The Seduction (6 page)

"No?" He gently brushed her lips with the tip of his finger. The light touch paralyzed her, and she felt her heart pounding hard in her breast. Who was he?

"If you really want to experiment with kissing," he murmured, slowly stroking her lower lip, "you ought to choose a man who knows how to do it properly."

His words galvanized her into action. She grasped his wrist and violently pushed his hand away. "Like you, I suppose?"

"Is that an offer? Of course, I'd be happy to step in for poor old Roger." He leaned closer and added in a confidential whisper, "I promise not to ruin everything by dropping down on one knee and proposing."

His teasing smile widened, and she was certain that he was laughing at her. She opened her mouth to reply, but she could think of nothing sharp enough or scathing enough to shatter his arrogant self-assurance. Hot with embarrassment, dazed by too much champagne, and speechless with frustration and fury, she did the only thing she could think of. She ran away.

Still smiling, Trevor watched her hasty departure until something glittering in the moonlight caught his eye. He picked up the object and whistled. It was a woman's hair comb of gold filigree set with a multitude of diamonds. Toying with the jeweled comb that must be worth over a hundred pounds, he thought of the girl's enticing figure, trembling mouth, and innocently provocative attempts at seduction. It was an unusual and tempting mixture, and he felt a sudden rush of desire. A pity he hadn't been the one to take her for a moonlight walk. Perhaps she might have found her experiment a bit more gratifying. He certainly would have enjoyed it.

The following morning, Trevor was up early. He had noticed the stables during his walk with Edward the evening before, and it had been a long time since he'd gone riding. He bathed and dressed, then went down to the stables.

The head groom took him inside, and Trevor walked down the line of stalls, studying the horses with admiration. Whoever his host was, the man knew horseflesh. He paused thoughtfully beside a gorgeous black mare. The horse gave him a spirited neigh and shook back her mane as if daring Trevor to ride her.

Just then, a man entered the stables who was evidently of some importance. The groom hastened toward him, greeting him effusively.

"Good morning, Roberto," the man said in a booming voice that carried to where Trevor stood. "Bring Cheval, would you?"

The groom hastened away, and the man came up beside Trevor. He gave an approving nod to the mare. "Cinder's a fine horse," he said.

"Is she trained for riding?"

The other man laughed. "After a fashion. But she's very particular about who she allows to ride her. My daughter is one, but I suspect that's because they are kindred spirits. Both of them like to go fast, and neither of them are very good at obeying orders."

"A horse doesn't allow you to ride her," Trevor contradicted. "You allow her to carry you."

"Perhaps, but Cinder, like my daughter, has a mind of her own."

As if to prove it, the mare suddenly reared up, pawing the air with her forelegs. She landed hard, then gave the back of the stall a belligerent kick.

Trevor moved into the empty stall next to the mare's. He reached out and grasped the horse's mane, wrapping the long hair around his hand in a firm grip. With his other hand, he stroked the mare's neck in a slow, soothing motion. "Easy now," he said softly. "Easy."

At first, the horse fought against the hold Trevor had on her, shaking her head from side to side to free herself. But he waited patiently, without relinquishing his grip, and, after a few moments, Cinder gave in and quieted.

"Well now," the man said, "she seems to have taken a liking to you."

"She's just biding her time, waiting until I try to ride her. Then we'll see."

The man gave an amused chuckle. "True enough. I'm just about to go out myself. Care to ride along?"

"Certainly." Trevor let go of the mare, then stepped out of the stall. He extended a hand and introduced himself. "Lord Ashton."

"Figured as much," the older man answered, taking his hand in a vise-like grip for the customary handshake. "Edward's told me a bit about you. I’m Henry Van Alden."

Once the two horses were saddled, Henry waited in the stable yard astride Cheval, his roan gelding, watching with interest as the younger man mounted the mare. Trevor eased himself slowly into the saddle, careful to avoid any move that might startle the skittish horse, and gathered the reins. He took a deep breath and gave the groom a nod to step back. The moment Roberto was out of the way, Cinder gave an agitated snort, then tried to lower her head to buck, but Trevor kept a firm grip on the reins.

The mare danced about fretfully for a few moments, but once Trevor managed to quiet her, she graciously allowed her rider the privilege of leading her out into the stable yard.

"Excellent," Henry said as Trevor brought the mare to a halt beside Cheval. "You handle horses well."

Trevor sensed from this man that was a very high compliment indeed.

"Edward tells me that you're involved in archaeology?"

Trevor figured that was one way of putting it. "I have been, yes."

Henry pointed to the rolling green hills in the distance. "There's some excellent ruins that way. Care to see them?"

"Certainly." Trevor brushed Cinder's flank lightly with the crop, and the mare followed Henry's roan gelding out of the stable yard.

It was a fine spring morning, and the estate was beautiful. They rode for several miles before bringing their horses to a halt at the top of a ridge. Trevor looked down at the valley below. In a clearing stood the columns and stones of an ancient Roman palace, only partly excavated.

"My own little project," Henry explained. "I'm working on it myself. It's slow going, of course, since I'm only here three months a year."

"You could hire archaeologists to excavate it for you."

Henry laughed and shook his head. "I couldn't stand it if they found anything without me."

"It's quite an impressive dig," Trevor commented. "Roman architecture isn't my field of expertise, of course, but this looks to be in remarkably fine shape."

"Not bad, not bad. Some earthquake damage, but that's to be expected. Any of the valuable objects that may have been here are gone, of course. But several of the mosaics are perfectly intact." He began a dissertation on Roman archaeology, and explained some of the advanced technology he had discovered on this site, including indoor plumbing.

He looked over at Trevor. "But perhaps I'm boring you with all this talk about Roman ruins. Egyptology is your field, isn't it?"

"Yes. I've been living in Egypt for the past ten years."

"But you've just become the Earl of Ashton, I believe?"

"Yes."

Henry nodded and gave him a shrewd, appraising glance. "I understand you have inherited something of a financial crisis along with the title."

Trevor continued to gaze down at the valley below. "Edward talks too much. And I fail to see how that is any of your business, Mr. Van Alden."

"It isn't," Henry answered good-naturedly. "And Edward didn't tell me anything that hasn't been the talk of London for weeks. I already knew that the late Lord Ashton left his estate bankrupt and that you are without means or credit."

Trevor bit back the curse that rose to his lips. Good God, did everyone in England know about his financial situation? And were they all going to bring up the subject so tactlessly?

As if reading his thoughts, Henry held up one hand in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to offend you, but as a businessman, I confess I am curious about something. If you had money, what would you do with it? Buy more land, I suppose?"

Trevor thought about refusing to answer, but Henry Van Alden was a very wealthy man, and he knew that wealthy men often made useful contacts. He reluctantly swallowed his pride and shook his head. "Normally, land is a safe and wise investment. But not in these times. With fixed rents and crop prices falling, tenant farming is simply not profitable, and I don't think that is going to change in the near future."

"So what would you do?"

"Industry," he answered. "Mills and factories are the way of the future, and that's where the money is."

Henry eyed him in surprise. "That's not a typical attitude for someone of your position. Most of your peers insist on living exclusively off their land rents, even though it is no longer a profitable source of income for many of them."

"Most of my peers don't seem to have a great deal of sense," Trevor answered dryly. "My brother certainly didn't."

Henry laughed. "Well, this is something I never thought I'd see—an aristocrat who doesn't think it beneath him to be involved in industry."

Trevor turned his horse around to head back to the house. "I am a practical man, Mr. Van Alden."

"Yes," Henry said thoughtfully. "I can see that."

Later that morning,
when Margaret entered the dining room for breakfast, the smell of kidneys and bacon assaulted her. She'd never cared much for kidneys, and this morning the smell was particularly revolting. She paused in the doorway and pressed a hand to her rebellious stomach.

Cornelia was seated at the table beside her husband, Lord Kettering. He gave Margaret a smile that seemed understanding and rather sympathetic, and she managed a faint smile in return. She'd always liked Edward. He might be a viscount, but he wasn't stodgy.

Across the table sat the Duchess of Arbuthnot, who studied her with a displeased frown. "Margaret, my dear, you don't look at all well."

"I'm fine, Lady Arbuthnot," she whispered, "just fine." She turned toward the sideboard, but not before she saw the duchess exchange a glance with

Lady Lytton, who shook her head with clear disapproval. Margaret realized she had just made another social blunder by addressing the duchess as Lady Arbuthnot, rather than the customary title of "your grace," or the more informal "Duchess." She didn't care. All these titles and mannerisms were enough to make one's head spin, and her head wasn't up to it this morning. She poured herself a cup of coffee and added a generous amount of sugar. Never again, she vowed, would she drink champagne. Once was enough.

She took her cup of coffee to the foot of the long dining table and sat down, careful to avoid looking at Edward's plate of kidneys. "Where's Papa?"

"Your father is giving some of our guests a tour of the gallery," Cornelia answered. "He said they would be in shortly."

Roger, she knew, was not with them. Cornelia had already told her of the viscount's dawn departure, news which had brought a feeling of profound relief. She took a scone from the basket on the table and nibbled it absently, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the night before, thoughts which led inevitably to the stranger who had invaded her privacy.

Where had he come from? An image of him formed in her mind, an image of windswept dark hair and mocking eyes. Who was he?

A sound interrupted her thoughts, and Margaret glanced up. Her father entered the room with Lady Agnes on his arm. Behind the pair came Lady Sally, gazing rapturously at the tall man beside her, a man horrifyingly familiar.

It was
him.

The man was incredibly handsome. Given the darkness last night, the champagne, his disheveled appearance, and her justified outrage, she hadn't taken much notice of it. But she noticed it now. Masculine strength was carved in every line of his face, from the deep-set eyes and angular features to the determined line of his jaw and chin. He was smiling at the girl on his arm, a smile that, when it wasn't tinged with mockery, was devastatingly charming.