank you,” Catherine said
humbly. She did indeed owe this sweet person an apology. She
reached over and patted the maid on the shoulder as she turned to
leave. “We’ll talk later,” was all she could manage.

The baroness navigated the stairs seconds
later with greater ease than the night before, and it buoyed her
spirits to know that she was in the best of good looks—good taste
as well. She only wished the hammering of her heart would ease so
she could take a steadying breath. The last thing she wanted was to
appear discomposed by the evening to come. Pride might come before
the fall, but at the moment it was all she had.

*****

Adam stood when his hostess entered the
parlor and allowed his gaze to feast on her dignified beauty. Last
evening she had been every man’s secret fantasy, an enticing
temptress gift-wrapped in a package of a most sensual nature, while
this afternoon she had been lovely and unsophisticated, though no
less alluring. But now as the baroness walked regally into the
room, her head held high, he felt overwhelmed by the lady she had
become. Her true potential rushed at him like a mad sea, and a
feeling of sadness welled within him.

Here stood the woman for whom he had searched
so long. He believed himself half in love already, and there was no
way he could have her. Twenty-four hours ago they were barely met
and now they were lovers. How could he walk away from her as though
nothing had happened?

And presently she refused to
look at him. She did turn briefly in his direction, but her glance
bounced off him with a minimum of recognition.
Damnation!
Why wouldn’t she
understand? She must know he had not meant to hurt her.

“
I see you have decided to
dress more drably this evening, my dear.” The baron spoke in a sly,
needling voice. “To whom do we owe the honor of your sudden good
taste?”

“
We’ll not burden you with
that distinction, will we, my lord?” Catherine returned. “If it
were left up to you, I’d be attending your dinner parties sans
clothing altogether. I thought we’d show our guest we can be
prettily behaved when absolutely necessary.” With a snap of her
skirts she turned and entered the dining room.

Lord Bourgeault looked dumbfounded. Adam
would have laughed out loud had he not been acutely aware that much
of the hostility following the baroness from the room was directed
at him and not his host. He and the baron jockeyed for position as
they trailed behind the irate lady.

Dinner proved less than a congenial affair.
Antagonism thick as paste hung over the disgruntled trio. The baron
as always ate in greedy silence, but only a simpleton could have
missed the dark antipathy that emanated from his bony frame.

Adam didn’t care. His main concern centered
on the only woman at the awkward meal. Catherine had managed, with
some degree of success, to spurn his discreet advances. He was
frustrated by her unwillingness to acknowledge his contrition and,
with her husband at the table, the earl had little hope of
introducing the subject.

“
Ashworth,” the baron began,
leaning back in his chair. He studied his guest through malevolent,
opaque eyes. “You’ve had many hours to contemplate the wisdom of
purchasing my grays. Have you decided to rescind your hasty
decision of this morning? I assume it has been the most pressing
thing on your mind.” His voice was laced with venom.

Was this the attitude of a man who wanted to
bargain? Adam wondered if he was imagining the malice in the man’s
voice, but a peek at Catherine made him reconsider. She was staring
at her husband with something akin to fear, and she darted a look
of uncertainty at the earl. This was the first real communication
he had shared with her all evening, and he would take it even
though it did not bode well.

“
Of course, you are right,
sir. The suspense has consumed my day. Would it surprise you if I
told you I might be willing to meet your price?”

An arrested hush descended over the diners
that shrieked with intensity. The first indication of how severely
the baron was affected came by way of a spot of bright red color in
each of his cheeks. He sat forward in his chair and, grasping the
table linen, began to knead the material in agitated fingers.

It must have been a terrible blow to the
baron’s pride to back down, but open conflict would not serve his
purpose. Whatever his purpose was. With an effort not lost on his
guest, he took another tack.

“
You surprise me, Ashworth.
I thought my asking price was more than you were willing to pay.”
The words were spoken cautiously.