Now she felt foolish for having snapped at him. She turned her head and kissed his finger. “All right. You can go now.”

“Are you sure?” He slid his thumb along her lower lip, and she tasted herself, him and something metallic. She sighed as he bent to kiss her.

“May I take you out tonight?”

“If you promise not to be late again.”

His quiet chuckle made her feel both treasured and appreciated. “If I’m late, don’t let me in. I don’t deserve to be forgiven twice and in such an intimate and, quite frankly, such an encouraging manner.”

“Go away, Anthony.”

He retreated to the door, kissed his fingers to her and left. Her body felt different; muscles she’d forgotten she owned pulled at her and made her ache. She slid her hand down to her belly and then lower, to where she was still wet and open from his lovemaking. She must remember to take the sponge out . . .

With a contented smile she turned onto her side and closed her eyes. There was plenty of time for the practicalities of life. For the moment, she just wanted to luxuriate in the fascinating physical effects of being bedded by a man.


Anthony was still smiling as he walked quietly across the marble floor of his father’s grand house and toward the servants’ stairs. It appeared his mother had gone to bed, so he had nothing to fear from her. And it was unlikely that even the servants would be up at four in the morning.

Making love to Marguerite had been a revelation. Her fierce natural response to him was as arousing as any of the calculated beatings or sexual toys Minshom used. He shuddered as he remembered how powerful he’d felt when he put Marguerite on her back and shoved his cock deep . . .

Alerted by the flickering glow of a candle, he paused by his father’s half-open study door. Had someone forgotten to snuff out the lights? He pushed at the door, squinting into the sudden glare.

“Anthony?”

He stiffened as he realized his father sat behind his ornate mahogany desk, a quill pen in his hand, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. For some reason, the harshness of the setting made him look older, more careworn and infinitely more human.

“Father.” Anthony tried to appear relaxed, feeling like his ten-year-old self caught in some mischief. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

Anthony shrugged. “I thought I was expected to behave like a young man about town. Isn’t this what you wanted? Me staggering home late and in my cups?”

His father’s expression tightened. “Come in and shut the door.”

“Actually, Father, I’m rather tired. I was heading for bed.”

“I said come in and sit down.”

Anthony straightened and did what he was told. The grim set of his father’s mouth made it impossible to refuse. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“You can stop working at Valentin’s place of business, for one.”

Anthony gripped the arms of the chair. “We’ve already had this discussion. You’d prefer me to racket about town like a fool rather than seek honest employment. I don’t agree.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You might not have used those exact words, but that is what you implied.”

“There are other ways to be employed rather than in trade.”

Anthony laughed. “You make it sound like I’m whoring down at the docks rather than working in a respectable shipping company.”

The marquis whipped off his spectacles. “I’m glad you mentioned whoring. I’ve heard you like to play with the mollies and the sadists on the top floor at Madame Helene’s.”

Anthony hoped his shock didn’t show on his face. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not dead, Anthony—I do venture out into society, and I hear the gossip about you in the clubs.”

“And you believe it?”

“You wouldn’t be the first of my sons to make a name for himself as a libertine.”

“A libertine is a far cry from calling me a male prostitute, sir.”

The marquis fixed him with a hard stare, which reminded Anthony forcibly of Valentin. “If you allow others to use you as they will, what else should I call you?”

“A man who likes sex?”

“Not the kind of sex a man should be proud of.”

Anthony raised his eyebrows. “And who made you the judge of what is acceptable? If I was out fucking ten different women a night like Val used to, would that make it better?”

“Of course it wouldn’t, but it would be better than the choices you make now.”

Anthony bit back his next answer and forced himself to relax in his chair. He would not allow his father to ruin his evening with Marguerite with insinuations about his past.

“The rumors about me are no longer correct, sir. Recently I have seen the error of my ways.” Ruthlessly, Anthony buried the erotic memory of his evening with David Gray and stared right into his father’s eyes. “So you have nothing to worry about.” He half-rose from his chair. “If there is nothing else you wish to say to me, I’ll go to bed.”

His father’s fist thumped onto the desk. “Anthony, will you please listen to me? Why do you think I’m sitting here at this time in the morning?”

“Because you wanted to talk to me about my lack of morals and responsibility?”

“I did want to talk to you, but I’m also trying to run an estate that includes five dwellings, two farms, three villages and approximately two thousand tenants.”

Anthony sat back down. “But you have staff to do that for you.”

“It is a foolish man who allows his servants to run his business completely for him. I like to oversee the details. It stops sloppiness, deceit and incompetence.”

“Well, that’s highly commendable, but I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Anthony.”

Anthony sighed. “I apologize, but I really don’t know what you are getting at.”

“I need help.”

“To run the estates? Then why not hire more people?”

“I need more involvement from my family, dammit, not strangers.” The marquis slammed the book in front of him shut and glared at Anthony. “I need you.”

A coldness settled low in Anthony’s gut as he stared at his father. “Valentin is your heir.”

“I know that, but you are his brother. You are perfectly capable of running the estates if you choose to.”

Anger threaded through the ice in his veins, and Anthony sat forward. “And why aren’t you having this conversation with Valentin? He’s the eldest son; surely he is the one who should take care of his own damned inheritance?”

“Valentin is . . . difficult.”

Anthony realized he was standing, shoved back his chair. “He certainly is ‘difficult.’ And you won’t ask him to do anything he doesn’t care to, will you? Are you worried he’ll disappear on you again? That’s why you’re asking me to step into his shoes.”

“My relationship with Valentin is no concern of yours.”

“Isn’t it? How strange, it seems like it has everything to do with me. Val gets to do what he likes because he’s the prodigal son, and I . . .” Anthony stopped talking, realized what he’d said and simply glared at his father. “I’m supposed to roll over, take whatever the pair of you decide to hand out to me and be grateful.”

The marquis stood too, his still-handsome face cold. “I didn’t realize how jealous you were of your brother—considering all he suffered, how can you be so cruel?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? When he came back, he took everything from me.”

God, had he really said that out loud—had he really felt that? He ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect his scattered emotions. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean that. I’m obviously overtired.”

His father stared at him. “Anthony . . . Valentin could never . . .”

“It’s all right, sir. I understand.” He managed to dredge up a smile and a bow. “I’ll certainly think about what you have suggested, although I’m not sure how Valentin will react to the idea of losing me.”

The marquis dropped his gaze to the papers on his desk and shuffled them around. Anthony let out his breath. “Valentin’s already agreed, hasn’t he?”

“Actually, he was the one who suggested it.”

“Of course he did. What a masterful piece of manipulation. He not only gets me out of his business, but ensures I’m stuck serving his needs in another capacity for as long as I live. And he doesn’t even have to pay me any more.”

“As to that, I would, of course, increase your allowance to cover all your additional costs.”

“I expect you’d both like me to rusticate in the countryside far from temptation as well, wouldn’t you? So much for me prostituting myself for trade or for sex; you’ll allow it only if I keep it in the family!”

“For God’s sake, Anthony, whatever is the matter with you? I’m only asking you to display some loyalty. This isn’t like you at all.” The marquis strode to the window and pulled open the drapes. Thin dawn light filtered through the grimy window panes. “Perhaps we’ll have this discussion again when you are sober.”

“I’m completely sober, Father.” Anthony walked across to the door and grabbed the handle. “And don’t worry: I’ll certainly think about what you’ve said.”

“Where the devil did you say you were tonight?” The marquis’s harsh question made Anthony turn back.

“I didn’t.”

“From the state of you, I’d assume you were at Madame’s.” His mouth twisted. “So much for changing your ways.”

“I haven’t been to Madame’s.”

“Then why is there blood all over your pantaloons and on your hand?”

Anthony glanced down at his white satin pantaloons, saw the splashes of red seeping through the fabric and went cold. God, he had hurt Marguerite, and she’d denied it. Hell and damnation! She must have been too afraid to tell him. He flung open the door as his stomach threatened to rebel.

“Anthony . . .”

He couldn’t bear to speak to his father, not now, not when he knew what he’d done. With a curse he hurried upstairs to his room, stripped off his clothes and quickly splashed himself with cold water. He had to get back to Marguerite, to see if she was all right and to promise her that he’d never touch her again.


Marguerite opened her eyes. Something was preventing her from going back to sleep, and it wasn’t the noisy sparrows congregating on the roof of the mews below her window. Idly, she allowed her mind to float, hoped whatever it was that was worrying her would surface and become clear. Her hand drifted down to her stomach again and she winced. Anthony had been extremely careful with her, so there was no reason for her to feel so . . .

She sat up so quickly she felt dizzy. Now she knew what that strange pressure meant. She carefully pulled back the covers, saw the faint red stain on the sheets and between her thighs and let out her breath. Her courses had begun, that’s why she felt so peculiar.

She carefully moved to the edge of the high bed and felt for the floor with her toes. Shivering in the cold, she managed to fumble across to her dressing table and find the rags and bindings she needed. There was just enough water left in the jug to wash with. Then she returned to bed and cuddled back into the warmth she and Anthony had created.

She wrapped her arms around her aching stomach and curled up into a tight ball. If her mother’s information was correct, there would be no child to mar the perfection of her night with Anthony. Another thought prevented Marguerite from falling back to sleep. Had Anthony noticed her courses had begun? And if so, was he offended? Maybe that was why he had left so abruptly. Justin had been horrified at her even mentioning she bled and had refused to share the same bed. Perhaps her French pragmatism about such things was not appreciated in England by any man.

Marguerite smiled into the half darkness. Hopefully Anthony was made of sterner stuff and had gone home to rest without a care in the world.


“You don’t understand, I need to see her.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but my lady isn’t receiving visitors at this hour of the morning.”

Anthony glared into the unresponsive face of Marguerite’s butler. True, it was barely light and he’d had to bang on the kitchen door for at least ten minutes to get anyone to pay attention to him over the morning clatter, but he had to see if Marguerite was all right.

“Is my lady’s maid here?”

“She is, sir, but . . .”

Anthony took a guinea out of his pocket and pressed it into the butler’s unresisting hand. “Perhaps she might be able to check on her mistress and ask if she wants to see me. Tell her it is extremely important.”

The butler pocketed the coin and turned back into the kitchen. “Mary, come here.”

A pretty black-haired young woman dressed in crisp pink muslin and an apron rushed over, her expression full of curiosity.