The Seduction (19 page)

"He is quite wicked, isn't he? But many a man changes his ways once he is married."

Margaret was doubtful. "Would your father agree to the match? Ashton is stone broke."

But it appeared nothing would dampen Sally's enthusiasm. She only laughed. "Why should that matter? Papa knows that most peers are financially strapped. If he were to offer for me, I'm sure Papa would agree." She sighed again, a sound that made Margaret want to grind her teeth. "He's so marvelous. So exciting."

Margaret wondered what Sally would think of him if she knew what he did in the wee small hours of the morning. But as much as she wanted to set Sally straight as to the facts, she couldn't. So, over the next several hours, she was forced to endure Sally's gushing comments and Trevor's indulgent tolerance of the English girl's attentions.

Later that evening, when they met in the garden for their next adventure, Margaret gave him a piece of her mind. Trevor failed—deliberately, she thought—to understand just why she was upset.

"Yes," he admitted. "I've called on her twice. I've danced with her. What of it?"

"She thinks you're going to marry her, as would any girl, given the circumstances. You are leading her on."

"Am I?"

She stared at him in astonishment. "You said you were not the marrying kind."

"True enough. I never have been. But, of late, I have found myself thinking more and more about the subject."

"You have?"

"Yes, indeed. You are partly to blame."

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"You reminded me that it is my duty to marry for an heir. And you were quite right."

Margaret felt as if her head were spinning. She hadn't said any such thing. Had she? "What are you saying? That Lady Sally would be your choice for a wife?"

"She would be quite a suitable wife for an earl."

"Really!" She stopped walking, and he paused beside her. Margaret felt insulted. "You talk of, of seducing me, but you talk of marrying Lady Sally?"

He seemed astonished. "Margaret, you have said quite clearly you don't wish to marry. I am an earl, and I have finally been forced to admit that marriage is something I will have to do. I have my duty to consider. Besides, it is only something I am thinking about for the future. I don't know why you're so upset about this."

She drew a deep breath, trying to contain her growing irritation. "I'm not upset! It's just that, that. . ." She spluttered, unable to articulate what she felt without giving him the false impression that she wanted him for herself. "I thought we had agreed not to discuss the topic of marriage at all!"

"You're quite right," he agreed mildly and tucked her arm within his. They resumed walking, and he said, "I won't bring it up if you won't. And as long as our . . . association continues, I will not be marrying anyone else, I assure you."

"How considerate of you," she answered dryly, but he did not seem to notice the sarcasm.

He said no more about the matter, and they spent the evening at the theater, where they watched several skits from the
Comedia
dell'Arte
.
Both of them had seen the old Italian comedies before, but watching from the penny seats in a bourgeois theater was a totally new experience for Margaret.

"I had no idea crowds could be so critical!" she said. "Throwing tomatoes at the stage. Heavens! I'd love to see the audience do that at the Academy of Music back in New York. Just so I could see the look on Mrs. Astor's face!"

"From what I’ve heard of your American
Knickerbocker
set," Trevor answered, "a tomato in the face is exactly what Mrs. Astor deserves."

Margaret laughed delightedly at the picture his words evoked. "It's not my
Knickerbocker
set," she assured him. "And a good thing, too! Stuffy old cats, all of them."

"Why? Because they don't approve of throwing tomatoes at hideously bad actors?"

"No, because they told my father he wasn't good enough to have a box at their precious Academy." She stuck her nose in the air and added haughtily, "Those Van
Aldens
are such upstarts, you know. We couldn't allow such rabble into our set, my dear. Their money may be green, but their blood simply isn't blue enough."

Trevor smiled at her parody of Caroline Astor. But behind the teasing and laughter, he sensed an underlying hint of hurt in her voice, and he realized that, though she might pretend not to care, the social
ostracization
was a wound that cut deep.

"It would be difficult, I imagine, to have the money your father has, but be unable to achieve the social position to go with it."

She sighed. "It's difficult for my father. He wants to move in the highest circles, and it hurts him a great deal when we are not invited to the right parties. It hurts him, not for his own sake, but for mine." She was silent for a moment, then she said, "I remember when I was sixteen and I made my debut. Papa was so happy about it, so excited. He made these lavish preparations. He had the best musicians, the best food, the best wine. He invited all the right people. But—"

"But?" he prompted when she fell silent.

"Nobody came."

He sucked in a sharp breath, hearing the pain in her voice. "That must have hurt," he said gently.

She stiffened. "Mrs. Astor and her friends are just a bunch of malicious old cats. I don't care two cents for their opinion."

"Whose opinion do you care about?" Trevor asked.

"There are few people of whom I think well enough to desire their good opinion. My father and Cornelia. Edward. Some of my American girlfriends. That is all."

"And social acceptance in general means nothing to you?"

"Why should I want the acceptance of such hateful people?"

Her words struck a familiar chord. "In some ways, you and I are so much alike," he murmured. "I, too, am a rebel. But I have learned over the years that the price we pay for such an attitude is a high one. Especially you, since you are a woman."

"Why should it matter what other people think?"

"It shouldn't. But it does, Maggie. Don't fool yourself. It matters immensely. Unless you want to go live on a deserted island somewhere for the rest of your days, you must have a care for the opinion of others."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted. "I do try, for my father's sake. He has become quite obsessed with gaining respectability for me."

Trevor decided it was time to tackle the subject of marriage directly. "So, that's why your father is so determined to marry you off. Because he feels it would improve your social position."

"I knew it!" she cried and came to a halt. "He told you that he wants to marry me off."

"He mentioned it to me, yes," Trevor answered carefully. "He seems to feel you would gain a great deal by marrying a titled gentleman."

"Honestly!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Why doesn't he just put me on the auction block at Sotheby's and be done with it!"

"He's right about one thing. You would gain respectability through marriage."

He glanced at her and saw her lift her chin stubbornly. "I'm not going to marry a man I do not love, a man who does not love me, just to be able to move in a higher social sphere."

"Is love so important then?"

She looked over at him, astonished. "It is everything."

"Perhaps," he murmured, but she scowled at him so fiercely, he decided to veer the conversation back to safer ground. At least now he knew for certain what he was up against. "So, tell me, what did your father do when the Academy, refused him a box?"

She relaxed slightly. "He went to Willie K. Vanderbilt and several others who had also been rejected by the Academy, and they all invested the money to build a new opera house. It's going to be called the Metropolitan, and they plan to open it next year."

Trevor laughed. "Your father is quite a man, isn't he? No wonder he's made so much money, as stubborn as he is."

"It runs in the family," she said.

"So I'm discovering."

When they reached the garden gate, he opened it for Margaret and followed her in. "So did you enjoy yourself tonight?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. It was great fun."

Trevor leaned back against the stone wall of the garden and studied her face in the moonlight. "And have you forgiven me for my attentions to Lady Sally?" he asked, smiling at her.

She turned away, pretending great interest in the blooming camellias. "Lady Sally can go hang," she said stiffly. "If she wants to be such a fool over you, why should I care?"

Why, indeed? he thought. It pleased him to know that she was beginning to care for him—a great deal more than she wanted to let on. He seemed to be making progress.

"What are we going to do tomorrow night?" she asked, changing the subject.

He shook his head. "We can't go out tomorrow night," he answered. "I have another engagement."

That got her full attention. "You do?"

"I'm afraid so, one I cannot refuse. I'm meeting a business associate at the Royale."

"That's a gaming club, isn't it? Well, that's perfect! I've always wanted to go to a gaming club."

"I'm not taking you with me."

"Why not?"

"God, Margaret. I may be slightly lax when it comes to observing the proprieties, but even I could not take a lady to a gaming club!"

She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Why? Women aren't allowed inside?"

"Only women of a certain type," he answered dryly.

"You mean mistresses and demireps."

"Exactly."

"Really!" she said, clearly aggrieved. "Life is so unfair to women. Unless we wish to sacrifice our reputations, we are barred from all that is fun and exciting."

"Step down off your suffragette soapbox, if you please. I can't change the world, and even if I could, I wouldn't. I like things the way they are."

"Of course you do," she countered. "You're a man."

"And you are most definitely a woman. So stop railing against things you can't change and give in gracefully. I'm sure you'll have a marvelous time at the Embassy Ball."

"Oh, yes, marvelous." She made a face. "Dancing with fat ambassadors who are dressed in silly elephant costumes and who tread on my feet. A memory I'll cherish all my days."

His lips quirked in a smile. "I see your point."

She was quick to pounce on that concession. "Then can I go with you?"

"My God, give you an inch and you do take a mile, don't you? What if someone recognizes you?"

"That's unlikely. It's Carnival, and I imagine most people will be costumed. No one would recognize me if I wore something that covered my face."

"Perhaps, but it's still far too risky."

"I thought you were a man who enjoyed taking risks."

"Margaret, just because a man and a woman are friends does not mean she can throw his own words back in his face to serve her purposes. Forget it. I'm not taking you with me and that's final."

She opened her mouth to make her next argument, but he saw it coming and reached for her, pulling her into his arms with a suddenness that made her completely forget what she'd been about to say.