The Seduction (26 page)

There was one trout left, and he caught her eyeing it with longing. But she glanced at him and did not reach for it.

Trevor sensed her hesitation. "Take it."

Reluctantly, she shook her head. "You need it more than I do, and I'm sure you must still be hungry."

"I've been hungry before. You haven't. You're not used to it." He leaned forward and lifted the skewer. He thrust the fish toward her. "Take it."

Margaret started to refuse again, but he forestalled her. "For once, don't argue with me. I told you before, I refuse to let you waste away to nothing." His lashes lowered, and he eyed the shadow of cleavage just above the round neckline of her blouse. "That would be a sin."

She almost covered herself with her hand, then didn't on the realization that such a move would be horribly gauche. His gaze seemed to burn her skin right through the thin cotton fabric. She stared at his face, lean and shadowed in the firelight with a hunger she sensed wasn't for food.

An owl hooted from one of the trees behind them and took flight, breaking the silence. She looked down at the trout he still held between them and pulled it from the skewer. Laying it on the handkerchief across her lap, she began to peel away the scaly skin.

"Why don't we share?" she suggested, feeling the need to say something. She pulled a piece of trout carefully from the bones and held it out to him.

He stared at her hand for a moment without moving, then took her wrist and pulled, bringing both her and the trout closer. He bent his head. His lips parted, then closed over the meat, and he began pulling it slowly from her fingers into his mouth. She stared at his dark head bent over her hand and felt the warmth of his mouth around her fingers. For an instant, she could not breathe.

She hated him, she reminded herself, she truly did.

Trevor lifted his head to look at her. He chewed the piece of fish and swallowed, but he did not release her wrist. "Excellent idea," he murmured, his thumb rubbing her palm in slow circles.

Pinned by the intensity of his gaze, she couldn't move. She ran her tongue over her upper lip, feeling painfully vulnerable. "Why would you want to marry me?" she whispered.

He let go of her hand abruptly and looked away. "I really don't see the point in talking about that. You made it very clear how you felt about the notion." He smiled at her, but the smile had a wry twist. "In fact, if memory serves, you called me a snake." He stood up. "I'd better get more wood. It's going to be cold tonight."

Margaret watched his back as he walked away in the moonlight, and she suddenly wondered if she had hurt his feelings that night in the carriage. He always seemed so sure of himself, but she felt a sudden prick of conscience, not liking the idea that she might have made him feel rejected.

Impatiently, she told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. Until a man came along who proved his love and his devotion, she would never give hers. But as she watched Trevor walk away, a sudden yearning tugged at her heart, and she couldn't help wondering if she were wishing for the moon.

The following morning dawned
clear and sunny, but as Trevor and Margaret made their way down through the rocky canyon, clouds began to move in, bringing with them a chilling mist. Margaret shivered and snuggled closer to the man in front of her, instinctively drawn to the warmth of his body.

Trevor glanced at her over one shoulder. "Getting cold, are you?"

"W-whatever g-gave you that idea?" she answered, her breath coming out in white puffs. She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.

He brought the horse to a halt beside a hawthorn tree that had been decimated by lightning and dismounted. With his knife, he began cutting away some of the dead branches.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I think it's going to snow, and before that happens, I want to have kindling dry enough to start a
fire." He gathered the branches together, wrapped them in one of the blankets, and secured the bundle to his back. "Move up," he told her, "so I can sit behind you. You'll stay warmer that way."

"Why can't we j . . . just stop here for the night?"

Trevor pointed to small openings in the rock on one side of the canyon. "I'd like to find us some decent shelter first if it's going to snow. I'm hoping we'll find a cave big enough."

Margaret scooted forward, and Trevor wedged himself into the saddle behind her. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and wrapped its generous folds around them both.

Snuggled within the circle of his arms, she instantly began to feel warmer. She leaned back to rest her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. Lulled by the comforting warmth of his arms, she fell asleep.

When the horse came to a halt, Margaret awoke, opening her eyes to a landscape of thick frost, gray mist, and falling snow. She straightened with a yawn and turned to give the man behind her an inquiring glance.

Trevor lifted one hand to brush snowflakes from her hat brim. "If you think you're going to fall asleep every time I let you sit in front, you can forget it. You missed my entire lecture on the breathtaking Italian scenery."

She yawned again. "That's why I fell asleep."

He laughed and chucked her lightly under the chin. "Sorry I bored you," he said, and his fingers tilted her face upward. Before she knew his intention, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "I can see I'll have to improve my skills as a guide," he said, pulling back slightly to look at her as his hand curved around the side of her neck.

The suede glove felt cold and rough against her throat, but the brush of his thumb along her jaw was a tender caress that heated her blood and started her pulse hammering. In his eyes she saw that look again, and she recognized it. Desire.

He bent his head, and she parted her lips, leaning closer to him in anticipation of another kiss. But he did not give her what she wanted. He paused, his lips an inch from hers.

"I'd love to," he murmured, smiling, "but not now."

She came to her senses in a rush of mortification, hating him for being so good at deceit, hating herself more for being such a fool. "Why did we stop?" she asked in a little voice. "Are we going to camp here?"

He pointed to a cave about ten yards away that had an entrance high enough to walk through. "Your accommodations, ma'am."

Her embarrassment was forgotten as she eyed the cave with some trepidation. "Don't bears hibernate in caves?"

"I believe so," he said cheerfully and dismounted. "But I'm more worried about bats."

She swallowed hard and tried not to shudder. "Bats?"

"My rifle can fell a bear. But bat caves are unpleasant for sleeping. Very messy."

She winced. "I can well believe it."

Trevor shrugged off the bundle of kindling on his back and dropped it to the snow-covered ground beside him. "Stay here," he ordered as he pulled the rifle out of its holster.

Margaret didn't need to be told that. This time, she had every intention of obeying orders. She watched as he moved toward the cave. Pausing about fifteen feet from the entrance, he lifted the rifle and fired. The rapport from the shot echoed through the canyon, then faded away into silence.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder at her. "No bats anyway."

He moved closer and unsheathed the knife at his belt with his free hand. Margaret watched as he peered through the opening, then slipped inside the cave and disappeared from view. She held her breath, waiting, but Trevor came out only a few seconds later. "All clear," he told her as he sheathed his knife and lowered his rifle. "It'll do."

She followed him inside. Dim gray light filtered in, revealing that the cave was a small one, only about ten feet deep and seven feet wide, with no tunnels or other caverns that could conceal a wild creature. The damp floor and walls were covered with moss and lichen.

"Home, sweet home," Trevor said. "At least for tonight."

"Next year I'm going to make my travel arrangements another way, if you don't mind." Deprived of the warmth of Trevor's arms around her, she began to feel the cold again. She shivered. "So I can be sure of hotels, with radiators and hot meals."

"C'mon, then. If you want a fire and food, we've got to find wood."

They didn't have to go far to find it. Just beyond their cave, the canyon ended, abruptly merging into a forest of beech and maple. The frosted branches of the bare trees rose into the gray mist above, and a carpet of snow-dusted leaves and debris covered the ground.

Back inside the cave, Trevor dumped the wood in a heap. "Let's get a fire going, then I'll see if I can find something to cook on it."

While Trevor made a ring of rocks just inside the cave entrance and built a fire, Margaret began stacking the wood they had gathered. "Are you building the fire close to the entrance so that it's less smoky in here?" she asked, watching him as she worked.

"Yes, partly." He set a match to the kindling, then rose to his feet. "But mainly so that wolves don't decide to spend the night with us.

"Wolves?" she cried, staring at him as he picked up his rifle and walked around the crackling fire and out of the cave. She was dismayed that he was leaving her alone when there were wolves lurking about. She ran after him. "You didn't tell me about any wolves!"

"You'll be fine," he called back to her. "Wolves are quite shy of people, really, and in any case, the fire will keep them away. Just think of all this as another grand adventure."

"Wolves," she groaned. "Isn't that just dandy?" If she needed any further proof of the fact that Trevor was no hero, this was it.

Margaret went back inside the cave. Thinking of those wolves, she heaped several more logs onto the fire Trevor had made. Then she took off her bonnet, gloves, and coat, which were now soaking wet, and laid them out beside the fire. She unbraided her damp hair so that it would dry, then spread out the blankets to make their bed. She began going through the saddlebags to see what she could find among their supply of food.

There wasn't much to choose from. A few apples, dried apricots, a bit of cheese, and beef jerky, a food she was truly beginning to loathe. She set the food aside and returned the remaining gear to the saddlebags, then settled back to wait for Trevor.

When he returned, he carried with him a handkerchief-wrapped bundle that she prayed contained something better to eat than jerky. "Did you find something?" she asked hopefully.

Instead of answering, he paused at the cave entrance and glanced at the fire between them, which was now a roaring blaze. "Is it big enough?" he asked, as he edged around it.

She looked at the fire with doubt. "Do you think it ought to be bigger?"

He gave that serious consideration, then shook his head. "No, Maggie," he said as he set down his rifle and tossed the bundle in his hand toward her, where it landed in her lap. "If it were any bigger, people down in Naples would see it and think Vesuvius is erupting again."

"That's not funny."

"Yes, it is," he said as he pulled off his hat and gloves. "You just need a proper sense of humor."

"A proper sense of humor means I laugh at what you think is funny?"

"Of course."

That did make her laugh. He was watching her, still smiling, and something in his expression made her tingle. He always looked at her that way just before he kissed her, she realized, and her laughter faded into a hushed and self-conscious silence. She kept trying to hate him, but he made it impossible. How foolish she was, and how vulnerable. She sat up, then ducked her head and stared at the bundle in her lap, sensing his gaze still on her.