The Seduction (44 page)

He stared into the flames and thought that getting drunk was a fine idea. He poured himself another drink. But not a second glass of bourbon, nor even a third, could blot out the image of Maggie.

He'd hurt her. Badly. He knew it, and he regretted it. But it could not be helped, and if he had it to do over again, there was only one thing he would change. He'd be damn sure not to talk about it afterward.

The door opened, and he saw Edward standing in the doorway. "Henry's home and he's demanding to know why Margaret won't come out of her room and why Cornelia is in tears. Both of them are saying it's all your fault. He's wondering what happened between ten o'clock this morning and now, and he wants to know where the hell you are. What do you want me to tell him?"

Trevor sighed and turned back to stare into the fire. "Nothing. I'll talk to him myself."

"I'll tell him you're in here." Edward started to close the door, but paused and asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Bloody damned fine."

Edward again started to close the door, but Trevor's voice stopped him. "How's Maggie?"

"She's locked her door and refuses to come out. How do you think she is?"

Trevor took a swallow of bourbon, felt it burn his throat. "That doesn't sound too serious. She's just upset, and her pride is hurt. She'll get over it."

Edward crossed the room and sank down in the chair beside his. "Will she?"

He shifted uneasily and kept his gaze on the fire. "Of course. She's not a child. How hard can it be for her to abandon these romantic notions of hers?"

"Is that all they are?" Edward settled into the opposite chair. "Romantic notions?"

Trevor didn't answer, and Edward went on, "You still don't understand it, do you? I told you before, you've taken on a great responsibility."

"Indeed I have. I got married."

"That's not what I meant. You persuaded Margaret to fall in love with you, and she has, with all her heart and soul. Have you no inkling of what that means?"

His words were so similar to Maggie's that Trevor's tight control snapped. He stood up and turned away. "For God's sake, Edward, stop prattling on about love!" he shouted. "You sound like a lady novelist."

"Getting a bit defensive, aren't you?"

That was so close to the truth he slammed his glass down on the table hard enough to rattle the lamp that rested there. "Damn it, Edward, I did what I had to do, and you know it."

"I know. But that's no longer the issue. What are you planning to do now?"

"I'm going talk to Henry, then get drunk," he answered and refilled his glass. "Not the most responsible thing to do, perhaps, but quite understandable, given the circumstances."

"And after that?"

"Tomorrow, I am taking my wife to my estate exactly as I planned."

"You can't be serious." Edward stared at him. "God, Trevor, do you think Maggie would go anywhere with you just now?"

He smiled grimly, staring into his glass. "Edward, you seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that she has a choice. Let me enlighten you. She doesn't."

To his surprise, Edward began to laugh. "You know, this is really becoming quite a comedy. A contemporary version of Kate and
Petruchio
. He wanted her money, too, as I recall."

Trevor turned to give his friend an icy stare. "Do you have a point?"

"I do. To my knowledge, no one has ever been able to make Maggie do anything she didn't want to do. Once she gets an idea into her head, no one can stop her, not even her father."

"But I am not her father. I am her husband. We are leaving in the morning, and at Ashton Park, Margaret will take her place as my countess and learn to be a dutiful wife."

"Right." Edward stood up and started for the door. "Margaret, a dutiful wife," he repeated as he walked out. "God help you."

Margaret sat curled up in the chair by the window, staring out at the darkness beyond. She did not cry. She had already done that. She had cried for her stupidity, her gullibility, and, most of all, for wasting her love on a man who loved nothing and no one. Now, she had no tears left.

She closed her eyes, remembering how she had let him touch her, kiss her, do those intimate things to her. She remembered how she had told him over and over that she loved him, how she had touched him and called him beautiful. How she had thought he was her true love.

How blind she had been.

No, she realized with bitter irony, she could not even give herself that excuse. She'd known from the start that Trevor St. James was a fortune hunter, a liar, and a rake. She'd known about his financial troubles and his questionable activities in Egypt and his notorious reputation with women. She'd known all that, but she had fallen in love with him anyway.

You believed what you wanted to believe.

Trevor had lied to her, yes. But worse than that, she had lied to herself. She had convinced herself that he loved her but just didn't know how to show it, that his love for her had changed him, transformed him into an honorable and noble gentleman when he was nothing but a deceiving, manipulating scoundrel who was incapable of loving anyone.

A knock on her door made her jump. The knob rattled, and she heard Cornelia's voice. "Maggie, let me in. Please."

She had to face the world eventually, she supposed. She might as well start with her cousin. Margaret rose slowly from the chair and walked across the room. She pulled back the bolt and opened the door.

Cornelia let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her. "Maggie, everyone is worried about you, especially your father. You wouldn't come down to dinner, you refused to let the maid in with a tray, and you won't talk to anyone. How pale you look." She gestured to the tray in her hands. "Good thing I've brought some strong, hot tea. I think you need it."

Tea, Margaret thought idly. The English cure for everything. How English Cornelia had become. "You look as if you need it as much as I do," she commented, noticing the puffiness beneath Cornelia's eyes that clearly showed she had been crying. She pulled the door open, and her cousin entered the room.

Cornelia set the tray on the dressing table, pushing aside the perfume bottles. Then she poured out two cups, added a generous amount of sugar to each, and handed one cup to Margaret. Taking the other over to the chair by the window, Cornelia sat down.

"Well," she said, and took a sip of tea. "Well."

"This is like a nightmare." Margaret leaned back against the dressing table and looked at her cousin. "He manipulated me from the start. He arranged that kidnapping, Cornelia. He hired those men, and then he pretended to rescue me, all for the sole purpose of getting me alone so that he could seduce me, persuade me to marry him. And Edward knew about it."

Cornelia turned her face away. "Do we have to talk about this?"

Margaret studied her cousin, remembering that this wasn't the first time Cornelia didn't want to talk about the kidnapping.

And suddenly she realized why.

"You knew about it, too," she whispered. "My God, you knew all along the kidnapping was a sham. Didn't you?"

Cornelia kept her face averted and didn't answer.

Her voice rose to a shout. "Didn't you?"

"Oh, Maggie!" Her cousin looked up at her in hopeless misery, tears glistening in her eyes. That was answer enough.

"You knew, and you participated in it. You lied to me, too."

"I'm so sorry," Cornelia said with a sob. "I didn't know beforehand, truly I didn't. But once Ashton told me what he had done, once I learned Edward was in on it, I had to go along. There was no other choice."

"No choice?" Margaret's hand's curled tightly around the teacup, and she suddenly wanted to hurl it through the window. "How about just saying no? Or didn't that occur to you?"

"Of course it did!" Cornelia sniffed and brushed tears from her cheeks. "But Ashton had already
arra'nged
matters, and Edward thought it would work, and I-I agreed to it because, well, I knew Henry approved of Ashton and they had already made the arrangements for a marital settlement, and, you must admit yourself that Ashton has rather a way of persuasion with him, and he assured me his intentions were honorable and that he was quite fond of you."

"Fond of me?" Margaret repeated furiously. "Fond of me?"

"You're angry. Oh, dear, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry."

Unable to bear Cornelia's genuine regret and tearful apologies, she turned her back. "I don't suppose you could have at least told me about it in Naples?" she asked tightly, staring down at her reflection on the silver tea tray.

"I've felt beastly about it ever since, Maggie, honestly! And I wanted to tell you. But you looked so happy, you looked so much in love with Ashton, I just couldn't do it."

Margaret hardly heard what Cornelia was saying. Her mind was focused on something her cousin had said a moment before, something that was just beginning to penetrate her consciousness. "What do you mean, the marital settlements had already been made?"

Margaret set down her tea cup with great care, feeling as if the earth were shifting beneath her feet. Slowly she turned around. "My father and Trevor arranged this marriage between them in Rome?" she said, thinking it out as she spoke. "They bargained over me as if this were a, a business deal? Papa paid him to court me, didn't he? Paid him to marry me. Oh, my God."

Never had she felt more humiliated.

"Oh, Maggie, no!" Cornelia cried and jumped to her feet. "You're putting the worst possible connotation on it. Wealthy families always discuss marriage settlements. They have to, for the protection of everyone's interests."

Margaret hardly heard. "Trevor, Edward, you. Even my father. God in heaven," she choked, "is there anyone who was not in on this conspiracy?"

"It wasn't a conspiracy!" Cornelia denied, and grabbed Margaret's hand. "Oh, darling, please believe me. We did not plot this as if it were a battle campaign. I'm sorry, I truly am."

Apologies did not make things any better, but she did not point that out. Her cousin obviously felt bad enough as it was. "I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Cornelia practically ran for the door. But, with her hand on the knob, she paused and glanced back at her cousin. "We were only doing what we thought was best for you."