The Seduction (21 page)

With an effort, he pushed aside that unpleasant possibility and returned his attention to the cards in his hand. He saw the possibility of a flush and, when his turn came, he tossed away his one useless card. "I'll take one."

It was another club, exactly what he needed, but Trevor was too furious to feel any elation. All he wanted was to get her out of there.

When he had begun the task of winning his heiress, he had never imagined just how trying to his nerves and his patience that task would be. She was spoiled, willful, and reckless, a combination that sliced through his self-control as easily as a knife through butter, and he realized he had underestimated her. It was a mistake he seldom made, and he vowed that it was a mistake he would not make again.

Margaret held with the hand she'd been dealt and raised the stakes by ten thousand lire. Two men folded, and when the play came to him, he matched her ten thousand and added ten thousand more.

Both men to his left bowed out of the game, leaving Margaret as his only opponent.

"Perhaps you should fold now," he suggested, deliberately baiting her. "It would be a shame for you to lose more money."

"I'll call," she said and matched his bet. She laid down her hand, revealing three queens.

Trevor smiled with grim satisfaction. "Very foolish of you." He fanned out his cards on the table to reveal his five clubs, sending a ripple of excited murmurs through the crowd. He raked in his winnings and stood up. "Gentlemen, I have other enjoyments to pursue this evening, so I must bid you goodnight." He gave Margaret a look that told her clearly she'd better get out of her chair and follow him.

She licked her lips nervously, but she didn't move. He came around the table, seized her wrist and hauled her out of her chair, much to the amusement of those around them.

"What are you doing?" she cried and made a frantic grab for her chips. She managed to seize only a handful before he dragged her away from the table. She tried to jerk free, but he tightened his grip and pulled her hard against him. "I would advise you to come along quietly,
Margaux
,"
he murmured in a low voice. "Even mistresses do not make scenes in the Royale."

"But I'm not finished yet!"

"Oh, yes, you are." He glanced across the table at Emilio, who was watching them in wholehearted amusement. "Emilio, we'll have to meet some other time."

"I understand," the other man said, laughing. "Call on me tomorrow afternoon."

Left without a choice, Margaret followed him out of the club. Trevor ordered a cab to be brought around, and, as the doorman departed to find one, she decided it might be best to try and explain.

"Trevor, I—"

"Don't say a word," he interrupted. "Not one word."

He said nothing more, and they waited in silence. As the moments passed and Trevor did not even glance in her direction, she realized just how angry he was.

She didn't know quite how to handle it. Her father was the only other man she'd ever known who dared express anger with her, and he was a man who bellowed when he was in a rage until his anger spent itself. Experience had taught her that if she held her ground and waited patiently, the storm would soon be over. But Trevor was different, and his silence was far more intimidating than her father's sound and fury had ever been. She knew that, with this man, she was out of her depth, and a tense, uneasy feeling gripped her.

When the cab arrived, the doorman of the Royale stepped forward to open the door for them. Trevor tossed her up into the cab, thrust a tip into the doorman's hand, and followed her inside, giving the driver an address on the side street closest to Edward's townhouse.

The cab jerked forward as it started away from the curb. Margaret pulled away her veil, which was beginning to feel suffocating, but the moment she did, she began to twist the swath of silk nervously in her fingers. Forcing herself to stop, she stuffed the veil into the pocket of the bloomers she wore and shot the man seated across from her an apprehensive glance, hoping to see some sign that his anger was fading. He was gazing out through the open window, but his hard profile told her that her apprehension was justified. He was still in a blazing fury.

The carriage crawled through the crowded streets at a snail's pace. All around them, the revelry of Carnival continued, but the silence inside the carriage was more deafening than the tumult outside, making Margaret more tense with each minute that passed. When the cab arrived at its destination, Trevor leaned his head out the open window. "Pull into the alley," he instructed the driver, "and stop halfway down."

"Very good, sir."

The cab rolled to a stop in the dark alley, but Margaret had no intention of giving Trevor the chance to unleash his anger. She grabbed for the door handle, intending to make a strategic getaway, but he was quicker than she, grasping her wrist before she could even open the door.

"Not so fast. We have something to discuss first, I think."

Margaret should have known she wasn't going to get out of this so easily. "Very well," she said, giving in to the inevitable. She knew she owed him an apology and decided the best course was to give it as quickly as possible and be on her way. "I'm sorry about tonight."

"You should be. Do you have any idea how many Englishmen have memberships at the Royale? Do you realize what will happen if any of them recognized you?" She didn't answer, and he went on, "Of course you didn't, since you never stop to think of the possible consequences of your actions."

She winced, fully aware that she deserved that. But he didn't give her the chance to admit it graciously.

"Disguise or no, someone might have recognized you. If our names are spread all over the society pages tomorrow, it would not surprise me."

"My disguise was very good. I'm sure no one—"

"You can't be sure of anything. Such a scandal would ruin you for all time. Putting the matter of your reputation aside for the moment, I don't suppose it occurred to you that you have also laid yourself open to blackmail?"

"Blackmail?"

"My God, Margaret, your father is one of the wealthiest men in the world. Blackmail is a definite possibility. You have been foolish and selfish, and what's more, you have broken the promise you made to me the other night. Is breaking promises such an easy thing for you?"

She lifted her chin, feeling the need to say something in her own defense. "I don't think I can be completely blamed for that. You—"

"Not entirely, no," he interrupted before she could point out that he had also broken his word to her. "Your father definitely bears some of the blame as well."

She was astonished. "What on earth does my father have to do with this?"

"A great deal," he said grimly. "All your life, he has allowed you to wrap him around your little finger, and you've become so accustomed to having your own way that you are now a spoiled, willful child who acts without thinking, who doesn't consider the consequences on others, and who is badly in need of a good thrashing!"

No man had ever dared to say such things to her. Her temper rose, and she felt it was time to point out that she was not the only one who had broken her word. "I would like to remind you that when we began these adventures of ours, you promised to take me wherever I wanted to go. You broke your promise to me."

"Only to protect you," he shot back in frustration, his voice rising as fast as his temper. "It was for your own good that I ordered you not to go."

She was quick to contradict him. "You did no such thing. You never ordered me not to go to the Royale. All you said was that you wouldn't take me."

He was just about at the end of his tether. He drew a deep breath, striving to keep his anger in check. "That's splitting hairs," he said through clenched teeth. "You know damned well what I meant."

Her chin lifted in an imperious gesture that reminded him of her father. "Even if I did know," she flared defensively, "I'm not a meal in a restaurant! You cannot simply order me!"

Those words snapped the tenuous hold Trevor had on his temper. "By God, you try my patience!" he shouted back at her. "It wasn't only your own reputation you risked tonight. It was mine as well. If you think you'll be doing these insane things in the future, think again. Once we're married, I'll damn well put a stop to it!"

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized just what he had done. She froze to the pale, unearthly stillness of a marble statue, staring at him in shock. "What did you say?" she whispered.

The damage was done. All he could do was attempt to minimize it. "Maggie—"

"You snake." The carriage door flew open. "I'll never marry you!"

She was out of the cab before he could make a grab for her, then she slammed the door in his face so hard that it stuck when he tried to open it. Through the open window, he heard the iron gate of the garden clang shut, and he leaned back, cursing as he slammed the heel of his boot against the carriage door, forcing it open.

He was out of the carriage in an instant, but when he grasped the iron bars of the gate to pull it open, it did not budge, and he realized she had locked it behind her. He caught a glimpse of her between the trees and shrubs as she raced toward the townhouse, her silk robes shimmering in the moonlight.

He jerked on the bars of the gate again, but all he could do was watch in frustration as she entered the house and closed the door behind her.

"Damn," he muttered. She had soundly deserved the lecture he'd given her, but knowing he was justified didn't do him much good now. With a few careless words said in the heat of the moment, he might have ruined any chance to win her.

So much for being in control of the situation.

Margaret raced through
the pitch-black corridors of the townhouse to her bedroom with all the panic of a startled deer. Trevor's words echoed through her mind like the gunshots of a hunter.
When we're married. When we're married.

He had told her he wanted to seduce her because he desired her, but that was a lie. What he really desired was her money. Just like all the others.

Once inside her room, she stripped off her costume and stuffed the silks in the back of a drawer. She donned her nightgown, but she knew it would be futile to go to bed. Instead, she sank into the velvet chair beside her bedroom window and stared down at the moonlit gardens below. She recalled with humiliating clarity every touch, every kiss, and her initial panic gave way to a bitter sense of betrayal and disappointment.

Deep in her heart, she'd known it all along. Then

why was she so surprised to have her initial suspicions confirmed? Even as she asked herself that question, she knew the answer. Because she hadn't wanted to believe it.

She had ignored her own instincts, mesmerized by a charming smile and dark blue eyes. She had wanted to believe he was different from all the others, that his talk of passion was genuine, that his kisses came from his longing for her. She had been an utter fool.

He had called her a spoiled, willful child. Perhaps she was. Margaret was accustomed to getting her way and too stubborn to give up her romantic ideals.

By the time the sun rose, Margaret was once again in command of her emotions. Trevor St. James was nothing but a fortune hunter, and she knew how to deal with those.

"I'm terribly sorry, my lord, but Miss Van Alden is not receiving callers this afternoon."

Trevor studied the impassive face of the butler for a moment. "I see."

He wasn't surprised by Margaret's refusal to face him. In fact, given her reaction to his fatal words last night, he could hardly have expected anything else. He dropped his calling card into the silver tray on the table beside the door, then turned to the butler. "Would you tell Lord Kettering that I wish to see him?"