In the Garden of Deceit (The Garden Series Book 4): The Garden Books, #4

By Cynthia Wicklund

Simon Fitzgerald's nephew James Tremont is in a predicament. He's inherited a run-down estate, a house filled with eccentric relatives who are depending on him for support, and a bank account that has plunged into the red. The answer to his financial woes arrives in the oh-so-common person of Archie Campbell, a wealthy man who wants to give James a helping hand. But Archie's money comes with a stipulation. James must marry Archie's daughter Amanda, and he must do so without letting the young lady know she is entering into an arranged marriage. Thus James is pulled into a web of deceit, part of a lie that will come back to haunt him and endanger the very thing that means more to him than life itself.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Wicklund
• Release date: Aug 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465928177

Cynthia Wicklund

Cynthia Wicklund is a former Golden Heart finalist who writes Historical and Gothic romance and Urban Fantasy with romantic elements. She is currently published with Blush, the mainstream imprint of Ellora's Cave Publishing.

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IN THE GARDEN OF DECEIT

by

Cynthia Wicklund

SMASHWORDS EDITION

***

PUBLISHED BY:

Cynthia Wicklund

In the Garden of Deceit

Copyright 2011 by Cynthia Wicklund

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Books written by Cynthia Wicklund can be obtained either through the author’s

Official website:

www.cynthiawicklund.com

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THE GARDEN SERIES

In the Garden of Temptation

In the Garden of Seduction

In the Garden of Disgrace

In the Garden of Deceit

***

PROLOGUE

London—April, 1859

Earl Lonsdale?

James Tremont glanced up through a belligerent, alcohol-soaked gaze. Who wants to know?

Name’s Archibald Campbell, my lord.

James set his glass of rum down and looked at the speaker. Don’t know you, he said rudely.

Vulgar place for a gentleman to drown his sorrows, came the disparaging reply.

Goaded by the wry disapproval on the man’s face, James took in his surroundings, the smoky tavern, the rowdy patrons, the pathetically thin serving girl who had been sending him flirtatious glances since the moment he had passed over the threshold. The stench of sweat, cabbage and old ale oozed upward from the greasy floorboards. And should he decide to run his thumbnail across the surface of the table he was sitting at, he would certainly peel back years of caked grime. He shuddered to think what that grime was composed of.

James gave a derisive shrug, focusing on the stranger once more. Around sixty, James guessed, he was as ordinary as one could be—until he met his dark eyes, dark as his hair. Intelligence unnervingly perceptive stared back at him. Well, well…

I have a proposition for you, my lord, the man said, one that will, ah, solve your predicament.

A hostile silence ensued. You know about that?

It’s not a secret.

James grimaced, distaste causing the rum on his tongue to turn bitter. He took another gulp of his drink, swallowing his pride with it.

What d’you want? he muttered.

A grin split the man’s face. He was obese and squat, his vest threatening to pop the very buttons that held it together. Black hair topped a round face that had begun to sag. He had an enormous fold of flesh under his chin, emphasized by a collar that was too tight, and his large nose bulged at the end as if the collar were putting pressure on that feature as well. Mutton-chop whiskers only added to his corpulent appearance.

He pulled up a chair, and for the first time James noticed the cigar he clutched in his left hand. The smoking end was wet and slimy as though he had been sucking on it for some time. The other end had gone out.

Disgusting.

I’m a rich man, my lord, Campbell began. My only child, a daughter, will be my heir as will any children she might have. But I’m not satisfied with the marriage opportunities she has received thus far. I want better for my Amanda.

Naturally. James had the unpleasant notion that he already knew where this conversation was headed. You are looking for a husband for your daughter—Amanda?—a man of rank, and you are willing to pay a small fortune to acquire him. Correct?

A large fortune, my lord. Enough to pay every note you owe and every obligation you have and still provide an income to live a lavish lifestyle.

Knowing no more than he did right now, James was ashamed of the sudden hope that flared in his breast. Since you are seeking a title, Campbell, your options are limited. You risk attracting a man who cares only for the money. Rank without character is hardly a bargain.

I want Amanda to have opportunities beyond money.

I’m assuming your daughter has no rank of her own? Most of the peerage will consider her a means to an end. A necessary burden for the man who marries her.

But her children will be his children. Who would ignore the offspring of, oh…an earl, let’s say? He winked.

James wasn’t fooled. The man wanted to be grandfather to a title. He had everything money could buy, and now he wanted what money couldn’t buy. Respect.

Don’t you want your daughter to marry someone who cares for her?

You’ve not met Amanda, my lord.

No he hadn’t, but if she was in any way her father’s daughter, she could not be a pleasure for the eyes.

For long moments James stared at him. These past weeks had been miserable, uncertainty his constant companion. Could he afford to ignore this opportunity just because it wasn’t the solution he had been seeking?

All right, I’ll meet your daughter. But I make no promises beyond that.

Mr. Archibald Campbell beamed a satisfied smile at him, and James had the impression the man rarely lost at anything he put his mind to. Grunting, Campbell placed his hands flat on the table, cigar wedged between two fat fingers, and hefted his bulk from his seat.

I’ll be in touch, my lord. Still smiling, he turned to leave, taking several steps before returning to James’s table. One more thing, my lord.

Uh oh. Yes?

Amanda knows nothing about my efforts to gain her a husband. She’s a headstrong girl. Proud. It will be your duty to convince her that your intentions are genuine.

Well, bloody wonderful!

All James had wanted was some solitude and a few drinks to forget his troubles, one night without wondering how he was to manage an unmanageable future. But even in this obscure, lowly tavern his troubles had run him to ground. Clearly, he was not to find peace anywhere.

His days had not always been so uncertain. He had been a world traveler, settling in the West Indies, living the life most men only dreamed of, until an urgent missive had brought him home. His father, rest his soul, had passed away, leaving James a run-down estate, a house full of eccentric relatives who were depending on him for support, and a bank account that had plunged into the red. He had been in England for two months and, at the age of thirty-two, he had no more idea how to solve his problems than he had when he first arrived.

James waved at the serving girl again and pointed to his glass. Time to think about his worries tomorrow. Tonight he was going to finish getting drunk.

***

CHAPTER 1

James stood on the step of Archibald Campbell’s townhouse, a little appalled by the grandeur of the residence. He knew few aristocrats who lived in such opulence. The townhouse was new, the sign of a more ornate—some might say outrageous—mood in architecture. If he were a man prone to gambling, he would lay odds that the interior was as striking.

He was not disappointed.

The earl was led by a stiff-necked butler into an entry hall that was as large as a small drawing room. Which meant the drawing room on the first floor was immense. It was rich in color and ornamentation, furniture in the latest style, what one would expect from a man who had a great deal of money and marginal taste.

Perhaps he was behind the times, he thought, having been away from England for so long. But his grandmother, had she been alive, would never have approved of such a flamboyant display of one’s wealth. Of course, she was from a different era when restraint also meant refinement.

The butler sat him on a red brocaded sofa that looked more like a parlor decoration than a piece of furniture. It was, however, well-sprung, he noted wryly, surprisingly comfortable. James was served claret and asked to wait while the servant informed his master that he had company.

Archibald Campbell bustled into the room moments later. Lord Lonsdale, how good to see you. You came just as you said you would.

The earl’s lips quirked as he came to his feet. No promises, Campbell, remember?

The man nodded. Archie.

Of course, James said drily. Archie.

Have you been waiting long, my lord?

No. From the periphery of his vision James saw someone appear in the doorway to the drawing room. Just time to take one sip, he glanced in that direction, of this fine claret—

His mind, clear and easy, suddenly ceased to function. He stared, aware that his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Standing on the threshold was a young woman, tall and sylphlike, hair in a chignon of shiny black, with eyes to match, and a face that took his breath away.

Archie also glanced toward the door. A grin lit his features. Manda, come in and meet our guest.

She glided into the room, a moderate hoop skirt gently swaying with the movement of her hips. She wore a deep lavender gown, and that was her color for certain. Although James couldn’t imagine any color not enhancing this woman’s beauty. He was glad for his own height, for as she came abreast of him, she had to tilt her head only slightly to look him in the eye.

And look him in the eye she did. It was a searching look, friendly but cautious.

This is my daughter, Amanda Campbell, Archie said.

James Tremont. Bemused, he introduced himself, feeling like a callow youth without an ounce of worldly experience.

She nodded graciously. The hint of a sultry smile touched her mouth, and the earl’s stomach dropped in a purely sexual response that startled him.

He turned a bewildered gaze on his host. "This is your daughter? Even as he spoke, he realized how rude he must sound. Ah…perhaps that came out wrong."

Archie laughed delightedly. Came out the way it comes out of everybody.

Amanda put one slim arm around Archie’s shoulders and touched her forehead to his. She had to lean down to do so because she was taller than her father by at least half a head.

Don’t I look like my papa? Everyone says I do.

She joined Archie’s laughter, hers a warm melodic sound, and James found himself grinning at her like a buffoon.

He did his best to recover his composure, attempting to join in what was obviously a family jest. I suppose you do look like him a little, same color hair, same color eyes.

See, Papa, I told you.

She cut her gaze to James, and again that provocative smile caused his gut to tighten with anticipation. His mood when he had entered Archie Campbell’s home was to do the perfunctory and take his leave. That plan was completely upended. With no thought beyond the moment, he decided he was looking forward to the evening.

***

Amanda spooned the last of her custard into her mouth, rolling the sugary bite on her tongue before swallowing. James—he had insisted she call him James—and her father were regaling each other with tales of their youth, misspent to hear the two men tell it. She had laughed more in the last hour than she had in months.

She had little to offer the present conversation from where they communed in her father’s grand dining hall. But the earl was as aware of her, if she understood the signs, as she surely was of him. When he looked at her, she felt a catch in her throat that was thoroughly disconcerting.

James Tremont was handsome, about as handsome as a man could be and still be only human. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with hair nearly as dark as her own. However, his eyes were a light blue, clear and wintery, which was strangely at odds with the warmth she saw lurking there.

He was congenial and urbane, but she did not detect any snobbery on his part. Amanda had expected the snobbery. He was an aristocrat after all. And she was not. As the nineteenth century reached its midpoint, there were those who felt the lines between the classes were gradually blurring, that tolerance was becoming the norm. There wasn’t an Englishman alive, highborn or lowborn, who truly believed that.

With the ending of the meal, Amanda pushed back her chair. Well, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to enjoy a brandy and smoke.

The protest that followed from both men was gratifying.

Manda— began her father.

The earl interrupted. Miss Campbell, I much prefer your company to spirits. He raised his brows at his host. Archie?

Absolutely. Manda doesn’t mind my cigars, do you, my dear?

Of course not, Papa. And you may smoke as well, my lor—er, James.

I don’t smoke.

One of the few. Amanda smiled her surprise. Congratulations.

Her father winked at the earl. Manda don’t approve of cigars. She thinks they’re not good for you.

Stands to reason, Papa. If smoke makes a hearth black with soot, what does it do to your lungs?

Undeterred, Archie puffed a cigar into life, and the sweet aromatic smoke drifted around the table. She don’t much care for whiskers, either, he said after exhaling. He coughed a watery cough, proving her point about smoking.

You don’t? James, who was clean-shaven, sent her another one of those warm looks that made her breath catch. Why is that?

Amanda shrugged one shoulder. A peculiarity of mine, shared by a lot of women, if you ask me. Why have you avoided that style?

Living in the tropics is very sultry. I found facial hair added to the discomfort.

If you don’t like heat, she said, why would you choose to live in such a warm part of the world?

Never said I don’t like heat, he murmured, his gaze hooded.

For several moments they stared at one another, allowing his words to simmer between them. Only when her father coughed again, did Amanda realize how the silence was lengthening.

She licked her lips nervously, and the earl’s piercing blue eyes shifted to her mouth, resting there momentarily before he turned to her father.

Whew! she thought, an inexplicable desire to fan herself. When she agreed to hostess her father’s small dinner party, she’d had no idea she would find the evening so stimulating or the company so…disturbing.

You know, Manda, Archie said, I think James would enjoy a walk through our garden.

Yes? she asked weakly, looking to the earl.

Splendid idea, James responded.

Amanda reached for her gloves, which she had removed while eating, putting them on hands that shook slightly. She stood from her chair with the earl’s assistance. They linked arms and she escorted him to a sitting room in the rear of the townhouse. Two sets of French doors led to a small terrace, which in turn led to several steps that descended into a long and narrow garden.

She turned to her father, who had followed them to the door. In that look she tried to convey the uncertainty she was feeling, but he chose to ignore her, waving them on with a benign hand.

Take your time, Archie said, seeming almost unfatherly in his effort to please.

Amanda shot him another glance over her shoulder, this time expressing consternation, but he ignored her again, moving back into the sitting room. She could have sworn he was humming between puffs on that confounded cigar.

My father is very accommodating this evening, she said, hoping she didn’t sound as piqued as she felt.

I’m glad he is.

The sensual voice next to her ear caused Amanda to swing her head in the earl’s direction, and that brought her face very close to his. He was watching her, his compelling eyes shining with something she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was made her nerves quiver with expectation. She quickly turned away and took a deep, shaky breath.

The brick path was lit by Chinese lanterns, and the cool night air, fragrant with the blossoms of early spring, felt wonderful on her flushed skin.

It’s chilly, James said, his voice as impersonal now as his gaze was not.

It feels good, Amanda said breathlessly. It was rather, ah, stuffy inside.

Rather stuffy out here, too, she thought. Why did her chest feel so tight? Couldn’t be nervousness, could it? She was a sophisticated woman and, at twenty-four years, had been courted by many men. Where was the town polish that was usually hers, the confidence she felt when socializing with the opposite sex? Earl Lonsdale was just another man, albeit a high-ranking one.

He was not courting her, she reminded herself. They had only just met. The earl was merely indulging in a little lighthearted flirting, to which she should respond in kind as any fashionable female would.

They strolled the garden path once, then twice, her hand resting lightly on his coat sleeve. A stone bench was positioned not far from the terrace, and James led her there as they circled for the third time.

Would you like to sit in the moonlight for a little while? he asked.

Amanda glanced inside the townhouse. Her father sat in his favorite chair in the sitting room, facing away from the French doors. A curl of smoke floated above his head and, from the looks of it, he was perusing the morning paper, which she was certain he had already perused thoroughly at breakfast.

I suppose that would be all right.

The earl waited politely while she arranged her skirts so her crinoline did not pop up and embarrass her. He sat next to her, and for long moments she was aware of him studying her profile.

You are a beautiful woman, Amanda. And I’ve been around the world and seen quite a few. Imagine, I had to come home to England to find the fairest lady in the land.

Amanda stared at him, mouth hanging open like a fish, erasing, she was certain, any semblance to fair looks. She had heard it all, the swains waxing poetic on her beauty, and she had rolled her eyes, never taking them seriously. Why now did her heart begin thudding painfully and the blood rush to her cheeks? Only the understanding that he was playing at gallantry kept her from completely losing her poise.

Lord Lonsdale, I have the feeling you are prone to exaggeration. Beauty is subjective.

James, remember? And I was only speaking for myself, he said gently.

Oh, he was a first-rate flatterer! How could she turn away such a pretty compliment without sounding ungracious?

Then, James…I thank you.

I hope I didn’t offend earlier when I implied that you and your father do not look alike.

Papa finds it amusing when people are taken aback as you were. She paused, returning the smile she saw in his eyes. I look like my mother.

That explains it. The portrait of the woman in the dining room?

Amanda nodded.

She has fair hair.

I have my father’s coloring, as you pointed out, my lord, she said archly.

I didn’t come off well in that exchange, did I?

She laughed, delighted by his ability to make a jest at his own expense. You came off just as you were meant to.

He chuckled with her, and for a few moments they sat quietly—comfortably, to Amanda’s surprise.

Your mother? James asked at last.

She sobered. Passed. We lost her when I was fifteen years.

I’m sorry. My father died recently, so I understand.

I didn’t think Papa would recover. She glanced at the sky with its myriad of twinkling stars, her thoughts slipping inward. It was a love match, you see.

Indeed?

You sound surprised. Papa was wealthy without a handsome face, and Mama was beautiful with no prospects. She married for convenience, but Papa loved her always. My mother adored him before she died.

They spoke of it openly?

It was their little jest, and they shared it with me. She swallowed. I miss her.

James took her hand, turning it over so the inside of her wrist was exposed above her glove. He ran his thumb across her pulse in a gesture so intimate, she felt her insides contract. He brought his gaze to hers, a crooked smile easing the fire that sparked in his eyes.

I have enjoyed tonight. Do you suppose your father will allow me to call again?

Confused, she said, But of course. You and he have business, do you not?

Business? Yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten in the pleasure of the evening. Business can hardly compete with the company of a lovely woman.

She should ignore his outrageous compliments, understanding that he, like most men, used flattery to disarm a woman. Yes, that’s what she should do. However…

I hope you do call again, James, she said, afraid that she was simpering at him like a schoolgirl. I’ve enjoyed tonight, also. Embarrassed, she slipped her hand from his and came to her feet. I think I should go inside now. I’m finally feeling the chill.

Once more in the sitting room, Amanda bid her father a subdued goodnight, sending him a look of reproach that he ignored equally as well as he had ignored her earlier silent messages.

She turned to their guest. My lord, she said politely.

Miss Campbell, he returned, his voice deep and suggestive, his gaze fraught with meaning.

James took her hand again and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. Even through her glove she could feel his mouth, the warmth seeping through the fine cotton to linger long after they parted. She climbed the stairs to her room, trailing her fingers along the banister, lost in thought.

Not for a moment did she believe something could come from tonight. But Earl Lonsdale was every young girl’s dream, handsome and titled, charming and sophisticated. The one thing she had not imagined as a child was the raw masculinity of her dream, the outright sexual magnetism. No, it took a grown woman to be aware of that in a man.

She lay awake a long time that night, the sounds of the city drifting in from the street, her body alive with nervous excitement. Like a ride down a steep hill on a snow sled, her stomach leaped into her breast each time she remembered the way the earl had looked at her. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing he was attracted to her. A lonely little part of her wished that was enough.

***

James watched as Amanda disappeared up the staircase then turned a wary gaze on his host. It was reckoning time, and he wasn’t yet prepared to play his hand.

Well? Archie began as they moved back into the drawing room. He went to the sideboard, where a full decanter of sherry rested, and poured two small glasses nearly to the rim. What did you think of my Manda?

Your daughter is lovely, exceptional. But then you already knew that.

Archie motioned to two chairs in front of the fire and handed James his drink as they sat down.

She’s had offers, my lord, more than I can count.

I don’t doubt it. James took a swig of his sherry, surprised by a sudden irritation. A woman with money is in demand. A beautiful woman with money…well, need I say more? You should be careful that you don’t sacrifice your daughter to a scoundrel.

The old man eyed him shrewdly. Are you a scoundrel, my lord?

Damn it, man! You are approaching me at a vulnerable time. You know my circumstances. I need money, but I don’t think marrying Amanda to get it is fair to her. She deserves better.

For a long time Archie said nothing, sipping his drink, the fire seeming to absorb his interest. The look he finally turned on his guest made James squirm.

You care for Manda’s feelings, and that gives me hope. It says something for your character, what kind of man you are. That’s important to me, whether I’ve made that clear or not.

And what do you gain from my marriage to Amanda, Campbell?

The old man smiled a mocking smile. I’m a business man, my lord. Father-in-law to an earl, grandfather to a future earl, that lends me a cache I don’t have presently. I’m not without my selfish motives, and I’ll not pretend otherwise because I hate a hypocrite. But truth is, I’ve begun to worry that Manda won’t find someone who pleases her, and I want her to marry—for her sake, not mine.

What makes you think I will please her where others have failed?

Archie’s expression turned sly. Oh, you please her, my lord. I know my daughter.

Uncomfortable, James quickly looked away, a knot of heat unfurling in his belly. One night is hardly enough to go on, he mumbled.

True, but we have to begin somewhere.

She’ll want to know what kind of business we share.

This last was taken, as James knew it would be, for acquiescence.

Archie grinned hugely. Cigars, my lord!

What?

Cuban cigars. You’ve lived in the West Indies. What more natural association since you’ve just come from there. And everyone knows my feelings on the matter. He stuffed the cigar he was smoking back in his mouth, clamping his teeth around it.

I suppose.

James returned to his sherry, troubled. It was too easy, the pieces falling into place without effort. And that was never to be trusted. He had met the man’s daughter, and he was certain of at least this much—she would find the subterfuge, the manipulation of her future, insulting.

He should run now while there was still time. Oddly, he didn’t want to nearly as badly as he had before dinner tonight, before a walk in the garden—before the image of Amanda Campbell in his bed had stolen his imagination.

***

CHAPTER 2

Late June, 1859

It was a whirlwind romance, the stardust of fairy tales and magic. Amanda had given up wondering where