The Seduction (12 page)

She shook her head, vowing not to waste her time trying to discern his motives. Tomorrow, they would be going into Rome for Carnival, and he had already told Cornelia that he was returning to England and would not be able to accompany them. So she had only this one evening to endure, then he would be gone.

Her mantel clock chimed quarter past eight, and Margaret knew she could delay no longer. She entered
the dining room, but paused just inside the doorway. To the left of her empty chair sat the very man she was trying so desperately to avoid. She wanted to turn right around and depart, but that would be giving him the cut direct in front of others. As tempting as that idea might be, she could not do it. Besides, she'd been running away from him long enough.

Feeling rather like a soldier heading into battle, she walked to the end of the long dining table without a glance at him and took her seat. "Sorry I'm late," she murmured to the others, adding no explanation for her tardiness.

The footmen began to serve the first course of clear soup, and conversation centered on Carnival.

The duchess pronounced the festival to be quite an exciting affair. Henry expressed regret that he would be forced to miss it, as he was returning to London on the morrow. Lady Lytton bragged about the superiority of their balcony, which gave an excellent view of the Piazza
di
Vittorio
, and Lady Sally inquired about Lady Kettering's choice of costume.

Cornelia laughed as Edward groaned. "I'm dressing as
Pulcinella
, and Edward—" she paused and gave her clearly dismayed husband a teasing smile— "Edward shall be Punchinello."

Amid the laughter that followed, Edward held up his hands. "It was not my idea," he assured them. "I do not want to attend the Ball as a hunchbacked Italian clown," he added emphatically.

"Edward could not be bothered with something so trivial as costumes, so he left me to choose them," Cornelia explained.

Ashton turned to Margaret. "What costume have you chosen, Miss Van Alden?"

She reluctantly turned to him long enough to
answer. "Columbine," she said shortly and took a sip of wine.

"Indeed?" Ashton leaned closer to her and lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. "But if I remember correctly, Columbine's lover was Harlequin. Who will be your Harlequin, Margaret?"

Shocked as much by the intimate tone of his voice as by his bold words, she turned to give him the set down he so richly deserved. But when she looked into his eyes, her sharp retort was forgotten. The laughter and conversation that flowed around them faded into the background, and suddenly it was as if they were alone.

His gaze bored into hers with an intensity that left no doubt what he was thinking. He was looking at her as a lover might, she realized wildly. An inexplicable languorous warmth began to spread through her limbs, and she found herself leaning toward him, drawn by the irresistible magnetism of his look. She licked her dry lips and watched his gaze lower to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her, she was certain of it. Suddenly, she wished he would, and a small sigh escaped her lips. He responded to that feminine sound with a smile, an utterly male smile of satisfaction. She realized she had fallen into a trap.

Margaret sat back, gathering with an effort the defenses he had breached so easily. "You could play Harlequin to my Columbine, my lord," she said, striving to sound as if forbidden liaisons were offered to her all the time. "However, since you are returning to England and will not be attending Carnival, that isn't possible."

"On the contrary," he said smoothly, "I will be at Carnival after all. Hadn't you heard? Lord Kettering has graciously invited me to share his balcony, and I have already received several other invitations.''

"What?" She glanced down the table at Edward, who was deep in conversation with the duchess. She suddenly felt like a condemned prisoner must feel when the cell doors clang shut. Was everyone in on this fortune hunter's scheme? she wondered.

She looked at Ashton again, who was watching her with an expression on his face that could only be described as gallingly smug.
Dear Lord,
she thought, dismay settling in the pit of her stomach like a stone,
I'm trapped.

The following morning
was a busy one. While servants made the preparations for their employers' stay in Rome, Edward escorted Lady Lytton and her daughters to their townhouse in the Piazza
di
Vittorio
. Trevor did not accompany them. Instead, he rode into the city with the Duchess of Arbuthnot and her entourage.

In another carriage, Margaret and Cornelia accompanied Henry to the train station. While porters dealt with the luggage, the girls walked with him to the platform where trains departed for Calais.

Before going aboard, Henry turned to his niece. "Cornelia, my dear, I'm counting on you to watch over Margaret during the rest of your trip."

Cornelia took her responsibility as chaperone very seriously. "I will, Uncle Henry. Have a safe journey." She kissed his cheek, then moved some distance
away, allowing Henry to say good-bye to his daughter in some privacy.

"Now, you do what Cornelia tells you, my girl," he said firmly. "And no back talk."

She mentally crossed her fingers and hoped she sounded like a dutiful daughter when she answered, "Yes, Papa."

"Good. It's necessary that I go back to London, but I'm quite concerned with leaving you to continue your travels without me. Especially just now."

"Just now?" she repeated, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Henry tugged at his mustache and looked uncomfortable. "I know Edward and Ashton are old friends and business associates, and they will want to spend some time together. But with me gone to London, I can't say I like the idea of Ashton socializing with Edward and Cornelia while you are there. I can't say I like it at all."

Margaret couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You don't?"

"No, indeed. If I'd known earlier, I'd have tried to discourage it."

Still bewildered, she studied her father's concerned face. "I'm not sure I quite understand, Papa. What are you talking about?"

"I know he and Edward were at Eton and Cambridge together, but Ashton is a thoroughly bad hat."

"Really?" She was intrigued by that fascinating tidbit. "In what way?"

Henry made sure Cornelia was out of earshot, then he said, "Edward tells me he's been providing Egyptian antiquities to collectors and museums, but not always through reputable channels."

Margaret felt a delicious little thrill of excitement. "You mean he steals them?"

Henry frowned. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose, although it might be equally valid to say he simply excavates without getting the proper permits from the Egyptian government."

"And Edward is involved in this?" She could hardly believe it. Edward was so proper.

"He only has suspicions. No proof. Either way, I don't think Ashton qualifies as an appropriate suitor for your hand."

She turned away, studying a nearby kiosk and pretending vast interest in the many newspapers offered for sale. "Has Lord Ashton expressed such an interest?" She tried her best to make the question sound casual.

"He did ask me about you, and I'm sure he was thinking about courting you, but I made it clear that he would not be a suitable husband."

Margaret couldn't help feeling a flash of rebellion at that comment. Honestly, didn't she have any say in this courtship business at all? She could decide for herself which suitors were acceptable and which were not. Still studying the newspapers, which she could not read since she didn't know Italian, she asked, "Why wouldn't he be suitable? He's titled."

"Just because a man has a title doesn't mean he'd be right for you. I want you to gain respectability by marriage, not lose it."

This was getting more intriguing all the time. She turned back to her father. "He has such a black reputation, then?"

"Black enough, at least where women are concerned. There is talk that before he left England, he had an affair with his sister-in-law. Then, there was also some incident with the wife of the Greek ambassador while he lived in Cairo. I understand that the husband publicly called him out."

"An ambassador's wife?" she gasped, deliciously shocked. "How scandalous! What happened?"

"You don't need to know the details," Henry shot back. "The point is, Ashton isn't for you. Stay away from him, honey. I've made it clear to Edward and Cornelia that I don't consider him acceptable, and Cornelia has been given strict instructions to be by your side at all times."

"Really, Papa!" she exclaimed, irked by the stifling control others had over her life. With Cornelia watching her every second, all the fun of Carnival would pass her by. As much as she loved her cousin, Cornelia was really rather a stickler when it came to the proprieties. "I'm not a child."

He grasped her chin in his fingers and looked her sternly in the eye. "I know what I'm doing, Maggie. Now, for once, be a good girl and do what I say."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned to board the train, missing the rebellious look Margaret sent him. But when Cornelia came up to stand beside her, she couldn't help but notice her cousin's expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Really," Margaret answered, "my father is sometimes the most frustrating man."

Trevor arrived at Edward's townhouse and waited for the other man in the library. He was helping himself to some very fine port when Edward entered the room. Trevor froze, his glass halfway to his lips, and eyed his friend askance.

Edward saw the expression on his face and scowled. "Don't you dare laugh," he said menacingly.

Trevor choked back his amusement, but he couldn't help making a comment or two. "Is purple hose really necessary?"

"I mean it, Trevor." Edward shifted the
papier
-
mache
hunchback beneath his doublet of green and purple stripes to a more balanced position. "I feel like an idiot."

"Well, after all, Punchinello was a buffoon in the Italian comedies, wasn't he?"

"Enough." Edward reached behind and yanked out the offending lump of papier-mâché. "I hate this thing," he muttered and tossed the hunchback into a corner. "I refuse to wear it."

"Very sensible," Trevor said, lifting his glass with approval. "You'd never be able to sit comfortably on the balcony wearing that thing anyway."

Edward straightened his doublet and finally noticed Trevor's costume. "All black?" he said, eyeing the other man's velvet doublet, leggings and knee- high boots dubiously. "I thought you were dressing as Harlequin."

"So I am."

"Harlequin never wore black."

Trevor pointed to a tattered, multicolored velvet cape that lay across the back of a chair. "That is as close to accuracy as I get."

"I'm getting a different costume for the remainder of Carnival," Edward said as he poured himself a much-needed glass of port. He sank into a chair, shaking his head. "I don't care what it takes, I don't care how much it costs. Sitting on a balcony with a few friends when I'm dressed like this is one thing, but I refuse to go to the British Embassy ball this way."

Trevor decided to change the subject to what he really wanted to discuss. He closed the door to the library and sat down in the chair opposite the other man. "My friend, do you remember when we were about thirteen years old and the headmaster called us both in about that little explosion?"