In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (28 page)

“Amanda—”

She
placed an index finger to his lips. “I’m not finished. I
love you, but you’ve always known that. What I had to
acknowledge to myself was my own self-righteous behavior—I was
holding back my love as a punishment because I was angry. I did the
same to my father. I was wrong to do that.”

He
stood up, pulling her to her feet, encircling her in his arms, until
they were chest to chest. She could feel the thumping of his heart,
the rumble of his words as he spoke.

“I’m
not going to let you blame yourself for this,” he said. “I
was the one who was wrong, and your father was wrong as well. Rest
his soul.”

“I
agree. But I’ve watched Derrick use wounded feelings and malice
to retaliate for perceived wrongs. I don’t want to be like
that. I have as much to lose as you do—as Papa did.”

His
expression softened. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing
perceived
about what Archie and I did. Your anger was
appropriate. And,” he looked abashed, “I should have told
you about Derrick staying at Lonsdale.”

“Yes,
but, fortunately for you, I understand why you did not.” Amanda
felt a moment’s hesitation, wanting to broach a subject but not
wanting to seem unpleasant, since she was trying very hard to get
passed all their emotional issues. “Is Derrick, uh…is he
living at Lonsdale permanently?”

James
kissed the tip of her nose. “Do you know why I came to London,
aside from my father’s affairs, I mean?”

She
shook her head.

“Derrick.”

He
gently released her and took her hand, leading her to a small sofa in
front of the fireplace. As they made themselves comfortable, he
explained his effort to set his cousin up in his own residence and
Derrick’s dissatisfaction, his lack of gratitude for the plans
being made for him.

“So
his appreciation for your efforts on his behalf was to try and
destroy our marriage?”

“Or
at least create enough doubt to cause us difficulties for the
foreseeable future. Can’t think of why else he did what he
did.”

“How
are you going to respond?”

James
took her hand and kissed her knuckles, gazing up at her. He wore a
crafty smile that caused her insides to contract.

“How
about I let you decide?” he murmured.

“Pardon?”
Amanda vigorously shook her head. “I don’t think that’s
appropriate, James. After all, he’s your family.”

“But
it’s not only my relationship he tried to destroy, Amanda. We
are one on this. His efforts to divide us will not work. He
needs
to understand that. We want this to be his last effort to put a wedge
between us.”

She
gazed at him thoughtfully. “All right, what are we deciding
then? We allow Derrick to have his home? At least for now?”

“That’s
what you want?”

“For
Aunt Henry’s sake, yes.”

“So
be it.”

***

Archibald
Campbell was an exceptionally wealthy man and, as such, was afforded
a wealthy man’s funeral. The procession wound through the
streets of London, stopping traffic and causing delays on its way to
the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. Amanda insisted on
attending the service in the chapel on the cemetery grounds, although
she could have opted not to if she had preferred. She was dressed all
in black paramatta silk trimmed in crape, and she felt like a walking
wraith, the mourning clothes a true burden to the spirit. This day
brought her mother’s death back in painful memory, and she
wondered how she was to survive the next few hours.

Aunt
Henry and the twins had traveled from Lonsdale, but Huey, given his
delicate nature, had stayed home. The dowager came, not because she
cared a whit about Amanda or her father, but because she didn’t
want to instigate gossip. Derrick was nowhere to be seen.

James
and Amanda rode in the first coach behind the hearse, holding hands,
speaking little. He seemed to know instinctively that she was close
to breaking down, and she appreciated his restraint. She stared out
the carriage window, unaware of the scenery, thoughts inward.

Once
the service was complete, the women departed, leaving to the men the
morbid task of putting the deceased in the ground. Archibald Campbell
would be housed for eternity in an ornate marble mausoleum, a tribute
to his joy in the ornate while he was alive. Amanda had no desire to
see it. She rode home from the cemetery with Aunt Henry. No longer
able to restrain her tears, she quietly wept into a hankie. Aunt
Henry, like James, respected her need to be left in peace.

“We’re
here,” Henry said, as the carriage pulled up to the walk in
front the townhouse.

Amanda
was jolted anew by the black crape draped over the front entrance. A
footman helped the women disembark from the vehicle and ushered them
into the house, a house that no longer felt quite right. Now came the
time to cope with a change so profound, only death could create it.

Amanda
and Aunt Henry entered the salon, removing bonnets and heavy veils as
they made their way to the sofa. The drapes were pulled closed, the
mirrors covered and clocks stopped at the time of her father’s
death as was the way of things in deference to the dead. She
shuddered.
Horrible.
Another year—like the year her
mother had died—of dreary protocols that would be a constant
reminder of Archibald Campbell’s passing. Perhaps at Lonsdale
they could be less rigid about the rules of mourning. As to that, she
could not wait until they were able to retreat to the country.

Henry
rang for tea as they made themselves comfortable.

Amanda
had her emotions under control again. Aware that she had been an
unpleasant companion for most of the day, she decided to make more of
an effort.

“I’m
glad you’re here, Aunt Henry. I don’t know what I would
have done today without your support.”

“My
pleasure, dear. And thank you for sharing your home with us while
we’re in London.”

“Actually,
Papa told me he was leaving the townhome to me
and
James. It
won’t be official, of course, until the will is read. Since the
Lonsdales no longer have a London dwelling—financial
considerations, so James told me—this will be the new family
residence in the city. You and the uncles are not visitors, Aunt
Henry. This is your home also.” She didn’t know exactly
why, but it gave her much pleasure to be able to say that.

The
old lady sniffed as she dabbed at her eyes. “You’re a
sweet girl.”

“Well,
perhaps the house is not as much of a gift as one might think.”

“How
can you say that?”

“Although
James hasn’t said anything yet, Papa’s taste was
rather…ah, for lack of a better term, grandiose?” Amanda
smiled. “I think James is going to want to make some changes.”

Aunt
Henry cast her gaze around the salon. “Oh, y-yes, I see what
you mean. Quite flamboyant.”

Amanda
laughed softly, the first real amusement she’d felt in days.
“Papa grew up poor, thus to him the more elaborate, the more
upper-class. Not always the case, is it?”

The
old lady smiled with her. “No, indeed.”

They
lapse into a comfortable silence.

“Amanda?”
Aunt Henry ventured after a few minutes.

“Yes?”

“Before
the others arrive, I…wanted to thank you for protecting
Derrick.”

Amanda
sighed. “I did it for you, Aunt Henry, not Derrick. I’m
not going to lie to you. James has lost his patience. One more
unpleasant episode with your son, and he will cut him off completely.
There will be nothing any of us can do to help him. Can’t you
warn Derrick to behave himself?”

Henry
shook her head, her expression dejected. “We don’t talk.
Never have, really. My son has little respect for my opinion, and I
don’t believe he would do something for me simply because I
asked it of him. I used to think he loved me, but I fear that was
wishful thinking on my part.”

How
utterly sad.

At
that moment the doorbell chimed, and for the next several hours the
house was filled with callers paying their respects. In the days to
come there was sure to be more of the same. Amanda, normally a social
person, found it all nearly too much to tolerate—too much
commotion and too many well-meaning visitors voicing platitudes. She
must don her own insincere smile, keeping it in place until it felt
as if her face would never relax into normal lines again.

***

Hours
after the last guest had departed, James and Amanda bid goodnight to
those family members still awake and trekked wearily up the staircase
to her room. James paused at her chamber door. The two previous
nights he had slept in another room—in deference to her
exhaustion—because he had not wanted to disturb her when he
retired late and rose early while overseeing the preparations for the
funeral. Tonight, however, the funeral was over and he allowed a
silent question to hang between them as he stood on her threshold.

She
looked at him, brows raised.

“Do
you prefer I again seek other quarters for the night?” he
asked.

“As
much as I appreciate your thoughtfulness, James, you need never have
slept elsewhere. I apologize if I didn’t make that clear. I’ve
been distracted. Please, join me if you wish.”

As
he followed her into the room and closed the door, Amanda turned back
to him. “I only ask that we not…that is to say, I’m
not quite ready to…ah, burying my father today…”

“Amanda—”

A
red flush slowly stained her cheeks. “Oh dear, I’m making
a muddle of it, aren’t I?”

James
chuckled, taking her into his arms. “Sweetheart, what kind of
beast do you think I am? Clearly, grief is your most immediate
emotion. We’ll wait until you feel inclined. In the meantime,
would it be all right if I simply hold you? I’ve missed you in
my bed.”

At
once she looked self-conscious, peeking up at him through her lashes.
“I’ve missed you also.”

“That’s
the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“That’s
not saying much, James, since the talk has been almost exclusively
morbid.”

He
released her, still smiling. “Go, get ready for bed. We’ll
talk each other to sleep.”

Amanda
gathered her nightclothes from the lingerie chest and slipped behind
a screen. James undressed quickly, retaining only his drawers as he
climbed under the bed linens. He felt a level of comfort he hadn’t
felt in days, he realized as he lay on his back, hands clasped behind
his head. Funerals were stressful, even when there were no underlying
circumstances to complicate things. But Amanda and he had come
through the devastating event with their marriage intact—perhaps
better—which was more than he could ever have hoped for. He
sent a prayer heavenward in thanks for his good fortune.

His
wife stepped from behind the screen, and James felt an immediate
carnal response. She was striking in a white cambric nightdress that
covered her from throat to ankle but was rather sheer, giving him a
maddening hint of what lay beneath. Her long, near-black hair,
normally swept up in some style or the other, hung loose over her
shoulders which made her appear younger and less sophisticated. Her
feet were bare.

She
looked momentarily uncertain, and he realized that it had taken only
a few days of no intimacy—on any level—to insert
hesitancy back into their relationship. That was something he was
determined to eliminate as quickly as possible. He casually patted
the mattress next to him in an invitation meant to reassure her.

James
tried manfully to keep his sexual interest bottled as she climbed
beneath the bedclothes, bringing with her that tantalizing scent that
always activated his earthier instincts. He should be feeling grief
as she was, not desire, but unfortunately his body refused to
cooperate. He had missed his wife. They were alone together—in
bed. He stifled a groan, knowing that to reveal his aroused state
would most likely earn him disapproval and a rejection.

Amanda
settled herself on the pillows, face up, folding the sheets down
neatly then lacing her hands over her breasts. She turned her head to
look at him. The smile she gave him was sweet and guileless. His gut
tightened.

She
said, “This feels wonderful, doesn’t it?”

“It
does.” he murmured.

“I
didn’t realize how tired I was until I laid down. My back is
screaming at me.”

He
sat up as a sudden thought struck him. “I’ll massage it.
Roll onto your side away from me.”

Her
eyes widened. “James, you promised.”

“I
swear,” James held up both hands, palms out to deny nefarious
intentions, “I’ll only massage your back. For medicinal
purposes.”

Amanda
watched him for a moment, her gaze dipping to his naked chest. She
licked her lips, which at the moment was a fascinating gesture.
Seeming to come to a decision, she rolled onto her side as he had
requested then glanced over her shoulder.

“Like
this?” she asked.

He
nodded and set to work, starting at her neck and working his way down
along her spine to her hips. She moaned a soft little sound that sent
a thrill of lust straight to his groin. And that’s when James
knew he had made a mistake. He was much too weak to rise above his
baser self when face with such temptation. However, he continued to
work the muscles in her neck, shoulders and back, acutely aware of
the soft flesh he manipulated covered by only her fine cotton gown.
Despite the growing desire that flooded his system, he did not cease
his efforts until her body was as malleable as warm taffy, all the
while knowing this night would end in utter frustration.

“James,”
her voice was languid and drowsy, “that felt lovely. Thank
you.” Amanda rolled back to face him. Something in his
expression must have warned her of what he was feeling, for her eyes
widened and her lips parted. “Oh…”