The Seduction (7 page)

His gaze caught hers. Margaret felt heat flood her face as she heard her father introduce everyone.

"You know Lord Kettering, of course. This is the Duchess of Arbuthnot, whom you may know. Also, my niece, Lady Kettering. And this is my daughter, Margaret Van Alden. May I present the Earl of Ashton, Trevor St. James. He arrived last night from Egypt to conduct some business with Edward before he goes home to his estates in Kent."

"Trevor," Edward said, rising to his feet, "you look much better. You slept well?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you, my friend."

Margaret noted the familiarity with which the two men spoke and heartily wished her matchmaking family to perdition. This stranger was just another British lord, a friend of Edward's, recommended by Cornelia and invited here by Henry for the sole purpose of meeting her. She began crumbling her scone to pieces on her plate as she watched Henry play the hospitable host, showing the earl the breakfast dishes on the sideboard before taking his seat at the head of the table. Margaret shot her father a defiant glance which he did not seem to see, then she fixed her gaze on her plate.

A movement beside her caused her to glance up. She found that the man had taken the first seat to her left and was staring at her. She forced her hands to stop tearing her scone apart, but she could not look away.

His vivid blue gaze lingered on her as if she were the only thing in the room worth looking at. He had been looking at Sally in the exact same way scarcely two minutes before, and she was unimpressed. Still, she fought back the urge to squirm beneath the bold scrutiny. His jet-black hair fell over his brow in careless fashion as he leaned back and studied her through half-closed eyes.

His knowing smile told her he was thinking of the night before. She looked away, but she could feel him watching her. If he told anyone, her reputation would be ruined.

Margaret wanted to toss her scone in his face.

"So, Ashton, you're finally going home." The acerbic voice of the duchess caused the man to give her his attention, and Margaret nearly sighed with relief.

"I fear I must, Duchess," he answered.

"About time you did," she said tartly. "Gallivanting around Egypt digging in the dust is no occupation
for
a man of your background." She studied him thoughtfully. "You've changed."

He laughed. "I should hope so in ten years."

"It was May Week your final year at Cambridge that I last saw you."

"May Week? Did we dance, your grace? I think not, or I would definitely remember it."

"Hah! Perhaps you haven't changed as much as I thought. You are still very much your father's son." She frowned sternly at him, but he gave her a wicked smile in return, and, to Margaret's astonishment, the cantankerous old duchess actually blushed like a girl. "Don't waste your charm on me, young man. There are three beautiful young ladies here. Use it on them."

He returned his gaze to Margaret. "An excellent suggestion," he murmured.

Margaret opened her mouth to tell him not to waste his charm on her either, but Cornelia must have sensed her intention, for she quickly spoke. "Will you be able to attend Carnival with us before you return home, Lord Ashton?"

"I'm afraid I can't, Lady Kettering. I must return home, and my ship leaves this afternoon. But it's a tempting offer. This is a beautiful home." He turned to Margaret. "The gardens are quite lovely, wouldn't you say, Miss Van Alden?"

He was watching her like a cat watched a mouse hole, and she felt her scone disintegrating into crumbs in her nervous hands. "What? Oh, yes."

"Particularly the maze," he added.

Heavens! Was he going to tell everyone? Margaret reached for her coffee, but she was so jittery, she knocked over the cup. Coffee spilled across the white tablecloth and onto her dress. Everyone looked at her in surprise as she fumbled for her napkin.

"Margaret, what on earth is the matter with you this morning?" Henry asked, noting the flush in her cheeks and her agitated movements.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, feeling the amusement of the blue eyes watching her. "I do seem to be all thumbs this morning. I can't think what's come over me."

"Perhaps fresh air is what you need," Lord Ashton suggested. "A walk in the maze, perhaps?"

Margaret jumped to her feet. "Oh, no, I really don't think so," she managed to say and fled from the room without another word.

Henry watched her go, bewildered by her odd behavior. Margaret was normally so self-possessed.

He hadn't seen her blush and stammer like that since she was thirteen years old. He glanced at Ashton, who was staring at the empty doorway with an amused smile. Henry's bewilderment gave way to hopeful astonishment. Could it be? he wondered. Could it be that a man had finally struck her fancy?

The Duchess of Arbuthnot was better than
Burke's
when it came to information about English society. Margaret suspected Lord Ashton was nothing more than another suitor out to marry a fortune, and given what had happened last night, she wanted information very badly. Forewarned was forearmed.

She found the duchess alone on the south terrace. After a few desultory comments about the beauty of the blooming azaleas and the success of last night's ball, she slowly led the conversation to the subject she really wished to discuss.

But the duchess was an astute woman, and all Margaret's maneuvering was wasted. "Hah!" the older woman said, looking at her with undisguised amusement. "Think Ashton might be the man to finally suit your bill, young lady?"

Margaret abandoned her attempt to be subtle. She'd never been good at it anyway. "I think he might suit my father's, Duchess," she answered with complete candor. "He has a title, doesn't he?"

"Don't turn up your nose and talk of a title as if it's a disease. It won't do, Margaret."

Margaret bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"Didn't you?" Her good humor restored by the apology, the duchess eyed Margaret with something akin to affection. "Poor child. You American girls are an astonishing lot. So brazenly forthright, and yet so naive." She shook her head. "But you came to ask me about Ashton."

The duchess settled back in her cane chair. "I can't tell you very much. I know a great deal about his family, his background, and his boyhood, but I haven't seen him in over ten years, so there's very little I can tell you about the man he is now."

"What do you know?"

"He isn't married, I can tell you that. Second son, of course. His older brother inherited the title first, but he died nigh on two months ago."

"I remember. His death caused quite a sensation. He shot himself, didn't he?" Margaret wondered if that fact might deter her father and Cornelia from the possibility of Ashton as a potential husband. "Could there be some insanity in the family?" she asked hope- fully.

"Nonsense!" That emphatic answer dashed Margaret's hopes for an easy excuse. "The late earl shot himself because he couldn't pay his debts. Simple as that. A rather stupid man, a bit of a coward, but he was sane enough." She paused, then said, "I remember Geoffrey and Trevor as boys. As different as chalk and cheese, they were, even then."

"What do you mean?"

"Geoffrey was always the traditionalist, forever concerned with his image, vain as a peacock. Trevor was a rebel, always defying the rules, getting into scrapes. Even as a boy, Trevor was a law only unto himself."

Margaret could well believe that. "He doesn't seem a very honorable man to me."

"Nonsense," the duchess answered with unexpected vehemence. "He takes after his father, that's all. I ought to know. I—" She broke off, then cleared her throat and said, "I was well acquainted with the family. Their father was quite charming in his youth, rather a rake, and had a way with the ladies. But, as he grew older, Jonathan learned the importance of tradition and restraint. As I said, I haven't seen Trevor for many years, but he does take after his father. He's an honorable man, I think, although his reputation is not spotless by any means."

Margaret decided to get to the point. "Does he have any money?"

The duchess frowned with disapproval. "Really, Margaret, must you be so blunt?"

"I want to know."

"I won't lie to you, my dear. Trevor has always been rather a detrimental."

Margaret had been in England long enough to know what that meant, and it confirmed her suspicions about Trevor St. James. "A detrimental," she murmured with a satisfied nod. "A man all the ladies are mad for, but who has no money. I thought as much."

"You'll never get yourself a husband, Margaret, if you continue to reject every man who has less money than you do." The duchess sighed. "It isn't as it was in my young days," she mourned. "Not a gentleman in all of England today has the money his father had. With the economic conditions, you can't expect it of them."

Margaret did not want to debate the issue. She quickly asked another question. "If Ashton was so concerned about the estates, why did he leave England and stay away so long? I would think he'd want to stay close by after their father died, help his brother run things."

"You really don't understand English gentlemen at all, do you, my dear?" With that enigmatic reply, she leaned forward and patted Margaret's arm affectionately. "You will discover that they are fiercely proud. Geoffrey didn't want any help, and Trevor couldn't stand playing second fiddle, especially when it was no secret he thought his brother a prize fool. There was also a woman, of course."

"I see. An actress, perhaps, or an opera singer?"

"No, no, no. Lady Ashton, I'm talking about."

Margaret was shocked. "He had an affair with his brother's wife?"

"That is the story, although, I must confess, I rather doubt it myself. In my opinion, Lady Ashton is a vain and capricious flirt. But Geoffrey believed the affair to be genuine, and he cut off Trevor's income from the estate, which had been left in his care by their father. He also banished Trevor from the house and refused to recognize him in society. The whole matter caused quite a sensation, as you might expect, and Trevor left for Egypt."

Margaret opened her mouth to ask another question, but she saw Cornelia approaching and quickly rose to her feet. She didn't want to give her matchmaking cousin any ideas. "This has been very interesting," she murmured, "but I really must be going."

She remembered to give the duchess a curtsy before turning away. She rushed past Cornelia and crossed the terrace to enter the villa.

Cornelia watched her cousin depart, then she turned to the duchess. "I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation. She's been asking about Ashton?"

"Of course. Doesn't she always ask about her potential suitors?"

"Only so she can find reason to dismiss them," Cornelia said. She sank into the chair vacated by her cousin. "I wonder, do you really think he could be the right man for Margaret?" she asked with a thoughtful frown.

"I'm beginning to think no man is the right man for Margaret," the duchess answered dryly. Cornelia was inclined to agree with her.

Henry signed his name to the contract with a flourish and set it aside. Across the desk, Edward shook his head. "Are you sure about this? Refrigeration is an awfully new idea."

"You're so conservative, Edward," Henry said with fondness. "Sometimes it's necessary to try new ideas."

"I know, but the idea of chilled beer appalls me."

Henry laughed, but before he could point out all the lucrative opportunities refrigeration could bring, a knock on the door interrupted him. It opened and Lord Ashton took a step into the study. "Forgive me for imposing," he said, "but I'm getting ready to leave, and I wanted to thank you, Mr. Van Alden, for your hospitality."