The Seduction (24 page)

"Do you know how hard it is to find a horse during Carnival? I can tell you it's next to impossible. Hadrian's the best I could get. At least he's a strong horse. We won't have to worry he'll drop dead along the way."

"Once we get back to civilization, both of you can drop dead," she told him.

"Talk like that will not get you very far. Keep it up, and you'll walk."

Knowing Trevor, she wisely closed her mouth and said nothing more. Right now, she couldn't let herself think about what a bastard he was or what intentions he had for her future. Right now, the future didn't matter all that much anyway.

He'd never arranged a kidnapping before, but Trevor supposed that even with the best-laid plans, there was bound to be a snag or two along the way.

He guided the horse carefully through the canyon and wished he could see where he was going. Dawn was still several hours away, and the meager light provided by the thin sliver of moon overhead wasn't much help. They couldn't stop yet; he had to at least make a token show of getting away from Emilio.

"How did you know where to find me?"

Margaret's voice broke in on his thoughts, and he drew a deep breath. He'd known it wouldn't take her long to start asking questions. It was a good thing he had the answers ready. "Emilio sent me a ransom note, telling me exactly where to meet him, and from that, I knew which route he would take. Rather obliging of him, I thought."

"He sent a ransom note to you? Why?"

"Who else would he send it to? He thinks you're my mistress, remember?"

"I thought he found out who I really was."

"He didn't. If he did, he'd probably have wired your father demanding the money, and we'd both end up having a great deal of explaining to do."

"Emilio told me this wasn't about money."

"Of course it was about money." He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. "Most things are, Maggie. Don't you know that by now?"

She glared back at him. "Yes, I know it." She was
silent for a moment, then added, "But, Trevor, you don't have any money."

"Thank you for reminding me," he said wryly. "I'd forgotten."

"What kind of ransom could Emilio hope to get from you?"

Trevor decided it would be best if he stuck as close to the truth as possible. He didn't want to tell her any outright lies. It wasn't so much that he had any kind of ethical problem with lying, but more because it was too damned difficult to remember what lies one told. It could get damned tricky and, right now, he was tired. "Emilio kidnapped you because he wants my list."

"I don't understand."

"We're in the same profession."

"Stealing antiquities for museums, you mean."

Trevor nudged her gently with his elbow. "We
acquire
antiquities for a variety of clients. Some are museums, yes, but most are private collectors, wealthy men to whom discretion is very important. I've been doing this for a long time, and my client list is excellent. That's what Emilio wants—that, and my recommendation. Since I'm retiring from the business, he offered to buy my client list, but I refused."

"You did? Why?"

"When you have something valuable, you don't take the first offer that comes along."

"I see," she murmured. "He must have feared that you would get a better offer, one he couldn't match, so he kidnapped me as an added incentive."

"Something like that."

Margaret was blessedly silent for a few minutes, then said, "Cornelia and Edward must be worried sick about me."

Trevor knew perfectly well what Cornelia was feeling, and it wasn't worry. It was rage. He could still picture her face when he'd told her what he had done. If Edward hadn't been there to help him convince her to go along with the plan, she just might have killed him right there in the church. In the end, she had agreed to help cover up Margaret's absence only because he had made her the same promise Henry had demanded of him—that he would not behave dishonorably, nor abuse her innocence. "They know I've gone after you," he said. "We'll be back with them in a week or so, and everything will be fine."

"A week or so?" she repeated in dismay. "Oh, no. What's going to happen when people find out about this? My reputation is going to be ruined. Papa will kill me!"

"Cornelia and I have already taken care of that. No one is going to find out about this, especially not your father. Cornelia and Edward have gone to Naples and are staying at a cottage in the country for the next two weeks. We'll rendezvous with them there. Everyone thinks you've gone to Naples, too. You will, of course, develop some kind of illness, and won't be able to see anyone, so any acquaintances who might look you up won't find out you're missing."

To avoid any more questions until he'd had some sleep, Trevor pulled on the horse's reins, bringing the stallion to a halt.

"Why are we stopping?"

He swung down from the horse, then grasped her around the waist to help her down. "Because I've been racing to catch up with you for almost three days and I haven't had any sleep. I'm tired."

"But Emilio will certainly come looking for us.
Shouldn't we keep going and get as far away from him as we can?"

Trevor shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, lifting the saddlebags from the horse's back. He slung them across one shoulder, then reached for the roll of blankets and pulled his rifle from its saddle holster. "Emilio will think we've gone back toward the main road for Rome. Come morning, he'll head in that direction. Since we're going to Naples, he'll never catch us. I hope you don't mind a scenic tour of the Italian countryside."

She bent down, peering at the thick wool blanket he spread across the ground. "I can't say I think much of the accommodations."

"Well, this is the cheap tour. You take what you get." He took the second blanket, a thick one of stuffed goose down, and laid it over the first. Tossing aside his hat, he placed his rifle within easy reach, then crawled between the blankets and folded back the edge in invitation. "Hop in."

She hesitated. "You didn't bring any more blankets?"

"I'm afraid not."

"You don't really expect us to share?" she said, sounding incredulous, scandalized, and rather outraged. That was a good sign, Trevor thought. Outrage was better than indifference.

"Why can't we each have our own blanket?" she persisted.

"Because it's damned cold up here, we can't make a fire without the risk of Emilio seeing it, and two of us under here means we'll both stay warmer. And if that's not a good enough reason for you, possession is nine-tenths of the law. Are you getting in or not?"

She didn't move, so he shrugged and rolled onto
his back, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his chin. "Fine. Have it your way. Knowing you, you probably steal the covers."

He shifted until he found a comfortable position, then closed his eyes and waited, knowing that, with the chill in the mountain air, it would probably be only a minute before she changed her mind.

It didn't take that long. After maybe fifteen seconds, she lifted the blanket and crawled in beside him, keeping as close to the edge of their makeshift bed as possible.

"Trevor?"

"Hmm?"

"Are there any, umm, snakes in this part of Italy?"

He smiled in the dark. "Of course," he answered. "Dozens of different kinds. Some are poisonous, I believe. There are bears, too."

"Oh, dear God."

The blanket stirred, and he felt her move closer to him. Another good sign. Damned if he wasn't making progress.

Margaret woke to the whistle of the wind through the rocky hills all around her. On her face, she felt the sharp sting of the cold air, but beneath the blanket she was warm. Still half-asleep, she snuggled more deeply into the blankets, and memories of the night before floated through her mind like the fragments of a dream. Memories of how Trevor had stepped right into the bandits' camp and rescued her just as the hero of a novel might have done.

But Trevor wasn't a hero. He was a snake.

That reminder banished foolish romantic fantasies from her mind. She opened her eyes expecting to find him asleep beside her, but his place was empty.

She wondered where he could have gone. It was still quite early; the feeble gray light that penetrated the canyon told her it was barely dawn.

Footsteps crunched on the rocky ground, and she quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep as she heard Trevor pass by. When the sound of his footsteps stopped, she risked a peek between her lashes and saw the heels of his dust-covered black boots scarcely a dozen feet away. The saddlebags lay on the ground beside him. She lifted her gaze higher, past his boots and the beige twill trousers tucked into them. Her breath caught in her throat. He wasn't wearing a shirt.

Never in her life had she seen a man's naked back. Marble statues were as close as she had ever been to such a sight. Her eyes opened wider and she studied him, fascinated by the hard, knotted muscles of his back and shoulders. They looked as if they were carved from stone, yet flexed beneath his golden brown skin when he moved.

David come to life. She suddenly wanted to touch him.

He bent down and reached into one of the saddlebags, pulled out a small mirror, then straightened and started to turn in her direction. She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn't caught her staring, but, after a few moments, curiosity got the better of her. She dared another look at him and made another startling discovery. He had hair on his chest. Astonished, Margaret stared at the triangle of thick black hair that tapered with his torso and disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. Something warm and aching began spreading through her limbs.

He was in profile to her, but he did not seem to notice her watching him. He hooked the mirror on a branch at eye level, then reached for the canteen and splashed water on his face. Then he pulled a small cup, a shaving brush, and a razor from one of the saddlebags.

Through the web of her lashes, Margaret watched as Trevor began to shave, fascinated by this male ritual she had never seen before. As he scraped away soap and stubble carefully with the razor, she remembered how he had kissed her face the night before, how his skin had grazed hers like rough sandpaper, the texture so different from the other times he had kissed her. How strange men are, she thought, strange and rather mysterious. Her gaze lowered, and she wondered how the hair on his chest would feel against her fingertips. The warm, aching feeling inside her intensified.

Trevor dabbed the last traces of soap from his face with a handkerchief, ran a hand through his wet hair, and pulled the mirror down from the tree. Margaret hastily closed her eyes again lest he should discover her watching, and listened to him approach.

"Maggie," he murmured close to her ear, "it's time to get up, love. We have to be moving."

She stirred with a sleepy sigh that sounded quite convincing. She made a great show of coming awake, yawning and rubbing her eyes as she rolled onto her back. But he hadn't put on a shirt, and the sight of his bare chest so close was even more unnerving than it had been from a distance. Her gaze lingered on brown skin and curling black hair. Her hands tightened around the edge of the blanket as she fought the almost irresistible urge to touch him, even as she reminded herself of what a deceitful scoundrel he was.