In the Garden of Temptation (25 page)

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 key 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.”