The Seduction (14 page)

She clung desperately to the table behind her even as her lips parted beneath the pressure of his. His tongue entered her mouth, tasting deeply of her, and his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her away from the table, forcing her to cling to him instead. Startled, she broke the kiss, managing a feeble protest as she grasped the folds of his heavy doublet and buried her face against his shoulder. But he was not deterred. He tilted his head and continued his explorations, trailing kisses along her throat, tasting her skin.

His teeth grazed her earlobe, and she shivered. She felt his arms wrap around her, crushing her breasts against his chest, imprisoning her body against the hard length of his. She bunched the fabric of his costume more tightly in her fists. "Oh, please," she gasped, her words muffled by the soft velvet. "My lord, you must stop."

"Must I?" he murmured against her ear, his warm breath sending shivers through her. "Why?"

"The door into the hall is wide open. Someone might see us."

"But doesn't that sort of risk make it all the more exciting?" he asked. "Consider this your first adventure with me, an adventure in kissing. Wasn't that what you wanted the first night we met?" His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her ear as he spoke. "Wasn't it?"

"Yes," she confessed in a ragged whisper, shaken by the maelstrom of feelings he was arousing in her. "But the guests will begin arriving at any moment. This has to stop." Even as she spoke, her arms slid up around his neck, and she clung to him.

"You haven't given me an answer." He pulled back and grasped her chin in his fingers, lifting her face to look into her eyes. "Before you decide, know this. I have every intention of using our time together to my advantage."

"What do you mean?"

He brushed his thumb slowly back and forth across her lower lip. "I mean that I intend to seduce you."

Margaret stiffened in his hold, coming out of the sensuous haze, once again cognizant of danger. She tried to pull away, but his arm tightened around her waist, holding her fast. "You presume a great deal, Ashton," she whispered.

"On the contrary, I presume nothing. I am simply telling you my intentions. I see no need to hide them."

He slid one hand to the nape of her neck, and once again she tried to pull away, but he tangled his fingers in the knot of her hair, imprisoning her. He tilted his head and kissed the base of her throat. "I have already told you," she said breathlessly, "I won't marry you."

He began nibbling on her earlobe. "Did I say anything about marriage?"

"No, but I can't think of any other reason why you would say such things."

"Can you not?" He laughed softly, nuzzling her ear. "I can."

Lost in the sensations he was evoking with his hands and his mouth, she could feel reason and control slipping away, and she fought to regain them. She wedged her arms between them. It wasn't much of a barrier, but it was all she could manage when she felt her knees buckling. "Stop," she gasped. "Oh, please, stop."

He immediately pulled back, but he kept one arm around her waist. "Your wish is my command."

She opened her eyes and stared at her hands, which were clenched into fists around the velvet folds of his doublet. She could hear her agitated breathing and the frantic thump of her heart, and she could not think of a single thing to say.

"Well, Maggie?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Will you come out with me for Carnival?"

Margaret looked up at him. Ashton was a rake, a gentleman only in name, and he could very well be a fortune hunter. What he proposed was dangerous and entailed serious risk to her reputation. Yet, even as she considered all the possible ramifications, she knew what her answer would be. Such a chance might never come her way again. Tempted beyond reason, she nodded quickly before she could change her mind. "Yes," she said. "I agree."

"Good. Tomorrow night at the Duchess of Arbuthnot's ball, we'll make our final plans. Reserve a waltz for me." He stepped back and let her go, smiling as he looked at her.

"What are you smiling about?"

"You are a bit mussed," he said, lifting one hand to smooth her hair. "You look like a woman who has been thoroughly and properly kissed."

"Do I?" She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks and stepped hastily sideways to make her escape, reminding herself again that the door was wide open and anyone could have walked in and seen them.

"Yes, you do," he said as she walked away. "And I can't tell you how pleased I am to be the man responsible."

"Of all the men in the world," she said ruefully, "why did it have to be you?" She paused in the doorway and looked at him over one shoulder, an expression of confusion and desire on her face that made him want to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again. "I don't even
like
you."

"Not yet," he said beneath his breath as he watched her disappear from view. "But you will, sweet Maggie. You will."

Margaret didn't know how she managed to get through the evening and the following day without giving herself away. Every look or smile she received seemed fraught with significance, as if all her acquaintances knew what she planned to do, as if they
knew she planned to mingle with the tumultuous crowd in the streets, as if they knew she'd been kissed.

When she thought of that kiss, of the extraordinary feel of Trevor's mouth on hers, all the feeling he had evoked came rushing back. Kissing was quite a heady experience. She hoped the other adventures he promised would prove equally exciting.

I intend to seduce you.

He certainly had the reputation for it, given what her father and the duchess had told her. He had seduced many other women. She knew she would have to be careful, but she wanted excitement, and if last night was any indication, Trevor St. James would be able to give her plenty of it. Control of the situation was in her hands. She would take only as much of what he offered as she desired, and she would give only as much as she wished in return.

Worried, Margaret glanced again around the luxuriant, glittering ballroom as her partner, a stout Italian ambassador, whirled her across the floor in a clumsy waltz. She did not see Trevor's tall, broad- shouldered frame anywhere. Where was he?

By ten o'clock, he had still not arrived. It was not until she had danced another waltz, a quadrille and two reels that he finally made his appearance, just as Edward was leading her out on to the floor.

"Sorry, Kettering," a deep and lazy voice interjected, "but I believe this waltz is mine."

Edward stepped aside, and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally," she said as Trevor took her arm and led her to the ballroom floor. "I thought you'd never arrive."

"Miss me?" He pulled her as close as propriety would allow and began to lead her through the dance.

His question was ridiculous, and she shot him a look that told him so. "I was thinking you might have changed your mind."

"Not at all. Have you?"

"Of course not. What delayed you?"

"A charming opera singer named
Lili
Rossetti. Gorgeous woman, long black hair."

She couldn't suppress her sound of outrage, but the challenging, amused look he gave her was familiar enough now, and she realized that he was having her on. "You are truly a wretched man," she muttered. "Why must you do that?"

His expression changed, and he became as innocent as a schoolboy. "Do what?"

"Tease so."

"Ah, that." He laughed. "Perhaps because you fall for it so easily."

"Well, I won't again," she vowed. "I'm on to you now."

His hand tightened around hers. "I truly hope so, Maggie. Friends should understand each other well."

Before she could point out that they were not friends, he leaned a bit closer and said, "This ball will probably go on until dawn. Think up some excuse to go home early, by midnight at the latest. When you get home, change out of that ball gown and wait one hour to make certain everyone has gone to bed, then meet me in the back garden."

She nodded, tingling with excitement. "What should I wear? Men's clothes?"

He threw back his head and laughed again, loudly enough that several nearby couples glanced their way.

"
Ssh
," she warned with a nervous glance around. "What did I say that's so funny?"

"Men's clothes? Really, Maggie." He shook his
head, still smiling. His thick black lashes lowered, and his gaze swept downward, lingering on the low neckline of her gown. "I doubt you would fool anyone."

"Oh." She realized what he meant and felt hot color rush to her cheeks. "What should I wear then?" she asked as the waltz ended.

"Something sensible and comfortable. Can you fashion some sort of peasant costume? A shirtwaist, skirt and shawl ought to do it, with low-heeled boots."

"I think I can come up with something like that."

"Good." He took her back to Edward and Cornelia, who stood near the punch table with several of their friends. He released her arm and lifted her hand. "And for God's sake," he added in a whisper, "if you must wear a corset, don't lace it too tight. I'll not have you fainting if we have to climb walls or run through dark alleys."

He pressed a quick kiss to her fingertips and walked away, leaving the interested observers around them to speculate on what the Earl of Ashton had been saying to make Miss Van Alden blush twice during one waltz.

Trevor stood beside the garden
wall, waiting. Though the night was dark, it was far from silent. The high stone walls that surrounded the back gardens of the townhouse did little to subdue the wild revelry of Carnival. Margaret would see many fascinating things during the next few nights, and Trevor was looking forward to seeing her reaction to the spectacle.

He thought of the evening before. He hadn't planned to kiss her so soon, but he'd seen the curiosity and awakening desire in her eyes, and the temptation had been irresistible.

He could still smell the tangy fragrance of lemon soap that clung to her skin and feel her body in his arms. He could still savor the sweetness of her mouth beneath his and feel the unexpected jolt of pure lust that had rocked him at that first taste of her. Desire flared inside him again at the memory of it.

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her passionate response to his kiss had been far more than he'd expected, and if he had chosen to take it further, he could have. But he knew that, for her, kissing was an experiment, and a few stolen kisses would not be enough to win her hand. Seducing Margaret into matrimony would require strategy, patience, and control. He could not afford to lose his heiress by moving too fast. He would make her wait for his kisses, anticipate them, long for them. That was part of the game.