In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (14 page)

“Let’s
go upstairs,” he rasped.

Without
thinking, she began shaking her head.

He
clasped her face, stopping the movement, forcing her to look at him.

“Why,
Amanda, why? It’s not natural. I refuse to let us go on like
this.” He groaned. “Damn it! I don’t think I
can
go on like this.”

“I
can’t…I just can’t…” Emotion bled
through her words, exposing her pain in a most humiliating way. “It’s
not only you, James. My father betrayed me. And he is supposed to
love me.”

“Meaning
I don’t?”

Amanda’s
gaze shifted away from him, and she shrugged one shoulder.

“How
can I convince you I care?” he asked.

“Not
by doing…this, James.” She spread her arms to indicate
the passion that had evaporated around them. “I-I’m not
indifferent, but I want—oh, Lord, I don’t know what I
want anymore.”

James
came to his feet. There was a sadness around his eyes but
determination in the set of his shoulders.

“I
stayed away last night, Amanda, because I could not bring myself to
upset you on your first night here. I stood on the threshold of my
own bedchamber and watched my wife, feeling like a voyeur rather than
a man with the rights of a husband. I did not like it, not one bit.”

“When
you speak of rights you cannot speak of love,” she snapped.

“You
won’t let me speak of love.”

She
turned away from him because she had no answer to that. He was right.

A
moment’s frozen silence and then he retreated, his boot heels
clicking an irate tattoo on the wooden floor as he moved through the
house. She heard the front door open and close.

She
trembled from the inside out, her hands, even her lips betraying her.
She was punishing him. Amanda knew it as surely as she wondered how
to stop the harmful behavior. Probably did not matter. She suspected
things were about to change.

Tonight
there would be no reprieve.

***

Moments
after leaving his wife in the dining room, James entered the stables
and ordered his horse saddled. An outdoor breeze and the fresh smell
of hay cleared his head, and with clear thought his anger was eased.
It wasn’t really anger he felt, anyway. He was hurt.

Every
time he approached Amanda, she rebuffed him. Every effort on his part
to convey his feelings was met with distrust, if not outright
cynicism. He sensed that she was not indifferent to him—she had
in fact admitted as much. But if she could not get passed her pique,
what did it matter?

His
ego was sorely bruised, and it was becoming more and more difficult
to push the issue. Only dogged determination forced him to keep
trying, the absolute belief that the longer they let their
estrangement fester, the more likely they were to have a failed
marriage. The very thought was untenable.

He
thanked the groom when his horse was delivered.

“M’lord?”
the man said.

“Yes,
Smith.”

“Lord
Lindley went riding a couple of hours ago. Had two rather
disreputable looking fellows what came for him. Don’t know that
it matters, but thought you might want to know.”

“Damn!
I’d forgotten about Derrick.” He frowned at the groom,
and the man backed up a step. “Sorry, Smith, it’s not
your fault. Yes, of course, I want to know every movement my cousin
makes, especially anything that seems odd.”

Now
there was a request, he thought, since damned near anything Derrick
did could be considered odd.

But
Smith merely nodded. “Yes, m’lord.”

James
mounted his horse and galloped from the yard, headed for the high
green meadows that surrounded much of the estate. He gave the animal
full reign, allowing the brisk wind and the flow of the earth beneath
him to temporarily sweep away his troubles. For the first time in
days he felt a measure of exhilaration, and he let the emotion take
him.

Several
minutes into his ride, he crested a small hill. From that vantage
point James could see for miles, acre upon acre of prime English real
estate. For generations the Lonsdales had been land rich and money
poor. And for some strange reason no one had been willing to sell any
of the land to improve the family finances. He understood. Even
recently, on the brink of destitution, the idea of parting with so
much as a patch of his heritage was unthinkable.

The
village of Huxley was twenty minutes to the south of Lonsdale. He
wondered if the small inn on the edge of town, which he had not seen
since leaving England, still served ale to the weary traveler—or
to someone like himself with worries on his mind and needing a quiet
place to think. Curious—and thirsty—James tugged on the
reins and kicked his horse into a full run headed toward the village.

Happily,
the inn was where he had left it, ancient stone and mortar, not
looking a whit different than it had on his last visit there. On that
occasion nearly a dozen years ago, several of his mates had toasted
him endlessly, glass after glass of ale less than twenty-four hours
before James set sail for the Americas.

Probably
was just as well he had been drunk at the time or, green as he was,
he might never have followed through with his plan to leave the
country. And that would have been a pity. His sojourn in the West
Indies was the highlight of an otherwise uneventful youth.

Until
Amanda.

He
sighed, dismounting and dusting off his boots. Entering the inn,
James was met by cool, dank air and a moldering odor—unique to
truly old buildings—that had taken centuries to accumulate.

A
young waitress, blonde and attractive in a blowzy sort of way, showed
him to a table and took his order. She returned shortly and placed a
mug in front of him. The smile she sent James was saucy, almost
flirtatious.

“Haven’t
seen you around here, gov’nor.”

James
smiled back, more out of courtesy than inclination. “Just
returned home,” he said, unwilling to elaborate.

“Where’s
home?”

“Lonsdale.”

Her
eyes widened. “His lordship?”

“One
and the same.” He picked up his glass, hoping she would take
the hint.

At
that moment, the raucous laughter of several males filled the room,
and his attention was drawn to the far corner of the darkened inn.

Derrick…and
his two friends.

“I
wish they would leave,” the waitress said, her gaze following
his.

“Are
they making trouble?”

Her
attitude turned wary. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’.
The blonde gentleman said he’s from Lonsdale, too.”

“Not
as sorry as I am,” James muttered.

This
time she gave him a smile that was genuine and without coquetry.
“Relative of yours?”

“Cousin.”

“They’re
not making trouble, m’lord, not really. But your cousin is a
cheeky devil. Disrespectful, he is. Kind of bloke what shouldn’t
drink, ‘cause spirits brings out the worst in ‘im.”

Unfortunately,
for Derrick—and all those who knew him—there was no
“best” in his cousin, sober or not. James exhaled
morosely. He would have to do his contemplating another day. He took
a sip of his ale and stood up, bringing the mug with him.

“Perhaps
I’ll wander over and see how the chaps are getting on. Won’t
hurt for them to know I’m here.”

He
ambled across the room, adopting a casual attitude, feeling anything
but. Derrick looked up as James reached the table. His cocky smile
drifted into a smirk, his transparent gaze growing hard.

“Well,
well, if it ain’t Cousin James.”

“Indeed,”
James returned pleasantly. “Mind if I join you?”

“Why,
Cousin, is this your day to step down in the world?”

“Would
seem so.”

Derrick
waved his hand toward an empty chair. “Then by all means…”

Sarcasm
hung on the air, so oppressive he could wear it like a coat, but
James chose to show no offense. He sat down and leaned back, taking
stock of Derrick’s two companions.

The
first, whom James silently nicknamed “Ratty,” was thin
and stringy with shifty black eyes and front teeth that rested
prominently on his bottom lip. He exuded cruelty.

The
other was built like an ox, small head and smaller ears. He exuded
cruelty, also, mixed with a liberal dose of stupidity, a lethal
combination under any circumstances. Both fellows looked common and
shady, and by his association with them Derrick was characterizing
himself.

“You
going to introduce me to these, ah, gentlemen, Derrick?”

“Sure,
sure,” Derrick said. “This is James Tremont, Earl
Lonsdale. Freddy Jones,” he waved at Ratty before pointing at
the ox, “and George Little.”

“Jones,
Little,” James acknowledged them.

Freddy
sucked his big front teeth, and George merely stared at him stupidly.

“It’s
grown rather quiet,” James remarked. “Hope I haven’t
interrupted anything.”

“Only
the fun, Cousin.”

This
was met by a communal nod and a round of snickers.

“I
hate it when you sound petulant, Derrick.” James turned to his
cousin’s friends. “Petulance, not a man’s emotion,
don’t you agree?”

The
two men looked to Derrick for guidance.

Derrick,
ever sensitive, bit back. “What’s the matter, James? Your
wife still angry with you?” His swollen lip curled.
“Frustration making you irritable?”

That
last came so close to the mark that James was out of his chair before
he realized he had stood up. To his satisfaction, however, his cousin
cringed away from him.

“It
never fails to amaze me,” James said evenly, “that a man
so terrified of physical pain would go out of his way to invite it.
Your lip is nearly healed. Perhaps you would like me to open it
again.”

“I’m
not afraid of you, Cousin.” The slight quaver in Derrick’s
voice belied that statement.

“No,
of course, you’re not.”

“And
I’m the one with reinforcements.”

“Is
that so?”

His
gaze skimmed over Freddy and George, but James sensed that neither
man was ready for a brawl. Not that they were strangers to violence,
he decided, but challenging a peer of the realm in a public place was
an unintelligent move even for a stupid man.

James
leaned forward and crooked a finger at Derrick’s friends. “Tell
you what, gents, I’d like a private word with my cousin. How
about waiting outside? Judging by the empty glasses on this table, I
suspect a little fresh air will do you both some good.”

Derrick
jumped up. “Now wait a minute—”

But
his protest was cut off by the hasty retreat of George and Freddy.
James was not fooled. Under other circumstances those ruffians would
turn his face inside out and not give it a thought. But today was
clearly not the day, so perhaps they weren’t as dull-witted as
he had at first thought.

Now
alone with his cousin, James again took a seat at the table and said,
“Sit down, Derrick.” He picked up his drink.

“I
can listen to what you have to say on my feet.”

“Sit.
Down.”

His
attitude as sullen as a wayward child, Derrick flopped into his
chair. “Some things never change. Still telling me what to do.
In case you haven’t noticed, Cousin, I’m an adult now.”

“Chronologically,
perhaps. When did you start getting drunk before the noon hour?”

“Nothing
wrong with having a few drinks with a couple of blokes.”

“No.
Done it myself many times. Not usually for my morning meal, however.”

“Then…?”

James
leaned forward and nailed his cousin with a look. “What are you
doing?” He put up his hand to stem the protest. “Not
here, not today. Why did you come back to Lonsdale when I expressly
told you not to?”

“Did
you want me to sleep on the streets?”

“Frankly,
I didn’t give a damn then and I don’t now.”

“How
do you think Mother will feel about that?”

“Completely
in character, Derrick. When are you going to stop hiding behind Aunt
Henry’s skirts?”

“Can
I help it if she loves me?”

“You
can help exploiting that love. Give her a day of pride instead of
continually breaking her heart.”

“It
is not my fault if I can’t live up to her expectations.”

“No
appealing to your better side, is there? You don’t have one.”

James
shook his head in disgust, his gaze wandering to the window. He could
see Freddy and George standing in the yard, talking and sending black
looks toward the inn, no doubt aimed at James and his highhanded
methods. Hands flailing, outrage at the ready, Mr. Jones spit through
his bucked teeth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if
punctuating his speech. His tiny-eared friend merely nodded glumly.

“And
what of them?” James asked.

Derrick
glanced out the window and shrugged. “What of ‘em?”

“Where
are they staying?”

“Here.
At the inn.”

“You’ve
not introduced them to Mother?”

“Come
now. Introduce Freddy and George to Aunt Muriel? She’s barely
tolerating me, remember?”

“Why
are they here?”

“They
amuse me. I’m bored. What more do you want?”

An
easy answer—a little too easy. “So…they are
visiting just to provide you with companionship?”

“Sounds
about right.”

“I
see.” James sipped his drink then pursed his lips. “I’m
watching you, Derrick. I’m watching Jones and Little. If you
wish to keep a roof over your head, don’t give me
any
reason to send you packing. Because there is nothing I’d like
more.”

“No
family fealty to temper your attitude?” his cousin sneered.

“None
whatsoever. Let’s not fool ourselves. There’s no love
lost between us, never has been. If you had not found it necessary to
hurt my wife, we could have left it at that. Now there is acrimony.”