Tempting Eden

by Margaret Rowe

  “God. I’ve never—that is to say—good lord. You’ve turned my mind to mush. I am incapable of any rational thought at present. Thank you.”

  “I merely returned the favor. I believe I owe you one more.”

  Hart groaned. “Please, not now.”

  “Very well. But don’t be surprised if in the middle of the night—”

  He silenced her with a kiss and drew the covers up over both of them.

  “I am never moving. Never, not for all eternity.”

  “Unlikely. I would have to dust you if you stayed in bed forever.”

  “Is that what you would call it?” Hart chuckled, pulling her closer. “I’d call it something else entirely.”

  She pinched his arm. “Leave off, my lord, I beg you. Think of your future. Think of the loss to the world. The country would go into a decline should you fail to take your seat in Parliament. Here you’d lie in your own dirt. You would soon be bored. And, I fancy, smell.”

  “You could wash me again.” She had done so just an hour ago, the two of them nearly tipping the copper tub over. Then they proceeded to negate all the soap by loving each other again until they were both slick with sweat. And very satisfied. Bright sunlight illuminated Eden’s bedroom, yet they were still abed, after a futile attempt to be up and about. The breakfast tray still held a roll, which Hart popped into his mouth.

  “Shall I order a luncheon?”

  Hart shook his head. “As much as I truly wish I could stay here forever,” he squeezed her hand, “and I do, Calvert is probably waiting at home for me, tapping his foot. He’s an estimable young man.”

  “Young? You speak if you’re an ancient one.”

  “Sometimes I feel old. Old-headed, anyway. Someone in the family had to take care of things.” He saw the pained expression on Eden’s face. “I’m speaking of my father. He was rather useless. And Juliet has needed my help these past five years since her husband died. I’m very fond of her boys. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

  “Hart!” said Eden, shocked. “I am your mistress. You cannot possibly think to introduce me to them.”

  Hart’s little domestic fantasy was rent as Eden reminded him of their true, if temporary, relationship. He wondered how much longer it would take for her to cast her foolish objections aside. Surely after last night and this morning, there could be no doubt of their compatibility. If he had not totally driven the demon Ivor from the bedchamber, he felt he had come close.

  “We’ll argue over that at dinner,” he replied, climbing out of bed. “How will you spend your day? At your school?”

  Eden bit her lip. “Yes, perhaps. At least I’ll make a visit and let them know I am available.”

  “I trust that they don’t know you’re my mistress.” He knew those women hell-bent on charity were often the most judgmental.

  “Of course not. They merely know me as a clergyman’s daughter with a small independence.”

  “Well,” he said, bending to give her one last kiss, on the cheek so he could actually make his way out the door, “I hope you enjoy the little angels.”

  “I will,” she said, smiling. Little angels indeed.

  The girls sat at a scrubbed table in the servants’ dining hall. Claude could be heard in the distance cursing in French at Richard, the poor pot boy who was growing more bilingual by the hour, but the girls were paying no mind to him. They all knew Claude’s bark was far worse than his bite. In any event, Eden had not gotten far enough with their French lessons for them to comprehend exactly what he was saying. They would not have been shocked in any case.

  For the week she had been teaching them, Eden divided the paltry hour she had a day into quarters. The girls themselves had picked the curriculum. Josie was anxious to improve her speech, so for fifteen minutes the girls practiced reading poetry out loud. This had afforded Eden the opportunity to discuss definitions and symbolism with them. They had been agog to understand what Shakespeare had really meant by treasure; it had absolutely nothing to do with pirate booty or jewels. Mrs. Brown had found a globe and some maps somewhere for Francie, so four little heads, one golden, one red and two dark, pored over the world and tested one another on capitals and facts. Barbara insisted on learning mathematics, for she planned to take over Madam’s business one day. Eden rather believed it might be possible. Barbara was taller, bolder and more beautiful than the rest, and Mrs. Brown’s especial pet. Her younger sister Mary, the quietest, had wished to learn French and drawing. Drawing was overruled by the others as not a practical subject.

  “What? Are we to have time to draw the gents’ dangly bits? That’s not what they pay for,” said Barbara reasonably.

  Eden was relieved. Drawing was Ivor’s skill, certainly not hers. Eden suspected if Mary could, she’d try to escape her future and become a dressmaker. Mary was clever with a needle and possessed a keen fashion sense. The girls had been prostituted as a pair by their mother, who had herself died of the pox. Eden was nearly glad the woman had come to such an end for what she had done to her daughters. Eden knew how Mrs. Brown felt about her protégées, but perhaps she could be persuaded to make an exception in Mary’s case. She seemed ill-suited to the whore’s life, although Barbara at almost fifteen was champing at the bit to climb Mount Olympus and start her career as a goddess.

  The short lessons seemed to suit them all. There was plenty of laughter mixed with the learning, and Eden wondered if she should not eventually seek a position as a governess, if ever her tainted background could be covered up. She could get the Reverend Christopher and his wife to vouch for her, she was sure.

  Her life as it was couldn’t last. It was too perfect. Somehow she had lost Kempton completely. Hart came home to her every night, almost like a husband. Better even. Many husbands of the ton were amusing themselves nightly upstairs, or in some other similar house like Mrs. Brown’s, or with their mistresses. Eden knew her own little street was composed entirely of girls and women in exactly the same position she was, although she doubted they loved their keepers as much as she loved Hart.

  He was a thoughtful lover and a charming companion. He seemed every bit as enthralled with her as she was with him. He brought her presents daily, although she was still fondest of Brutus, who had made himself indispensable as a mouser and had wormed his way into the good graces of the Philpotts. One night Hart brought her a cluster of hothouse violets, another evening a pearl ring, which he had placed on her left hand as though it were an engagement ring. Last night he had given her a diaphanous negligee, something that rather resembled what had hung in Flora’s closet, a blush pink confection which caused him to remove it just moments after she had put it on.

  And Ivor seemed gone—not totally forgotten, but his lingering presence did not mar the joy she found in Hart’s arms.

  Her attention was drawn to an argument the sisters were having over a French phrase, a rather naughty double entendre which Eden acknowledged would be regrettably useful with any number of gentlemen.

  “Enough, girls.” She looked at the timepiece that was pinned to her very proper black gown.

  “Oh! It ain’t time to stop for the day!” Josie wailed, careful to enunciate each word.

  “Isn’t time. I’m afraid it is. Lord Hartford will be visiting me earlier than usual today.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “He says he has another surprise for me.”

  “You are so lucky.” Barbara sighed. “A handsome, rich lord who’s madly in love with you.”

  “Who gives you presents,” added Mary.

  Eden shook her head. “Don’t romanticize, girls. Lord Hartford is very kind, it is true, but he is my benefactor, not my betrothed. We have a business relationship. When he marries, no doubt he’ll give me his congé.”

  “What if it’s you he wants to marry?” Francie asked baldly.

  “That isn’t possible. A gentleman needs a real lady for a wife, not a—”

  She looked at the eager faces before her. If she considered that she had no chance for a no
rmal life, what would happen to these young girls, brutalized as children? She wished she could take the lot of them home. New girls would only be too happy to get off the streets and replace them. Iris Brown had rescued them all from horror, but some horror still awaited them.

  “Not someone like me, who has no wish to lose my independence and dance attendance on just one man,” she finished.

  “He’s very handsome, though,” said Francie. “I saw him here the night he took you away from us.”

  “Yes, he is very handsome,” agreed Eden.

  “What is he like?” asked Barbara. “Is he as big as Lord Radcliffe?”

  “Barbara! A lady does not discuss such things.”

  “You just said you weren’t a lady. It is not as if we four are children,” Barbara said and sniffed.

  “But you are! Or you should be.”

  Francie smiled, dimpling her freckled cheeks. Her hair was the palest red, quite curly and glorious, but she complained constantly that her freckles were the bane of her existence. Eden thought every inch of her was adorable. In a few short weeks, Mrs. Brown’s gentlemen would think so, too. Artemis and Vesta were leaving the house to perform in a traveling theater company. Not much acting was involved, as the shows were erotic in nature, perfectly suited for the two lovers. They had been promised adventure and freedom on the Continent by one of Mrs. Brown’s old acquaintances. Francie was destined to be the new Vesta, and was already receiving her courtesan training from the girls, which is how she’d come upon Hart that night. Mrs. Brown sent her junior maids off to bed before they could fall into her members’ paths, but Francie had been observing. “Miss Eden,” she said gently, “none of us were ever children, not that we can recall. I had a baby before I ever came here two years ago. A little girl.”

  Eden was shocked. “I didn’t know. What happened to her?”

  “She was taken away.” Francie shrugged. “I was sick, but Mrs. Brown took me in, promised me a job when I got well. The men here are much nicer than what I put up with before. And if I get caught again, Mrs. Brown can help me.”

  Eden didn’t want to think about how. Vinegar-soaked sponges were not always enough.

  “You are sure this is what you want, Francie?” Eden couldn’t help asking, despite Mrs. Brown’s warning to her not to interfere.

  “Oh, yes. I reckon I’ll do very well. If the men can get past my spots. They are everywhere,” Francie grumbled.

  Eden gathered up her charts and books and put them into the cupboard. She resisted an impulse to hug each girl good-bye, for she would be seeing them in a mere twenty-three hours. She was well aware that each of them in her own way substituted for her sister—Barbara’s ambition, Francie’s bravery, Mary’s quiet forbearance, and Josie’s sunny good nature. They had all come to this house through trials that might have been fatal. Jannah would have quizzed them tirelessly in her attempt to “experience” everything. Eden was nearly grateful her sister had been spared the seamy side of life.

  “I shall see you all tomorrow. If you have time during your duties, you should practice your multiplication tables. I shall test you tomorrow.”

  The girls groaned cheerfully and went back to their chores. Eden fastened her cape and dropped her hat’s elegant veil over her face. She knew the hired cab would be at the end of the lane for her, and hoped her lover was not already impatiently waiting for her at home.

  Chapter 15

  LONDON, DECEMBER 1818

  He would wake her in a few minutes to see this little Christmas miracle. The snow swirled in a slate sky, pure white at the moment. Soon it would be sooty, more inconvenient than enchanting. For now, it dusted the rooftops and frosted the lone tree in the little walled garden below, turning it into a fairyland.

  But how foolish of him. She’d grown up in the north where the Cumbrian fells and moors were blanketed with snow for months on end.

  And she needed her rest. Last night had been particularly harrowing, as she’d fought off an invisible attacker and cried out in her sleep. For every forward step he made with her, she dragged him back two.

  He was fairly sure she loved him. She gave her body to him with complete unselfishness, perhaps even joy. There was no sense of Ivor’s shadow in a dark corner, save at night, when her dreams drove Hart to wakefulness.

  What he felt for her was more complicated. Desire, certainly. Protectiveness. Something beyond simple affection. He thought if a gun was pointed to his head or a sword to his heart, he could not adequately explain why Eden was so important to him. It went beyond the physical. It went beyond pity for her past.

  If he ever persuaded her to marry him, she would not make an easy wife. He marveled that in the month he’d kept her, she’d shed her hesitancy and was not at all shy in expressing an opinion or arguing a point. Sometimes he thought she was shrewish on purpose to drive him away, but he would not be so easily discouraged. He knew she chafed at the privacy he sought for them both, and reminded her that if they were married, they could move about in society as much or as little as she wished.

  And then her face would pale. He knew about Kempton. He knew about Blanchard. She would never feel safe. A wedding ring would not change that.

  “Merry Christmas, Eden.”

  She groaned and rolled out of his reach.

  “Wake up! It’s snowing! Let’s get dressed and go out in the garden. I’ll dash about and you may pelt me with snowballs.” Hart imagined running in the tiny pocket garden. He’d injure himself on the brick walls with one good stride.

  Eden stifled a yawn. She looked tired, and he wondered if she was coming down with something. “Tempting as that prospect is, sir, I shall have to decline.” She stretched back in the bed.

  “Are you feeling all right? You’re a little pale.”

  “It’s your fault, you wicked man. I shall have to give you laudanum in your wine so I may get a decent night’s rest.”

  “Decency is vastly overrated,” Hart said and grinned. “And besides, it was you who deprived me of sleep. Do you remember your dreams? They must have been particularly unpleasant.”

  Eden shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did I strike you?”

  “Only once or twice. I’m made of sterner stuff. I can take the feeble fists of my mistress.”

  “Yet another reason for us not to marry. You don’t want to be saddled with a pugilist for a bride.”

  “Come, I’ll not start Christmas morning off with an argument. Shall we go down to breakfast?”

  “Perhaps just some tea and toast. And if you don’t mind, have Mattie bring it up to me. You go down. Mrs. Philpott will be upset if you don’t.”

  Hart sighed but began to dress. “Yes, I must make sure she holds me in high regard. It’s not as if I don’t pay her enough. Eden, you know if we marry I can give up this house and put the avaricious Philpotts firmly behind me. I am not made of money, you know.”

  “Things are lovely just as they are. Why spoil it?”

  “Because I want to spoil you,” he said earnestly. “I want you as my wife, the hostess at my table, my helpmate.”

  He was careful not to mention mother of his children. He’d not forgotten her barrenness.

  And it didn’t matter. Not in the least. He must have some sixth cousin twice removed somewhere to inherit.

  He looked at her in the early morning light. Despite her pallor, she was looking much healthier than she had when she fell at his feet the first day they met. She was no longer emaciated. Her plumpness was becoming, her breasts even fuller and more delicious than ever. So tempting that before he went downstairs he was forced to suckle at one, then the other, as Eden lay back in contentment.

  “Tea,” she said finally. “Toast.”

  “Your wish is my command, my lady. And when you are ready, I have your Christmas present.”

  When Hart left, Eden staggered to the dressing room to relieve herself. She did not faint. She never fainted, save the first time she saw Hart, but she was perilously close this morning.
Dark spots floated before her. She tossed the wash water out the window into the garden and brought the basin back to bed. If she wasn’t very much mistaken, she was going to cast up her accounts very soon.

  She knew she was not pregnant. Her courses had arrived a few days ago. She’d never been regular, and was almost disappointed to discover that Hart was no more successful than his uncle had been. But it was for the best.