He would, however, swear she was not entirely untouched by anxiety for, though her face was a mask of indifference, her breathing had accelerated as evidenced by the gentle heaving of her overexposed bosom.
Adam’s good manners were put to a difficult test, as it took all his willpower not to stare in open fascination at a decolletage more daring than any he had ever seen on a woman who called herself “lady.”
The baron presented his wife with near gleeful anticipation. “Is she not a beauty, Ashworth?”
No doubt of that, the earl thought, but his host spoke of his wife as if she were an inanimate object, a possession to be pulled out and shown off when the mood struck.
“She is indeed lovely,” Adam agreed, but the words were for the lady as he took her hand and placed a kiss on the tips of her fingers.
Something flickered in the back of her eyes, but what it meant he wasn’t certain. Her expression had not altered and, though cordial, she remained distant and cool. He raised his gaze back to her face, refusing to linger on her bosom as he knew most men would have done.
She withdrew her hand, and the tiniest of smiles softened her features as if she were aware of his discretion.
“Would you care for a glass of ratafia, my dear?” the baron asked, his manner ingratiating. He had already poured the beverage.
Lady Bourgeault reached for the glass, however, she took it gingerly as though she avoided touching him. She cast her husband a look filled with mockery.
“Thank you,” was all she said, but the words were edged with sarcasm.
Her husband returned a warning glance hard to misinterpret. The earl, watching the byplay between the baron and his wife, was baffled. Rather than intimacy as one might expect, the air around the couple crackled with hostility. He had intercepted the look Bourgeault had sent the baroness, and there was little doubt of the threat that lingered in the depths of the man’s piercing black eyes. Adam would have bet his last sou this was not a marriage built upon affection.
“You kept the cook waiting, Catherine,” the baron said in a hard voice. “I hope dinner is not spoiled.”
Abruptly, he turned and led the way to the dining hall, leaving Adam to escort Lady Bourgeault, a chore he was more than happy to perform. She placed her hand lightly on his sleeve as she tried to follow his lead, but the tightness of her skirt hampered her movements and she stumbled.
“You must forgive my awkwardness. This dreadful gown doesn’t leave much room to maneuver.”
The self-derision in her tone was clear, but then why did she dress in such a manner?
“I think you look charming.” Here Adam cleared his throat, “Flamboyant, perhaps, but I find no fault with that.”
The baroness darted him a searching glance, and he stared into her eyes, hoping to convince her of his sincerity.
“Flamboyant…” she murmured. “Nice way to put it.”
The baron seated himself at the head of the table with Adam to his left and Catherine to his right, facing each other.
“This is much cozier, don’t you think? You don’t mind if our guest calls you by your Christian name, do you, wife?”
Ho! What in hell is going on here? Adam turned a shocked expression on his host.
The lady winced. “No, of course, not,” she responded weakly.
“And you must call me Adam.” The earl smiled graciously at his hostess but made it clear the invitation did not extend to her spouse.
If the baron was conscious of the slight, he chose to ignore it.
The first course arrived, a cold vichyssoise that tasted wonderful.
“This is really quite good, Edgar,” Catherine said.
She sounded amazed, an oddity, Adam thought. The baron merely grunted in response as he spooned the soup as rapidly as possible into his mouth. He attacked each course in the same mindless fashion, leaving the task of entertaining his guest to his wife.
The lady chatted on in a genteel if somewhat insubstantial way, obviously trying to fill the void her husband had created. She conducted the evening with grace and dignity, despite the boorishness of her mate, and had managed to put Adam at ease in a circumstance that was anything but easy.
He found sitting opposite and conversing with the baroness extremely pleasant. His only problem was an overwhelming desire to simply stare at her. He wished to drink in her beauty, for it fanned a hunger having little to do with the credible meal being served. And that disreputable dress didn’t make it any easier.
He found his eyes wandering against his will to the enticing cleavage that seemed directly in his line of vision. Instinctively, he knew she would resent him ogling her even though she dressed in a way that would encourage disrespect. Adam did not pretend to understand the mixed messages he was receiving. He only knew he did not want to do anything that would offend the lady.
At that moment, the baron chose to reenter the conversation. He stood up and, pushing his chair from the table, ran his hands over his bloated belly.
“I need a few moments of privacy.” He winked at the earl and stifled a colossal belch, his cheeks puffing out with suppressed air. “I won’t be long. My dear, see that Lord Ashworth is kept properly entertained.” He exited the room leaving behind stunned silence.
“Well,” Adam said, coughing to cover his unease, “Bourgeault is certainly a unique individual. Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him.”
“You have a talent for understatement, my lord,” Catherine said, face pink with embarrassment. “My husband has no taste and little discretion, and for some reason he enjoys flaunting that fact. I hope you won’t think me disloyal, but I have difficulty pretending his bad behavior is of no concern to me.”
“It’s plain you labor under a burden. I would be the last person to criticize your efforts. I don’t mean to pry, but how long have you and Bourgeault been married?”
“Nearly seven years now.”
“Seven years? Good Lord, you must have been little more than a child.”
“I was seventeen.” She smiled sadly. “It seems a lifetime ago. I made plans as young girls often do, but I never envisioned my future turning out this way.” She paused then. “Let’s talk of something else. I have a bad habit of feeling sorry for myself.”
“Of course.”
What she really meant was that she was a private person and resented his probing. Whatever lay beneath the fine veneer covering the truth about her life, she apparently did not want it disturbed. Too bad, for he wanted to know everything about her.
One-half hour later, the baron deigned to return to his duties as host. He made no excuses, nor did he bother to explain his absence.
“I hope my wife offered you an after-dinner drink,” was all he said.
“We decided on tea.” The earl’s attitude had cooled to a freeze, and he did not bother to pretend otherwise. He had grown weary of the baron’s utter lack of manners. The man had left his wife with a total stranger for a period of time not precisely proper, and Adam was outraged for the lady.
He wondered if her husband had a purpose in leaving them alone. Though it made no sense, what was the baron trying to accomplish? Not that Adam minded spending intimate time with Catherine, for he found her exceedingly charming. But she was clearly ill at ease, whether because of her husband’s rudeness or the unsuitability of the circumstances, Adam could not be certain. It could be both reasons.
The earl felt his protective instincts surfacing, a response he relegated to an automatic chivalry rather than to any hidden motive. Maybe he didn’t want to face the truth. But he did know that he was insulted by the lack of regard the baron showed the baroness. Women depended on their male relatives to safeguard them from the unsavory aspects of the world around them. The baron flouted all the rules of convention, and his exquisite wife paid the price for his rebellion.
Adam was inordinately proud of the lady as she sat with her head erect, refusing to give into the embarrassment she must be feeling. But he realized if he spen
t another minute in the company of his host, he would disgrace himself by giving vent to a storm of anger. Time to say good night, he thought, and be done with it. He stood from the table.
“It has been a great pleasure to dine with you this evening, ma’am, and I look forward to seeing you again in the morning.”
He executed a slight, stiff bow in Lord Bourgeault’s direction, and with a curt adieu, strode from the room.
*****
Catherine watched as Lord Ashworth made an angry retreat and then turned accusing eyes on her husband.
“Well, well,” the baron said, “it would appear our guest is feeling a wee bit annoyed. I must confess, I’m hard pressed to understand it.”
“Edgar, you behaved abominably tonight. Have you no shame?”
“None. None whatsoever.”
He stared at her in that unfathomable way he had that frightened her so, his black eyes boring into hers, until she abandoned the challenge and dropped her gaze.
“Just so,” he whispered softly.
She shivered at the menace in those gentle words.
“Go to bed,” her husband said. “I’ll expect you to be available tomorrow when I call. It would seem the earl has a preference for your company over mine. Difficult to fathom, but there it is.” He chuckled contemptuously.
If it would have served a purpose to argue, she might have made the effort, but Catherine was so relieved that he wished her to go, she turned and scurried toward the door as though the devil himself sat at the head of the ancient, scarred table. His laughter followed her up the staircase.
*****
Willy Gant slipped into the dining room to stand by his master’s chair.
“Tell you what, Willy, I think we made some progress tonight,” the baron mused. “Lord Ashworth is feeling hostile toward me and protective of my helpless wife. I suspect that is not the only emotion he is wrestling with right now,” he said on a smirk. “My ladylove looked a delectable morsel in that red gown. I don’t think he enjoyed the food, he was so busy drooling over my wife.”
He cast his gaze at his grinning servant. “Yes, Willy, things are progressing nicely.”
*****
CHAPTER 3
“I can’t remember ever seeing a better example of paired horseflesh. I’ve seen magnificent individuals, but they have always been one of a kind. This is remarkable.”
The earl shook his head in amazement, reaching up to rub the forehead of one of the horses as the baron danced around him in gleeful excitement—a major feat of agility, considering the size and awkwardness of the fellow.
“They are fine, aren’t they?” Bourgeault chirped. “I never grow tired of watching them.”
The baron’s boyish enthusiasm was a surprising change from the arrogant and snide man Adam had dined with yesterday. But Adam remembered the head groom saying Bourgeault enjoyed showing off his horses, gauging the reaction of others as if he were a child bragging about rare and expensive toys. He realized suddenly that his introduction to the baroness the night before had been much the same.
Whatever his motives were, the baron had not exaggerated when he boasted on the uniqueness of his grays. The horseman in the earl salivated at the opportunity to own such outstanding animals. And though he was regretting his visit, he had no intention of leaving before he had made an effort to buy them.
Adam ignored the niggling feeling that there might be an even more persuasive excuse for continuing his stay. Every time he thought about Lady Bourgeault, his lower body tightened with an anticipatory warmth. This was troublesome for, no matter how comely and alluring he found the baroness, she was still a married woman.
“How do you tell them apart?” he asked. “They really are identical.”
“Didn’t I say? Can’t tell which is which, can you?” The baron’s laughter was almost girlish. “Look here, Brown thought of it.” With a gloved hand, he grabbed the hind leg of the horse nearest him. “Thought this was Cain—I can tell more often than not, but not always.” He pointed to the iron shoe. “Can you see it? We always put one brass nail in Cain’s shoe so there will be no mistaking him. We talked about marking each animal in some way—perhaps a tiny brand.” He shuddered. “But I couldn’t bring myself to deface them.”
Sure enough, there was the yellow nail, worn, but still distinctive from the other nails. It was a clever idea, and Adam said as much to groom, who watched from nearby. Brown nodded slightly, but there was no friendliness in the gesture.
“I suppose you’ll want to take them out for a run,” the baron said reluctantly.
“I should say so. Wouldn’t want to purchase a pig in a poke, now would I?”
Adam smiled to indicate no insult was intended, but the baron bristled anyway.
“I think it’s clear that my horses are exceptional. You will not be disappointed. In fact,” the baron muttered, “I’m afraid you’ll be much too pleased.”
“Beg pardon?”
Bourgeault scowled and shook his head. “Nothing, nothing. Brown, harness the animals to the phaeton. Our guest wishes to put our beauties to the ribbons.”
It was an exhilarating ride. The horses were attuned to one another, moving in perfect unity. Adam assumed being twins gave them an edge over other matched pairs, but it was more than that. They were the opposing sides of the same coin, displaying an instinctive cooperation. He played the reins over the backs of the heaving beasts, and for one ecstatic moment he felt a part of their oneness. If heaven exists, this is how he would choose to spend eternity.
His return to the stable yard was a letdown. He wished the ride could go on forever, a bit like the peak of very fine sex. There had been a moment during the height of his excursion when he was not certain he could have distinguished between the two distinctive activities, save sex did not require an excellent pair of driving gloves.
Adam climbed down from the phaeton and strode briskly over to where the baron stood waiting for him. “Let’s not bandy words, Bourgeault. Name your price. I could pretend I’m only fairly impressed, but you would know I was dissembling, and I see no point in prolonging the negotiations. Those horses are superb and I must have them.”
“Ten thousand.”
Adam’s jaw dropped—not figuratively, but in actuality—to his chest. “Ten thousand pounds?” he gasped.
“That’s for the pair, of course.”
“You’re daft, man. No wonder you’ve been unable to sell those nags. You must think me an unmitigated fool.”
“Nags? A moment ago they were superb,” the baron sneered. “I expect a price that reflects the worth of my animals.”
“Then I suggest you keep them. If you had told me what was on your mind, you could have saved us a both the time and effort. I could outfit a small stable with prime livestock for that ridiculous amount.”
“That’s a paltry sum in comparison to your total wealth. If one wants something badly enough, no price is too high,” the baron said.
“What? Do you believe wealth and stupidity are synonymous?” Adam turned to leave. “I will be departing within the hour. I regret we were unable to come to terms.”
“Now, now, didn’t mean to offend,” the baron hastened, his tone turning wheedling. “Give it another day. We’ll share a bottle of wine this evening and do some serious haggling. Maybe we can meet each other halfway.”
And maybe icecaps will form in Hades.
“To be brutally frank, sir, your initial proposal is so outlandish, I’m afraid even halfway won’t serve. Besides, you said your price was firm.”
“You never know,” the baron said coyly. “Why don’t you spend this afternoon looking over my estate? I’ve some business that has come up and needs my immediate attention. We can talk over dinner.” He paused as though considering some weighty matter. “I have it! My wife is available, and I’m certain she would enjoy giving you the tour.” He looked at the earl expectantly.
Well, damn! The man wouldn’t understand the meaning of good conduct i
f it were to hit him upside his thick head. Adam was being shuffled off to see to his own devices as if he were a nuisance. Only one small but vital fact kept him from turning the baron down flat. The thought of an afternoon spent in the company of the baroness was irresistible.
Adam hesitated for only a moment before accepting. He was stiff with disapproval, but he allowed as how he would appreciate Lady Bourgeault’s company if she found it convenient. He then spun on his heels and marched toward the house.
Over his shoulder he snapped, “If your wife consents to go, have her send word when she is ready and I will meet her in the stables.”
*****
“Edgar, I can’t go. I don’t own a riding habit.”
Her husband smirked. “My love, after that red gown, you could wear sackcloth and our guest will only remember how you looked last evening. Damned, if he didn’t nearly spit his drink on the carpet, he was that amazed.” He slapped his thigh merrily over the recollection.
“Why not? He’s a gentleman and used to people who know how to behave themselves. We came across as having no idea how to carry on in company.” Catherine sniffed at him. “The oddest part is that you go out of your way to project that image.”
“Even so, I think Ashworth was taken with you,” he murmured silkily. “I like that.”
Catherine stared at her husband in appalled wonder. “Edgar, why did you marry me? You paid my father an outrageous sum of money when we wed, and for the life of me I can’t see what you have gained from it.”
She must have surprised him, for he looked nonplused by her direct attack. Chuckling, he said, “Can’t rattle you today, can I, my dear? Ashworth said he would meet you in the stables. I’ll send word that you’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He studied her for several moments before he continued. “I’m depending on you, Catherine. Don’t disappoint me.”
On that enigmatic note, he left the room.
In the Garden of Temptation Page 4