In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4)

by Cynthia Wicklund

  “He didn’t want me to go.” His voice was sad.

  “And yet, you felt it was the right thing for you to do?”

  “At the time, yes.”

  “All you have at any given time is what you think is best, James. It’s easy enough to change your mind about what you should or shouldn’t have done after the fact. Hindsight and all that.”

  “So I tell myself.”

  There was an odd quality to his voice that drew Amanda’s attention. She glanced up at him.

  James looked hesitant all of a sudden, his gaze searching her face.

  “We’re not talking about your father anymore, are we?” she asked.

  “I let you down, Amanda. Yet again.”

  She didn’t know how to answer him. Truth was he had let her down. “Why didn’t you tell me about Derrick?”

  “Would you have understood?”

  “How should I know? You never gave me the opportunity to try. As to that, I have no idea why he was there in the first place.”

  He looked sheepish. “I—damn it, Amanda, I panicked. I admit it. You were so angry with me after the wedding, and we were having such a time of it trying to get passed our dreadful beginning, I simply didn’t want to complicate things. In retrospect, a mistake, I admit.”

  “I would have found out eventually, James.”

  “I hoped he would be gone long before that happened. He wasn’t supposed to stay, you know. If he implied something else, he lied.”

  Amanda sighed. “Implication is more straightforward than Derrick is capable of. His only goal, in my opinion, was to create trouble between you and me, but I’d be hard pressed to prove it one way or the other. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more spiteful, disingenuous individual.”

  James shifted on his feet and squatted down next to her. “Aunt Henry said he told you I was meeting a woman on my trip to the city rather than attending to business.”

  He lifted his face to meet her scrutiny, and she searched his features, uncertain what he wanted her to say. “That’s what he hoped I’d believe.”

  He took one of the hands that lay in her lap and squeezed it gently. “And?”

  “And…he’s a monumental liar.”

  Instant joy lit his expression but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

  “I have no proof of why you came to the city, James, except your word. However, I’m convinced Derrick hadn’t a clue, either.”

  “Business, Amanda, I swear. There was no woman.”

  She disengaged the hand he held and ran it over the hair on his crown, combing her fingers through the dark waves. “I believe you.”

  The look they shared was protracted, intense, and the rhythm of Amanda’s heart trilled in rapid response to the almost tangible gathering of emotion around them. She leaned down and touched her mouth to his then pulled back. The tears that had been so elusive up until now all at once threatened to overwhelm her. She breathed deeply, pressing her lips together, to stem the flow.

  “Why do you believe me?” he asked, voice raw with feeling. He swallowed hard as though holding back also.

  “These last few days have not only been difficult, James. They’ve been enlightening. Strange, but the loss of someone dear has a way of making one appreciate what one has to lose. I did a lot of thinking while sitting next to my father’s bed. I was unhappy because my life had been managed without my consent. But I realized, through all those quiet hours with nothing to do but reflect on our situation, that I wouldn’t change a thing. I love you.”

  “Amanda—”

  She placed an index finger to his lips. “I’m not finished. I love you, but you’ve always known that. What I had to acknowledge to myself was my own self-righteous behavior—I was holding back my love as a punishment because I was angry. I did the same to my father. I was wrong to do that.”

  He stood up, pulling her to her feet, encircling her in his arms, until they were chest to chest. She could feel the thumping of his heart, the rumble of his words as he spoke.

  “I’m not going to let you blame yourself for this,” he said. “I was the one who was wrong, and your father was wrong as well. Rest his soul.”

  “I agree. But I’ve watched Derrick use wounded feelings and malice to retaliate for perceived wrongs. I don’t want to be like that. I have as much to lose as you do—as Papa did.”

  His expression softened. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing perceived about what Archie and I did. Your anger was appropriate. And,” he looked abashed, “I should have told you about Derrick staying at Lonsdale.”

  “Yes, but, fortunately for you, I understand why you did not.” Amanda felt a moment’s hesitation, wanting to broach a subject but not wanting to seem unpleasant, since she was trying very hard to get passed all their emotional issues. “Is Derrick, uh…is he living at Lonsdale permanently?”

  James kissed the tip of her nose. “Do you know why I came to London, aside from my father’s affairs, I mean?”

  She shook her head.

  “Derrick.”

  He gently released her and took her hand, leading her to a small sofa in front of the fireplace. As they made themselves comfortable, he explained his effort to set his cousin up in his own residence and Derrick’s dissatisfaction, his lack of gratitude for the plans being made for him.

  “So his appreciation for your efforts on his behalf was to try and destroy our marriage?”

  “Or at least create enough doubt to cause us difficulties for the foreseeable future. Can’t think of why else he did what he did.”

  “How are you going to respond?”

  James took her hand and kissed her knuckles, gazing up at her. He wore a crafty smile that caused her insides to contract.

  “How about I let you decide?” he murmured.

  “Pardon?” Amanda vigorously shook her head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, James. After all, he’s your family.”

  “But it’s not only my relationship he tried to destroy, Amanda. We are one on this. His efforts to divide us will not work. He needs to understand that. We want this to be his last effort to put a wedge between us.”

  She gazed at him thoughtfully. “All right, what are we deciding then? We allow Derrick to have his home? At least for now?”

  “That’s what you want?”

  “For Aunt Henry’s sake, yes.”

  “So be it.”

  ***

  Archibald Campbell was an exceptionally wealthy man and, as such, was afforded a wealthy man’s funeral. The procession wound through the streets of London, stopping traffic and causing delays on its way to the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. Amanda insisted on attending the service in the chapel on the cemetery grounds, although she could have opted not to if she had preferred. She was dressed all in black paramatta silk trimmed in crape, and she felt like a walking wraith, the mourning clothes a true burden to the spirit. This day brought her mother’s death back in painful memory, and she wondered how she was to survive the next few hours.

  Aunt Henry and the twins had traveled from Lonsdale, but Huey, given his delicate nature, had stayed home. The dowager came, not because she cared a whit about Amanda or her father, but because she didn’t want to instigate gossip. Derrick was nowhere to be seen.

  James and Amanda rode in the first coach behind the hearse, holding hands, speaking little. He seemed to know instinctively that she was close to breaking down, and she appreciated his restraint. She stared out the carriage window, unaware of the scenery, thoughts inward.

  Once the service was complete, the women departed, leaving to the men the morbid task of putting the deceased in the ground. Archibald Campbell would be housed for eternity in an ornate marble mausoleum, a tribute to his joy in the ornate while he was alive. Amanda had no desire to see it. She rode home from the cemetery with Aunt Henry. No longer able to restrain her tears, she quietly wept into a hankie. Aunt Henry, like James, respected her need to be left in peace.

  “We’re here,” Henry s
aid, as the carriage pulled up to the walk in front the townhouse.

  Amanda was jolted anew by the black crape draped over the front entrance. A footman helped the women disembark from the vehicle and ushered them into the house, a house that no longer felt quite right. Now came the time to cope with a change so profound, only death could create it.

  Amanda and Aunt Henry entered the salon, removing bonnets and heavy veils as they made their way to the sofa. The drapes were pulled closed, the mirrors covered and clocks stopped at the time of her father’s death as was the way of things in deference to the dead. She shuddered. Horrible. Another year—like the year her mother had died—of dreary protocols that would be a constant reminder of Archibald Campbell’s passing. Perhaps at Lonsdale they could be less rigid about the rules of mourning. As to that, she could not wait until they were able to retreat to the country.

  Henry rang for tea as they made themselves comfortable.

  Amanda had her emotions under control again. Aware that she had been an unpleasant companion for most of the day, she decided to make more of an effort.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Aunt Henry. I don’t know what I would have done today without your support.”

  “My pleasure, dear. And thank you for sharing your home with us while we’re in London.”

  “Actually, Papa told me he was leaving the townhome to me and James. It won’t be official, of course, until the will is read. Since the Lonsdales no longer have a London dwelling—financial considerations, so James told me—this will be the new family residence in the city. You and the uncles are not visitors, Aunt Henry. This is your home also.” She didn’t know exactly why, but it gave her much pleasure to be able to say that.

  The old lady sniffed as she dabbed at her eyes. “You’re a sweet girl.”

  “Well, perhaps the house is not as much of a gift as one might think.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Although James hasn’t said anything yet, Papa’s taste was rather…ah, for lack of a better term, grandiose?” Amanda smiled. “I think James is going to want to make some changes.”

  Aunt Henry cast her gaze around the salon. “Oh, y-yes, I see what you mean. Quite flamboyant.”

  Amanda laughed softly, the first real amusement she’d felt in days. “Papa grew up poor, thus to him the more elaborate, the more upper-class. Not always the case, is it?”

  The old lady smiled with her. “No, indeed.”

  They lapse into a comfortable silence.

  “Amanda?” Aunt Henry ventured after a few minutes.

  “Yes?”

  “Before the others arrive, I…wanted to thank you for protecting Derrick.”

  Amanda sighed. “I did it for you, Aunt Henry, not Derrick. I’m not going to lie to you. James has lost his patience. One more unpleasant episode with your son, and he will cut him off completely. There will be nothing any of us can do to help him. Can’t you warn Derrick to behave himself?”

  Henry shook her head, her expression dejected. “We don’t talk. Never have, really. My son has little respect for my opinion, and I don’t believe he would do something for me simply because I asked it of him. I used to think he loved me, but I fear that was wishful thinking on my part.”

  How utterly sad.

  At that moment the doorbell chimed, and for the next several hours the house was filled with callers paying their respects. In the days to come there was sure to be more of the same. Amanda, normally a social person, found it all nearly too much to tolerate—too much commotion and too many well-meaning visitors voicing platitudes. She must don her own insincere smile, keeping it in place until it felt as if her face would never relax into normal lines again.

  ***

  Hours after the last guest had departed, James and Amanda bid goodnight to those family members still awake and trekked wearily up the staircase to her room. James paused at her chamber door. The two previous nights he had slept in another room—in deference to her exhaustion—because he had not wanted to disturb her when he retired late and rose early while overseeing the preparations for the funeral. Tonight, however, the funeral was over and he allowed a silent question to hang between them as he stood on her threshold.

  She looked at him, brows raised.

  “Do you prefer I again seek other quarters for the night?” he asked.

  “As much as I appreciate your thoughtfulness, James, you need never have slept elsewhere. I apologize if I didn’t make that clear. I’ve been distracted. Please, join me if you wish.”

  As he followed her into the room and closed the door, Amanda turned back to him. “I only ask that we not…that is to say, I’m not quite ready to…ah, burying my father today…”

  “Amanda—”

  A red flush slowly stained her cheeks. “Oh dear, I’m making a muddle of it, aren’t I?”

  James chuckled, taking her into his arms. “Sweetheart, what kind of beast do you think I am? Clearly, grief is your most immediate emotion. We’ll wait until you feel inclined. In the meantime, would it be all right if I simply hold you? I’ve missed you in my bed.”

  At once she looked self-conscious, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I’ve missed you also.”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

  “That’s not saying much, James, since the talk has been almost exclusively morbid.”

  He released her, still smiling. “Go, get ready for bed. We’ll talk each other to sleep.”

  Amanda gathered her nightclothes from the lingerie chest and slipped behind a screen. James undressed quickly, retaining only his drawers as he climbed under the bed linens. He felt a level of comfort he hadn’t felt in days, he realized as he lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head. Funerals were stressful, even when there were no underlying circumstances to complicate things. But Amanda and he had come through the devastating event with their marriage intact—perhaps better—which was more than he could ever have hoped for. He sent a prayer heavenward in thanks for his good fortune.

  His wife stepped from behind the screen, and James felt an immediate carnal response. She was striking in a white cambric nightdress that covered her from throat to ankle but was rather sheer, giving him a maddening hint of what lay beneath. Her long, near-black hair, normally swept up in some style or the other, hung loose over her shoulders which made her appear younger and less sophisticated. Her feet were bare.

  She looked momentarily uncertain, and he realized that it had taken only a few days of no intimacy—on any level—to insert hesitancy back into their relationship. That was something he was determined to eliminate as quickly as possible. He casually patted the mattress next to him in an invitation meant to reassure her.

  James tried manfully to keep his sexual interest bottled as she climbed beneath the bedclothes, bringing with her that tantalizing scent that always activated his earthier instincts. He should be feeling grief as she was, not desire, but unfortunately his body refused to cooperate. He had missed his wife. They were alone together—in bed. He stifled a groan, knowing that to reveal his aroused state would most likely earn him disapproval and a rejection.

  Amanda settled herself on the pillows, face up, folding the sheets down neatly then lacing her hands over her breasts. She turned her head to look at him. The smile she gave him was sweet and guileless. His gut tightened.

  She said, “This feels wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.” he murmured.

  “I didn’t realize how tired I was until I laid down. My back is screaming at me.”

  He sat up as a sudden thought struck him. “I’ll massage it. Roll onto your side away from me.”

  Her eyes widened. “James, you promised.”

  “I swear,” James held up both hands, palms out to deny nefarious intentions, “I’ll only massage your back. For medicinal purposes.”

  Amanda watched him for a moment, her gaze dipping to his naked chest. She licked her lips, which at the moment was a fascinating gesture
. Seeming to come to a decision, she rolled onto her side as he had requested then glanced over her shoulder.

  “Like this?” she asked.

  He nodded and set to work, starting at her neck and working his way down along her spine to her hips. She moaned a soft little sound that sent a thrill of lust straight to his groin. And that’s when James knew he had made a mistake. He was much too weak to rise above his baser self when face with such temptation. However, he continued to work the muscles in her neck, shoulders and back, acutely aware of the soft flesh he manipulated covered by only her fine cotton gown. Despite the growing desire that flooded his system, he did not cease his efforts until her body was as malleable as warm taffy, all the while knowing this night would end in utter frustration.

  “James,” her voice was languid and drowsy, “that felt lovely. Thank you.” Amanda rolled back to face him. Something in his expression must have warned her of what he was feeling, for her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Oh…”

  “Indeed,” he said in self-disgust. James reached over and pulled her into his arms as he lay back down. His erection nestled into her belly and he groaned. “I wasn’t expecting to become so caught up in the moment, but I’ll manage.”

  “If it’s very bad—”

  “No, I made a promise. I’d much rather you were in the spirit of the thing than acquiescing because you feel you should. I ask a favor of you, however.”

  “Yes?”

  “The next time you’re angry with me, or even just a little annoyed, remember this moment and afford me a little latitude. Tonight I go to sleep feeling like a martyr.” James hoped he would sleep. At the moment he wasn’t certain.

  Amanda gave him that smile again, which only added to the sweet misery, and kissed him softly on the lips. “Duly noted, my lord—and agreed.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 19

  Amanda awoke to a sensation of utter contentment. She lay quietly basking in those few pleasurable moments one experiences before thoughts coalesce into memory. Then she recalled yesterday and a pall settled over her spirits.