In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4)

by Cynthia Wicklund

  Now the gooseflesh she wore had nothing to do with the cold water. Immediately, Amanda dried herself, slipping on the nightdress. No longer naked, she felt less vulnerable. She pulled the pins from her hair, brushed it in a rush, her shaking hands working a quick braid.

  The gigantic bed awaited and Amanda plunged beneath the covers, drawing them up to her chin. She left the oil lamp burning, unwilling to reduce the visibility in the chamber even a little. She was ashamed of her sudden fear, but reassured herself that it was only her lack of familiarity in her new home that was upsetting her.

  However, she couldn’t shake the notion that someone had been watching her. It was a terrible feeling that made her skin creep. She actually hoped James would join her soon. Fending off his advances was nothing compared to fending off the unknown.

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, eleven o’clock, and still her husband failed to show. And she was disappointed. Unable to hold her eyes open any longer, Amanda allowed them to slip shut. She began to doze, and then to dream. Sometime during the night she awakened. Her husband’s side of the bed was still empty.

  ***

  James was startled awake by the eerie hooting of a barn owl. The sound echoed through the darkness, seeming to hover on the cool night air before fading hauntingly away.

  His eyes felt gritty and they burned as he tried to focus them. He was sprawled in a leather chair in front of the fireplace in the library, an empty brandy glass at his elbow. How long had he been sleeping?

  He checked his pocket watch. Five o’clock in the morning. The night was almost over. He straightened abruptly, memory assaulting him.

  He had not meant to fall asleep in the library, only retreating here when his courage had failed him.

  Last evening he had bid his family goodnight, remaining downstairs and pouring himself one more brandy before retiring to give Amanda time to prepare herself for bed. His pride knew no bounds as he climbed the stairs a short while later. Tonight he had been witness to Amanda’s true character, her kindness, her gentleness of spirit. And with those overwhelming emotions squeezing his heart, he knew his confession to Aunt Henry had not been a sham. He loved his beautiful wife absolutely.

  James had entered their bedchamber without thinking, expecting to find Amanda tucked beneath the covers, pretending to sleep. That thought had caused him to smile indulgently as he placed his hand on the handle and eased the door open. He froze on the threshold. His wife stood in front of the dressing table mirror, naked to the waist, taking a sponge bath.

  Her back was exposed to him, but he caught the under curve of one soft breast, the slightest glimpse of a pink nipple, as she ran a washcloth along her raised arm and down her ribs. Her motions were languid and utterly feminine and without the modesty of self-consciousness. Wet skin slick with soap shone seductively in the lamp light.

  He was mesmerized.

  Had this been the night of his wedding, James would not have held back. In fact, he had not hesitated when presented with a similar situation. He had seduced his wife—and definitely himself—before the wedding party, until both of them were ready to cast off duty and sink into the joy that awaited them. That night only days ago seemed like another lifetime.

  With all his being James wanted to cross the room and take his lovely wife in his arms, to make love to her as he should have done hours after their marriage. And she would have welcomed him then, a fact that filled him with longing and regret.

  It wasn’t only desire that moved him, however. There was a burgeoning tenderness in the middle of his chest that begged for expression. The feeling was so new, so raw, it was a physical ache. Skin to skin, soft, deep kisses and caressing touches all saturated his thoughts, along with the more savage variety of lovemaking that made him seethe with impatience.

  For long moments he stood there, undecided. He had told her the bargain was now in play. He had indicated that he expected her to keep her promise. Amanda was proud. James suspected she would go along because of pride. Tonight that was not good enough. Maybe tomorrow he could settle for grudging cooperation but tonight he wanted more.

  He eased into the hall, closing the door behind him. He would return downstairs until he had command of his emotions.

  And that was how he found himself in the library, drinking another brandy and feeling sorry for himself. Thirty minutes passed as the alcohol worked on his nerves, but as he sat in the leather chair, staring moodily at a dying fire, he knew he could not return tonight.

  Impossible that he could go back to that room and pretend he had not seen Amanda at her bath. The sensuous image was burned on his brain, and he returned to it over and over, his hunger growing steadily despite the numbing effects of the brandy. He had worried that he could not bridle an appetite out of control, that he would force the issue between them because he was near to bursting with need. That predatory behavior, aroused by self-interest, would not resurrect her faith in him.

  He felt like a coward, avoiding his wife, her power over him making him stay away. It was a power he was more than willing to give her, but in her present state of mind it served no purpose. Thus he had slept alone in a cramped chair, erotic dreams prolonging his misery.

  James breathed a frustrated sigh and heaved himself to his feet. Perhaps he could sneak into the room and sleep a few hours in the comfort of their bed, allowing his arms and legs to unknot. And perhaps, now that his body and thoughts had quieted, he could endure a few hours next to his wife without exposing his baser self.

  He entered the bedchamber for the second time that night, making as little sound as possible. She was not pretending to sleep like she had the night before. Amanda’s deep, even breathing indicated she was in heavy slumber. He removed his shirt but retained his trousers. He assumed waking up in bed with a naked man might disconcert her.

  One thing he was certain of as he eased beneath the covers. Amanda was right. A lack of privacy, their forced existence on intimate terms, would be difficult to bear. James wondered who would break first. He grinned sleepily, his eyes drifting shut. No contest there. He was already a broken man.

  ***

  CHAPTER 9

  Amanda was at breakfast, enjoying a convivial meal with her new family, when James entered the morning room. His smile was pleasant, but the look in his eyes when he passed them over her was evasive. She had feared her husband was avoiding her. Now she knew it for certain. And even though she had gone out of her way to discourage him, she was hurt.

  “Hello, Twins, Huey, Aunt Henry…Wife,” James greeted everyone as he moved to the sideboard.

  In unison those at the table looked up from their meals and cheerily returned his salutation.

  But Amanda had heard the slight hesitance in James’s voice when he addressed her and was doubly hurt. She stared at her meal, appetite dissipating.

  “Everyone slept well, I hope,” he continued, ladling an generous amount of food on his plate.

  “I did,” Huey stated. “But then I always do.”

  “Like the dead, eh, Uncle Huey?” James returned.

  “Like the dead,” Huey repeated as if he found the expression to his liking. He grinned, nodding to himself.

  “And how about you, James,” Aunt Henry put in. “Did you sleep well?”

  James glanced over his shoulder, briefly meeting Amanda’s gaze. “Uh, yes, I slept well, thank you.”

  He took the chair next to his wife. She suspected he had bathed this morning, because he looked not only fresh and newly pressed, his hair still damp, he smelled wonderfully of shaving soap and clean linen. His elbow brushed hers as he began his meal, and her stomach dropped, her awareness of him intensifying.

  Amanda had awakened this morning to find him sleeping next to her. When had that happened? she had wondered. She was unnerved to realize he had managed to enter the room without her hearing him.

  He had been lying on his side, facing her, and the covers had slipped to his waist, revealing a handsome masculine chest. Sh
e had seen a man’s naked torso before—never thought much of it—but not one like his.

  Most men of leisure had a softness to them and pale skin that never saw daylight. Probably that was preferable and definitely a sign of wealth. However, James had lean muscles in his arms and chest and even his stomach that quite fascinated her. The body of a peasant some would say. A body, however, that inspired an instant and earthy reaction—at least in her.

  She was shocked by how strong her desire had been to touch him. How easy it would have been to tease her husband awake, to entice him into making love to her. Instead, she had slipped from the bed, dressed behind a screen and scurried from the room as if the desire she felt was a demon she must outrun.

  As she sat next to him now, Amanda wondered why she had resisted. Perhaps she was afraid to admit how much she cared for him and how much it hurt that he did not feel the same. Or more likely, she admitted reluctantly, he had promised to test their bargain last night and had failed to show, leaving her feeling relieved and—dare she admit it?—letdown. How could she instigate an encounter when it apparently had been of no real importance to him despite that promise?

  Gradually, the morning room emptied, everyone having finished their meals, except Amanda and James—James because he had taken so much food and Amanda because she had stopped eating as soon as he sat down. The room had grown quiet and uncomfortable, and she decided to abandon the table as well.

  She pushed her chair back and James looked at her suddenly, almost as if he could hear her thoughts. It was a deep, assessing look, no evading her now. What she saw there made her pulse leap.

  She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Yes?”

  “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I took more than I wanted, I’m afraid.”

  “You haven’t eaten a bite since I entered the room.”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  “Hard to miss, Amanda. You are laughing and dining with my family. I arrive and you turn to stone.”

  “I was merely thinking. No harm in that.”

  He put his fork down and turned to her. “It occurs to me that if we can’t be honest with one another we are in for a bleak future.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked, sounding more bitter than she meant to.

  He must have realized his mistake even as she spoke because his eyes widened with sudden understanding.

  “I was thinking, James.”

  “Can you share those thoughts with me?”

  She looked at her plate again. Could she? Perhaps in part. “I was wondering where you were last night.”

  “I thought you would be relieved that I stayed away.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Relieving my mind?”

  “No,” he said quietly.

  The silence stretched between them again.

  “I did come to the room,” James said at last.

  “You did? When?”

  He tried to look at her, she knew he did, but his gaze shifted to something outside the window. Whatever it was, it seemed to take his interest.

  “When?” she prodded.

  “When you were preparing for bed,” he said, still watching the window.

  “Oh. B-before I undressed?”

  “No.”

  He did look at her then, his frosty blue eyes probing into hers with such intensity, she felt her toes curl.

  “You were washing,” he continued.

  “That was you? Why didn’t you say something? You scared me nearly to death!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard me. I was afraid you would be angry that I had walked in on you.”

  “I might have been,” she grumbled. “But I thought that was the very opening you were seeking.”

  “Were you aiding my cause, Amanda?” James asked, a provocative light entering his gaze. “Wish I had known.”

  “Don’t be silly. I felt grimy after a long trip. I hadn’t a clue that you saw me.”

  “I know. You looked so carefree that I didn’t have the heart to interrupt your private moment.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Long enough.”

  “You watched me?” she asked faintly.

  “Yes.”

  She had a feeling it cost him to admit that.

  “Why…why didn’t you come back?” she asked.

  The light in his eyes deepened, his lids drooping. “I wanted to.”

  Her stomach did that odd drop again, and despite herself Amanda remembered his lean body as he lay next to her this morning. What if he had come back? What conversation would they be having now instead of this awkward trading of words? Would making love heal the pain between them? How simplistic if it were true. And how foolhardy to believe it.

  He leaned close to her, kissing her gently. “You are so beautiful, Amanda,” he whispered against her lips. “When do we end this torture? I need you.”

  She went limp, her eyes closing as excruciatingly erotic sensations filtered through her system. His husky voice, his touch, pulled at her reservations, making denial seem ridiculous. If for one moment she felt she could divorce the needs of her heart from those of her body, she would not hesitate.

  James must have known the war she waged with herself, for he took hold of her upper arms, nearly dragging her from her chair. He deepened the kiss. His mouth slid to her jaw and down her throat, relentless stimulation that gave her no time to think. Amanda could feel the tension in him, raw desire like a narcotic smoke, swirling around them, seducing them both.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he rasped.

  Without thinking, she began shaking her head.

  He clasped her face, stopping the movement, forcing her to look at him.

  “Why, Amanda, why? It’s not natural. I refuse to let us go on like this.” He groaned. “Damn it! I don’t think I can go on like this.”

  “I can’t…I just can’t…” Emotion bled through her words, exposing her pain in a most humiliating way. “It’s not only you, James. My father betrayed me. And he is supposed to love me.”

  “Meaning I don’t?”

  Amanda’s gaze shifted away from him, and she shrugged one shoulder.

  “How can I convince you I care?” he asked.

  “Not by doing…this, James.” She spread her arms to indicate the passion that had evaporated around them. “I-I’m not indifferent, but I want—oh, Lord, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  James came to his feet. There was a sadness around his eyes but determination in the set of his shoulders.

  “I stayed away last night, Amanda, because I could not bring myself to upset you on your first night here. I stood on the threshold of my own bedchamber and watched my wife, feeling like a voyeur rather than a man with the rights of a husband. I did not like it, not one bit.”

  “When you speak of rights you cannot speak of love,” she snapped.

  “You won’t let me speak of love.”

  She turned away from him because she had no answer to that. He was right.

  A moment’s frozen silence and then he retreated, his boot heels clicking an irate tattoo on the wooden floor as he moved through the house. She heard the front door open and close.

  She trembled from the inside out, her hands, even her lips betraying her. She was punishing him. Amanda knew it as surely as she wondered how to stop the harmful behavior. Probably did not matter. She suspected things were about to change.

  Tonight there would be no reprieve.

  ***

  Moments after leaving his wife in the dining room, James entered the stables and ordered his horse saddled. An outdoor breeze and the fresh smell of hay cleared his head, and with clear thought his anger was eased. It wasn’t really anger he felt, anyway. He was hurt.

  Every time he approached Amanda, she rebuffed him. Every effort on his part to convey his feelings was met with distrust, if not outright cynicism. He sensed that she was not indifferent to him—she had in fact admitted as much. But if sh
e could not get passed her pique, what did it matter?

  His ego was sorely bruised, and it was becoming more and more difficult to push the issue. Only dogged determination forced him to keep trying, the absolute belief that the longer they let their estrangement fester, the more likely they were to have a failed marriage. The very thought was untenable.

  He thanked the groom when his horse was delivered.

  “M’lord?” the man said.

  “Yes, Smith.”

  “Lord Lindley went riding a couple of hours ago. Had two rather disreputable looking fellows what came for him. Don’t know that it matters, but thought you might want to know.”

  “Damn! I’d forgotten about Derrick.” He frowned at the groom, and the man backed up a step. “Sorry, Smith, it’s not your fault. Yes, of course, I want to know every movement my cousin makes, especially anything that seems odd.”

  Now there was a request, he thought, since damned near anything Derrick did could be considered odd.

  But Smith merely nodded. “Yes, m’lord.”

  James mounted his horse and galloped from the yard, headed for the high green meadows that surrounded much of the estate. He gave the animal full reign, allowing the brisk wind and the flow of the earth beneath him to temporarily sweep away his troubles. For the first time in days he felt a measure of exhilaration, and he let the emotion take him.

  Several minutes into his ride, he crested a small hill. From that vantage point James could see for miles, acre upon acre of prime English real estate. For generations the Lonsdales had been land rich and money poor. And for some strange reason no one had been willing to sell any of the land to improve the family finances. He understood. Even recently, on the brink of destitution, the idea of parting with so much as a patch of his heritage was unthinkable.

  The village of Huxley was twenty minutes to the south of Lonsdale. He wondered if the small inn on the edge of town, which he had not seen since leaving England, still served ale to the weary traveler—or to someone like himself with worries on his mind and needing a quiet place to think. Curious—and thirsty—James tugged on the reins and kicked his horse into a full run headed toward the village.