In the Garden of Temptation

by Cynthia Wicklund

  “That has occurred to me,” the baron conceded, “but think. Let’s say I do as you suggest and leave London with my wife. Then I have two individuals, pining for one another and probably plotting against me. How do you think your son will react to your proposal?”

  “I…see your point.”

  “When I leave with my wife—and make no mistake, I intend to do just that—I want Catherine to know it is over.” He paused to emphasize his next words. “I want your son to know it as well.”

  “I suppose you also want me to intervene on your behalf with Adam.” She eyed him shrewdly.

  “Come, come, my lady, you cannot be happy with the liaison between Ashworth and my wife. It reflects badly on him, and by virtue of his connection with his family, it reflects badly on them, also. You’re a stickler, and I’d bet my last sou this situation has been lodged in your craw like a wedge.” He lifted his brows at her, challenging her nonchalance.

  Lady Ashworth sighed heavily. “All right, I don’t deny what you say, but I’ve already approached Adam on the subject, and he made it clear that I was not to interfere. My son may appear amiable, but he can be formidable when he is crossed. And I must tell you, he is not taking this affair lightly.”

  “There is one more little circumstance I have failed to mention,” he murmured slyly.

  The countess looked suddenly wary. “And what might that be, Lord Bourgeault?”

  “A child has been conceived.”

  Lady Ashworth’s hand flew to her mouth. “There is the chance Adam is the father?”

  “There is the absolute certainty Ashworth is the father.”

  “How can you be so certain?” she asked, plainly horrified.

  “Take my word for it, madam,” he stated grimly. “There is no doubt.”

  The dowager leapt from her seat, her fist clutched at her throat. She paced to the window before swinging swung around to face him.

  “Then all is lost,” she wailed. “How can you give me hope only to snatch it so cruelly away?”

  Lord Bourgeault paused for a moment as he watched her from the corner of his eye. “I don’t think your son has yet been informed of his impending fatherhood.” He studied a nonexistent blemish on his fingernail.

  Sudden excitement lit her features. “What do you want me to do?”

  Her capitulation was now complete.

  “I want you to speak to my wife, for I do not have the power to sway her. If you go to her as a concerned mother, who is worried for her son, she may listen to reason.” He looked at the countess directly now. “I intend to talk to Lord Ashworth and plant a few seeds of doubt in his confidence in my wife. Of course, my motives will be suspect and he will not believe me.”

  “Then what have you accomplished with that ploy?”

  “If you can convince Catherine that it is in your son’s best interests for them to abandon their effort, she will not denounce me. Her cooperation is essential.”

  “It may not work.” The dowager countess sounded doubtful.

  “That is certainly a possibility, but it is all we have.” He smiled then. “Somehow I feel the odds are in our favor.”

  *****

  The early evening dusk seeped into the room, slipping under the door and around the shutters to absorb the remaining daylight. Catherine languished in misery on the great four-poster bed, nausea her constant companion the day long, accompanied by a liberal dose of pessimism. She thrashed restlessly in the semidarkness and, no matter how often she repositioned herself, she could not get comfortable. For some odd reason, the turmoil in her brain seemed directly connected to the nervous agitation in her limbs.

  How had she come to this muddle, she wondered? One innocent thing had led to another maybe not so innocent thing, and suddenly her life was in shambles. Her existence up until now had been wretched, but at least she had known what to expect. In fact, she had expected nothing. That left little room for dashed hopes, and there was a perverse comfort in the notion.

  In the last few weeks she had permitted herself to dream, wandering into dangerous waters almost against her will. If Edgar had his way she would drown in them. Why had he given her hope only to brutally tear it from her? Did he hate her that much, or were his own aspirations so paramount he had no time to consider how she might be affected by his scheming?

  Truth was, Catherine had always been confused by her husband’s attitude toward her. One moment he was possessive, even jealous, and the next he was cool to the point of indifference. At least now she began to understand why Edgar had acted so strangely these last years. Little pieces of the puzzle were falling into place to form a picture of the whole.

  He wanted a child. All this time he had brought one man after another home with him under the guise of providing male companionship for himself. Instead, his hope was to entice her into a relationship that would produce the son he so desperately desired. He forced her to dress like a strumpet because, she assumed, it made her appear more available to his guests. Her face burned at the thought.

  Most bizarrely was her husband’s unfathomable reaction to the part she had played. By some twisted form of logic, Edgar believed she had deceived him. As remarkable as it seemed, he felt wronged. He had manipulated and coerced her into doing his will and, when she had complied—albeit unwittingly—he was incensed by her deception. It seemed, having done all the right things, punishment was to be her reward.

  Underlying it all was the baron’s affliction. Inexplicably, he could not bear to be touched. It did not carry over into inanimate objects or even animals, but contact with human flesh caused him severe distress. He told her once that he had hoped her exceptional beauty would cure him of his ailment, for he truly desired her. That had been his sole reason for wedding her, that and his wish for an heir. But his repeated failures to consummate their marriage had proven so humiliating, he had finally given up the effort. Catherine’s only sentiment at the time had been profound relief.

  Naturally, that meant there would be no children, a fact with which she was forced to come to terms. She was freed from her wifely duty, but there was a price to be paid. For no matter how one chose to look at it, the fact remained the sexual act was a prerequisite to giving birth.

  Her life stretched before her dull and unfulfilled, lacking any warmth or meaning, and she was hard pressed not to give into despair. Therefore, despite the frightening aspect of her present condition, Catherine could not stop the exhilaration that consumed her. She was to have a child! And not just any child but Adam’s child.

  A premonition flashed in her mind, and she knew a moment’s fear. A feeling of impending doom caused her to sit up in the darkened chamber, a need for action overcoming her. Though she did not understand why, Catherine knew she was in jeopardy.

  She had to see Adam.

  In a panic she groped in the gloom for the tinderbox on the bedside table. The single candle sent a myriad of eerie, dancing shadows bobbing and weaving across the walls and ceiling. Ordinarily, she would have thought nothing of it but, with the portentous mood that had taken hold of her, the ghostly atmosphere frightened her.

  Catherine stopped at the mirror to straighten her hair and was shocked by the face that stared back at her. Dark circles underlined her tired eyes, and the strain of battered emotions showed in her pale features. Although she did not consider herself vain, she wondered if she should refrain from seeing Adam until her looks had been restored. But no, she must see him now. She was beginning to feel foolish by her sudden fright, but the vague suspicion that something was wrong would not abate.

  Reaching for the bell pull, the baroness gave it a quick tug. She would have Edna deliver a message to the earl requesting a meeting at their place. She hoped Adam would not be long in coming, for her anxiety had grown unmanageable. Several minutes passed with no response from the reliable maid, and Catherine impatiently yanked the bell pull again.

  Still no answer.

  She hastily snatched up the reticule with her precious k
ey and marched to the door. She would just have to find a way of contacting the earl on her own. She drew in a shaky breath and placed her hand on the knob.

  Catherine peeked around the edge of the door and stopped abruptly, her tender belly dropping with a sickening thud. Willy Gant sat on a chair, leaning against the wall opposite her room, an oily smile smeared on his dried-up features. She pushed the door wider and stepped into the hall.

  “Willy, what are you doing there?”

  “Merely doing what I’ve been told to do, my lady.” His tone was insolent.

  “My maid did not answer my summons. Would you know anything about that?”

  He smirked at her. “I think the baron has her running some errands for him today.”

  Why, the little rodent was enjoying himself.

  “I see. Am I to assume by your presence here, I am not free to go abroad?” She already knew the answer but felt compelled to ask anyway.

  Willy sucked his teeth as he watched her. “His lordship did say he would prefer you wait for him until he comes for you.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any idea when that might be?” The dread flooding her chest made breathing painful.

  “Haven’t a clue.” He shrugged indifferently and yawned as if to emphasize his lack of concern.

  The baroness stared at him for several moments before stepping back over the threshold of her room and closing the door. In numb resignation she crossed to the chaise lounge and, sitting down on the edge of the seat, clasped the reticule tightly in her tense hands.

  It was too late. Edgar had bested her and, though she did not know what he had done or how he had done it, she knew it nonetheless. The tiny fragments of hope lurking in her heart were now completely vanquished. Her fear of the darkened room was gone at last, and in its place resided an aching emptiness. The only thing she need wonder was how long Edgar intended to make her wait. To her surprise it was no time at all.

  There came a sharp rap and the door eased slowly inward, outlining Edgar’s gaunt frame in the doorway. He walked into the room and glanced around as though his eyes were not yet accustomed to the gloom. He spotted her where she sat on the lounge and moved in her direction.

  “It’s rather morbid in here, is it not, wife?”

  “It suits my mood, Edgar.”

  “Now, now, I see no reason to be upset. Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?”

  His voice sounded so normal, Catherine wondered if she had allowed her imagination to run away with her.

  “Now you ask, Edgar, I don’t like being locked in my room. And that awful little man—he is always impertinent.”

  “It’s not my intention to make you feel imprisoned, but I did have a request of you, and I hope for your cooperation.” His narrowed eyes glistened alertly as he watched her.

  The moment had arrived. One way or the other she would know what he had done. Catherine had not the slightest hope that she would be pleased by the outcome. She sighed.

  “Enlighten me,” she said.

  He nodded. “There is a person waiting in our parlor I want you to meet.”

  “Is this person’s visit connected to our talk earlier today?”

  “I don’t deny it.”

  “It won’t change anything, Edgar.”

  “And I didn’t suppose it would, my dear. But I do think you owe it to me to at least have a listen.”

  “All right, what can it hurt, anyway?”

  She was to remember those careless words many times in the following months.

  “Now there’s a good love. Come then,” he responded cheerfully and he walked back to the door.

  Catherine rose slowly from her seat. Already she was regretting saying yes. But maybe she did owe him that much. After all, they had a shared history of sorts, for what it was worth. She moved past him into the hall. The baron accompanied her in silence, not speaking until they had reached the parlor.

  “Do what is right, Catherine.”

  “What is right for you, Edgar,” she asked him softly, “or what is right for me?”

  “One would hope, my love, the two are not mutually exclusive.”

  His gaze bored into hers, his determination seeming so strong, Catherine felt he was trying to make her do his bidding by sheer force of will. He turned away then and left her to cogitate on his enigmatic statement. She watched him until he disappeared down the corridor and out of sight.

  *****

  What, or more accurately, who waited for her on the other side of the parlor door? What could this person have to say that would alter her plans? For that was the purpose of this meeting, was it not? The door stood ajar, and Catherine noiselessly pushed it open as she stepped into the room.

  At first she believed the parlor was empty, for the winged back of the chair facing the fireplace kept the lone occupant of the room hidden from view. Catherine must have made some noise that announced her presence because, with a flurry of skirts, a tall, stunning woman appeared from the confines of the leather seat. She and her guest stared at one another across the space that separated them, each clearly taking the other’s measure.

  The woman was gowned in a simple beige walking dress trimmed in forest green cording, and her black hair, shot with silver, was pulled severely back into a chignon at the base of her neck. She oozed “old money” from the tips of her elegant kid boots to the remarkable gems that dripped from her delicate white fingers. She looked vaguely familiar and Catherine was puzzling over the woman’s identity, when her guest’s first words ended the mystery.

  “You are beautiful, I’ll give you that.” She pursed her lips as she glared at the baroness. “Though, I must say, I’m disappointed. I had hoped my son would have more sense than to allow himself to be bewitched by a comely face.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her mouth. “I should not be surprised, I suppose. For all he’s my son, he’s still a man.”

  Lady Ashworth! The resemblance to her son was remarkable.

  “You are Adam’s mother.” She spoke to the obvious.

  “This is true, and as his only living parent it has become my duty to see to his interests. I do hope you understand me.”

  If Catherine did understand she had no intention of admitting it. “I’m afraid I’m confused.”

  She stared at the countess wide-eyed, making certain just the right amount of bewilderment shaded her features.

  “See here, madam, I have no desire to bandy words with you. You know exactly what I mean. You and my son have been the on dit of the summer. That has been bad enough, but now it comes to my attention that you two irresponsible fools are considering leaving the country. What can you be thinking?”

  “I assume my husband has told you this.”

  Catherine was stalling, for she could not bring herself to admit the truth to this cold, unpleasant woman.

  The countess waved her hand in disgust. “The baron, bah!—horrible man.” She shuddered. “Believe it or not I pity you, but I can’t see sacrificing my son to ease your burden.”

  The dowager’s attitude was so condescending Catherine bristled. “I don’t think Adam considers our being together a sacrifice.”

  “Come now, my dear, you have little to lose and everything to gain from a liaison with my son. The same cannot be said for Adam. His life will be destroyed.”

  “Destroyed…that’s a very strong word.”

  “Not too strong, however,” Lady Ashworth countered. “Adam has a political career waiting for him. He is a well-known man and highly respected. He cannot do this thing without creating a tremendous scandal.”

  “Talk dies down in time,” Catherine said, but her words sounded unconvincing even to herself.

  “And meanwhile Adam’s family will suffer. I’m not just speaking for myself, although I would find the situation horrifying. He has a sister and an extended family. What of them? Are you more important than all those people?” By the look on the dowager’s face, she did not think so.

  �
�We just want to be together. Is that so hard to understand?” Catherine asked plaintively.

  Lady Ashworth clasped her hands under her considerable bosom, her expression unyielding. “One’s duty must come first. You were not born a peasant—you know this.”

  Perhaps now was the time to confess just how far the situation had gone. “It is not only I. There is more than myself to consider.”

  “I know about the child,” the dowager snapped.

  “I see.” Obviously, it would not make any difference. “Edgar has been busy this day.”

  “Your husband wants to do the noble thing. He should be given credit for his finer instincts. Most men would toss you out on your backside. You should be grateful for his restraint.”

  Grateful? What would this unfeeling beldam know about it? Maybe Catherine ought to tell her how matters really stood, but what good would it do? This woman was not sympathetic regardless of what she professed.

  “It is your grandchild.”

  Lady Ashworth drew in a self-righteous breath and her nostrils flared indignantly. “Let me make myself clear, young woman. You carry a bastard, nothing more. I will grandparent the legitimate offspring of my children. I have no intention of acknowledging a tragic mistake.”

  Tears stung the back of Catherine’s throat as she fought not to cry. She was outraged at labeling her precious child with such a foul name.

  “I am certain Adam will not feel that way,” she whispered brokenly. Her control had begun to slip.

  “Spare him the decision,” the countess urged her. “If you love him do not make him choose. Do not rob him of his heritage, for he will come to hate you for it. He should expect to pass his title on to his own son. He cannot do that if he does not wed legally.”

  Catherine was too stunned to speak.

  The dowager countess, apparently sensing the advantage, struck quickly to seal her case.

  “You have a home waiting for you and a husband who wishes to care for you and your baby. Take the child as a parting gift from my son and let him continue on with his life. I ask this for Adam’s sake.”