The Seduction (15 page)

A flash of white caught his attention, and he watched Margaret slip out the back door. She came toward him, her form only a dim outline in the moonlight. As she approached, he could see that she had taken his instructions to heart. She was wearing the plain white blouse, dull red skirt, and yellow straw bonnet of an Italian peasant girl. Her hair was caught back in a long braid and a coarse brown shawl was draped over her shoulders. Caught in the belt at her waist was a small, drawstring purse.

"Will I suit?" she asked as she adjusted her bonnet. "I had to borrow these clothes from one of the maids. She's the daughter of a farmer, I believe."

"I hope she doesn't know what you wanted them for," Trevor answered, opening the door of the back gate and leading her into the alley.

"Oh, no. She thinks I want to copy them for a costume." She glanced at the rough linsey-woolsey trousers and shirt he wore and gave a nod of approval. "We look quite like Neapolitan peasants, don't we?"

"Hiring a carriage is one thing, but if you want to walk the streets of Carnival, it's best to dress for comfort." Trevor closed the gate and took her arm, leading her down the alley toward one of the side streets that led into the Piazza del
Popolo
. "Did you have any trouble getting away from the ball?"

"Oh, no," she answered, falling in step beside him. "In fact, Edward developed a headache shortly after you left and saved me the trouble of an excuse to leave. A fortunate coincidence."

Trevor smiled to himself. Good old Edward. After this week, they'd be even on that episode from Eton. "Yes," he said. "Very fortunate."

"What are we going to do?"

"I told you I'm at your service. I thought tonight we'd just take a stroll around the plaza and stop for whatever piques your interest."

During the next two hours, Margaret found many things interesting, and Trevor found himself stopping every few minutes. The puppeteers and musicians charmed her, the rope dancers and fire eaters entranced her, and the organ grinder's tiny monkey in his red velvet suit amused her with his antics. Beneath the gas light of a street lamp, Trevor watched her place a soda wafer on the animal's nose. Margaret laughed with the uninhibited delight of a child when the monkey tossed his head, flipping the tidbit into the air then catching it in his mouth.

She had a nice laugh, merry and unrestrained, not like the twittering giggles women usually uttered, and he enjoyed the sound of it. Hearing her laughter made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her again, turning that amusement into passion, but this was not the time or place.

Soon, he promised himself. Not tonight, but soon.

She accepted a carnation from the organ grinder, who placed a smacking kiss on each of her cheeks and lauded her beauty and charm with typical Italian hyperbole. But the man's admiring gaze lingered far too hungrily on the round neckline of her blouse and the voluptuous figure beneath it. Trevor scowled, and in a gesture of possessiveness that was totally uncharacteristic of him, stepped forward to take her arm. Once they were married, he decided, she was going to have a whole new wardrobe—with matronly dresses that buttoned up to her chin.

"Must you pull me along like a child's string toy?" she said as he led her away. "Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?"

Realizing he was practically hauling her across the plaza, Trevor took a deep breath and slowed his pace, astonished by the violent surge of feeling that had somehow caught hold of him. "The acrobats will be performing quite soon," he answered. "I don't want you to miss it."

"There's plenty of time," she pointed out, gesturing toward the stage they were approaching. "Look, they're just beginning to set up their equipment."

He led her to a place near the stage that gave an excellent view of the acrobats, but before the performance started loud and furious shouting began just behind Trevor and Margaret. Both of them turned around in time to see a tall, lean man dressed as Mephistopheles toss aside his grotesque mask, yank off his long black cloak, and let fly with a punch that knocked a man costumed as an Apache back into the crowd.

Margaret gave a cry of surprise. "A fist fight!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how exciting!"

Trevor, who knew the purpose of their outings was adventure, allowed her to watch the two men for a moment. But when he felt the crowd begin to change and saw other hot Italian tempers start flaring, he began pulling her back from the melee. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Oh, but I want to watch!" she cried, resisting his efforts to get her out of the way.

"Absolutely not," he said as he hauled her inexorably backward, knowing he had to get her out of here before things got out of hand.

Margaret, however, did not share his concern. "But I've never seen anything like this before," she shot back, struggling in earnest against his hold and slowing their departure. "I don't want to miss it."

The words were barely out of Margaret's mouth when the man in front of her slammed his fist into the face of his companion. At that moment, all hell suddenly broke loose around them. Curses and fists began flying.

Bloody hell, he thought, frustrated by her unexpected resistance, resistance which delayed his intention of a quick and safe departure. Visions of Margaret being hurt by the now-violent crowd flashed through his mind, and with that came the realization that he could kiss his four hundred thousand pounds good-bye, along with his life, if her father found out he had taken her out for midnight escapades.

"No time to argue!" he shouted at her. He turned her around to face him, then lifted her off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "For God's sake, keep your head down!" he added as he began shoving his way through the crowd. He deftly sidestepped two punches aimed at his head and finally got her safely out of the fray.

Once they were on an empty side street, he set her down—none too gently. "Are you out of your mind, woman?" he shouted. "When a fight starts like that, the only sensible thing to do is get out of the way as quickly as possible!"

"I didn't expect the crowd to turn like that," she confessed in a slightly shaky voice. "It all happened so fast."

"If we're going to have any adventures in the future, I expect you to follow my orders. Damn it, Margaret, you could have been hurt."

"You're right, of course," she said mildly. Then she suddenly lifted her head to look at him, and the light of the street lamp over their heads revealed the wide smile on her face and the definite sparkle in her eyes. "But I must say, Trevor, it was the most exciting thing I've ever experienced."

"I suppose that was the goal this evening," he conceded. "Excitement and adventure."

"Yes, indeed. There are so many things I want to see, and I can't help but wonder what other adventures we shall have along the way."

Trevor did not want to think about that just now. "It's late. I think it's time to take you home."

He took her arm, and they began walking back toward Edward's townhouse. "So tell me," he said as they strolled through the crowd, "how does a young woman of good family develop such a thirst for adventure that she finds street brawls so interesting?"

"I read a lot," Margaret answered, laughing.

"So I've noticed."

That reference to the afternoon he'd caught her reading a forbidden novel caused her to give him an exasperated jab in the ribs with her elbow. "When I was a little girl, I spent a great deal of time alone. My mother died when I was three, and my father was often away on business while I was growing up. I was quite shy."

"Shy?" He gave her a doubtful glance. "I don't believe that for a moment. Whenever I think of you, shy is definitely not the word that comes to mind."

"Nonetheless, it's true. I was—" She did not finish whatever she'd been about to say.

Curious, he prompted her. "Go on. You were . . ."

She took a deep breath. "I was chubby when I was little, and other girls teased me about it. It was very painful for me."

He recalled the malicious comments Lady Lytton had made that afternoon at tea, and he could see how comments like that could hurt a vulnerable little girl. He once again felt a surge of hot, protective anger. But he merely said, "I can understand how that might hurt."

"Anyway, the point is that I spent a great deal of time alone, reading. I loved books like
The Three Musketeers
and
The Last of the Mohicans.
I always thought
d'Artagnan
and Hawkeye had much more exciting lives than mine!"

"Most girls would have preferred Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte."

"I read them, too. In fact, I read anything I could get my hands on. Classics, dime novels, serial papers, anything. It was my escape."

"Escape?" He glanced at her. "What a curious word to use. What do you mean?"

"I imagine it would be hard for a man to understand, but a girl's life is very restricted. We grow up with nothing more challenging to our minds than which bonnet to wear with which dress, and which color of thread to use when we embroider our handkerchiefs. Our exercise usually consists of walking back and forth with books balanced on our heads or cutting and arranging flowers. By the time I was sixteen, I knew that I could never be satisfied with such mundane activities, much to the dismay of my governesses."

"Governesses? How many did you have?"

She shot him a rueful glance. "Seven."

"Seven!"

"Well, six, actually. Mrs. Horton came when I was thirteen, but she only lasted a week. I don't think she counts. When I was seventeen, my father finally gave up on governesses altogether, thank goodness."

"You only say that because without a governess you were then free to do what you wanted," he guessed.

"Of course," she admitted, laughing. "But I really wouldn't have minded having a governess if any of them had taught me anything useful. Of what use is balancing books on your head? It all seemed very silly to me. But they all said young ladies did not learn things like biology and geometry."

"I know most English girls lead very sheltered lives, but I have heard that in America girls are given a much more liberal education, and are more free to express themselves."

"That is true, to a point. But the limits are still too strict for me. For example, after I read
The Three Musketeers,
I wanted to learn how to fence. I was fifteen. My governess at the time was English. She was very stuffy and very proper, and she was horrified by the idea. She absolutely forbid it."

He laughed, and Margaret joined him. "Why do I get the feeling that is not the end of the story?" Trevor asked.

"The next time my father came home, I convinced him there was nothing wrong with a girl learning to fence. I pointed out that it was a noble and graceful sport, steeped in fine tradition, and since I'd already paid for the lessons out of my allowance . . ." She gave him an amused glance. "My father hates to waste money."

"So you got your way and learned how to fence. Are you any good?"

"Not bad, I must admit. Although I've only fenced with other women, most of whom are less practiced at the sport than I, so it's hard to tell."

"We'll have to fence some time, and see how good you are."

She stopped walking and turned toward him, her face shining with pleasure, genuine pleasure, with none of the affected coyness another woman might have displayed. "Really?" she asked. "Do you mean it?"

Trevor was astonished by her reaction. He'd only made the offer because it was another opportunity to be with her, another step toward furthering his goal. Yet, she was looking at him as if he'd just offered her the Crown Jewels. He looked away, feeling uneasy. If he had a conscience, he might have called the feeling guilt. "I wouldn't have made the offer if I didn't mean it," he said in an offhand manner and pushed his momentary uneasiness aside. If she wanted to take such pleasure in something so trivial, that was all to the good.