The Seduction (4 page)

"Lord Kettering will be with you shortly," the butler informed him. With a bow, he departed, leaving Trevor to his contemplation of money, especially his lack of it.

Once he sold Edward the necklace, he'd have three thousand pounds. Unfortunately, he would need a great deal more money than that. Trevor thought of the letter he'd received at the dig in Luxor just over a month ago. It was the only letter he'd received from his mother since his departure from England ten years before. She had made no maternal inquiries about the health or happiness of her second son. She had informed him of his brother's death, inquired about his financial situation, talked woefully about the mess in which Geoffrey had left things when he died, and ended the letter with a demand that he come home and do his duty to the family. It was a duty that had been pounded into his brain since childhood, one she knew he would never ignore.

Knowing his mother had a flair for the dramatic and a tendency to exaggerate, Trevor had wired the family solicitor. Collier had been blunt and succinct in his reply. The debts of Trevor's late brother amounted to approximately two hundred thousand pounds, a staggering sum.

Trevor gazed between the marble columns at the Tiber River, staring at the last lights of sunset on the water. He wondered how he was going to repay a debt of that size. He thought of Ashton Park, of the tenants and their families whose livelihood came from Ashton lands, and of the village tradesmen who needed the patronage of the Ashton estates. The weight of his new responsibilities settled heavily on his shoulders. The fate of so many depended on him.

The sound of footsteps on the tile floor interrupted Trevor's musings. He turned and watched Edward approach.

"Trevor," the other man greeted him. "I'm glad you've finally arrived. I was worried." He frowned. "You look the very devil. Why in heaven's name don't you shave?"

Trevor rubbed a hand over his
stubbled
jaw. "My valet decided I don't pay him enough."

"You don't have a valet, and haven't had one since Cambridge days." He gave Trevor a long, hard stare, then said, "Damned malaria again, I suppose?"

"A touch. The journey from Cairo was pretty bad, I must admit. But I'm taking my quinine and I'm well enough now, all things considered. And yourself?"

"Fine, fine." Edward leaned closer, and his smile faded. "Did you bring it?" he asked in a low voice.

"Of course. Did you think I wouldn't?"

"As I said, I was worried. I know the chances you take, my friend."

"I had a bit of trouble," Trevor admitted. "But I handled it."

"Good. It's a lovely evening. Why don't we take a walk?"

Trevor straightened away from the column and followed the other man. They walked without speaking down a short path of lemon trees to a terrace at the edge of a pond. They continued on down a dock that jutted out over the water. It did not escape Trevor's notice that no one could overhear their conversation from here. He almost smiled. Edward was always so cautious.

He reached inside his jacket to pull a paper- wrapped box from the pocket. He unwrapped it, opened the box, and pulled back the protective layers of cotton to reveal the breathtaking collar of lapis and gold.

Edward gave a low whistle of appreciation. "You certainly didn't exaggerate the value of this piece," he said, taking the box to give the necklace closer examination.

"Eighth Dynasty, of course," Trevor told him.

"Wife of a priest. Unfortunately, there was little else of value in the tomb. It had already been robbed, but this was missed."

Edward slid the box into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I believe we had agreed on three thousand pounds if the necklace was as you described?"

Trevor gave a brief nod of agreement, and Edward handed him a wad of notes. "You did well," he said. "The museum will be very glad to get this piece for the Egyptian collection."

"Just don't tell them how you got it."

"I never do. So tell me. What delayed you?"

"Lucci. What else?"

Edward was vexed. "That man is proving to be a great inconvenience."

"That's one way of putting it. He stole the necklace from me before I even got out of
Henet's
tomb. He and his men must have followed me there."

"How did you get it back?"

Trevor gave the other man a wicked smile. "Let's just say that Lucci has an incredibly beautiful and very bored wife."

Edward laughed. "I see. Are you planning to return to Egypt?"

"No. I'm going home."

"I suspected as much. You're the best I've got, and I'm sorry to lose you. But at least I'll be able to see you more often." He paused and gave his friend a long, speculative look. "I heard about your brother, of course. How does it feel to be the earl?"

Trevor turned away and gazed at the swans gliding across the water. "Damned odd."

"Trevor, I have to tell you that I've heard rumors about some,
ahem,
financial difficulties. If I've heard the gossip, then—"

"Then so has everyone else," Trevor finished smoothly, betraying none of the dismay he felt. "Thank you for the information."

"I'm afraid the suicide of an earl does not go unnoticed."

"I suppose not. I'm going to Kent immediately to see for myself."

"When do you depart?" Edward asked.

"My ship leaves from Ostia tomorrow afternoon."

"Excellent. You'll stay the night here, of course. As you can see, there's plenty of room."

Trevor glanced from the luxurious villa in the distance to the lavish gardens that surrounded them. "It's quite a place," he said as the two men began retracing their steps along the path. "The Kettering estates must be doing well if you can afford to let a villa like this. Or does being a director of the British Museum pay that well?"

"Oh, I'm not leasing it. I'm a guest here. The house belongs to my wife's uncle, Henry Van Alden. He's American—millionaire, as you might guess. Made his money in chocolate, but now he's involved in all sorts of ventures."

Trevor wished he had rich relatives.

The two men halted at the steps leading up to the portico, and Edward turned to Trevor. "So, will you stay the night?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Oh, Henry won't mind. Archaeology is a hobby of his, and I know he'll want to talk with you about Egypt. Shall I have a room prepared for you?"

"I'd be glad to stay the night, if you're sure I wouldn't be imposing on your host. My things are at Signora
Calvetti's
pensione
in the Piazza
di
Angelo."

"I'll send for them." He glanced down at Trevor's rumpled traveling clothes. "Henry and his daughter are having a ball this evening. Formal dress will be required, I’m afraid."

Trevor shook his head. "I've been out of the ballrooms too long. Besides, I'm a bit tired and I still have a long journey ahead of me. I'll give it a miss, if you don't mind."

"Of course. Malaria is a beastly thing, isn't it? Giuseppe will let you know when your room is ready. We have several other guests staying here for the next few days and breakfast is quite informal. Warming dishes on the sideboard any time until eleven o'clock. Now I must change or I'll be late. If you'll excuse me?"

Edward started to go inside, but paused and looked over his shoulder. "It's good to see you again, my friend."

He went inside, and Trevor took a seat on one of the wrought-iron benches in the portico. He sat there a long time, smoking a cigar, watching dusk turn to night. He thought about Edward's comment that rumors were flying all over London and wondered just how much was known. Damn it all, if everyone in society knew just how precarious the Ashton situation was, he'd never be able to raise capital. What the hell was he going to do?

Margaret hummed under her breath
as she studied the couples waltzing across the parquet floor. She watched them from her hiding place behind the tall potted palms and ferns that screened a quiet alcove. From here, she hoped to watch the dancing and enjoy the music while avoiding all the men Cornelia insisted on introducing to her.

She took a sip from her fourth glass of champagne. A figure in black suddenly caught sight of her peeking between the palms. Margaret groaned in dismay and stepped back deeper into the alcove, but not before she saw Roger begin walking toward her. She gulped down two hasty swallows of champagne as he came around the palms.

"I thought I saw you hiding back here," he said. "Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?"

"Yes. At least twice."

She watched him struggle for something else to
say. He finally managed it. "I'm sorry if I keep repeating myself. But it's true. You look quite beautiful."

"You give me many compliments, Lord Hymes." She took another swallow from her glass. Lovely stuff, champagne. She decided to find out how far Roger was prepared to carry on this courtship charade. "Answer a question for me. Just what exactly is it that you find so beautiful about me?"

He stared at her, taken aback by the bluntness of her question. "Well . . ." He paused, studying her. Then he rallied and said, "You have a lovely face."

"Really? What about my hair? Does it look as dark and rich as mahogany?"

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was beginning to perceive her point. "I'd say that's an apt description."

"And do my eyes sparkle like fabulous jewels?"

His smile widened. "No. Your eyes are brown."

She laughed, and so did he. She looked up into his face and realized that when his smile was genuine, when he wasn't saying the things he thought she wanted to hear, he wasn't irritating at all. If only he weren't so perfectly proper.

Still, she studied him for a moment. He did have a nice mouth. She wondered how it would be to kiss a man. Not the tentative pecks on the cheek she had received from the boldest of her suitors, but a real kiss.

A wild, reckless feeling swept over her, along with an overwhelming curiosity. Marrying Roger was something she had no intention of doing, but kissing him, well, that was something else entirely. She drained her glass, then tossed it carelessly into a nearby fern. "The gardens of the villa are lovely by moonlight. Perhaps you would care to see them?"

He stared at her in astonishment. "Now?"

Margaret saw the eager hope in his face and felt a glimmer of doubt, but she pushed it aside. "Meet me in the center of the maze at midnight," she whispered, then left the alcove to rejoin the ball, leaving Roger gaping after her.

The sounds of the party floated toward Trevor as a door opened behind him. Several men wandered out onto the portico to smoke cigars, and he did not want company. He wanted quiet and time to think. He rose and went down the steps toward a maze of high boxwood hedges, finding his way by moonlight. He entered the maze and took the first path, racking his brain for a way, any way, to raise two hundred thousand pounds.

Damn Geoffrey for getting the family into this mess. But then, his brother had always been a fool. Geoffrey, who couldn't be bothered to care about the estates he had inherited or do the work required to maintain them. Geoffrey, whose main concerns had been the most fashionable knot for his cravat and whether or not the Prince of Wales would invite them to the Royal Enclosure at Ascot again this year. Geoffrey, who wouldn't have known a sensible investment if it bit him, who had always had the arrogant assumption that money just came to peers of the realm by divine right. And now that the family coffers were empty, Geoffrey lay in the family plot with a bullet through his brain.