Tempting Eden

by Margaret Rowe

  “That isn’t so.”

  “How do you know? We are barely acquainted. You’ve spurned me every chance you had after those two missteps. You were right to do so. I am not a normal woman, Hart. I don’t think I ever will be. I—I wanted to be tied. Powerless. Ivor had me perform for a friend, Lord Blanchard. Do you know of him? No, a man like you wouldn’t know a man like him. I did it gladly. It gave me a kind of thrill. I cannot even describe it. You can burn the book, but the deeds will be forever writ upon my soul.” She reached for him now, feeling almost sorry. No doubt he wished to appear the hero, but she was past saving.

  “I’ve come to take you away from this place.”

  Eden laughed. “Indeed? Why, it was you who sent me here. And I must thank you. The girls are very congenial and merry. I was anxious to undertake my first adventure this evening, but you’ve rather spoiled it. I was curious as to how I’d get on.”

  “Your arrangement with Mrs. Brown is at an end. I’ve bought your contract.”

  Eden felt the spiral of surprise to her toes. “What?” She knew it was the dream of most girls to be the mistress of a rich lord, but she had never expected Hart to keep a mistress. She knew he meant to marry soon. She would have to settle for second-best and, eventually, abandonment. Hart was simply too honorable to cheat on his wife with a courtesan.

  “I am offering you a different life, Eden. When we marry—”

  Eden stood up, shaking the blanket to her feet. “I must be losing my wits. You are offering me marriage?”

  Hart flushed. “I’ve gone about this all wrong. Please sit down and cover up. I cannot think with you moving about like that.”

  Eden ignored him. “You cannot be serious! You cannot think to marry a whore.”

  “You are not a whore!” Hart shouted. “No one’s seen you here yet. I made damn sure of it. Your Mrs. Brown is the canniest businesswoman imaginable. Why do you think you’ve spent the past few days with more ‘lessons’? Locked in and hidden? I’ve made arrangements for our wedding. A special license. Furnished your bedroom.” He sounded ridiculous, but he kept going. “Juliet had some clothes made up. A trousseau.”

  “Where does your aunt think I’ve spent the past week?”

  “Your letter was just vague enough. I told her your new job didn’t suit and you agreed to marry me. She was quite hurt, you know, when you ran off like that, but she’s agreed to host the wedding breakfast.”

  A desperate laugh escaped Eden’s mouth. “You are mad! Did you not consider what I might like? I am not going to marry you, Lord Hartford, no matter what you’ve done! We should not suit. You are—You are—My God, do you know the girls here told me your nickname is Holy Hartford? You were a perfect gentleman, even with Fortuna and Aurora. I admit when I found out you had a subscription here I thought it might be amusing to run into you one day—but marriage? No, no.”

  Hart looked incredulous. “You are rejecting me because I am a gentleman?”

  “Do but think. Right now you are imbued with some kind of reckless honor. You hope to make right the wrong done to me by your uncle. But I have explained, Hart—I wanted it. I needed it. There is a twisted emptiness in me. What would you say to your uncle’s friend Lord Blanchard should he come upon you in some exclusive club and he tells you he’s seen your shameless wife naked and on her knees? And Ivor’s valet Kempton—he was blackmailing me. He knows everything as well. I can never be in one man’s power again. I could not survive it. And I am barren,” she said, spitting out the word.

  “You don’t know that.”

  Her lip curled. “I had almost four years of incessant sexual congress. Never once was there ever a suspicion of pregnancy. And during the course of their marriage, my mother miscarried too many times to count. The fault lies with me, I’m afraid.” She wiped away an angry tear that blurred Hart’s face. “You know my mother was never very strong, physically or temperamentally. She needed someone to take care of her and I failed her.”

  The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed the quarter hour, echoing other clocks on other mantels, the downstairs grandfather clock in Mrs. Brown’s elegant hallway being the last to join in with its sonorous gong. Time was a valuable commodity here. Laughter and music drifted up the stairs, as well as the muffled sounds of pleasure. Hart felt Eden slipping away as she drifted back into a place where he couldn’t seem to reach her. “She had miscarriage after miscarriage. Dr. Canfield told Ivor to—to leave her alone. Of course,” she said bitterly, “he refused. Just dosed her with laudanum until she didn’t know day from night. All for an heir.” She took a deep breath. Hart watched her try to master herself. “He would have passed off any child of ours as legitimate. My mother would not have had the courage to stop him. Nor I. But it never happened.”

  Hart took her hand in his, gently thumbing across her knuckles. “I believe we can agree that my uncle was a man of no principles and very little heart. What he did to your mother was unconscionable. What he did to you was unforgivable.”

  “I should have known better. I did know better. You don’t want a wife who can’t bear you sons. No man does.”

  “I was wrong to assume I knew what was best for you,” Hart said softly. “Do not make the same mistake.”

  “Oh, go away!” cried Eden. “I’m sure Mrs. Brown will give you back your money.”

  “I rather doubt it. She strikes a very hard bargain.” The woman never gave up, and neither would he. Eden had no idea of his determination.

  And she was wrong. His marriage proposal was not based on mere chivalry. He’d fought against it, but he’d known somehow from the first time he held her in his arms that he couldn’t let her go.

  But it was equally true he didn’t really know her. Didn’t even know what her favorite foods or colors were. Whether she could sing or paint. If she preferred cats to dogs. He reckoned he needed to find out. He needed to court her. He needed to heal her, somehow fill up the emptiness she’d spoken of. He had the power to do it, and it was in his pocket. Switching strategies was simplicity itself after serving in the army for a decade.

  “Well, if you don’t want to be my wife, I’m afraid you’ll have to be my mistress.” He saw the shock on her rouged face. “Of course, that means I can’t bring you to my house. Give me a day to rent a property for us. Get your things packed up and I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  He kissed her benignly on the forehead, as though she was a child, and left her standing alone in the candlelight. He closed the door before she could find the words to call him back and argue.

  Chapter 12

  Mrs. Brown had expected some sort of fireworks, so was surprised to see a very subdued Eden in her parlor late the next morning. Well, as subdued as one can be wearing a sheer peach chiffon robe and smudges of last night’s makeup, her hair a nest of tangled waves. Eden looked as though she had not slept a wink, and for that Mrs. Brown was sorry. She herself had passed a very profitable and peaceful night.

  Eden attempted to reason with her, but she would have none of it. “Were you not pleased, my dear? The man was most insistent. Ordinarily, I consult with my girls before such a transaction is made, but I was quite convinced you’d welcome a marriage proposal. Those don’t come along every day. Why did you refuse him?”

  “I cannot marry him! I simply cannot! You must give him back whatever he gave you. Please,” she added.

  Mrs. Brown shook her head firmly. “I am a woman of my word. I should not have stayed in business these twenty years if I let a foolish, ungrateful girl dictate house policies. And your contract states in plain language than it—that you—can be sold at my discretion. We discussed all this the day you came to me. Surely a woman of your education and breeding cannot claim to have misunderstood the conditions of our business relationship. I did not give you to just anybody off the street, you know. You are acquainted with him. Lord Hartford asked for your hand in marriage, not a mere arrangement.”

  Eden fussed with the flimsy robe, attempting to cover mo
re of herself, but it was a lost cause. It was just as well that she was leaving the Pantheon. Mrs. Brown could see she was a most uncomfortable courtesan. No matter how depraved her training at the hands of Ivor Hartford had been, he had not extinguished the vicar’s daughter’s modesty.

  “He only thinks he wants to marry me. He’s an idiot.”

  “A very handsome idiot, if I may say so. Such a splendid specimen, my dear! Tall, so commanding. All that fair hair, and those bright blue eyes. You will be the envy of all the goddesses when he takes you away. Why, you never even had to spend a minute proving yourself, did you? Lord Hartford left most abruptly. There was insufficient time to grant him satisfaction. Unless, the poor man—”

  “No! He never touched me. That is to say, all he wanted to do was talk.”

  “A very expensive conversation. He had a word with me on his way out to explain the change in circumstances. He’ll make you a fine protector. I believe he has quite a tendre for you.”

  “Worse and worse,” Eden mumbled.

  Mrs. Brown was amused. She liked Eden as much for the girl’s spirit as the amount of money she had brought to her enterprise. Eventually she would come around and Lord Hartford would gain that satisfaction that had been so absent last night. Mrs. Brown thought him a clever man. If anyone could break through Eden’s reserve, it was he.

  “I am afraid,” Eden whispered at last.

  “That’s only natural, my dear. I am sure he’ll be kind to you.”

  “You don’t understand. I will fall in love with him. Hell,” she laughed bitterly, “I’m half in love with him already.”

  “Then why did you refuse his offer of marriage?”

  “I’m not fit to marry anybody.”

  Mrs. Brown put her hand on Eden’s shoulder. “Now who is the idiot? What has happened to you in the past is no measure of how your future will unfold. Give the man a chance. And if he tires of you, come back to me. I can find you a new protector or you may rejoin the girls if you wish. It will be your choice, but not for the next year. You must honor the contract.”

  Eden nodded. She had known it before she stepped foot into Mrs. Brown’s elegant white world.

  “If I do not see you before you leave, good luck, my dear. You’ve put me in a pickle, you have. I must find a new Flora posthaste.” The madam impulsively kissed Eden on the cheek. “And do something about your appearance, love. Lord Hartford may be besotted, but I doubt he wants to see you in yesterday’s dirt.”

  Calvert was a whiz. By noon he had found Hart a perfect little love nest, fully furnished and lightly staffed. Its owner was between mistresses and traveling on the Continent, happy to rent out the house for a short duration. By three Calvert had canceled the wedding arrangements and soothed Mrs. Cheverly. By dinnertime he had sent Eden’s trousseau to the new house and Mattie to unpack it, swearing her to secrecy as he revealed her employer’s plans. Mattie, a dreadful romantic, could not fathom her mistress’s distaste for marriage, but allowed as how Lord Hartford would straighten her out in no time.

  By midnight, Eden was in her own new bed. Hart escorted her to the premises, kissed her on the cheek this time and left her in the marble foyer. It was up to Mattie to introduce the butler and housekeeper-cook, a married couple who did not look down their noses at her.

  Eden lay in her elegantly furnished room for hours, quite sleepless for the second night in a row. Hart had sent a simple black gown, bonnet and cloak to Mrs. Brown’s yesterday so she’d not had to ride through the streets of London looking like a doxy. The mourning clothes hanging in her dressing room cupboard showed restraint and good taste.

  Her underthings, however, were a different story. Juliet had ordered the most exquisitely naughty undergarments, perfect for a new bride. Or a new mistress. But Eden rather wondered when Hart would be helping her get out of them. So far he had treated her with kid gloves. Like a distant cousin. She had been resigned to do her duty by him last night, but he had not even entered the vestibule.

  There was frost on the windowpane when she awoke, sweet rolls on a plate and chocolate in a pretty pot. Mattie had tiptoed in earlier and stoked the fire so the room was deliciously warm. The day stretched ahead of Eden with uncertainty. But there were books in the bookcase and the house to explore more thoroughly, so she rang for Mattie to help her dress.

  Mattie blushed but shook her head. “Lord Hartford sent word he’ll arrive at noontime, miss, and he’d just as soon you’re still in your nightgown. But I’ll help you with a bath and do your hair up pretty.”

  Dispirited, she let Mattie fuss over her. Eden had hoped to delay their union until it was dark. No matter. He’d seen all of her last night, seen all of her at Hartford Hall for that matter. Sunlight wouldn’t grant him any more sense, and hours waiting wouldn’t make her job any easier. There was a wealth of lacy peignoirs to choose from. She selected one the color of spring violets and waited in a chair by the fire with an unread book.

  She heard him bound up the staircase, whistling, at noon exactly. He opened her door without knocking and removed his dark blue jacket, tossing it onto the carpet.

  “Hello, Eden. You look lovely. Did you have a restful night?”

  “Not particularly.” He looked lovely in his shirtsleeves, the fitted gray waistcoat accentuating his long, lean torso. She pointed to the crumpled jacket. “Shouldn’t you hang that up or fold it or something?”

  “Now you sound just like the wife you didn’t want to be. I don’t believe I have time.” He smiled at her rather mischievously. “Come here.” He held out his arms.

  She rose slowly from her chair and stood before him, waiting for instructions. Her eyes were on the carpet; she did not trust herself to meet the hopeful blue of his eyes. He seemed so impossibly, improbably happy. As though their arrangement had come to him free as a present tied with a big shiny bow. He lifted her face to him, his fingers slipping through her hair, his thumbs resting lightly on her cheekbones. He slanted his mouth over hers, barely brushing her lips before he drew away.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid. I don’t want you to think of anything but your pleasure.” She could see he was already thinking of his. His formfitting breeches revealed his arousal; he was larger than his uncle and most men she had seen in drawings or through Mrs. Brown’s peephole. It had been an informative week.

  Hart captured her hand. “Please touch me, Eden. I’ve dreamed of you doing so for quite a while.”

  As she had dreamed of him, night after night, in her cold bed. But now that he was here, inches away, she felt suddenly shy and nervous. All her instruction—all her experience—had not prepared her for the reality of Hart, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the clean scent of his soap, the nearness of his lips to her own.

  He jerked as her fingers curled around him. Emboldened, she pressed harder against the fabric. He was anxiously watching her touch him, as though he expected her to run fleeing from the room at any minute.

  She would not. She could do this. Had done it countless times. But never with Hart, who had a vexing hold upon her emotions. She’d better master that, or else she was doomed to melt into a puddle of need and heat. Her breath hitched, betraying her.

  “You are thinking,” he said sternly. “I can see little elves with hammers and tongs racing about your brain. Tell them to take a nap, or at the very least a nice cup of soothing tea.”

  “I don’t think there’s enough tea in China to quiet them down.”

  “Perhaps a tot of brandy then. That usually does the trick for me.”

  Eden had stopped rubbing Hart, her fingers numb, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. All of her felt detached, remote, weak. She thought before long she’d have to sit down. Ah, yes. He was right. She was thinking too much, wondering when Ivor would appear and kill the budding pleasure between them.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered. She waited for what seemed like forever for him to rail at her.

  “You don’t have to.”

 
“But I should. I should do something.”

  “You make it sound like an assigned duty, Eden, like tallying up a row of numbers or eating your spinach.” He was smiling, no longer so happily. “We can take our time.”

  She shook her head. The sooner they began, the sooner she would know. She screwed up her courage.

  “Please unfasten your falls. I don’t believe my hands are up to the task.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” She stepped back, watching him fumble with the fastenings himself. His cock sprang from the golden curls at the base. She bit her lip and began.

  Her hand was perfection. There was something to be said for an experienced woman, however she had gained her experience. But if she didn’t stop soon, he’d spend himself in her palm, and he had other plans for their afternoon.

  “You are wearing too many clothes,” he groaned. Somewhere along the way, she had pulled his shirt over his head and fastened her mouth around one of his flat brown nipples as she stroked him. He was in exquisite agony.