In the Garden of Temptation

by Cynthia Wicklund

  “I need to feed my child. Won’t you please call Edna? I think I’m going to need her assistance.”

  “I’ve summoned a wet nurse.”

  “Why would you do that? I intend to nurse the baby myself.”

  “A lactating woman does not easily become pregnant,” he said crudely. “Give me a son and you shall have that chance.”

  She wanted to scream with frustration. “I’m in no condition to have another child, Edgar. Please, have reason.”

  “I mean to let you heal, my dear. No need to worry on that head. You’ve several weeks before I’ll expect you to perform.” He smiled as though pleased with his generosity.

  “Thank you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  The baby was squalling loudly now, her frantic cries carrying far beyond the confines of the bedchamber. A persistent tapping at the door caught the baron’s attention, and his head snapped toward the sound.

  “Who is it?” he barked.

  The doorknob twisted slowly, and Edna peered into the room, her face pinched with misgiving. “I know you told me not to bother you, my lord, but I heard the child crying. I thought maybe you would like me to take her to the wet nurse.”

  “Yes, yes, get that bawling brat out of here. How can anything so little make such a racket?” He waved his hand in dismissal.

  The maid dashed to the cradle and, scooping up the distraught infant, threw her lady a look of apology as she quickly exited the chamber. Catherine watched Edna depart with her tiny daughter then turned to glare at her husband.

  The baron stood and straightened the cuffs of his coat. “One other thing,” he said, his manner offhand, “I’ll be choosing your next lover.”

  “You chose the last one,” she spit out.

  “Actually, in a round about way I allowed you to do the choosing. That was a mistake—one I won’t be making twice.” He glanced at her sideways. “You have a tendency to form attachments, and that is a complication I will not tolerate.”

  “I don’t care any longer, Edgar.” And she truly believed she did not. “But don’t separate me from my baby or I will become very difficult to control.”

  He looked at her directly. “I don’t like threats and, anyway, it’s a moot point if you do as I ask. I can count on your cooperation?”

  “Yes, I will do my best,” she said in clipped accents, and he nodded his approval.

  Why did she feel she had just made a pact with Lucifer himself?

  *****

  The Earl of Ashworth peered into the flawless face turned in his direction. Lady Alice Chesterton gave him her full, rapt attention as he expounded on and on about nothing in particular.

  What a beauty, he thought, with her ice-blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had a lovely, willowy body that tempted the imagination and a vivacious disposition that added greatly to her popularity. A most desirable specimen—and she wanted Adam. He suspected it was the challenge that attracted her, but whatever it was, she made no secret of her aspirations.

  He knew he was the envy of the majority of his contemporaries. So why was he not interested? He realized that he had been assessing Lady Alice in an analytical way, devoid of emotion. She was exquisite and he liked her, but he did not desire her. It angered him that he was so anchored to the past a beautiful woman could not stir him. Adam excused himself from the lady. Though she clearly was disappointed, he had no wish to tarry.

  Another party, another wasted evening, he thought—what was the point? He ambled through the crowd, irritated by the festive atmosphere. A footman carrying a tray with glasses of champagne came into his vicinity and he reached out and took one, downing the contents in a single gulp. He took another. Already he’d had too much to drink, something he was prone to do of late, and yet it was not enough. He needed more alcohol to soften the memories, to dull the pain.

  Perhaps he desired a more experienced woman. Lady Alice, for all her beauty, was a chaste woman looking to make an exceptional match. He did not feel ready for a commitment, and he believed it unethical to pretend otherwise.

  His mind drifted back to before the previous year, to his life before Catherine. How simple and uncomplicated it had all been. He had lived each day in relative peace, ignorantly assuming the future would take care of itself. Helen had been there to see to his needs, undemanding in her love. And she had loved him, he knew. Adam wondered if she had suffered after their separation as much as he had after his separation from Catherine.

  That’s what he ought to do, go see Helen. They could commiserate together, offer each other comfort—and maybe more. He had no idea what she did of late, but now seemed as good a time as any to find out. Though the hour was advanced she had never turned him away. If he had been less inebriated his good sense might have warned him off, but such is the purpose of spirits, he would reflect later. When one needs a reason to be foolish, overindulgence can be counted on to provide the perfect excuse.

  Adam felt better now that he knew what he intended to do. On his way out he located another footman with another tray of brimming champagne glasses and had one more quick drink—just for added fortification. The bubbly liquid warmed his stomach and further dimmed his judgment. Loaded to the gills with false courage, he retrieved his coat and entered the night.

  *****

  The earl’s movements did not go entirely unnoticed. Across the crowded ballroom his best friend Lord Wimberly was engaged in deep conversation with Lady Richards.

  “Lord Wimberly,” Charlotte ventured, “does it seem to you that Lord Ashworth has not been himself lately?”

  Based upon long acquaintance with the lady, the viscount was not averse to being candid. “You are correct, Charlotte. To be honest, I’m worried.”

  “What does he tell you?”

  Daniel snorted. “Not a thing, which is his way of telling me to mind my own business.”

  “It’s Lady Bourgeault, isn’t it?”

  He paused. “I believe it is,” he said cautiously.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “There was a falling out, that’s all I know. It’s had a terrible effect, though. He stays up all hours, gambles—which he’s never done—and he drinks too much. Tonight is no different as you can see. I ought to follow him to make sure he’s safe, but he has become so touchy of late, I’m reticent to do it.”

  “I believe it was a real love match.” Lady Richards glanced up at her companion through her lashes. “At least I know Catherine loves Lord Ashworth.”

  The viscount frowned at her. “Are you positive? I had the impression that Adam felt deceived by the lady in some way.”

  She looked at him squarely. “I saw her before she left town. She was in a dreadful state. Something had happened, but she wouldn’t confide in me. Frankly, I’ve suffered a great deal of guilt wondering if I should have done more to help her.”

  He nodded and for several moments they fell silent.

  “I’m going to Bath in a fortnight,” Daniel said at last.

  “Are you now?” Her eyes lit up with hope.

  “Yes. My father’s not been well. He seems to think the waters might provide him some relief for what ails him, and he’s asked me to join him there.”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t suppose it would be much trouble to stop at the Bourgeault residence when I return to London. It’s on my way.”

  “Daniel, would you?” Charlotte cried. “If I only knew she was all right, I could stop worrying.”

  “Right then, it’s settled. It won’t be immediately. Can you live with that?”

  “Yes, of course, you’re too kind.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You know, Daniel, you really ought to settle down. You’re denying some lady a wonderful husband.”

  Lord Wimberly flushed, and he felt the heat travel to the roots of his wavy blonde hair.

  *****

  Helen lounged in languid contentment on her sofa, legs tucked under her as she devoured the pages of
a novel from the lending library. She giggled as the hero of the piece shouted “hark” repeatedly while wielding his mighty sword in an effort to do away with the dastardly villain. The heroine, on the other hand, cowered ineffectually nearby as she waited for her love to save her. Helen was reminded of a rich chunk of chocolate confection—it was completely unnecessary to a good diet, and probably inadvisable as well—but oh, how satisfying in the end.

  A series of quick raps on the door brought Helen back to reality, and she frowned as she put the book aside. Who could be calling at this late hour? She pulled her silk wrapper more closely to her throat, and ran her hand through her hair as she slipped the latch and peeked through the crack.

  As she lived and breathed, it was Lord Ashworth! He stood reeling on her threshold, a ridiculous grin creasing his handsome features. She pulled the door wide.

  “My lord, why are you here?”

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Helen?” he slurred. The foolish grin continued unabated.

  “I…yes, come in.” She stepped back so he could enter.

  He lurched through the doorway and turned to face her. “It’s late, isn’t it? Well, nothing for it—I wanted to see you, so here I am.”

  “Should I be pleased?” she asked him quietly.

  “Haven’t a clue. Mind if I have a seat? I’m not feeling quite right.” He lunged for the sofa and plunked himself down. “That’s better. Come, talk to me—I need a friend.”

  “I think what you need,” she said, closing the door, “is a cup of strong tea.” Before he could protest, she moved to her tiny kitchen and began to heat some water. Minutes later she returned with the hot brew and placed it in his drunken hands.

  “You’re not happy to see me, are you?” His cloudy gaze had cleared somewhat, and the intelligence behind the impaired reason seemed to be reasserting itself.

  “To be honest, I’m not certain how I feel at the moment.”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated me.”

  “I don’t hate you, my lord.”

  “I’ve missed you, Helen, and that glorious red hair.”

  She ignored his flirtatious behavior. “Why have you come here now?—now when…” she trailed off, unable to hide her impatience.

  “When what?”

  “When I’ve begun to forget. When I’ve put my life back together. What can you be thinking?”

  “I thought we could comfort one another,” he said.

  “You’re not here to make me feel better. You’re here to make yourself feel better.” She was angry. “And what would that comfort entail? A quick tumble? There’s one big difference between your situation and mine, Lord Ashworth. You are the source of my pain. You can offer me no comfort.”

  “I made a mistake, I see that.”

  He looked sober now, whether from the tea or the weighty conversation, she could only wonder. Perhaps it was both reasons.

  Helen sat down next to him. “I loved you, my lord…Adam. I love you still. It is not something that disappears simply because the object of one’s affection disappears. At least, it’s not that way for me. But I’ve had to learn to survive without you. If I allow you back in my life, the hurt will be unendurable because you don’t love me and you never will. Can’t you see you ask too much?”

  “I’m a selfish bastard, I know. I wanted to be cosseted and pampered and told everything will be all right.”

  He was so forlorn she took pity on him. “It’s been hard, hasn’t it?”

  He looked directly at her, and the misery she saw lurking in the depths of his intoxicating blue eyes made her want to hold him to her breast and will the suffering away. Helen wanted to run her hands through his thick, curling hair and put her lips to his brow. But then, would she be giving or taking? Some sense of self-preservation forced her to acknowledge the trap she set for herself. No, he must go this one alone and, because she loved him, she prayed his agony would not be prolonged.

  “You are not surprised by my predicament. I suppose it is common knowledge?”

  She could hear the hurt pride in his voice. “Only that you courted an unsuitable lady. She’s left town and you are displeased by her absence.”

  “We fought before she went away.”

  “Oh,” was all she could think to say.

  “You are the only person to whom I’ve admitted that.”

  “I’m sorry I could not be of more help to you, my lord,” she said, her tone turning impersonal. She stood up and moved away from him. His confidences created an intimacy that was difficult to bear.

  “Yes, well, it’s time I was on my way. Please forgive my insensitivity. Mix a little self-pity with a great deal of wine, and you have a sorry fellow to be sure.” He smiled sheepishly at her as he rose to leave.

  Helen patted his arm. “You’ll come about, my lord.”

  Adam brought her slender hand to his lips and gazed into her face. “You are wrong about me not loving you, my dear. Were it not for Catherine…who knows?”

  Lord Ashworth would never be aware of the bittersweet longing he left behind when he departed a moment later.

  *****

  “Is this moldering place inhabited?” Lord Wimberly said aloud as he sat astride his mount and surveyed the scene before him. He had approached the baron’s castle from the circular drive in front, and he could not imagine a more unpleasant sight—which is not to say there was a better angle on the structure, for it looked unsightly from all directions.

  The place was weedy and unkempt, and pieces of loose stone lay strewn about, having fallen from the outer walls. Daniel wondered why anyone would choose to live in this worn-out relic.

  He dismounted and, since no servant greeted him, he tethered his horse to an overgrown bush growing alongside the drive. Picking his way through the broken stones, he climbed the steps and reached for the knocker. Several minutes passed, in fact so many minutes, Daniel thought he must have made a mistake. At that moment the heavy door eased back on its creaking hinges, and an ugly little man stuck his head out at him.

  “What do you want?” the man barked rudely.

  Taken aback, the viscount blinked. “I say…” He cleared his throat. “I’m an acquaintance of Lady Bourgeault. This is her residence, is it not?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Daniel Evans, Viscount Wimberly. I was in the vicinity and thought to stop in and see how your lady faired. Is she home?”

  The servant looked Daniel over from head to foot before answering. “I’ll have to see,” he said. “Wait here.”

  Not even the courtesy to invite him in off the doorstep, Daniel thought. What kind of household is this? He looked over his shoulder at his horse. If he left right now, he could be down the drive and out of sight before that horrible little person returned. If he had not promised Charlotte to undertake this mission, he would have done that very thing.

  The servant returned after only a few minutes. “Come in.” His manner was grudging. “My master will be with you shortly.”

  The viscount stepped into the darkened hall. A quick glance told him the interior was in no better condition than the outside had been. It was chilly and dark and, quite frankly, a bit spooky. He tried to imagine the beautiful baroness thriving in this dreary place, but the image eluded him.

  “Lord Wimberly, good to see you.” Lord Bourgeault appeared, smiling in welcome. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

  “I was passing by and I thought to say hello to Lady Bourgeault. I told her I might do so if the opportunity ever arose. I hope my visit does not pose an inconvenience.”

  Daniel had never told the baroness any such thing, but he didn’t know how to explain his presence here. He prayed she would not expose his little untruth.

  “Good, I know she’ll be happy to see you.” The baron was positively jovial. “You’ll join us for supper, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Daniel was surprised by his host’s effusive reception. The vi
scount could not remember having met Lord Bourgeault, yet the baron acted as though they were old friends. And something predatory gleamed in the man’s eyes that was altogether unnatural. Strange, Daniel thought, very strange.

  The baron turned to the wizened servant who still skulked in the shadows. “Willy, show Lord Wimberly to a guest room where he can freshen up.”

  *****

  “Catherine, let me in.”

  “Why are you shouting, Edgar?” The baroness opened her chamber door so her husband could enter.

  “Wouldn’t you know it?” He chuckled gleefully. “I’ve been wondering how to begin anew, and the answer falls in my lap.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’ve a guest, my dear, a man and he’s come to pay a call on you.”

  “You must be jesting. Who would come to see me?”

  “A young lord by the name of Wimberly.”

  She looked blank. “Lord Wimberly? Here?”

  “You do know him, don’t you?” he asked, eyeing her closely.

  “Yes…I simply can’t understand why he would visit.”

  “He said something about having told you he might do so if he were in the neighborhood.”

  “Now you mention it, I remember him saying that.”

  She turned from him, moving to the cradle where her child slept so he could not see the confusion on her face. She had spoken to Lord Wimberly on a very few occasions, and she was positive he had never told her such a thing.

  “This is the moment we have been waiting for, wife.”

  A nuance in his voice caused her nerves to vibrate with alarm, and she whirled around to stare at him.

  “Edgar, you can’t mean it!”

  “What do you think I’ve been talking about since I came in here? Certainly, I mean it.”

  “But I’m not ready yet.”

  “If I left the matter in your hands, there would never be a right time. This is a perfect opportunity, and I don’t intend to let it slip away.”