In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4)

by Cynthia Wicklund

  Henrietta grimaced in distaste. “Muriel Tremont married beneath herself, and she has never changed her original assessment, not in more than thirty-five years.”

  “Beneath herself? She married an earl.”

  “An impoverished earl. Hardly something about which to boast.”

  “Then why did she marry him?”

  “My father was friends with her father. And frankly, my brother was marvelously handsome—unlike the rest of us—an absolute Adonis in his day and quite a catch on that score. Again,” this time a sly smile quirked her lips, “much like his son.”

  “H-how interesting.”

  “Yes, indeed. Muriel was smitten, and she thought she could overcome her aversion to being poor. Almost from the beginning she regretted her decision. Of course, her father was the doting sort, and he gave her money whenever she wanted it. Though even he became disgusted with her constant complaining.”

  “There was no dowry?” Amanda wondered if she was being rude to ask but couldn’t help herself.

  “Well, yes, but Herbert was burdened with more obligations than he could manage, accumulated over generations, don’t you see? He did what he could, but it wasn’t enough. We are a large family, and he insisted on taking care of all of us.” Henrietta lowered her voice. “Where would Huey have gone, after all, if Herbert had not? And even the twins lack self-sufficiency, though I don’t know why. Whatever the reason, Muriel resented the obligation my brother felt toward his family.”

  Amanda was aware all of a sudden that this conversation was meant to expose more than Muriel’s intolerance for her in-laws. Her own acceptance of the Tremont clan was of primary importance if she were to be accepted herself.

  “She started drinking—to ease her discontent, I assume,” Henry continued.

  “I’m having some difficulty understanding why he married her.”

  Henry trilled a laugh. “Men are so basic. Muriel was absolutely stunning. I hate to say my brother was blinded to her less sterling qualities, but I suspect that’s the truth of it.”

  “Stop me if I’m being too personal, but it seems you are the mistress of the household not my mother-in-law.”

  “Oh, you think Muriel moved into the dower house when Herbert died? No, my dear. She moved there fifteen years ago when I came home to stay after I was widowed. Called Derrick and me the final insult. I would never have imposed if I’d had another choice, but my husband was a spendthrift and left Derrick and me with virtually nothing.”

  “James’s father didn’t mind Muriel moving to the dower house?”

  Aunt Henry giggled. “Thanked me more than once for ending his misery. Truth is, the marriage was over long before she left, so he let her go without a fight. Only thing he regretted—or so he said—was that the dower house was only a stone’s throw away.”

  Amanda bit her lip to contain a smile.

  “Just so,” Henrietta nodded. “Also, Herbert wanted to spare James and Ilene their mother’s bouts of overindulgence. Of course, James was almost a man by then, but Ilene was only twelve, a very vulnerable time in a young girl’s life.”

  “Ilene—James’s sister?”

  “Yes, lovely person. Unfortunately, Muriel never appreciated either of her children.”

  “Having children did not ease her disappointment?”

  The old woman snorted. “A female that self-centered is not going to become nurturing simply because she has been blessed with a child—more’s the pity for that child.”

  Amanda looked at Henrietta, sensing the woman’s impatience with a mother who did not rejoice in her wonderful offspring. She remembered Derrick, and it was painfully clear why James’s aunt would feel that way.

  “You raised Ilene?”

  “More or less. But my brother was a caring father and he made up for much. He saw his daughter wed to a very good man before the end, and for that we are all grateful. His last years were not satisfactory in many ways, but Ilene brought him much joy.” Her gaze drifted across the room again. “He missed James terribly.”

  “Why did James leave?” Amanda asked quietly.

  Henry shrugged. “A young man’s wanderlust, I imagine. We can’t expect our children to give up their lives because we find it difficult to give them up.”

  “I suppose not.”

  Amanda returned her attention to the men. Her husband was firmly trounced, and he was laughing uproariously with the others, clearly as pleased with Huey’s win as the twins were. James caught his wife’s gaze on him, and he flashed her a happy grin so carefree and unaffected that a lump formed in her throat. He looked back at Uncle Huey and grabbed his good hand, pumping it vigorously.

  “James has brought back some of the cheer that has been missing since Herbert died. He’s an exceptional young man.”

  Amanda glanced at her companion, wondering if she were being chided ever so gently for her lack of understanding where James was concerned. Or perhaps his aunt was merely aiding his cause. Henry’s attitude, however, was as unaffected as James’s smile, and she decided to take the woman’s words at face value.

  “Yes, I can see he is a family favorite.”

  “Amanda,” her husband called, “come, try your hand at chess.”

  She started to demur but then saw the hopeful look on Huey’s face.

  “You promised, Amanda,” Huey said.

  “So I did,” she said, coming to her feet. “But you must promise not to beat me as badly as you did James. Why, he looks positively cowed by his defeat.”

  “I beg your pardon,” the cowed gentleman retorted.

  The hooting and friendly jibes that followed set the room to shaking with good will again, and the vocal “encouragement” continued as Amanda put forth an amateurish effort that made her husband look skilled. Huey was indeed a fine player and she told him so.

  “But you will improve, Amanda,” he said, his eyes glowing with pleasure. “I will teach you.”

  She stood and, rounding the game table, gave Huey a hug. “Then I’ll be learning from the best. What fun that was.”

  “You do not mind losing?” he asked, his usual careful speech even more so.

  “To you? Never. If I played and always won, I would never get better. Losing is a lesson in itself. Next time I will play better than I did today…I hope.”

  “I always win so I will not get better,” he said sadly.

  “You don’t need to get better. You are already the best, Uncle Huey. Remember?”

  He brightened again. “Oh!”

  The party broke up after that, the men deciding to have a drink before retiring. Huey, of course, was sent to bed, and though Amanda expected him to complain, he did not. His family treated him as an equal and yet at times like a boy. The dichotomy of his world would have left her head spinning, but Huey and his kind siblings had settled on an equitable system that satisfied everyone. Amanda was truly impressed.

  As she bid her own goodnight, Amanda glanced at her husband. His blue gaze was hooded and assessing, his good humor replaced—she assumed—by more personal considerations. She smiled tentatively at him, and he raised his glass to her for the second time that night.

  “I’ll be up shortly,” James said.

  The words held no special meaning to the casual listener, but Amanda did not miss his message. He had decided to accept her invitation.

  Her evening had begun with flutters in her stomach. It was ending that way as well. She ascended to her room, aware that James would be joining her soon, aware that in the span of a few hours she would be a different woman. On the eve of her wedding her thoughts had not been so cautious or so introspective. She had looked forward to her wedding night with nervous anticipation and not much else. But that was before she worried that the man making love to her was feigning an emotion he did not feel.

  She rang for the maid to help her out of her dress but sent the woman away after her corset was loosened. Amanda wanted privacy while she changed into her nightdress because she still had not
decided what she should wear.

  She opened the drawer that held the ivory nightdress. As she had done so often before, she fingered the soft material, her eyes misting over. Logically, the consummation of her marriage was the moment to put it on—it was bought for that purpose, after all.

  The gown was beautiful and she would look appealing in it or so she envisioned. But for some inexplicable reason, it had come to represent all her hopes and dreams, a tangible symbol of her love for James. A gift from her to him. And thus, she must leave it in the drawer.

  Not that she didn’t love James. Oh, she did, with all her aching heart. If she did not, Derrick’s mean little revelation would have hurt only her pride. Amanda wondered if Derrick would have refrained had he understood just how painful his words would be, then decided the situation could not have ended in a more satisfactory manner for him.

  She was disappointed in James, but she was singularly appalled by his vindictive cousin.

  Amanda lifted a soft cambric nightdress from the drawer and shook it out. It was white, sleeveless with bits of lace circling a modestly rounded neckline. Appropriately virginal looking without being staid, she thought wryly. She finished undressing and slipped the gown over her head, fastening a row of tiny buttons down the front.

  Carefully, she removed the pins from her hair. Amanda crossed the bedchamber, wielding a brush, and sat on a window seat which overlooked the gardens at the rear of the house. She paused in her brushing to unlatch the window, pushing it open slightly. A gentle breeze seeped into the room. It was fragrant and bracing, and she breathed deeply of the cool night air.

  A full moon in a cloudless black sky watched her from above, the same moon that was watching over her father in London. She hoped he was all right. The passing days had tempered her anger somewhat, and now she realized how much she missed him. She wasn’t certain she had forgiven him yet, but it was a relief to know it would come in time.

  She glanced at her lap. The brush lay motionless in her limp grasp.

  Waiting is a tedious thing, she decided, and it plays havoc with one’s nerves. She was impatient with the trembling in her hands as she returned to her hair, pulling the thick tresses over her shoulder to braid them. One false start with the plaits, and she tried again, muttering under her breath.

  “Leave it down. I like it better that way.”

  Amanda’s hands stilled—along with her heart. Slowly, she eased around on the window seat.

  James stood inside the room, fingers wrapped around the door handle as if he had just closed the door. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, chips of blue ice so direct and intense, she felt pinned to the spot. Why had she not heard him?

  As he strode into the room, he slipped off his coat, dropping it onto the floor. With one hand he began unbuttoning his waistcoat, with the other he pulled at his cravat.

  There was determination in his movements, and she was reminded of the night of their wedding—days ago? How could that be? It seemed much longer. If only she could feel now as she had then.

  “What are you doing?” she blurted.

  His vest and cravat joined the coat. “Getting comfortable,” he said, smiling a humorless smile. He tugged the tail of his shirt from his trousers, all the while his gaze never wavering from her frozen features.

  Not until he stood before her naked to the waist was she moved to action. He reached for the buttons on his trousers, and she stood abruptly.

  “Wait!”

  James paused, pants partially opened but still clinging to his hips. For the life of her all she could do was stare back at him.

  He was magnificent. Bronzed body from years in the tropical sun, wide shoulders and a lean muscled chest, dark tousled hair and blue, blue eyes—Amanda was transfixed. She hadn’t expected to be attracted in quite the earthy way she was at the moment, the way a man is aroused by the sight of a beautiful woman.

  But she was.

  Only then did his own gaze drop, taking in her demure gown with slow deliberation, stopping at her unshod feet. James looked into her face again, the heat in those wintry eyes nearly searing her. Amanda reached out to the wall behind her to steady herself.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She shook her head, vaguely unsure why she was doing so. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Only a little.” A wicked smile eased his mouth.

  Her stomach dropped in sultry response. “I thought you were having one drink.”

  “Had a bit more.”

  “Why?”

  “Courage.”

  “Are you nervous?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I bloody well am.”

  “You weren’t nervous last week when you came to my room in London and scared my maid half witless.”

  “That was before I had to convince my bride that I was worthy of being in her bed.”

  “Is that why you are standing there stripped to your skin?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Are you trying to convince me?”

  An arrested look altered his expression. “Perhaps…is it working?”

  Inherently honest, the truth sprang to her lips before she could make herself lie. “You are beautiful,” she whispered.

  His fey attitude died in an instant. “Amanda—”

  He came toward her, and she pressed her back to the wall, more from an automatic response than inclination. However, James continued his advance. He leaned into her, chest to pelvis, bracing himself with his hands flat against the wall on either side of her. The warmth of his breath, laced with brandy, brushed her cheek.

  Amanda felt as if she were surrounded by him, absorbed not only by his body, but his will. She was fascinated by his size, his bridled strength—his nearness. The heat from his unclothed body, the hint of cologne that had teased her senses all night—his erect member strategically touching her through her gown—sent a shiver of raw desire coursing through her gut.

  Bewildered and shaken, Amanda lowered her head to avoid his gaze, but he slid a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “Manda,” James coaxed her again, her name like a caress.

  She lifted her eyes and was captured by a scorching stare that left her breathless. And afraid. It was as though he were eating her thoughts, changing them, compelling her to meet his hunger.

  He lowered his mouth to hers.

  It was a persuasive kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips, but only just. His hand at her chin dipped to her breast and, as he cupped the tender mound, his palm teased the nipple into life. A rush of fire spread from her knees to her belly, and she moaned softly.

  James shuddered, as if moved by his effort to tempt her. He deepened the kiss.

  All at once he pulled back then placed his cheek to hers. His breathing was harsh as he whispered in her ear, “Do not deny me, love.”

  Was she denying him? Hardly. She was a lump of heated wax in his hands. “I invited you, James. I will not deny you.”

  Again he pulled back, and he swallowed hard. “You will participate?”

  ***

  CHAPTER 12

  Even as he spoke, James knew he had made a mistake. He felt Amanda’s retreat from him, though she neither moved nor altered her expression. Strange to be so attuned to another as to feel the intangible, the whisper of a shifting mood, the delicate brush of a thought.

  When had that spiritual bond been formed?

  He knew absolutely that she was as regretful as he that he had chosen now to raise that sensitive issue. Her eyes widened slightly then she blinked once, twice, slowly, as if thinking. When she focused on him again the clarity in her eyes that had exposed her earlier vulnerability was gone, replaced by an aloofness which made him step back. It also angered him. Unfortunately, that anger would continue to hover just outside his emotions, goading him.

  Amanda straightened from the wall as though she no longer needed the support. Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin. Her nostrils flared like a tigress,
and now he sensed her own temper.

  “To the extent that I am able, I will try,” she said, her voice as calm as her stormy attitude was not.

  She would try? Was this progress? Not bloody likely. She might as well have refused him outright. How lovely she was, her gaze now bold and defiant. He felt his gut wrench with lust and…determination.

  “So be it,” he growled.

  James grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his arms. His mouth descended on hers with a force that exposed his frustration and desire, desire so thick and overwhelming that he felt his control snap. He knew he was continuing to err, knew it without doubt, but he feared losing the moment. Of course, lovemaking in the face of rancor and aggression was doomed from the start, but his good sense was no longer in charge of his emotions.

  Every surface of his body was aware of hers, soft curves and pliant flesh beneath his hands. Amanda held herself stiffly, arms at her sides, but as she had promised she did not fight him. However, he would be hard pressed to call it participation.

  Even as he ravaged her mouth, a part of James he hardly recognized understood that he would never be satisfied with less than her desire also. It was a need so fundamental and overpowering he found himself on the verge of begging. Had he thought for one moment that it would work, he would not have hesitated. What a lowering thought for a man who considered himself prideful.

  His mouth slipped to her throat where he found her heartbeat. He tasted her pulse, and it throbbed against his lips, racing so it was like a panicked bird, fluttering helplessly. James was ashamed to admit that physical sign of her fear incited him.

  But it did.

  Perhaps it wasn’t so much her fear, but the unspoken evidence that she was affected—aroused? He hoped so. With that wish burning in the pit of his stomach, James scooped her up into his arms and strode toward the bed.

  Tonight there would be no turning back, no excuses. No pity. Before it was over, he would make her acknowledge him, make her admit that she wanted him as he wanted her. He would find the woman he had married, the woman who had proclaimed her love for him in a crowded church, who had been as eager as he until Derrick had destroyed her faith in him.