The Seduction (11 page)

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By late afternoon the following day, Trevor concluded that if last night's thoughts were true, then his future wife would be a prize beyond price. But she was definitely not going to be easy to win. Especially if he could not even see her.

She'd had breakfast in her room, then she had taken a carriage to Lady
Rathgate's
villa to spend the day. Lady Kettering and the Duchess of Arbuthnot had accompanied her. Later, Margaret had sent a note saying they would be staying there for tea, as Lady
Rathgate
had insisted on it. He could have called on Lady
Rathgate
, of course, but he was not going to chase after Margaret, playing the lovesick schoolboy. For one thing, he wasn't lovesick, and for another, acting like it wasn't going to gain him anything.

It did not surprise Trevor that she was avoiding him. In fact, he'd expected this, and he chose to turn her absence to his advantage. He politely declined Henry and Edward's invitation to help them dig up Roman pottery, and four o'clock found him seated on a velvet settee in the drawing room with the ladies who had not gone to Lady
Rathgate's
. He was obtaining much needed information about Margaret, along with his tea and crumpets.

"Of course," Agnes
Ellerby
was saying, "Maggie is very modern, and has modern views. Very admirable, I think."

"Posh," Lady Lytton said, and gave her daughter a disapproving frown. "Agnes, dear, don't take any foolish notions into your head about these modern views. It won't do. Margaret is an American." She waved a hand in the air and added, "Suffragettes, the vote, and all that sort of thing. Not at all appropriate."

Trevor took a swallow of tea. "Miss Van Alden is a suffragette?"

Agnes giggled. "No, no. She doesn't hand out pamphlets and make speeches, if that is what you mean. But she is very outspoken and does have a taste for adventure. She comes very close to the edge of what is considered proper."

Trevor thought of Margaret's encounter with Roger in the garden, an image that always made him want to smile. "Really? In what way?"

Agnes brushed back a wisp of her dark hair and leaned forward, clearly willing to engage in gossip. "She went into the card room at Lady
Longford's
rout last autumn and played whist with Lord Neville, Lord
Caverton
, and Lord
Edgeware
. She even placed a few wagers. It caused quite a sensation."

"As well it should." Lady Lytton shook her head with such agitation that Trevor thought the stuffed partridge on her hat was going to take flight. "She was smoking cigars with the gentlemen in that card room, so they say. But what else can you expect from an American? Bold girls, all of them. They come over here with their fast ways and their gushing manners to marry our young gentlemen, stealing them away from our own English girls. It's frightful."

"Mama, that's not fair," Agnes protested. "Margaret doesn't gush, and she hasn't married one of our gentlemen. Quite the opposite. She says she'll never marry an Englishman."

"Well, of course she won't," the countess answered. "No gentleman would marry a girl who smokes cigars."

"Lord Hymes offered for her after the card room incident, Mama. I think you are being unfair."

Lady Lytton gave a rather unladylike snort of displeasure. "That will be enough, Agnes. Margaret goes horseback riding alone, she makes the most outrageous comments, and she constantly addresses peers incorrectly because she can't be bothered to learn the rules of the peerage. Also, she defies her own father at every opportunity. No gentleman could possibly want a wife who would embarrass him and is so strong- willed that he could not control her. She's pretty enough, I suppose. Although she certainly doesn't have the figure to carry off those Worth gowns of hers," Lady Lytton added. "She's much too chubby."

Trevor felt a spark of irritation at the countess's spiteful words. He thought of Margaret's luscious shape and had to refrain from giving Lady Lytton a man's viewpoint on the subject.

"I still find her rather daring," Agnes added wistfully.

"But isn't daring rather inappropriate in a woman?" Sally turned to Trevor, her blue eyes wide. "Lord Ashton, what is your view?"

Sally was a slender, fair girl with a bland, chocolate- box sort of prettiness that left Trevor completely cold, but habit prompted him to lean a bit closer and give her a look that conveyed the opposite. "My view is quite a pleasant one at the moment, Lady Sally."

She smiled at him, preening slightly at that admiring remark. "Now that Lord Kettering has invited you to Rome, what are your plans for Carnival? We have reserved a splendid balcony for watching the celebrations Friday evening."

"A charming invitation. But Lord Kettering has already invited me to share his balcony on that night."

"Oh." Her lower lip nudged forward in a pout of disappointment. "We had so hoped to hear more of your adventures in Egypt. How wonderful it must have been."

He thought of the dust and the sweat, the cobras and the malaria, and he doubted Lady Sally would find it wonderful at all. "I'm sure that with all the excitement of Carnival at your feet, Lady Sally, talk of Egypt would seem rather tame."

"Sitting on the balcony is what seems tame to me," Agnes said. "I rather agree with Margaret that it would be much more exciting to abandon the idea of balconies and carriages and go out into the melee on foot."

Trevor straightened in his chair, his attention caught by Lady Agnes' words. This just might be the strategy he'd been searching for. He turned to the dark-haired girl. "Miss Van Alden wanted to participate in the celebrations rather than simply observe them, did she?"

"Yes. She thought it would make for a grand adventure."

"Adventure indeed!" Lady Lytton looked horrified. "Ladies of quality do not parade themselves in the streets like peasant girls. Only Margaret would have such an idea!"

"Miss Van Alden seems to be a woman who enjoys adventure," Trevor commented.

"Oh, yes." Agnes laughed. "She's always coming up with wild schemes like that. She would do it, too. But her father put his foot down and said absolutely not."

"I should hope so." Lady Lytton set down her cup and saucer and gave her daughter a stern look. "Her wild schemes are what get her into trouble, Agnes. Don't forget that."

The countess began another dissertation on the deplorable lack of good manners among American girls, a dissertation which she did not seem to find rude even though her host was American. Her diatribe was obviously meant for marriageable young English gentlemen such as himself. But Trevor wasn't listening.

An idea was forming in his mind, an idea of how to win Margaret Van Alden. It would make for a most unusual courtship, but he was courting an unusual young woman. It would require some assistance from Edward, but Edward owed him a favor or two from their school days. It was risky, but he'd never minded taking risks.

Trevor smiled and leaned back in his chair. If Margaret Van Alden wanted adventure, he would give it to her. Far be it from him to disappoint a woman.

Giovanni Lucci was a man who appreciated all the comforts of home. Perhaps it was because he spent so much time away that returning home was such a pleasure. Or perhaps it was because his lovely young wife would be waiting for him, ready and eager to satisfy his every need. Either way, Lucci was a happy man when he crossed the courtyard of palms and date trees that fronted his luxurious villa outside of Cairo.

But, to his surprise, his beautiful Isabella did not come running down the flagstone steps to greet him as she usually did when he returned from a business trip. When he entered the house,
Yousef
, his major- domo, was waiting to meet him.

The servant bowed. "Master, it is good that you have come home, for I have the most dreadful news. Madam is unwell, and took to her bed three days ago. We attempted to locate you, but, alas, we could not."

"Isabella is ill?" Lucci felt a slow, cold dread seep into his bones. His beloved Isabella was never ill. "What is wrong with her?"

Yousef
fell to his knees in wretched supplication. "Master, I have failed in my duties," he cried. "I am a worthless dog, and you should take my life. I am to blame for my lady's ailments!"

Lucci shook his head, too bewildered and worried about his bride to be concerned with the servant's distress. "Is she in her rooms?" he demanded.

Yousef
nodded, his turban-wrapped head bent in sorrow. Lucci stepped around his kneeling servant and started for the stairs. He took them two at a time and quickly reached his wife's apartments.

She was lying in her bed, wrapped in silken sheets. Two young servant girls stood by, waving palm fans to keep the air cool. At his entrance, they fell to their knees.

"My wife, you are ill?" He pushed back the gauze draperies that surrounded her bed and sat down. He reached out to touch her cheek, and his heart twisted with pain at how pale she looked.

"My darling," she whispered and reached for his hand. "My dearest husband, you are home at last. How I prayed you would come." To his astonishment, she burst into tears, and he realized she was not simply ill. There was more to it than that.

"What is this?" he cried. "What has happened?"

Isabella brushed back the tears on her face and waved a hand to the two servant girls. "Send them away, husband. Please, send them away. We must speak privately."

He shouted an order, and the two girls fled, closing the door behind them.

"Oh, my dearest, I hardly know how to tell you!" she cried. "That man came here. He broke into the house in the middle of the night."

"Man? What man?"

"You know how awful I am about names." Her voice broke on a sob that tore at
Lucci's
heart, and she worked to regain control of herself. Finally, she looked at him with pain-glazed eyes. "That tall Englishman you introduced me to last autumn."

"St. James."
Lucci's
mouth tightened to a grim line.

Isabella nodded. "Yes, yes. That's the name. I remember now. He came in through my windows." With a trembling hand, she pointed to the French doors that led to her balcony. "The windows were locked, and he made no noise. I awakened to find him standing over me. He-he told me if I screamed, he would kill me. And then he—oh, blessed Saint Maria, I cannot speak of what he did to me!"

She didn't have to say it. Lucci knew.

"I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. He hit me, and then"—she paused and swallowed hard, as if it was almost unbearable to go on—"when he had, had finished with me," she continued in a trembling voice, "he broke into my jewel case and took that beautiful lapis necklace you gave me. I was too frightened to scream for help. He— Oh, husband, I am defiled! I am ruined! I am so ashamed!" She burst into another flood of tears and began sobbing. Lucci stared down at his beautiful bride, watching her shudder with the revulsion and horror of her experience, and he felt a fury like nothing he had ever felt before. When she tried to speak again, he stopped her, unable to bear hearing anything more.

"Enough!" he roared, slamming his fist into the wall so hard the plaster cracked. "Say no more, my wife. St. James will die for this, I promise you, and it shall be a slow and painful death."

He turned to leave and did not see the flash of spiteful triumph in his wife's gorgeous brown eyes, nor the satisfied smile that curved her full red lips.

There was no way she could get out of it. Margaret used every ounce of imagination she possessed, but she could think of no reasonable excuse to avoid dining with Trevor St. James. Illness would not suffice—she'd used that excuse too many times with other suitors, and her father would never believe it. Nor would a prior engagement be acceptable. Her father knew she had none.

She had no choice but to go down for dinner. Margaret smoothed the folds of her red silk gown and thought of Trevor's eyes, of the amusement that seemed to always lurk in their dark-blue depths, but it was not that which set off warning signals in her mind. It was the sense that, behind the teasing eyes and bold manner, he possessed an implacable will that she could not bend to her own. She felt that he knew her innermost secrets and would not hesitate to use them against her if it suited his purpose. She was certain his purpose was to get his hands on her money by marrying her, and yet, as she contemplated the possibility again, she felt a nagging doubt. He just didn't act like a suitor.