In the Garden of Temptation (5 page)

His attention shifted to Edna. “Put your
mistress’ hair up on top of her head.” He looked back at his wife.
“That will set off your neck and shoulders quite nicely.”

Catherine gritted her teeth, for she knew it
was not her neck and shoulders for which he showed such fascination
but the skin overflowing the top of her gown. Just what she
needed—to enhance the effect.

“
Is that all, Edgar?” She
was amazed at how calm she sounded, for inside she felt like a sea
of roiling nerves.

“
Yes, yes, my dear, I
believe it is.” He beamed at her, openly jolly now that he had
taken the advantage. “Be in the drawing room within the half hour.
I wish you to make an entrance.” With that parting shot he left the
room.

“
My poor, poor lady.” Edna
dabbed tearfully at her eyes with the corner of her
apron.

“
Stop it right now,”
Catherine said sternly, “or I shall be joining you, and that is
last thing I need. Come, let’s do my hair. The quicker this evening
begins, the quicker it ends.”

Words so easily spoken and so utterly
mistaken.

*****

Catherine halted at the bottom of the
staircase and tried to catch her breath. She had just navigated the
steps and had found it treacherous going, considering the tightness
of her gown. It would have been easier if she could have lifted the
skirt above her knees before she attempted the descent, but Willy,
the lecherous little gnome, stood at the foot of the stairs,
waiting to escort her to the drawing room.

She refused to provide him with any further
stimulation, for he leered at her in undisguised appreciation, and
she found his lack of respect maddening. She could hardly blame
him, though. If her husband did not place her high in his esteem,
how could she expect the servants to feel differently?

“
I don’t need you to
accompany me, Willy. After all these years I know where the drawing
room is.” She made her attitude haughty, almost rude.

Willy was unperturbed. “Only doing what Lord
Bourgeault has instructed me to do, my lady.”

This, of course, was his way of saying he
need not follow the orders of anyone save those of his master. He
approached the double doors and, flinging them open with a
flourish, announced his mistress to the occupants of the room.

*****

Adam stood by the fireplace, sipping on a
glass of wine and studying the shabby drawing room that the baron
and he now occupied. He had difficulty believing this man really
had a wife, for he found no evidence of a woman’s touch
anywhere—not even in this room where the Bourgeaults received their
guests.

The earl looked at his host, but the baron
seemed oblivious to all but the glass of sherry he nursed. The
conversation had drifted back and forth with little of worth being
discussed, since the two men had less than nothing in common, until
the talk had died out completely.

But the atmosphere had become heavy with a
sense of expectancy. The baron would occasionally glance at the
door as if he were anticipating some impending event, leading Adam
to believe the man was not as unaware of his surroundings as his
cavalier attitude might suggest.

The announcement of Lady Bourgeault brought
to an end the bored silence that had settled over the gentlemen.
Adam glanced up in mild curiosity and nearly spit out the mouthful
of wine he had just taken.

It was she!
In the doorway stood the goddess from the stable
yard. Too stunned at first to speak, Adam was vaguely aware of the
baron rising from his chair to beckon the lady into the room. Never
had Adam seen such an extraordinary combination of angelic beauty
and vulgar display. He realized one nearly blinding emotion,
though, as she entered the room and drifted toward him. Keen,
overwhelming disappointment.

The baron’s wife—how had Lord Bourgeault
managed to attain such a prize? She had not even hinted at the
possibility of her being the lady in residence, and he would never
have guessed. The earl was staggered by the revelation.

Lady Bourgeault closed the distance between
the two men and herself as her husband made the introductions. If
Adam expected her to be discomposed in light of the fact that they
had already met, again he was surprised. She stared directly into
his eyes, brows slightly raised, daring him to expose her
subterfuge.

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 spent
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.