In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (11 page)

“I
thought, under the circumstances, a little distance would give us
time to…adapt.”

“A
little distance will air our dirty linen, Amanda. My family will not
understand, and I don’t wish to try and make them. Moreover,
the servants will be devastated.”

“You
worry what the servants will think?”

“Let
me tell you something my father once told me. Happy servants make for
a happy household. We provide an example, good or bad, and they
behave accordingly. If the master and his lady are at odds, it will
be felt down to the scullery maid. And the dissension will come full
circle, that I guarantee.”

“What
are you suggesting?”

“Merely
that we go on as a newly married couple, pretend for the sake of
those around us until we can work through this thing.”

“Don’t
you think after the fracas we caused at the party—”

He
gave her an ironic look. “We?”

“All
right, I admit it,” she said, “the fracas
I
caused. But doesn’t it seem that your family may have guessed
that we had a falling out?”

“Guessing
is different from knowing.”

“True,
but—”

“And
even if they assumed we had a disagreement, they can also assume that
we have resolved our differences and are back to our blissful union.
How good are you at pretense?”

Amanda
did not miss the irony that touched his words again, but she ignored
him this time.

“James,
there is no privacy for either of us in only one room. How are we to
manage that?”

He
stared at her a long time, a strangely assessing stare, his eyes
narrowing, nostrils flaring. He was coming to a decision of some
kind, and she had the distinct impression she wasn’t going to
like it.

He
walked across the room, and Amanda found herself backing away from
him. His approach was relentless, but at some point her pride came to
her defense. She ceased her retreat and held her breath.

James
stopped, his face close to hers. He loomed over her, and she was
aware suddenly of how tall he was, how wide were his shoulders, the
magnetism he exuded out of those icy blue eyes. Amanda felt small and
delicate, which was a rare occurrence for her. She released her
breath on a quiver.

“You
know, wife,” he said silkily, “I find your reticence an
obstacle to any progress we might achieve.”

“I
feel reticent. I can’t help it.”

“Is
that so?”

“Y-yes.
Yes, it is”

“Then
you leave me no choice.”

There
was an odd sense of satisfaction in his words, his steely gaze
locking with hers, an almost wicked smile easing his mouth.

“I
don’t know what you mean, I’m sure.”

“Don’t
you?”

Amanda
stared at him mutely, waiting.

The
smile grew. “I think it’s time to test our little
bargain, my dear.”

“You
promised not to press me.”

“I
also said I would take it a day at a time, that I reserved the right
to change my mind. I’m informing you now that I have done so.”
His warm gaze dropped to her mouth, and the smile widened further.

“It’s
hardly been any time at all.”

He
shrugged.

Why,
he was enjoying himself! “I warn you, James, you won’t
find much satisfaction in bullying me.”

For
the first time his teasing attitude slipped, his eyes narrowing
again. “I hardly think you can call it bullying, Amanda. After
all, these are your terms.”

No
they’re not, she thought in desperation. Or were they? What had
they agreed to?

“No
hysterics, no reneging, remember?” he continued.

“And
no participation,” she spat.

“No
participation…on your part.” James slipped his hand into
her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I, on the other hand,
am not so burdened. I can participate to my heart’s content.”

“Oh—!”

Her
protest was cut off as his mouth descended on hers. It was not,
however, a harsh kiss, but a gentle, beguiling pressure that raised
the downy hairs all over her body. Her lips parted without her being
aware, until she felt the invasion of his tongue. Her mind willed her
to break the contact, but when she reached to push him away, she
realized she was clinging with both fists to the lapels of his coat.

James
pulled back, and she expected him to look self-satisfied. But there
was no room for satisfaction in an expression so darkly lustful, so
tense from unleashed passion.

“Let
me go,” she whispered, tears beginning to burn the backs of her
eyes.

His
grip tightened. “Oh, no. That’s not the bargain. If you
don’t cooperate then you are interfering with my
participation.”

“Do
you expect me to simply waltz over to that bed and let you have your
way with me?”

“Overdramatic,
Amanda, and again you presume. I’ve not asked that of you. Yet.
However, yes, when the time comes, I will expect that very thing.”

“What
is it you expect now?” she asked in a small voice.

“First
and foremost, I do not want you to disclose the difficulties we are
having to my family. What is between us stays in this room.”

Amanda
nodded. “Of course.”

“Second,
you promised to be a willing wife. If you cannot keep that promise, I
want to know now.”

His
face was still close to hers, his hand still in her hair, and though
she wished more than anything to look away from him, neither his
demeanor nor his compelling stare would allow her to do so. Rather
than answer him, she began to struggle but he held her fast.

And
the oddest thing, despite his pique she knew he was aroused. His
member was pressed against her hip, as hard and demanding as his
gaze, and he did nothing to hide his condition. Rather, she sensed he
was flaunting it, forcing her to acknowledge the violent emotions
that simmered between them.

“I
want you to answer me,” James ground out. “I want to know
I can trust you on this.”

“As
I can trust you?” Even as she spoke she regretted the words,
but she was on the verge of tears now and desperate to be free.

James
stepped away from her as though she had slapped him. Almost as
quickly as the shock appeared, however, it was gone to be replaced by
a shadowed, moody look. He straightened his coat, making an extra
show of hand-pressing the wrinkles from his ruined lapels.

“You’ve
purchased a few extra hours, Amanda. But tonight I expect an answer.
And be forewarned, I have no intention of living in an armed camp.”
James stalked across the room stopping at the door. “You can
choose to forgive me or not, but believe me, you have as much to lose
as I do.”

His
anger was palpable, an explosive mixture of lust and outrage, and he
emphasized that anger more clearly with the gentle way he clicked the
door into place than if he had slammed it shut.

Amanda
went limp. She walked with as much dignity as she could muster—and
she wondered why it mattered since she was alone—to a chair by
the bed and sat down. She was weak with expended emotion, the tears
that had threatened receding quickly, leaving her eyes arid and
tender. There was a throbbing in her right temple, and she pressed
her fingers to the ache, surprised by how badly her hand shook.

James
was right, of course. And how easy it would be to simply give in. But
Amanda wanted him to love her—
needed
him to love her.
She hadn’t waited until an age when most young women had been
married a long time, only to have made such a disastrous mistake. She
had waited for the right man. She thought she had found him.

If
she put the lie behind her without coming to terms with it, they
could go on, have a comfortable if indifferent marriage. And
indifference was the only way she could survive it because that lie
would always be there, waiting to sneak up on her, to pain her when
she least expected it.

Every
time he was late, every innocent explanation that didn’t quite
ring true, she would wonder. She would slowly shrivel, the confidence
that had driven her young life evaporating into a suspicious old age.
She owed not only herself, but James also, to find a way to forgive.
Truly forgive.

She
hoped she had the courage to try.

***

James
descended the stairs in a rush, his mood foul. Fortunately, he saw no
one as dinner was soon to be served, and the family members were in
their respective rooms getting ready. That served him perfectly. He
must speak to his mother. Might as well do it while he was angry
enough to say what needed to be said.

He
swung through the front door and onto the walk outside. The first
shadows of night were creeping over the landscape, and in the
distance he could see the dower house, the fading sun striking its
stone surface as a final farewell to the day. He bolted across the
lawn rather than taking the path, long strides fueled by indignation.

The
dower house was the original home of his forbears—and thus
several centuries old—until one particularly affluent ancestor
had erected the manor house. As he understood it, that was the last
of his relations to actually have an abundance of wealth, each
generation growing successively poorer until the Tremonts had found
themselves near penury.

He
supposed that situation was rectified now. He winced at the thought.

As
he reached his mother’s step, James grabbed the brass knocker
and gave it three swift raps. With pleasure he recognized the butler
who opened the door.

“Harris,
good to see you, my man.”

“And
you, my lord. I missed seeing you when you were here last.”

“How
are you getting on now that Mother has confiscated you from the big
house?”

“Getting
on is the correct term, my lord,” the old man stated, bent and
gnarled with age. “In years that is. Cannot fathom why the Lord
has left me here so long.”

“Why?
Because you are needed. The Lord knows that. How would the Tremonts
survive without you?”

The
servant gave him a mocking smile. “Indeed, my lord.”

“Where
is my mother?”

Harris
looked suddenly wary, and it was then that James heard a masculine
voice emanating from the front room. Without waiting to be announced,
James brushed past the butler and thrust open the door to the parlor.
Two heads spun around at his entrance, one his mother, the other his
cousin Derrick.

This
was all it took to cap off his day. Fury like vitriol poured through
his system, taking any calm that he had managed to retain. So
appalled was he, for a moment he could not speak.

“What
the hell is he doing here?” he shouted, breaking the stunned
silence.

His
mother rose from the sofa, perennial glass of spirits in her hand,
and moved toward him. “Now, James—”

But
James was not looking at her. “I told you to be gone by the
time I arrived home, Derrick. You had better have a dire explanation
for defying me.”

His
cousin’s demeanor was lazy, almost smug. Unfortunately, the
effect was ruined by the purple bruise on his mouth.

“Your
mother took pity on me. Offered me a place to stay.”

James’s
attention shifted to the dowager. “Excuse me?” he said in
an awful voice.

The
only clue he had that the old woman was nervous was the slight
shaking of her hand as she took a deep gulp of what he assumed was
brandy. At least, that had always been her choice of drink. Her
breath echoed in the glass as she swallowed, making her sound uncouth
and, frankly, pathetic. James was immediately repulsed. He had grown
up with an alcoholic mother. This blatant reminder of her addiction
was more than painful.

“Derrick
had nowhere to go,” she said as the brandy cleared her throat.

“I
don’t give a damn. He’s not staying on my property.”

“This
is my home, James.”

“At
my indulgence.”

“Are
you threatening me?”

He
changed his tack. “Why would you help him, Mother? You’ve
never cared for Derrick.”

She
stiffened. “That’s uncalled for.”

James
sent his gaze to Derrick again, not because he was worried about his
cousin’s feelings, but because he wondered just how thick was
his skin. If the young man was offended, he chose not to show it. In
fact, his smile widened although it had taken on a brittle quality.

“What
did he do that is so terrible?” the dowager asked. “Spoke
the truth? Is your wife a fool or did she truly believe you married
her for herself?”

Her
tone had taken on the belligerence so common in the inebriate, and
James knew before long she would be truly drunk.

“Be
careful, Mother,” he spoke quietly now, afraid the rage that
was beginning to consume him might make him do something he would
later regret.

“A
big raw-boned girl like that,” she continued, almost to
herself. “She has her nerve.”

Derrick
sniggered, but his amusement died instantly when James and he
exchanged a glance.

As
for James, he was truly offended for Amanda’s sake because the
words were not only harsh, they were untrue. His wife was tall, yes,
but she had a magnificent body, and there was nothing raw-boned about
it.

“Tell
me, Mother, do you wish to be exiled from my home?” he asked.

“You
wouldn’t!”

“You
think not?” he bit out. “One more unkind word about my
wife, even implied, and you will not be welcome in the big house.”
He turned to Derrick. “As for you—”

“I
did it for Henry,” the dowager hurriedly broke in. “She
was heartbroken that you had put your cousin out. I felt it was the
least I could do.”

James
watched her a moment, cynicism claiming his thoughts. What was his
mother’s motive in all this? She had never cared for Aunt
Henrietta any more than she’d cared for Derrick. Fact was, the
dowager had never cared for any of the Tremonts. Seemed an
unnecessary cruelness to mention that right now, however. Derrick
could not be trusted to hold his tongue, although James suspected his
mother’s attitude was no secret to the rest of the family.