In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (2 page)

“Manda—”
began her father.

The
earl interrupted. “Miss Campbell, I much prefer your company to
spirits.” He raised his brows at his host. “Archie?”

“Absolutely.
Manda doesn’t mind my cigars, do you, my dear?”

“Of
course not, Papa. And you may smoke as well, my lor—er, James.”

“I
don’t smoke.”

“One
of the few.” Amanda smiled her surprise. “Congratulations.”

Her
father winked at the earl. “Manda don’t approve of
cigars. She thinks they’re not good for you.”

“Stands
to reason, Papa. If smoke makes a hearth black with soot, what does
it do to your lungs?”

Undeterred,
Archie puffed a cigar into life, and the sweet aromatic smoke drifted
around the table. “She don’t much care for whiskers,
either,” he said after exhaling. He coughed a watery cough,
proving her point about smoking.

“You
don’t?” James, who was clean-shaven, sent her another one
of those warm looks that made her breath catch. “Why is that?”

Amanda
shrugged one shoulder. “A peculiarity of mine, shared by a lot
of women, if you ask me. Why have you avoided that style?”

“Living
in the tropics is very sultry. I found facial hair added to the
discomfort.”

“If
you don’t like heat,” she said, “why would you
choose to live in such a warm part of the world?”

“Never
said I don’t like heat,” he murmured, his gaze hooded.

For
several moments they stared at one another, allowing his words to
simmer between them. Only when her father coughed again, did Amanda
realize how the silence was lengthening.

She
licked her lips nervously, and the earl’s piercing blue eyes
shifted to her mouth, resting there momentarily before he turned to
her father.

Whew!
she thought, an inexplicable desire to fan herself. When she agreed
to hostess her father’s small dinner party, she’d had no
idea she would find the evening so stimulating or the company
so…disturbing.

“You
know, Manda,” Archie said, “I think James would enjoy a
walk through our garden.”

“Yes?”
she asked weakly, looking to the earl.

“Splendid
idea,” James responded.

Amanda
reached for her gloves, which she had removed while eating, putting
them on hands that shook slightly. She stood from her chair with the
earl’s assistance. They linked arms and she escorted him to a
sitting room in the rear of the townhouse. Two sets of French doors
led to a small terrace, which in turn led to several steps that
descended into a long and narrow garden.

She
turned to her father, who had followed them to the door. In that look
she tried to convey the uncertainty she was feeling, but he chose to
ignore her, waving them on with a benign hand.

“Take
your time,” Archie said, seeming almost unfatherly in his
effort to please.

Amanda
shot him another glance over her shoulder, this time expressing
consternation, but he ignored her again, moving back into the sitting
room. She could have sworn he was humming between puffs on that
confounded cigar.

“My
father is very accommodating this evening,” she said, hoping
she didn’t sound as piqued as she felt.

“I’m
glad he is.”

The
sensual voice next to her ear caused Amanda to swing her head in the
earl’s direction, and that brought her face very close to his.
He was watching her, his compelling eyes shining with something she
couldn’t identify. Whatever it was made her nerves quiver with
expectation. She quickly turned away and took a deep, shaky breath.

The
brick path was lit by Chinese lanterns, and the cool night air,
fragrant with the blossoms of early spring, felt wonderful on her
flushed skin.

“It’s
chilly,” James said, his voice as impersonal now as his gaze
was not.

“It
feels good,” Amanda said breathlessly. “It was rather,
ah, stuffy inside.”

Rather
stuffy out here, too, she thought. Why did her chest feel so tight?
Couldn’t be nervousness, could it? She was a sophisticated
woman and, at twenty-four years, had been courted by many men. Where
was the town polish that was usually hers, the confidence she felt
when socializing with the opposite sex? Earl Lonsdale was just
another man, albeit a high-ranking one.

He
was not courting her, she reminded herself. They had only just met.
The earl was merely indulging in a little lighthearted flirting, to
which she should respond in kind as any fashionable female would.

They
strolled the garden path once, then twice, her hand resting lightly
on his coat sleeve. A stone bench was positioned not far from the
terrace, and James led her there as they circled for the third time.

“Would
you like to sit in the moonlight for a little while?” he asked.

Amanda
glanced inside the townhouse. Her father sat in his favorite chair in
the sitting room, facing away from the French doors. A curl of smoke
floated above his head and, from the looks of it, he was perusing the
morning paper, which she was certain he had already perused
thoroughly at breakfast.

“I
suppose that would be all right.”

The
earl waited politely while she arranged her skirts so her crinoline
did not pop up and embarrass her. He sat next to her, and for long
moments she was aware of him studying her profile.

“You
are a beautiful woman, Amanda. And I’ve been around the world
and seen quite a few. Imagine, I had to come home to England to find
the fairest lady in the land.”

Amanda
stared at him, mouth hanging open like a fish, erasing, she was
certain, any semblance to fair looks. She had heard it all, the
swains waxing poetic on her beauty, and she had rolled her eyes,
never taking them seriously. Why now did her heart begin thudding
painfully and the blood rush to her cheeks? Only the understanding
that he was playing at gallantry kept her from completely losing her
poise.

“Lord
Lonsdale, I have the feeling you are prone to exaggeration. Beauty is
subjective.”

“James,
remember? And I was only speaking for myself,” he said gently.

Oh,
he was a first-rate flatterer! How could she turn away such a pretty
compliment without sounding ungracious?

“Then,
James…I thank you.”

“I
hope I didn’t offend earlier when I implied that you and your
father do not look alike.”

“Papa
finds it amusing when people are taken aback as you were.” She
paused, returning the smile she saw in his eyes. “I look like
my mother.”

“That
explains it. The portrait of the woman in the dining room?”

Amanda
nodded.

“She
has fair hair.”

“I
have my father’s coloring, as you pointed out, my lord,”
she said archly.

“I
didn’t come off well in that exchange, did I?”

She
laughed, delighted by his ability to make a jest at his own expense.
“You came off just as you were meant to.”

He
chuckled with her, and for a few moments they sat
quietly—comfortably, to Amanda’s surprise.

“Your
mother?” James asked at last.

She
sobered. “Passed. We lost her when I was fifteen years.”

“I’m
sorry. My father died recently, so I understand.”

“I
didn’t think Papa would recover.” She glanced at the sky
with its myriad of twinkling stars, her thoughts slipping inward. “It
was a love match, you see.”

“Indeed?”

“You
sound surprised. Papa was wealthy without a handsome face, and Mama
was beautiful with no prospects. She married for convenience, but
Papa loved her always. My mother adored him before she died.”

“They
spoke of it openly?”

“It
was their little jest, and they shared it with me.” She
swallowed. “I miss her.”

James
took her hand, turning it over so the inside of her wrist was exposed
above her glove. He ran his thumb across her pulse in a gesture so
intimate, she felt her insides contract. He brought his gaze to hers,
a crooked smile easing the fire that sparked in his eyes.

“I
have enjoyed tonight. Do you suppose your father will allow me to
call again?”

Confused,
she said, “But of course. You and he have business, do you
not?”

“Business?
Yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten in the pleasure of the
evening. Business can hardly compete with the company of a lovely
woman.”

She
should ignore his outrageous compliments, understanding that he, like
most men, used flattery to disarm a woman. Yes, that’s what she
should
do. However…

“I
hope you do call again, James,” she said, afraid that she was
simpering at him like a schoolgirl. “I’ve enjoyed
tonight, also.” Embarrassed, she slipped her hand from his and
came to her feet. “I think I should go inside now. I’m
finally feeling the chill.”

Once
more in the sitting room, Amanda bid her father a subdued goodnight,
sending him a look of reproach that he ignored equally as well as he
had ignored her earlier silent messages.

She
turned to their guest. “My lord,” she said politely.

“Miss
Campbell,” he returned, his voice deep and suggestive, his gaze
fraught with meaning.

James
took her hand again and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. Even
through her glove she could feel his mouth, the warmth seeping
through the fine cotton to linger long after they parted. She climbed
the stairs to her room, trailing her fingers along the banister, lost
in thought.

Not
for a moment did she believe something could come from tonight. But
Earl Lonsdale was every young girl’s dream, handsome and
titled, charming and sophisticated. The one thing she had not
imagined as a child was the raw masculinity of her “dream,”
the outright sexual magnetism. No, it took a grown woman to be aware
of that in a man.

She
lay awake a long time that night, the sounds of the city drifting in
from the street, her body alive with nervous excitement. Like a ride
down a steep hill on a snow sled, her stomach leaped into her breast
each time she remembered the way the earl had looked at her. At least
she had the satisfaction of knowing he was attracted to her. A lonely
little part of her wished that was enough.

***

James
watched as Amanda disappeared up the staircase then turned a wary
gaze on his host. It was reckoning time, and he wasn’t yet
prepared to play his hand.

“Well?”
Archie began as they moved back into the drawing room. He went to the
sideboard, where a full decanter of sherry rested, and poured two
small glasses nearly to the rim. “What did you think of my
Manda?”

“Your
daughter is lovely, exceptional. But then you already knew that.”

Archie
motioned to two chairs in front of the fire and handed James his
drink as they sat down.

“She’s
had offers, my lord, more than I can count.”

“I
don’t doubt it.” James took a swig of his sherry,
surprised by a sudden irritation. “A woman with money is in
demand. A beautiful woman with money…well, need I say more?
You should be careful that you don’t sacrifice your daughter to
a scoundrel.”

The
old man eyed him shrewdly. “Are you a scoundrel, my lord?”

“Damn
it, man! You are approaching me at a vulnerable time. You know my
circumstances. I need money, but I don’t think marrying Amanda
to get it is fair to her. She deserves better.”

For
a long time Archie said nothing, sipping his drink, the fire seeming
to absorb his interest. The look he finally turned on his guest made
James squirm.

“You
care for Manda’s feelings, and that gives me hope. It says
something for your character, what kind of man you are. That’s
important to me, whether I’ve made that clear or not.”

“And
what do you gain from my marriage to Amanda, Campbell?”

The
old man smiled a mocking smile. “I’m a business man, my
lord. Father-in-law to an earl, grandfather to a future earl, that
lends me a cache I don’t have presently. I’m not without
my selfish motives, and I’ll not pretend otherwise because I
hate a hypocrite. But truth is, I’ve begun to worry that Manda
won’t find someone who pleases her, and I want her to marry—for
her sake, not mine.”

“What
makes you think I will please her where others have failed?”

Archie’s
expression turned sly. “Oh, you please her, my lord. I know my
daughter.”

Uncomfortable,
James quickly looked away, a knot of heat unfurling in his belly.
“One night is hardly enough to go on,” he mumbled.

“True,
but we have to begin somewhere.”

“She’ll
want to know what kind of business we share.”

This
last was taken, as James knew it would be, for acquiescence.

Archie
grinned hugely. “Cigars, my lord!”

“What?”

“Cuban
cigars. You’ve lived in the West Indies. What more natural
association since you’ve just come from there. And everyone
knows my feelings on the matter.” He stuffed the cigar he was
smoking back in his mouth, clamping his teeth around it.

“I
suppose.”

James
returned to his sherry, troubled. It was too easy, the pieces falling
into place without effort. And that was never to be trusted. He had
met the man’s daughter, and he was certain of at least this
much—she would find the subterfuge, the manipulation of her
future, insulting.

He
should run now while there was still time. Oddly, he didn’t
want to nearly as badly as he had before dinner tonight, before a
walk in the garden—before the image of Amanda Campbell in his
bed had stolen his imagination.

***

CHAPTER
2

Late
June, 1859

It
was a whirlwind romance, the stardust of fairy tales and magic.
Amanda had given up wondering where her good fortune had come from,
deciding that she was tempting fate by not seizing the moment.

They
had met less than twelve weeks before, and an hour ago she had
married one of London’s most eligible bachelors. The church had
been filled with aristocrats and common folk alike, reflecting the
differing social positions of the couple at the altar. James had
brought his family down from the country for the wedding, and tonight
there would be a grand ball to celebrate their union. Papa had spared
no expense, spending lavishly—foolishly—on his only
child.