The Seduction (35 page)

"Edward, you and Ashton have been friends for a long time, but until he came to Rome, you hadn't seen him for ten years. Do you really know anything about the man he is now?"

Her husband swallowed a mouthful of crumpet and looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Cornelia took a deep breath. "I mean, my darling, that there are men in the world who do not possess your good heart and honorable intentions. Men who, given the opportunity your friend has been given, would take advantage of a young, innocent woman."

Edward stared at her, clearly astonished. "Trevor would never do that."

"How do you know?"

"He gave us his word of honor."

Cornelia studied her husband's boyishly handsome face. She loved Edward, she really did, and his staunch loyalty to his friends was admirable, but he was so incredibly naive. "Do you really think he would make a good husband?"

"How can anyone answer a question like that with certainty? Trevor's always been a bit wild, I'll grant you, but he has never been a cruel man in any way. He doesn't gamble or drink to excess, and he loves his family estate much more than his brother ever did. He's got heaps of good sense, too."

"He's not the sort to be a faithful husband."

Edward smiled. "You could make the same accusation about most of the husbands we know, my dear." That caused her to give him a look of unhappy resignation, and he added, "And I think he might surprise you."

"I doubt it."

"Cornelia, I know this business defies your notions, and mine as well, of proper courtship, but what's done is done. I can tell you one other thing that might reassure you. When we were at school together, Trevor and I got into many scrapes, but when we got caught for one of our escapades, he took all the blame so that I wouldn't get expelled. I've never known him to break a promise to a friend or be cruel to any woman."

Cornelia sighed. "Even if you're right, there's no guarantee that Margaret will marry him, despite his confidence and yours. I certainly should not fall in love with a man simply because I spent two weeks alone with him in the country on some sort of adventure."

"I should hope not!" Edward stood up and walked across the room to her. He took her hand in his. "If you were that type of woman, I would never have won you, my dear. Sleeping on damp ground and trekking through the mountains are not for me."

"Nor for me," she said, softening as her husband lifted her hand and kissed it. "Well, I shall try to adopt your attitude and hope for the best. Perhaps—"

The door of the drawing room opened, interrupting Cornelia's lukewarm attempt at optimism. The maid, one of only half a dozen servants they had brought with them to Naples, bobbed a curtsy. "If you please, signora, there is a wagon coming up the road, and it seems in a mighty hurry."

"Thank you, Maria."

Cornelia pulled her hand out of her husband's and ran back to the window. Indeed, a wagon was approaching along the lane that led to the cottage, and its pace was rapid enough to give cause for alarm. At this distance, she could not make out who was driving, but she could see that it was a woman, and she seemed to be alone. As the wagon drew near, pulling into the graveled drive, Cornelia gave a cry of pure astonishment. "Good Lord!"

"Who is it?" Edward asked.

Cornelia whirled around and ran for the door. "It's Maggie, at last!"

Her husband followed her out of the house as the wagon came to a skidding halt by the door, sending gravel spewing in all directions. It was Margaret, but Cornelia hardly recognized her. Her peasant clothes were tattered and stained with mud, her face was smudged with dirt, and her hair, loose from its knot, was a snarled tangle that made her look almost wild.

"Heavens above!" Cornelia shouted. "Maggie! Oh, my dear! What has happened to you?"

Margaret gave her cousin only the briefest hug, too concerned for Trevor to bother with preliminaries. She gestured to the back of the wagon. "We must fetch a doctor at once."

Cornelia and Edward both looked into the wagon and saw Trevor lying there.

"My God!" Edward exclaimed. "What has happened?"

"Never mind that now. You must send for a doctor."

"Right," he muttered and started for the stables.

"And have him bring quinine!" she called after him. Turning to her cousin, she said, "We must get him into bed."

Servants were called, and Trevor was immediately taken into the house. He woke only briefly when two servants lifted him into a comfortable feather bed. Margaret ordered cool water to be brought up and, when it arrived, she pulled back the covers, opened Trevor's shirt, and began bathing his chest.

"Maggie, really," Cornelia said, turning her face away from the bare chest of the man in the bed. "I think you should allow a servant to do that. I hardly think it proper for you to be—"

"For heaven's sake, Cornelia, it's a little late for that," Margaret answered. She laughed, but the laughter had a edge of hysteria to it. "I’ve seen his bare chest at least a dozen times now. Please don't worry about my maidenly sensibilities."

Cornelia said nothing more about it, but she kept her face averted as she added, "What is wrong with him? Do you know?"

"Malaria. He takes quinine for it, of course, but the horse bolted three days ago, and we lost most of our supplies, including his medicine."

Edward entered the room. "I've sent a servant for the local doctor. How is he?"

Margaret shook her head. "I don't know. He's been like this for over two days. Cycles of violent chills, then a very high fever and delirium. During the last two days I don't think he's had more than half a dozen lucid moments."

She laid a hand gently against his cheek and felt its burn against her fingertips. "At first I was able to keep his fever down by bathing him in the stream, and I was able to get some water into him. But once we got the wagon, I had to drive, and I was no longer able to tend him. I knew by then we were but a day's ride from Naples, and my only thought was to get him here as quickly as possible. I only stopped twice— both times to ask directions. But now, I'm afraid I may have made the wrong decision. He's dehydrated and seems worse than ever." Her voice began to shake with all the exhaustion and worry she was feeling. "I hope I did the right thing. If he dies—"

She broke off with a sob and was silent for a moment, trying to regain her composure. "If he dies, I shall never forgive myself."

When the doctor arrived, he hastened to reassure her. "You've done everything you could," he said and pulled a large brown bottle out of his bag. "Without quinine, you could only make him a bit more comfortable."

"Will he be all right, sir?" she asked.

"These cases vary, but he seems a strong and vigorous man. We'll give him a good dose of quinine and see how he responds. I'll return tomorrow to check on his progress. If he worsens during the night, fetch me at once. In the meantime, continue your efforts to keep him cool, and try to get some tea or broth into him."

The doctor measured a dose of quinine into a cup, then held Trevor's nose closed to force his mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat. Trevor gave a choking cough, but swallowed the medicine.

"Give him another dose in about eight hours," the doctor told Margaret.

"Thank you, doctor," Edward said. "I'll show you out."

The two men left the room, but Margaret did not move from her chair. Cornelia walked over to her cousin's side and laid a hand on her arm. "Come, Maggie. You're exhausted. You need some supper, a bath, and sleep. There's nothing more you can do."

"No." She pulled her arm out of her cousin's grasp and took Trevor's hand in hers. "I'm staying right here."

To her surprise, Cornelia did not argue with her. "I'll bring you a supper tray," she said and departed from the room. But she left the door wide open.

Dear Cornelia and her proprieties, Margaret thought, gazing at the open doorway. After traveling alone with Trevor for almost a fortnight, after sharing such an intimate experience, she could not sit with him alone in a closed room? Margaret smiled faintly. As if Trevor were in any condition to take liberties with her just now.

She thought of the farmer who had tried to accost her and wondered how Trevor had found the strength to stop him. She recalled the savagery in his voice when he'd claimed her as his own and the way he'd held the knife, ready to slit the farmer's throat for daring to touch her. As ill as he was, Trevor had still been there to protect her from harm, to cherish her and keep her safe. Wasn't that what heroes were for?

She turned her head and looked at him. At the moment, he was sleeping peacefully, but, even in sleep, his face was drawn and weary, showing the ravages of the past two days.

He needed a shave, she realized. She gently touched his hot cheek, feeling the roughness of beard stubble graze her fingertips, and all the mornings she had watched him shave came back to her. She remembered every meal they had shared, every conversation, every laugh, and every argument. She remembered the way he had kissed her and the extraordinary way he had touched her. She knew all these intimacies were usually the exclusive privilege of husbands and wives.

His proposal—if one could call it that—echoed through her mind.
I want you for my wife, and anything less is unacceptable to me.

Margaret closed her eyes, imagining what being married to Trevor would be like. The idea made her smile. She had always longed for excitement, and if the past few weeks were any indication, a lifetime with Trevor would never be dull. In fact, it would be quite wonderful. She realized how much she wanted to spend her life with him. How much she wanted him.

She loved him.

It was a stunning realization, and a humbling one. She thought of her own behavior, of how she had assumed the worst about Trevor from the very beginning. Cornelia's exasperated words of a month ago came back to her.

You dismiss every man who comes along without giving him a chance to win your affections.

At the time, she had blithely brushed aside her cousin's accusation, but it was true. She had dreamed of a prince, but she had fallen in love with a man. A man whose deeds proved him to be brave and honorable, a man who had made his desire for her clear from the very beginning. He had told her she was beautiful and fascinating, but didn't hesitate to tell her she was also spoiled and willful. Trevor had had many women, but he'd never asked any of them to marry him.

I never wanted any woman, rich or poor, passionately enough to spend the remainder of my life in her company.