Tempting Eden

by Margaret Rowe

  She had spent hours on her original note, but she had no time now to be clever. She simply wrote, Come to me tonight, I beg you. She didn’t seal it but folded it so many times it resembled a paper lump.

  Collins looked disapproving, as though he wanted to say something to her. Something like “Don’t drink so much. And don’t sleep with Lord Hartford.” It was probably plain to all who had eyes she was madly in love with her stepfather, and she was not one bit ashamed. After years of awkwardness, she was a woman grown and knew her own mind.

  Eden sat by her fire, finishing the rest of the wine. She arranged and rearranged her breasts. She tried to read and couldn’t concentrate. When she at last heard the tap at her door, she felt a stab of fear. And forbidden thrill.

  The thrill had faded long ago. An empty routine of obedience had taken its place. But Eden would never obey another man again. Not as a lover. Certainly not as a wife.

  She went to her little writing desk and pulled out the crumpled letter from Kempton. He would get no satisfaction from her now. Hart knew the truth, or at least he thought he did. He had heard it from her own lips.

  It was time to mend fences. Eden had fallen out of touch with the few friends and relations her mother had. Years ago, when Eden’s mother, Marjorie, had married John Emery at the age of fifteen, she was living with her older brother George and his family. George was happy to see the back of her. Spoiled and cosseted by their late parents, Marjorie was far more ornamental than practical. And George’s wife was understandably jealous of a beautiful young girl, while she was fading. When the young curate came, Marjorie’s family felt God himself had sent him to remove their burden.

  Marjorie could barely manage a household. Eden’s father would laugh as he remembered the ruined dinners and lumpy stockings. But he loved to look at her across the breakfast table, as long as someone else was stirring the oats. He had trusted Eden to help her mother. How disappointed he would have been to know how badly she had failed.

  Then Eden’s father had died suddenly. She, all of eleven years old, assumed responsibility for her family. Baron Hartford had recently returned to the neighborhood and released her from her familial duty once he was introduced to her mother, who made a very fetching picture in her widow’s weeds. The marriage, well before the proper year of mourning was up, would have been more of a scandal if the parish had not been secretly relieved.

  The baron had not been looking for a helpmeet, Eden realized, but someone decorative he could dominate. Marjorie had not been enough of a challenge. She was without much imagination or understanding. How bored he must have been until he remembered there was another female in his household ripe for debauchment. It was a wonder he had waited as long as he did.

  Reliving the past would get her no closer to her future. Eden began her letter to her dreaded uncle George and his wife. She let them know that Jannah was very ill and dropped a hint about her own uncertain future. Then she wrote to Jannah’s godmother as well, a cousin of her mother’s who had married a man of property and was now a widow. Mrs. Stryker was a keen traveler. Perhaps she needed a companion for her adventures.

  If Eden could get to London, she might also seek employment through an agency. She had lied to Lord Hartford about having secured a position, but she knew now employment was more essential than ever. She’d not touch a penny of his money. She’d rather starve. She had years of practice.

  The weeping woke her with a start. Eden knew before she put a foot on her floor what had happened. She didn’t even bother with her dressing gown.

  There was just enough gray light of dawn to see her way to Jannah’s room. She turned the door handle and found Mattie sitting on the bed. Mattie, Charlotte and Eden had taken turns sleeping in Jannah’s room on a cot for the past few weeks. Now Eden wished she had spent the night in her sister’s room instead of writing letters and wishing both Barons Hartford to the devil. At least she had shared a plain dinner with her sister, during which she’d endured listening to Jannah wax poetic about Hart the handsome army officer. The man’s visit had probably hastened her death, Eden thought bitterly. Jannah had been so enervated she’d coughed for what seemed like hours into the night.

  “Oh, Miss Eden! I was about to come to you. She’s—she’s gone.”

  Eden embraced Mattie before looking at her sister’s pale form. Jannah seemed peaceful at last, not gasping for breath. Eden pulled the linen covers up, but hesitated before covering her sweet face.

  “I closed her eyes,” Mattie said, her round face red from crying.

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Not that I could understand, miss. I was asleep when she made a little noise. By the time I got to her, she had passed.”

  “Best go downstairs and tell Mrs. Washburn and Collins. They’ll know what to do. I’ll stay with her.”

  Eden watched as Mattie belted her robe about her buxom figure. The maid didn’t bother tidying her hair, but moved quickly. Eden thought her haste was unnecessary; Jannah was quite beyond help. But she sat on the soft feather bed and held her sister’s cooling hand.

  She had been six when Jannah was born. A baby sister at last, to make up for her vexatious brother and the other children her mother had lost. Jannah had danced after Eden like a merry little shadow. They had been inseparable until Eden had been seduced and the wall of secrets rose higher and higher.

  She looked up to see Stuart Hartford on the threshold. He was already dressed for riding.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “May I come in?”

  Eden was suddenly aware she sat in her threadbare nightgown again, her nipples bristling in the chill of the room.

  She nodded. She was too heartsick to argue. “Perhaps you could see to the fire.” Usually it was kept blazing all night, but poor Mattie must have been so exhausted she’d fallen asleep.

  He said nothing as he efficiently set to coaxing the coals to flare. After laying a few logs down, he removed his jacket and handed it to Eden.

  “You must be cold.”

  The jacket held warmth from the man’s body. Carried his scent. Eden flinched away. “If you could fetch my dressing gown, I would prefer it.”

  “As you wish.”

  Hart walked down the hall, not quite certain which room was hers. A door stood open at the end of the corridor. The bed was rumpled, a severe gray woolen robe tossed across a chair. It certainly was not designed to entice a gentleman. In fact, nothing in this room exhibited any form of passion. It was nearly as spare as a monk’s cell. The only adornment was a pair of Canton Ware vases empty of flowers on the chimneypiece and a framed pencil portrait of a woman and child he supposed to be Eden’s mother and sister. Hart had only seen the one charcoal sketch by his uncle, and the subject matter was markedly different, but it was obvious he had been the artist here, too. Whatever his uncle had been, he had talent. The oil painting in the library of the late Lady Hartford was very well done, too. She had been a great beauty, far more lovely than her daughter. Odd that Eden compelled him as strongly as she did when there were so many beautiful girls who possessed qualities she lacked—like morals.

  When he returned to Jannah’s room, the servants were clustering around Eden. Someone had thought to wrap a blanket around her. He gave her the robe and excused himself.

  Damn. He had been determined to leave Hartford Hall tomorrow with Juliet. Now it seemed his first formal performance as Baron Hartford would be as host to a funeral. And if he knew softhearted Juliet, she’d want to get her hands on Eden Emery and make her a protégée. Hart couldn’t permit that.

  He went out to the stables, finding activity already, although the sun had not yet risen. From the looks of the sky, he might never see it when it did. As he saddled his horse, he discovered that the stable hands had already been informed of Jannah’s death. No doubt they thought him a cold man for keeping to his usual routine, but a ride always helped him think, and think he must.

  Eden had looked starkly attractive this morning, with her loo
se hair cascading around her. She had shed no tears, but her pain was evident, as was the lushness of her breasts through the transparent night rail. No wonder his uncle had been tempted, as he himself had been tempted the other night. Perhaps she was not entirely at fault for what happened between them. His uncle had been a libertine in his prime, and the books in the library proved he had not lost his taste for sin. The isolation of Hartford Hall was enough to turn anyone slightly mad. It was even affecting Hart, infusing his brain with improper thoughts of a girl who had just lost her sister. Eden had somehow invaded his dreams and his waking hours. Her sensual voice, her wide dark eyes, even the tilt of her prideful chin warred with what he knew of her.

  Hart found he had traveled the same path on horseback that he had hiked the other day. He turned to face his home, and for the first time felt a spark of belonging. In the spring, the hills would be dotted with his sheep and lambs. His eyes searched, and he found the tidy home farm in the distance, its neat fallow fields resembling a child’s board game. The acreage was too steep to plant much more than would supply the needs of the tenants and hall, but he could not complain of the hearty fare he and his aunt had consumed during their visit. He could be happy here. His own corner of Paradise. Once Eden Emery removed herself.

  She had spoken of employment in London. There she would go, as soon as arrangements could be made. If absolutely necessary, she could ride back to town with them. Hart could spend the days riding alongside the carriage.

  Or he could send the women ahead. He had men to spare to escort them. With his newfound riches, he’d employed a couple of ex-soldiers who felt the loss of Napoleon and the funds to foil him quite keenly. He’d never been called a coward, but Hart was uncertain he could stand to be in Eden’s presence for the lengthy journey. He’d speak a few blunt words to her about confiding in his aunt. There was no reason to drag Juliet into the mire.

  With the Eden problem settled to his satisfaction, he gave his horse its head on a flat stretch, enjoying the wind in his face. He felt it would be the last bit of freedom he’d experience for the foreseeable future.

  The late baron had thought his neighbors quaint provincials. He deigned to visit them only on rare occasions, but did not reciprocate by inviting them into his home. He did sometimes entertain a friend from London, for whose amusement Eden had been asked to perform, much to her mortification. Lord Blanchard had sat like a spider in a corner as Ivor demonstrated his power over her.

  But on the whole the Hall had been very quiet. Eden was pleased to see neighbors who remembered the child she was, sitting quietly in church listening to her father’s every word. They could not come for her mother or brother, would not come for Hartford, but they were there in force for Jannah.

  When at last the pillaged platters of cold meats and pies and salads were returned to the kitchen, Eden was left in the drawing room with Juliet and Hart. Eden had begun to think of him as just Hart, as it was a vast relief not to keep calling him Lord Hartford. Juliet had been kindness itself the past few days. After the funeral, she had pressed hands and charmed complete strangers. Eden imagined Juliet knew more about the neighbors now than she herself did. After years of isolation under the baron’s thumb, she was truly alone now without Jannah.

  Hart had said nothing of any substance to her since their disagreement the day before Jannah died. She wondered when he would expect her to leave. She was already prepared to go, having organized her few possessions in the idle moments she had as Juliet took charge of the household. It might be weeks before her letters bore fruit, too late now in any case. She needed to go at once.

  “Are you tired, dear?” Juliet asked solicitously. The candles cast long shadows in the room, but Juliet still looked fresh as ever. From her myriad trunks she had unearthed an exquisite mourning gown. With its jet beading catching the firelight, she was impossibly chic.

  “A bit.” Now was as good a time as any. “I want to leave Hartford Hall as soon as possible. There is no longer any need for me to postpone my employment.”

  Eden glanced at Hart. He displayed no emotion. He’d been quite concerned over Eden’s future at the start of his stay, and Eden hoped Juliet would not notice the change and quiz him on it.

  “I do understand. You must find the atmosphere gloomy now. My nephew and I have not discussed it, but I presume we shall be leaving in a few days ourselves. Surely you may travel back to London with us. You can stay with me until you finalize the details of your position. You’ve never said, Eden. Whom will you work for?”

  “Jannah’s godmother,” she lied. For now. She hoped in time it might be true.

  “She resides in London?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Perhaps we can do a bit of shopping before you plunge into your job. Have some quiet entertainment.” Juliet patted Eden’s arm. “I know you are grieving, but I should so like to send you off after you have a bit of fun. You deserve it.”

  Involuntarily, Eden looked over to Hart again. His cold eyes met hers, and she felt her face go hot and her tongue thicken. “Th-that’s very kind of you, Juliet, but not necessary. The sooner I accustom myself to my new circumstances, the better.” She twisted her mother’s bracelet around her wrist. She had hidden it from Kempton, but perhaps it could fetch something at a jeweler’s. It was studded with tiny rubies, a bride gift from her stepfather. He had not been an extravagant man.

  “Mattie should come along,” said Juliet, surprising Eden. “The poor girl is fagged to death. She needs a change of scenery, too.”

  “I doubt Mrs. Stryker will expect me to come with a lady’s maid,” Eden said doubtfully. The woman would be shocked enough when Eden turned up on her doorstep.

  “Of course not! We shall send her back here by and by. Or she may decide that London has more opportunities. Give me a week, Eden. I should so like to introduce you to society—nothing untoward, I promise. No balls or cotillions. We could take tea at my young friend Althea’s. She’s still in mourning for her mother and would welcome the diversion. And I believe Hart should accompany us. Althea would make him a perfect wife.”

  “Who is this paragon?” he rumbled.

  And he would require a paragon, thought Eden. Insist upon it. Someone pure and virginal and untouched by scandal. He and this Althea or someone like her would raise blazingly blond giants in this house and exorcise the demons unleashed by his uncle.

  “You remember Lady Dorr?”

  “Gad, yes. What a witch.”

  “Althea is her youngest daughter. And lucky you. Your prospective mama-in-law is already with the angels.”

  “More likely she’s an imp of Satan. Old Scratch must be sorry he won her soul by now.”

  Eden felt uncomfortable listening to their teasing exchange. She didn’t belong here. It was time she excused herself. She rose from the sofa and Hart followed suit.

  “Juliet, we’ll discuss the afterlife and my matrimonial prospects another time. Eden, I should like a private word with you in the library before you go upstairs.”

  Damnation. Hadn’t she suffered enough today? Eden nodded and followed him along the corridor.

  “I shan’t keep you long,” he said, gruff. “Please sit.” He turned his back to her and went to poke the fire.

  She remained standing, prideful. “I know what you wish to say.”

  “Do you?”

  Eden ticked the impromptu list off her fingers. “I’m fully aware my presence is anathema to you. You don’t want me to take advantage of your aunt’s hospitality. If it were in your power, you’d send me straight to Lady Dorr.”

  “Still making jokes at my expense. Very amusing. Perhaps Hell does not hold its gates open for you just yet, but you must realize how insupportable it is that you make your home with my aunt for any length of time.”

  “Are you afraid my sin will rub off? I assure you, sir, I’m done with the so-called pleasures of the flesh. I want nothing to do with any man.”

  “A pity you weren’t so circumsp
ect earlier.”

  Eden choked back her retort. Hart was a wall of propriety she’d never be able to scale. “I would prefer to go to London on my own. But as you are aware, your aunt is most persuasive. She does not appear to take the meaning of ‘no.’ What am I to say to her?”

  Hart sighed. “She is too kindhearted by half. No doubt if you told her the truth, she’d just feel you were an innocent led astray by a lecher.”

  “And is that so impossible to believe?” Eden asked, already knowing she would not get the answer she hoped for.

  “I saw the picture, my dear,” Hart drawled, his tone dripping in condescension. “You were hardly unhappy with your circumstances. Your face, your fingers—Do I need to go on?”

  The wretch! Had he not seen her humiliation, page after page? Or perhaps he had as little respect for the female sex as his uncle. He just didn’t share his uncle’s particular methods.