The Seduction (54 page)

With a shout of joy and triumph, he slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her. He entered her and felt her legs wrap around his waist as she buried her face against his shoulder. He thrust into her again and again, savoring the feel of her body closing around him. He came in a rush, his senses exploding in a white-hot flash of almost unbearable pleasure. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

She was crying. He could feel her tears on his shoulder, feel the silent sobs shaking her as he held her. He moved toward the bed, cradling her with one arm as he pulled back the counterpane. She did not open her eyes as he laid her down on the bed and crawled in beside her, but kept them shut tight as if she could not bear to look at him. He watched the tears slide from beneath her closed lids, and for the first time, he truly understood how badly he'd hurt her. He felt all the pain he'd caused her like a knife through his own heart.

A fierce, protective tenderness surged inside him, and he caught her tears with kisses, vowing to himself never to make her cry again. As he held her and stroked her, he made a startling realization. All this time, he'd thought he was seducing her, but that wasn't so. Somehow, with her romantic notions of love and her stubborn belief in its power, she'd made him believe in it, too. Somehow, the seducer had become the seduced.

For the first time in his life, Trevor knew what it was to be truly in love.

When he awoke, the bright morning sunlight hit him full in the face, and he shut his eyes again. Still half- asleep, Trevor turned on his side, reaching for Maggie. But all he touched was a heap of tangled bed covers.

Instantly awake, he sat up, staring at the empty place beside him. She was gone. He shoved aside the counterpane and rose, memories of last night and her tears making him suddenly uneasy. He dressed quickly and left the gamekeeper's cottage. He tried to tell himself that she'd probably wanted some breakfast or a bath and didn't want to wake him.

He marched up to her room, but found it empty. Turning around, he retraced his steps down the stairs to the dining room. But the only one there was Edward.

His friend looked up from his kidneys and bacon. "Good morning."

"Where's Maggie?"

"She and Cornelia took a carriage out a short while ago." He gestured to the mantel of the fireplace with his fork. "She left you a note."

He crossed the room, snatching the folded piece of paper that was tucked behind the clock. He noted that it was barely eight o'clock, too early to take a carriage anywhere. If Maggie wanted a morning ride, she'd have taken Truffles out, as she usually did. He opened the note and scanned the few lines written there, lines which confirmed his fear.

"What does it say?" Edward asked.

Trevor looked up, staring past his friend, as his vision seemed to go dim. "She's left me," he said numbly.

Edward did not seem surprised. "Well, of course. What did you expect?"

His friend's complacency turned his numbness to anger. "You knew about this," he said through clenched teeth. "Didn't you?"

Edward didn't bother to deny it. "Yes, I did. She came to our room quite early this morning and told my wife she was leaving you. She begged Cornelia to go with her. They packed her trunks and left about half an hour ago."

"And you didn't try to stop her?"

Edward met his eyes with a level stare. "No."

He strode over to the table, facing his friend. "Bloody hell, Edward! Where did she go? Kettering Manor? London?"

"If you must know, she went to London. Henry's back from New York, and she's gone to stay with him. She and Cornelia are taking the nine o'clock train."

"Damn! I won't let her do it, Edward."

His friend was silent for a long moment, studying him. "Why should you care?"

"I care," he said tightly.

That didn't satisfy Edward. He rose to his feet, staring at Trevor across the table. "What are you saying? That you love Margaret after all?"

"Of course I love her!" he shouted and slapped the note down on the dining table hard enough to rattle Edward's tea cup. "She's my wife, damn it!"

"My, my," Edward murmured, and a sudden grin lit his face. "How the mighty are fallen."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trevor demanded, grabbing the silver pot on the table to pour himself a cup of badly needed coffee. "And what's so damned funny?" he added as his friend began to laugh.

"You are." Edward shook his head and gave him a pitying glance. "What a wretched state of affairs to find yourself in," he said, quoting Trevor's own words of three months before. "To be in love with your own wife."

Trevor gave his friend a fierce scowl. "Not funny, Edward."

"Not meant to be," Edward said cheerfully and sat down to finish his breakfast.

"Maggie, are you sure you want to do this?" Cornelia asked as the open carriage traveled along the wooded stretch of road halfway between Ashton Park and the village. "Maybe you should reconsider, think things over."

"There's nothing to think over," Margaret answered, turning to stare at the dense forest that lined the road. "I can't stay with him, Cornelia. I can't." Her voice broke. "Let's not talk about it."

"All right. But I wish—"

Whatever Cornelia wished was interrupted by the neigh of horses and the jerking motion of the carriage as the driver pulled back hard on the reins and brought them to a stop.

"What is it, Howell?" Margaret asked.

He didn't answer, and she stood up, gazing past the driver's box to the four men on horseback who stood in the road, blocking their way. They wore kerchiefs over their faces, and each one had a pistol pointed at the carriage.

"Don't move!" the man in front shouted to them, nudging his horse forward. The others followed suit. One grabbed the reins of the lead horse, and two of the others surrounded the carriage, pistols lifted with ominous intent. The leader pulled his horse to Margaret's side.

"We are kidnapping you, Lady Ashton," he said in a thick, unmistakably Italian accent.

"I don't believe this!" Margaret stared at him in disbelief, then, suddenly, she began to laugh. "I simply don't believe it!"

The man's brows drew together in a puzzled frown. Clearly, he had expected her to shrink back in terror, not burst out laughing. "It is true, signora."

Howell turned in his seat, also staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. "
They's
highwaymen, milady," he said. "Best not be laughing at '
em
."

"Highwaymen, my foot!" Margaret sank back in her seat, her whole body shaking with mirth. "He's unbelievable," she told Cornelia, gasping for breath between uncontrollable bursts of laughter. "My husband is simply unbelievable! Italian bandits kidnapping me again! He can't think I'm that big a fool, so this must be a prank."

She looked up at the man, wiping tears from her eyes. "Tell me, signor, how did Trevor manage it? We left Ashton Park scarcely half an hour ago. He must have known this might happen and had you staying nearby just in case. That must be it."

All of them stared at her in silence, as if dumbfounded.

"Oh, come now," she coaxed, "you don't have to pretend with me. You can tell me the truth."

The leader of the group lifted his pistol and pointed it directly at her. "You will come with us."

She lifted her hands in surrender and stood up. "Of course," she said, chuckling. "I wouldn't want to spoil the joke."

"Joke?" the man roared at her. "You think this is a joke, signora? Let me assure you, it is not! It's vendetta." He turned in his saddle, slamming the butt of his pistol into the back of Howell's head. The driver slumped forward, and Margaret's amusement vanished. She stared at the blood that smeared the back of Howell's head, and she realized with dawning horror that this was not a joke at all. This time, she was being kidnapped for real.

Ten minutes after his conversation
with Edward, Trevor sent for his steward, shaved, and changed his clothes. He left Davis, his valet, to pack a bag for him and returned downstairs to meet with Blakeney, giving the steward instructions about what to do while he was away. He didn't intend to be gone long—just long enough to grab Maggie and drag her back here—but in case circumstances forced him to go to London with her, he wanted to be sure construction of the linen mill proceeded smoothly.

Edward was waiting for Trevor, his own traveling bag beside him. "I'm going, too."

"Why didn't you go with them in the first place?"

His friend shrugged. "Call me a hopeless romantic, but I wanted to see for myself what your reaction to Margaret's departure would be. Maggie said you wouldn't care, but I rather suspected you would be a bit displeased about it."

Trevor was more than a bit displeased. He was furious. He was also trying to deal with the glimmer of fear that nagged at him—the fear that, no matter what he did or said, it would not be enough. That it would be too little, too late. That Maggie would never come back.

Impatiently, he checked his pocket watch. Twenty past eight. There was still plenty of time to get to the train station. But he paced back and forth across the foyer like a caged tiger as he waited with Edward for Jenkins to bring his carriage around.

The grinding sound of gravel on the drive had Trevor flinging open the front door without bothering to wait for
Chivers
to open it for him. But the person pulling a carriage into the drive was not Jenkins. Instead, Cornelia sat on the driver's box, and Trevor knew something was terribly wrong.

He ran down the front steps to meet the carriage as it pulled in front of the house, Edward on his heels. The vehicle came to a sudden halt, and Cornelia jumped down into her husband's waiting arms. "They've taken Maggie," she choked, forcing the words out between sobs. "We w-were on our way to the
sta
-station when they jumped us. Oh, Edward, it w-was awful!"

Trevor glanced at the unconscious Howell, who was sprawled on his stomach across the carriage floor. "Who, Cornelia?" he asked sharply. "Who were they?"

She shook her head, burying her face against her husband's chest. "I d-don't know," she answered, her voice muffled by her husband's shirt. "But there were four of them. Italians."

"Oh, God." Trevor felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He recalled Emilio's warning, and he knew who had taken Maggie.

Lucci is looking for you. You know how ruthless he can be.