In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (3 page)

For
now it was just the two of them except for the servants. Her father
had given over his London townhouse for their wedding night, but a
formal dinner and the ball came first, and most likely the
festivities would continue until dawn. Those guests invited to dine
would be arriving within the hour.

Amanda
tripped up the stairs of the townhouse, the skirt of her ivory
wedding gown swishing elegantly to and fro with the fullest crinoline
she had ever worn. She felt like a puffed pastry confection, all
delicate lace and shimmery satin bows. She slowly peeled off her
elbow-length gloves, swirling on the landing to look down on her new
husband.

James
stood at the foot of the staircase on the ground floor. Still dressed
in his wedding finery, he had watched her ascend, blue eyes alight
with appreciation.

“You
make a fetching bride, Mrs. Tremont.”

“You’re
rather fetching yourself, Mr. Tremont.”

“I’d
rather not be fetching, if you don’t mind.”

She
trilled a laugh. “Too late.”

Instantly,
James placed his foot on the first step, grabbing the banister as if
to leap the distance between them. Amanda spun on her dainty
slippers. His roar of mirth followed her as she dashed up to the
second floor and across the hall to her room.

In
her chamber her maid was waiting. Amanda leaned against the closed
door, breathless, conscious that she was wearing a fatuous smile.

“Miss?”
Betty began, then her eyes widened. “Oh, I mean, my lady.”
She stared at Amanda as if the import of her mistress’s new
status was only now becoming clear.

“My
lady…” Amanda let the words roll slowly off her tongue.
“Don’t know if I can get used to that.” Merrily she
pressed her index finger to her lips. “Perhaps you had better
call me miss for a little while longer.”

Joy
permeated every pore of her body, and she took Betty’s hands,
the maid kindly joining her mood. Swinging each other gaily, they
danced in a circle. Amanda’s foot caught on the bottom hoop of
her crinoline, and she stumbled. She found herself sitting in the
middle of the floor, the winded Betty beside her.

Whatever
elegance had been hers was completely destroyed, as she now looked
like a
crushed
puffed pastry. They shared a look, mistress and
maid, and before long the room was filled with their laughter. Ebbing
into hiccups, their merriment was slowly spent, and Betty stood up
and helped Amanda to her feet.

Amanda
straightened her voluminous skirt. “You must think me the
silliest woman alive,” she said sheepishly.

Betty
moved to her back, capable hands undoing the countless pearl buttons
that held her lady’s gown together. “I think you are as
happy as a woman should be on her wedding day. I envy you.”

Her
emotions running the gamut, Amanda now felt close to tears. She
turned and hugged the maid. “I am happy. Happier than I’ve
ever been.”

“Come,
my lady,” Betty said gruffly, patting her shoulder, “let’s
get you out of this gown.”

It
was a struggle, shucking horsehair hoops and the cumbersome wedding
dress, but she finally stood in her corset, chemise and linen
drawers. Betty walked across the room and removed an emerald green
ball gown from the wardrobe. As beautiful as it was, Amanda could not
be enthused.

“I
wish I did not have to put on another gown,” she said.

“I
wish you did not, also,” came a masculine voice that made her
pulse leap.

She
was facing away from the door, but Betty’s expression confirmed
her worst suspicion. She whirled around to find James watching her
from the threshold of the chamber. Leaning against the door jamb,
arms folded across his chest, he wore formal black trousers and a
crisp linen shirt, open at the neck. His eyes were as blue and
compelling as a tropical sea.

“I’m
not ready,” she managed through her shock.

What
a nonsensical thing to say. Of course, she wasn’t ready. She
was in her unmentionables, stripped and self-conscious.

“Neither
am I, as you can see.” He straightened and spread his arms
wide.

“At
least you’re decent.”

“That
can be changed,” he murmured.

Betty
gasped.

His
attention, steely now, shifted to the maid. Though he did not speak,
she immediately laid the gown on the bed and scurried toward the
door.

“Betty!”
Amanda whispered urgently.

The
maid sent her a look of apology, bobbed a curtsy to the earl and
sidled past him into the corridor.

Her
face burned with humiliation. “James, what will she think? What
will they all think? She’ll tell, you know.”

He
shut the door behind him, still watching her, assessing his new wife
in a manner that made her aware of her own body in a very intimate
way. She brought a clenched hand to the cleft between her breasts as
if it could protect her from his scrutiny.

“She
will think her mistress has an eager groom.” He crooked a smile
at her. “It might surprise you to know that those below stairs
are taken with a master and mistress who desire one another. Passion
is something they understand.”

Amanda
swallowed over a nervous lump. “They do?”

“Yes,
indeed.”

With
sudden determination, James closed the distance between them. He
stopped in front of her, taking hold of her bare shoulders, and the
feel of his cool hands caused her skin to pebble with goose flesh.
His gaze was like a caress, warm and filled with promise.

“Do
you think they will miss us if we fail to show?” he asked
huskily.

Appalled,
she said, “We can’t do that.”

“You
have much to learn, my dear. Part of being one of the privileged is
that we can do anything we damned well please.” He grinned. “As
long as it’s not illegal, of course.”

“Oh,
James.” The words were a sigh, filled with longing. “I’m
not looking forward to the party, either.”

The
fire lurking in his eyes sparked, and he gathered her close,
wrinkling his fresh shirt. Amanda dropped her arm from her breast,
leaning into him, and was startled by a rush of heat in her belly.

He
kissed her, his mouth hot and demanding, and she sensed a breaking of
the restraints of respectable behavior that had held him in check
these past weeks. All at once she was on her back on the bed with
James on top of her.

She
pushed at his chest, her lower body squirming beneath his. He
chuckled low in his throat and grabbed her wrists, pressing them into
the mattress above her head.

“If
you wish to make an appearance at your father’s ball, you had
better stop moving,” his gaze intensified, “because I
think my resolve is beginning to crack.”

She
believed him. His groin was pressed tightly against hers, and his
excitement was obvious. Her contrary side decided to make an
appearance for, instead of heeding him, Amanda had the oddest desire
to wrap her legs around his hips and see where this compelling little
drama would lead.

James
was watching her, and her thoughts must have been obvious. A slow
lascivious grin lit his features. His blue eyes burned with
anticipation, and a deep growl rumbled from his chest.

“You
tempt the devil, sweetheart.”

“The
devil is a very handsome man,” she whispered. “He tempts
me.”

His
face was so close to hers, all she had to do was lift her head
slightly to touch his lips with hers. On impulse, she brushed her
tongue against his bottom lip.

“By
God!” he rasped. He took her mouth in a savage kiss that
drained the strength from her body.

A
languid sweetness like warmed honey crept through her limbs, until
the tenseness was gone and Amanda lay limp beneath him. It was a
moment of surrender and she was certain he knew it, for James eased
his grip on her wrists, releasing her.

He
came up on his elbows, his gaze dark and hungry, but there was a
question there. He must have been pleased with what he saw because he
smiled a smile of satisfaction before he leaned down, nuzzling her
throat. His mouth was hot and moist, and he managed to find a spot so
achingly sensitive, she purred like a contented kitten.

In
an act of whimsy, Amanda ran her hands up his shoulders, slipping
them into his hair. It was thick and soft and clean—no
pomade—and the dark strands cascaded sensuously through her
fingers. She stroked his ears, forehead, the nape of his neck,
embracing him with wonder, overwhelmed by the tenderness that touched
them both.

She
sensed the leashed passion, the need for something more, and she
could feel it rising within him—within herself. What a wise man
he was, this new husband of hers, that he did not take advantage of
the situation. James was allowing his caresses to gently woo her,
holding himself back, even as he held her. In that instant Amanda
knew, as she had not understood before, that she loved him.

His
lips traveled to the swell of her breast, only her corset stopping
him from going on, and she could feel his frustration. She was
frustrated, too. All at once he lifted his head, his face transformed
by lust. His eyes were bright blue now, feverish, shining with an
emotion she had never seen before. Rather than fear she felt
intrigued, warmth flooding her pelvis.

As
if he understood where all her most secret sensations were pooling,
he eased away from her just enough to bring his hand to her stomach.
The smile James gave her no longer held humor. It was tight and
intense, and fierce lines edged his eyes as his gaze captured hers.
His fingers dipped lower, moving slowly, excruciatingly. Amanda held
her breath.

When
he finally reached his destination, Amanda shuddered. He touched her
intimately, caressing her through her linen drawers. James kissed her
then, his mouth moving back and forth over hers, lightly, mimicking
the teasing pressure of his hand.

She
whimpered.

From
what seemed a long distance away, the doorbell chimed. However, the
sound did not register on Amanda’s passion-soaked brain until
James let out an angry groan.

“Damn!”

Resurfacing
through an erotic haze, Amanda made the connection slowly. “What?
Was that…was that the door? Is our company beginning to
arrive?”

“Damn!”
he said again, confining her movements when she started to struggle.
“Let them all go to hell.”

“James,
there is nothing I would like better. But we can’t.”

He
scowled. “Yes, we can.”

Amanda
took his face in her hands, now forcing him to look at her. “Thank
you for giving me something so wonderful…” she
swallowed, blushing, “s-so exciting to look forward to.”

He
went very still, and a smile gradually eased the annoyance on his
features. His wintry eyes warmed with pleasure. “You are
certain you wish to stop?”

“I
can’t think of anything I’ve been less certain of in my
life, but I’m imagining having to explain to Papa why we were
late for his party.”

His
grin widened. “I’ll explain.”

“You
wouldn’t!”

“To
finish what we’ve begun?” he asked huskily. “Absolutely.”

She
pushed at him. “Get off me. You are a wicked man.”

James
clung to her, clearly unrepentant. “Is that a bad thing?”
He rubbed his nose against hers and then kissed her thoroughly.

The
languorous feeling began its stealthy advance over her senses once
more, and Amanda knew that if she didn’t make him leave now,
she would not find the strength to do so later.

“James,”
she whispered when he came up for air, “I promise to remember
where we ended this.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes.”

He
rolled off her into a sitting position. “I never was one for
parties,” he grumbled. “That’s one of the reasons I
left England. Too many rules to follow, too many
proper
things
one must do.” He placed his arm beneath her shoulders, helping
her to sit beside him.

Amanda
was uncomfortable, somewhat unsettled now that normalcy had been
restored. She touched his collar, avoiding looking at him.

“Your
clothes are wrinkled,” she said. “You’ll have to
change.”

“True,
but all to a good cause.” The gentle teasing in his voice
brought her gaze shyly to his before she slipped off the bed.

Her
corset pinched her, and she felt short of breath. She was as ripe as
a sun-drenched tomato, bursting from her skin, her body still anxious
from things left undone. Self-conscious, she was aware that he
watched her. She crossed to the mirror of her dressing table.

James
followed, stopping directly behind her. The mirror reflected a
handsome couple, both tall, both dark. Is that how their children
would look? she wondered.

“I
think a man invented the corset,” she said, struggling for air.
“They are a torture chamber for certain.”

“Surely,
not a man. I hate them. Like trying to hug a suit of armor. Believe
me, men think about those things.”

He
placed his hands around her waist, drawing her close. She realized he
was still aroused when he pressed himself against her backside. A
tremor of eagerness sliced through her belly.

“When
we go to the country,” James continued next to her ear, “we’ll
throw these miserable whalebone contraptions away.” He caught
her gaze in the mirror. “We’ll dress you like the ladies
of the West Indies.”

“How
do they dress?” she asked.

“Loose
cotton frocks for coolness, very colorful,” he lowered his
voice, “nothing underneath.”

“Oh,
they do not,” she said, scandalized. “Do they?”

He
chuckled, dropping a sultry kiss on the nape of her neck. Every hair
on her body rose to attention.

“Until
later,” he said softly. James turned, his vow hanging on the
air.

Amanda
merely nodded, her throat too tight with emotion to speak. She
watched in the mirror as he retreated across the room, the door
closing behind him. Her pulse was racing, and her reflection revealed
a riot of dark curls and a rosy flush covering her cheeks and throat.
If she did not calm herself, her guilty demeanor would expose to
everyone what an amazing few minutes had just passed between Lord
Lonsdale and his bride.