The Seduction (20 page)

He bent his head and kissed her, a kiss totally unlike the first one in the library. That one had been raw and powerful, startling in its intensity. But this was something else, something slow and deliberate, blatantly sensual. His mouth grazed hers lightly, warm and persuasive, coaxing her lips to part for him. Margaret closed her eyes and obeyed his silent command, awash in the extraordinary feel of the feather-light contact.

His hands slid up between them to cup her face, and he pulled her lower lip between his teeth, sucking gently, as if she were a piece of sugar candy to be tasted and savored.

She could feel it happen, that strange, melting sensation that seemed to rob her of all her strength. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, pressing closer, wanting more.

But he did not give her what she wanted. Instead, his hands slid away and he pulled back slowly.

Stunned, Margaret did not move for a long moment. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him smiling at her. There was a strange, dark satisfaction in that smile, and she did not know why, until she realized that she was still clinging to him but he was not touching her at all. She released her hold and stepped back, feeling flustered and embarrassed.

"You did that on purpose," she accused, mortified that her words came out in a breathless hush. "To distract me."

"Yes, I did," he admitted, completely without remorse. "Did it work?"

"You are the most provoking man! I really don't know why I put up with you."

"You put up with me because I intrigue you. I'm the only man you've ever known that won't let you have the upper hand."

Before she could even form the words of an indignant denial, he closed the distance between them and pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips. "I will see you Monday night. Enjoy yourself at the Embassy Ball."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be just too exciting for words," she said so dismally that he laughed as he walked back through the gate and disappeared into the alley.

Margaret remained in the garden after he had gone, wrapped in a confusing haze of emotions. Her lips still tingled from his goodnight kisses. The feelings he aroused within her with his mouth and his hands were intense, yes, but they were also rather frightening. She felt as if her control were being eroded away in tiny increments, and she wondered if there would come a time when she would surrender to him.

She shook off her uncertainties and told herself not to be silly. Someday she would meet the right man, a man who would not only desire her, but also love her. Until then, she intended to have fun. And if Trevor thought that his kisses, wonderful as they were, would keep her from embarking on an exciting adventure like the Royale, he was mistaken.

"St. James did not board any ship bound for England. I just learned of it an hour ago."

Lucci frowned at the man beside him, then glanced around at the elegant crowd that filled the drawing room. "Come with me," he commanded, and the head of the Egyptian Port Authority followed him out into the gardens and down a graveled path lined with palms.

"When we are surrounded by British officials and their wives, Signor Sallah, it would be wise to keep your voice down. I don't want St. James to find out I'm looking for him until he's on his knees in front of me."

"I understand." The Egyptian gentleman fell into step beside him. "My men have checked all the manifests of ships leaving Cairo the day after the burglary at your villa. St. James did not go to England. He went to Rome."

"Rome? Are you certain?"

Sallah stiffened at the question. "Of course I am certain. He made no effort to hide his identity, either. He did not seem to fear you would come after him."

"Then he is a fool." Lucci thought of his sweet wife and how she had been so abused. Since he had learned of it, his rage, instead of dissipating, burned hotter with each day that passed. "I will go to Rome myself."

Sallah seemed surprised. "The two of you have battled over artifacts for years. Why all of this trouble to regain a necklace?"

"That is not your concern," Lucci answered sharply.

"Of course. I have given you the information you requested."

"You will be paid, Sallah," Lucci assured him. "Call on my secretary tomorrow, and you will find the money waiting for you."

"You are generous, as always," the other man murmured. "I am grateful."

"You have earned it. Now leave me."

Sallah bowed. "Give my regards to your wife. I heard she is ill. I hope it is not serious."

The Egyptian returned to the party, but Lucci did not. He sat down on a stone bench amid the palm trees and thought of his sweet young wife with anguish.

Isabella would not eat, she would not talk, and she would not come out of her rooms. She would wake in the night, screaming and sobbing. She would not let him touch her. "When he is dead," she would sob, pulling free of him, "then, only then, will I be healed."

Soon, my sweet,
he promised her silently.
Soon.

The following night, Trevor walked through the glittering game rooms of the Royale, feeling strangely out of place. Though his black evening suit was impeccable, he felt as if he were the one in costume as he
moved through the crowd of knights, peasants, princes, and demons. Unlike Trevor, most of these men were on their way to or from some costume party or ball, and were dressed accordingly.

He spied a stout fellow in green velvet, with stuffed yellow spines all down his back and the head of his dragon costume tucked under one arm, who moved carefully through the crowd, trying to avoid hitting anyone with his immense tail. Trevor thought of Margaret's woeful words of the night before and grinned. If this dragon were representative of the men she was dancing with at the Embassy Ball, he almost felt sorry for her.

Almost, but not quite. He meant what he had told her last night. He could not let her gain the upper hand. If she ever felt she could control him or manipulate him, she'd toss him aside like yesterday's newspaper. He would not allow that to happen.

No, he would win his heiress by slow seduction, by giving her just enough of what she wanted to make her want more. With the right bait to tempt her, he would lead her just where he wanted her to go, without ever letting her realize that she was being led. And he planned to lead her straight to the altar.

Trevor paused beside the bar to get a glass of port, then moved toward the poker tables, knowing that was where he would find Emilio. A crowd had gathered around one of the tables, and Trevor caught sight of Emilio seated there, costumed as a Maltese sailor. His cards were in his hand and a worried frown was on his face.

Trevor realized why a crowd had gathered. Emilio was playing a woman.

Costumed as a Turkish slave girl, or, more accurately,
as the European idea of what a Turkish slave girl would be, she wore silks—a robe of shimmering gold belted with a blue sash over ivory trousers. A headdress of blue silk covered her head and shoulders, concealing her hair, and, since her back was to him, he could not see her face. But a woman who could give Emilio a run for his money at poker was worth watching. Intrigued, he maneuvered his way through the crowd until he was close enough to observe the play.

Emilio called her bluff, adding money to the pot, and laid down his hand. "Two pair," he announced, laying down his cards. "Aces and eights."

The woman said nothing, she merely fanned her cards out on the table, revealing a full house. She raked in her winnings as Emilio lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I am finished," he announced, pushing back his chair. "After three losing hands, I would be a fool to play yet another with a woman who has beauty, luck, and skill on her side." He cast a glance over the crowd that surrounded him. "Would anyone care to take my place?"

Trevor decided to challenge her himself. "I will," he said, taking Emilio's chair.

The other man stood up and gave him a wide smile. "Trevor, you have finally arrived."

His smile faded as he looked into Trevor's face. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing important."

"A fight? Is that what delayed you? You are never late for an engagement."

"Traffic," he explained. "You know how crowded the streets are during Carnival."

"We were beginning to worry." Leaning closer, Emilio added in a low voice, "Your mistress plays the game well, my friend."

"My mistress?"

Startled, he glanced at the woman seated across the table. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, and, although a veil of ivory silk concealed the lower half of her face, the brown eyes above the veil that sparkled with mischievous laughter were all too familiar.

"Bloody hell!" he cried and almost dropped his glass of port. "What are you doing here?"

"Trevor,
mon
cher
!
" she exclaimed, her voice heavily laced with what he assumed was supposed to be a French accent. It wouldn't fool a child. "I have been waiting for you, of course," she went on. "And I'm having
ze
most glorious time.
Zis
poker—it
eez
quite exciting."

He was going to kill her, he decided. That ought to be exciting enough even for her. But before he could carry out his intention, Emilio pushed him into the vacant chair. "She said you did not expect her tonight and would be surprised to find her here. Since both of us were waiting for you, she suggested we play a few hands. Little did I know she would take all my money."

Margaret laughed up at him. "It
eez
only zee luck of a beginner."

"On the contrary, my dear
Margaux
," Emilio said, "you used your beautiful dark eyes to hypnotize me and distract me from the play. Deliberately, I think. Take care, Trevor, that she does not do the same to you."

"Not likely," he muttered through clenched teeth. His only wish was to get Margaret out of there before one of the many Englishmen present recognized her, but he could not do it now. He set down his glass on the green baize table with such force he was surprised it didn't shatter and glared at her, satisfied to see some of the laughter fade from her eyes. She hastily turned her head and began talking to one of the other men at the table.

Emilio leaned down to murmur, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That she was your new mistress."

"She isn't," Trevor said so sharply that Margaret stopped talking to the man at her left and turned her head in his direction, giving him an inquiring glance. But she saw the expression on his face and quickly looked away.

Emilio chuckled. "Is this not the woman you've been escorting about Carnival the past few nights? Despite her costume, I recognized her instantly, and when I engaged her in conversation, she immediately admitted knowing you."

"Did she?" he asked. If Emilio had recognized her, then others would, too. The scandal would ruin her, and him as well. His fury increased tenfold.

The deal passed to the man beside Margaret, and Emilio stepped back. "Five card draw," the man announced, and as he dealt the hand Trevor hoped to hell he'd have the cards to trounce her thoroughly and take every chip she had. It was no more than she deserved.

Determined to get her own way, she had openly defied him, putting her reputation at enormous risk. The possible consequences of her actions made his insides twist with dread, especially when he thought of what would happen if her father found out.