In the Garden of Temptation

by Cynthia Wicklund

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Adam, surely we need do nothing so drastic.”

  “Think, love. What other choices do we have?” He shook his head regretfully. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life meeting you illicitly. I want you for my wife.”

  “But I can’t marry you if Edgar and I are still wed. Leaving the country will not alter that fact.”

  “We will exchange our names for new ones. No one will ever know our true identities.”

  “Where will we go?” she asked in a small voice.

  The earl shrugged. “We have the entire European continent from which to make a choice. Wherever pleases you—perhaps America.”

  “America?” Catherine stopped then as though struck by a sudden notion. “What of our families, Adam? We’ll never see them again.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” he conceded. “It’s a painful choice, but I can’t imagine my life without you.” He paused, eyeing her closely. “Perhaps you don’t feel as strongly as I do about all this.”

  “But I do. I’m just not ready to make a decision that is so unalterable. Please understand.” She reached out a hand to him.

  He grabbed her wrist, pulling her off the stool and into his embrace. “I know,” he said against her hair. He leaned back and took her face in his hands, searching her lovely features for some clue to her inner turmoil. “Just promise you’ll think about it, that’s all I ask.”

  “You’ve made certain I won’t be able to think of anything else.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the lapel of his coat.

  A situation that had seemed so simple, so straightforward by virtue of its inability to lead anywhere was, all at once, headed at lightening speed toward catastrophe. It will be a miracle, he thought, if the fates don’t hand them their heads on a platter.

  *****

  Catherine bolted off the bed as though propelled by a spring and dashed for the chamber pot. She was just in time as the contents of her stomach erupted forth, stripping away her dignity. She moaned wretchedly, rocking on her haunches as her belly continued to convulse painfully despite the fact it was now empty.

  “Not feeling well, my dear?”

  “Oh!” she shrieked.

  The baron stood in the doorway. So startled was she by his unexpected presence, her legs shot out from under her, and she landed unceremoniously on her rump. Catherine scrambled to her feet, but her sick stomach left her reeling as she tried to right herself.

  “Why are you always sneaking up on me?” she snapped in irritation. She brushed the back of her hand ineffectually over a damp curl that had fallen into her eyes.

  Edgar stared at her for several moments, but he did not seem angered by her attitude. Instead, he continued to watch her in a manner so penetrating, she found herself at once wary.

  At last he spoke. “When you are able to compose yourself, I would like you to meet with me in the library. There are some things I think you and I need to discuss.” He turned then and left the room.

  Damn the man, she thought. Would he always be leaving her dangling on tenterhooks? What did he want from her now? Apprehension added to Catherine’s dismay for, try as she might, she could no longer ignore what she feared most.

  She was increasing. At least she assumed that must be the case, unless there was a mysterious stomach ailment that attacked only in the morning and lasted for countless, miserable weeks. Since she had never heard of a disease that chose to strike at a particular time of day, she was forced to acknowledge another reason for her puny health.

  When Edna entered the suite a few minutes later, it was to find her queasy mistress reclining in white-faced misery on the chaise lounge.

  “My poor lady, are you ill again?”

  That’s a foolish question, Catherine thought, for the odor emanating from the general direction of the chamber pot left little doubt as to her condition.

  “Edna, you remembered the tea.” Catherine managed a weak smile of gratitude as the servant set down a tray laden with edibles, all of which were supposedly bland enough to calm a digestive upset.

  Edna reached for the bell pull. “Let’s remove that chamber pot,” she said briskly. “Are you ready to try a few bites of something?”

  “Just the tea for now,” the baroness croaked, her voice unsteady.

  The maid busied herself pouring the warm beverage, but she bit her lip, plainly nervous as though she had something to say. She cleared her throat as she handed the cup and saucer to her mistress.

  “My lady, have you thought what might be causing your illness?”

  “Yes, I have,” Catherine said dryly as she sipped her tea. “But just to see if we are both dreading the same thing, I want you to be frank with me.” She carefully placed her cup in the saucer and eased into a sitting position. “What do you think is my problem?”

  Edna looked at her lady, speculation in her eyes. “I think you are going to have a baby,” she stated baldly.

  Catherine blanched as though the thought had never occurred to her before this very moment. “I see.” Her voice quavered emotionally.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but you did ask.”

  “It’s not your fault, Edna. I did want your opinion,” Catherine said. “I don’t suppose it is a condition that, if ignored, it will simply go away.”

  The maid giggled. “No, no, my lady, I don’t suppose it is.”

  “Now the question is, what am I going to do?” Catherine sighed nervously. “It’s not as though I can fob the child off on Edgar. With his affliction being what it is, I have no alternative but to tell the truth. It’s just as well, I suppose. I’d hate living a lie.”

  “Do you think he’ll leave you?” Edna inquired in hushed accents.

  “If only it were that easy,” Catherine muttered. “I wish he would file a petition for divorce and give me my freedom, but he’ll never do it.”

  Her servant looked horrified. “My lady, you can’t mean it. If you are divorced, you’ll never be accepted in society again.”

  The baroness shook her head, contemptuous at the very thought. “As if I cared. I’ve had enough of the shallowness of the ‘polite world’ to last me a lifetime.” She took another sip of her tea before continuing. “Lord Ashworth wants me to go away with him.”

  Edna opened and closed her mouth several times, but seemed unable to provide a coherent response. Finally, she simply stared at her mistress, eyes wide with shock, her stunned silence speaking eloquently for her.

  Catherine shrugged impatiently. “It’s not as though I’ve made a decision. Although it is an enticing proposition, now especially since I know Lord Ashworth and I are going to share a child.”

  “Have you told him?—Lord Ashworth, I mean?”

  The baroness shook her head. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for certain. And it changes everything, you know,” she said sadly. “These have been the happiest weeks of my life. Whatever I do now, there’s bound to be turmoil.”

  The maid remained mute.

  Catherine nodded her understanding. After all, why respond to the obvious.

  “I have a premonition it is about to begin.” She stood, her equilibrium finally restored.

  “What do you mean, my lady?”

  “Edgar has summoned me to the library. Says we have some important things to discuss. His manner was odd, and I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

  A knock at the door ended the dialogue as the upstairs maid entered the room to remove the chamber pot, and Catherine reluctantly began her ablutions prior to getting dressed. She delayed the inevitable as long as she could, fussing with her hair and fretting over which frock to wear until she could put it off no longer. She descended the stairs shortly after the noon hour, a lump of dread knotting her already tender belly.

  The baron was waiting for her, his feet propped on his desk, a snifter of brandy at his elbow. Her heart dropped when she realized he was drinking, for alcohol, rather than smoothing his rougher edges
, enhanced them.

  Catherine approached the desk. “You wished to speak with me, Edgar?”

  He did not acknowledge her greeting at once. His gaze traveled in an appraising way over her figure, although she detected nothing lewd in his manner. He brought his regard back to her face.

  “Have a seat, my dear,” he said quietly, his words almost kind.

  She was at a loss to understand why his gentled mood should disconcert her, but had he yelled obscenities at her she could not have been more frightened. His attitude was out of character, and Catherine knew she would not like what he had to say.

  He pursed his lips. “Have you enjoyed your sojourn in the city, wife?”

  “Yes, I have, Edgar,” she answered eagerly. “It’s been lovely. I’ve met so many interesting people and done so many exciting things—I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been.”

  She stopped when she realized she was babbling nervously as though having lost control of her tongue.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He paused then. Why, he actually seemed uncertain.

  Edging forward, Catherine perched on the end of her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her stomach had begun to churn again, and she prayed he would not prolong the agony needlessly.

  Finally he said, “We’re going home.”

  Here was the very thing Adam had predicted, she thought in panic. This couldn’t be happening—not now. She lifted her head and looked him directly in the eye.

  “I don’t think I’ll go just yet, Edgar.”

  He blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to stay a little longer, if you don’t mind. Summer is ending and most everyone is coming back to the city. If I leave now, I will miss all the excitement.”

  On the surface she appeared quite calm, but beneath the composed exterior, fright waged a fierce battle with her courage. She was defying his authority, and she could see her husband did not like it—not one little bit. The scowl that transformed his face was a scary thing indeed.

  The baron put his feet on the floor and, leaning his elbows on the desk, met her gaze with a shrewd, intelligent stare.

  “It occurs to me that your reason for wanting to stay has more to do with someone who never left town.”

  “You speak in riddles, Edgar.”

  But she understood perfectly what he meant. Adam had been correct. Her husband knew the truth, and the time had come to make a clean breast of it. Dear lord, she was going to be ill right here on the carpet.

  “The only riddle is how you could be so dense,” he accused acidly. “You carry on an affair for these many weeks, and you don’t think I’m aware? You must believe me a fool.”

  “How long have you known?” she asked in resignation.

  “Ha! How long have I known she asks.” He laughed aloud. “From the outset, my dear, from the very outset.” He sobered then. “I planned it all, you know.”

  “Planned what, Edgar? What did you plan?” This was not what she had expected. Had he gone daft?

  “Why, your little affair, of course. Did you think it was your idea?” He grinned at her maliciously.

  “My God, this is sick. Why would you contrive such a thing?” Bile collected in her throat as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her.

  “There’s no mystery. I need an heir. Since I can’t get one on you myself, I had to find a surrogate. You were not, ah…shall we say, cooperative at first, but I knew it would take only the proper bait and you would come around.” He sneered. “Lord Ashworth has quite a way with the ladies, so I hear.”

  “You never told me,” she whispered in disbelief.

  “Would you have helped me?”

  “Never!”

  “There you have it.” He shrugged. “I chose the only course open to me.” He leaned back in his chair and inhaled a loud gulp of brandy. “There is a child, isn’t there?” His attitude was now sly as he rolled the mouthful of spirits over his tongue.

  A deep down bone-chilling fear seeped into her soul. She was horrified at the very thought of Edgar playing father to her child. Finding it impossible to answer his question, she posed one of her own.

  “Why is an heir so important? You have family who can inherit.”

  “My brother,” he spat, “or his son? I’d as soon hand over my estate to the devil himself.”

  “The child won’t be of your blood, Edgar. How can he inherit?”

  “Who’s to know that but you or I?”

  “I’ll tell Adam.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that, my dear.”

  “Perhaps I’ve already told him,” she said.

  He sighed. “It doesn’t matter, not really. You are my wife and I own you. By virtue of that fact I own the child you carry as well. I’m taking you home with me.”

  Catherine panicked as she saw her happiness, fragile as a silken web, dissipating before her eyes. “I’ll not simply hand this baby over to you.”

  “You haven’t a choice. Make no mistake, wife. The law is on my side. My decision stands.”

  “Lord Ashworth will come after me.”

  “It will do him no good.” He continued to watch her, seemingly unperturbed.

  “Adam is an influential man with many friends. You are neither of those things,” she taunted him. “He will find a way.”

  “You put great store in his commitment to you.” To her surprise, he held his anger. “But when push comes to shove, you might find his will is less than you imagined. For your sake, I hope you are not disillusioned.”

  She would be an idiot to believe he hoped anything of the sort. She stood from her chair. “Is this all you wanted of me?” she asked woodenly.

  “You may go. We leave in three days,” he said in an emotionless voice.

  Catherine paused in the doorway, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Can a daughter inherit, Edgar? What if the child is a girl?”

  He sent her a humorless smile. “The child must be male, as you well know, and perhaps,” he suggested darkly, “it would be a good idea if you pray that nature does not disappoint me.”

  *****

  Edgar stared at the door as his wife slammed it shut. Damn! He had hoped it would go more smoothly than this, he thought morosely. He hadn’t meant to let his temper get the better of him, but as was usually the case when he dealt with his lovely wife, wisdom was quickly forgotten. If only she would see reason. So be it—desperate times called for desperate measures, and he still had one trump card at his disposal. He supposed now would be as good a time as any to put it into play.

  *****

  CHAPTER 9

  The butler approached the guest, his expression neutral. “Lady Ashworth says there is nothing she wishes to discuss with you.” He reached for the doorknob to usher the man from the premises.

  Why, that spiteful harpy, the baron thought. He should have known. He pushed the door back into place and turned to the butler.

  “I will give your mistress one more chance to prevent a catastrophe,” he said tightly. “Tell her that her son is about to make the mistake of a lifetime.”

  The servant looked at Lord Bourgeault, his indecision clear. He must have decided in the Edgar’s favor, for he nodded at last.

  “I will try again, my lord.”

  Irritated, the baron watched the butler leave the entry. He was used to the lack of respect he received from society, so it came as no surprise that the countess did not offer him a gracious welcome. Still he felt mistreated. He assumed what he had to say was as critical to her well being as it was to his own. Surely, she knew of the affair between Catherine and her son, he reasoned. If the old woman’s participation were not an absolute necessity, he would gleefully watch her interests sink like a ship with a rotten hull.

  He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the servant to return. Glancing up, he found the dowager countess herself standing on the landing above him.

  Still a handsome woman, he watched her in reluctant approval as she descended the staircase. Lady A
shworth had been a beauty in her youth, and time had not yet robbed her of her good looks.

  She reached the entry hall and approached the baron, her expression one of undisguised dislike. “You sent my servant to me with some very disturbing information, Lord Bourgeault. I’m assuming you have more than conjecture to back up your words.”

  A rush of anger seized Edgar. His hackles stood at full mast, but to give into his ire now would ensure his ultimate defeat. He swallowed his pride with great difficulty and doggedly continued.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to have this conversation in private?” he asked ingratiatingly, and he forced a smile that he suspected more closely resembled a toothy grimace.

  The dowager glanced at the butler, who stood nearby, and nodded. “Ames, see we are not disturbed.”

  She led the way into the parlor.

  “Don’t you think a little refreshment would be in order, madam?” the baron posed hopefully.

  “You’ll not be getting drunk in my sitting room, sir,” Lady Ashworth snapped. “I’ve allowed this meeting against my better judgment, but there will be no socializing here.”

  Forgetting his resolve to remain unruffled, he barked back, “You are the same Friday-faced prude you were thirty-five years ago. Have no idea why I thought I could have a conversation with the likes of you.”

  Much to his surprise, she laughed. “Ah, Edgar Bourgeault, that’s the man I know and understand—not that toad-eating fool who doesn’t have a sincere bone in his body. Come, you have something you wish to discuss with me, and I’ll admit I want to know what you have to say.” She sat down on the velvet settee and pointed to the chair opposite her.

  Somewhat mollified, Edgar took a seat where she indicated, dangling large hands between his knees.

  “I believe your son is trying to convince my wife to leave the country with him.”

  “Do you have proof of this?” She appeared detached.

  “My wife all but admitted flight was being considered.”

  “Seems to me, sir, this would be a good time to remove Lady Bourgeault from the path of temptation,” she said coolly.