Val sighed. “This is not about me. Perhaps if we focused on Anthony, we might find some answers.”

Anthony cleared his throat, and they both swung around to stare at him. His father spoke first. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Staying with a friend.”

“And you didn’t think to let us know?”

“Father, I’m almost twenty-six, not six. Why on earth would you want to know where I am?”

“Because . . .” The marquis glared at Valentin, his face still flushed with anger.

“Because you think Valentin has been leading me astray again?” Anthony stared at his brother. “He has been far too busy telling me to insinuate myself into the family business to bother about that.”

“Perhaps Valentin has shown some sense for the first time in his life.”

Val laughed. “Hardly. Can’t you see that because of my interference, Anthony is as angry with you as he is with me?”

“Anthony isn’t angry. He’s always been an excellent son.”

“Unlike me, of course.”

Anthony knocked hard on the desk. “Perhaps you could both shut up and pay some attention to me for a change. I’m sick to death of being either ignored or talked about as if I’m not here.”

The marquis frowned. “I hardly think that’s an appropriate way to speak to your father and older brother. We were worried about you.”

“Really? It’s hard to tell.” Anthony realized he was shaking as waves of heat rolled through him. He took a step forward until he was in between the two men. “You both treat me like a child.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Anthony forced a smile. “You see, sir? You can’t even allow me to have an opinion, can you? Valentin is the only one in this family allowed to do that, isn’t he?”

Val frowned. “He does have a point, Father.”

Anthony snorted. “Don’t try to placate me, Val. I know what you both think.”

“And what is that?”

Anthony swallowed hard and forced himself to look his brother in the eye. “That I’m too soft, too vulnerable, too damned young to make my own decisions.”

“We’ve already had this conversation, Anthony.” Val pulled on his gloves. “I told you what I thought, and you refused to discuss it further. Maybe when you show the maturity to have that discussion, then I, at least, will begin to take you seriously. I cannot of course speak for our father.”

Briefly Anthony closed his eyes, tried to gather his beleaguered resources. “Just because I was raped when I was nineteen does not make me less of a man.” He took the time to glare at them both. “That’s what you believe, isn’t it? That somehow I need to be protected from myself.”

Horror crossed the marquis’s face followed quickly by pity. Anthony hated both emotions, needed nothing more to confirm what he’d long suspected. He’d never be worthy in his father’s eyes, even less so now that his father knew the truth.

“I knew there was more to that kidnapping. Why didn’t you tell me?” The marquis avoided Anthony’s gaze and rounded on Val, his voice rising in accusation.

“Oh for God’s sake, Father! This isn’t about Val. It’s about me.”

“Anthony . . .” In an unseen display of unity, Val crossed the rug to stand by the marquis’s side. The formidable likeness between them shocked Anthony to the core. “That really wasn’t helpful.”

Anthony’s hands tightened into fists. How dare Val try to make him feel guilty for speaking the truth. “Did it ever occur to either of you that I like what I do in bed?”

“But you don’t.”

“How the hell do you know?” Anthony realized he was shouting and that he didn’t care who heard him.

“Because I’ve been in every possible sexual situation imaginable, and I know.”

“Just because you didn’t enjoy something means I can’t? We are only half brothers. Perhaps my tastes are different from yours.”

“How would you know what your tastes are when you’ve allowed them to be dictated by rape?”

The marquis suddenly moved as if to shield Anthony from his brother. “That’s enough, Valentin.”

“But, sir . . .”

“I said that’s enough.”

Anthony bowed to his father. “Am I supposed to thank you for saving me from the lash of Val’s tongue? As I’ve been trying to tell you for the last few minutes, I do not need your protection.”

“There is no need to speak to Father like that, Anthony.”

Anthony laughed. “Well, there’s something. I’ve managed to get you defending each other. But then why should I be surprised? It’s always been about you two, hasn’t it? I’m just a side show. My mother and my sisters are all secondary to your precious relationship.”

The marquis’s expression tightened. “You will go and change, present yourself to your mother, who is worried sick about you, and come back to my study.”

Anthony picked up his hat. “I’ll certainly go and see my mother, but I’m not coming back here to be shown the error of my ways or have you feel sorry for me.”

“Then where will you go? This is your home.”

“Actually, this is your home, Father, and one day, when he stops being so pigheaded and realizes he wants it, it will be Valentin’s. It’s probably time I found somewhere else to live anyway.”

The marquis lifted his chin, his gray eyes cold. “And how will you afford that when I cut off your allowance?”

“I’ll survive. In truth, thanks to Val, I’m more employable than most other noblemen. Perhaps this is the only way I can prove to you both that I’m not what you think, that I can succeed by myself without being cosseted.”

Valentin smiled. “Good luck.” He shot an irritated glance at the marquis. “And before you start, I promised Anthony I’d not tell you what happened with Aliabad. I honored that request. It was the least I could do.”

“Valentin,” Anthony said. “I don’t need your pity or guilt either.”

Val turned back, his expression chilly. “My feelings are my own. If I’m not allowed to speculate about yours, don’t you dare do it to me.”

“Agreed.” Anthony nodded at his brother and then at his father. “I’m going to see my mother. I’ll be in touch about the rest of it.”

The marquis swallowed hard and put his hand on the desk as if to steady himself. “I would appreciate that.”

Anthony fought an unheard of desire to kneel at his father’s feet and bawl like a babe. He had to see this through. He had to prove that he was more than capable of running his own life.

“Good morning, sir.”

He turned his back on his brother and his father and hurried up the stairs to his room.


“What do you mean I have visitors? I’m in the bath! Tell them to go away!”

Marguerite glared at Mary, her maid who stood by the door to her bedroom, hands clutched around a drying cloth.

“Not that kind of visitor, my lady, just your family.”

“Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, my lady. Mrs. Jones is entertaining them quite nicely, but they were asking for you.”

“Help me dress, then.”

Marguerite sighed and stood up, allowing the steaming fragranced water to stream down her body. After her unexpectedly erotic afternoon, she’d hoped to bathe, have her dinner in bed, and go to sleep. Her skin still felt hot, as if all her senses were on fire. She wished she’d overcome her fear and stayed to make love with Anthony again. Perhaps he could’ve tied her up that time . . .

She blinked away that salacious thought and thrust her arms into the sleeves of the green flowered muslin gown her maid held out to her. Facing her family with thoughts of Anthony in her mind would not be a good idea.

At least she hadn’t started to wash her hair. While her maid brushed it out and repinned it, Marguerite checked her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips a little swollen, but that might be explained away by her bath.

“There, my lady. You look lovely.”

“Thank you.”

With a grateful nod, Marguerite picked up her skirts and descended the stairs to the drawing room. Mrs. Jones waved at her from her seat behind the tea tray. Even from a distance, the smell of brandy on her breath was all too evident.

“Oh, there you are, my dear; I was just telling your father how famously we’ve been getting along.”

Marguerite glanced at Lord Philip Knowles, who winked at her. He was her mother’s husband but not her father. It wasn’t worth correcting Mrs. Jones. In the few years she’d known him, Philip had certainly done everything in his power to treat her like one of his own children. He sat between the twins on the couch, his relaxed manner a quiet testament to his wealth, intelligence and good taste.

Marguerite liked him immensely. He was the only man who had ever been able to deal with her mother as an equal without resenting or trying to possess her. Philip stood up and bowed, then stared at Christian until he followed suit.

“I apologize for visiting you so late, but I was at my bankers’, and your mother asked me to pop in and see how you did.”

“Why didn’t she come herself? Is she unwell?”

Philip’s eyebrows rose. “Not at all. She is simply too busy, and she was concerned about you.”

Marguerite immediately felt guilty. She already sounded defensive and she hadn’t even sat down. Exactly how much had her mother told Philip, and why hadn’t she come herself? It was most unlike her. A cold sensation settled low in Marguerite’s stomach. Perhaps Helene really had washed her hands of her eldest daughter and her inconvenient choices. But wasn’t that what Marguerite had wanted? Now she wasn’t so sure.

“We didn’t go into the bank.” Lisette smiled at Marguerite. “Apparently, I’m a distraction and Father fears Christian will start asking for more money.”

“Hardly that.” Philip chuckled and sat back down, his amused gaze on Christian’s stony face. Sitting as he was, between the twins, Marguerite could trace their likeness to each other, their shared heritage and their deep connection. The twins were as dear to her as she hoped her own children would be, but she’d never known a father’s love.

“Oh, dear.”

Marguerite jumped as Mrs. Jones dropped a tea cup and bent to pick it up, almost dislodging the entire drinks tray.

“It’s all right, ma’am, I’ve got it.” Christian located the cup, which had rolled under his chair, and replaced it on the tray.

Mrs. Jones hoisted herself out of her chair and stared distractedly at the door. “I’ll go and get another cup. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Marguerite waited until her chaperone left the room and the gentleman resumed their seats before defiantly pouring herself a large shot of brandy. The taste reminded her of Anthony, and she licked her lips, wondering what he was doing now, whether he slept or whether he lay awake thinking about her, touched himself as he did.

“Marguerite, are you listening to me?”

With a guilty start Marguerite looked up and into Lisette’s laughing eyes. “I’m sorry, Lisette, what were you saying?”

Lisette smiled at her. “I was just remarking that before the cup fell, your chaperone was rummaging in her reticule as if her life depended on it.”

“She was probably looking for her gin bottle.” Marguerite shrugged. “That’s why she excused herself, to get a new one.”

“She hardly seems like an adequate chaperone, my dear,” Philip said, his keen gaze on Marguerite. “Are you sure you want her?”

“I don’t want her; I need her. She allows me to live alone. If I complain about her to the Lockwoods, they might make me move in with them, and that I couldn’t stand.” Marguerite glared at her brother and Philip. “It is so unfair that ladies are so constricted.”

“I agree.” Christian nodded. “But as a widow, you have more freedom than most.”

“I know that.” Marguerite turned back to Philip before her brother could elaborate. “Was there anything in particular my mother wished to say to me, sir?”

“Not that I recall. She was simply concerned that you hadn’t made any, um, rash decisions as to your future.”

Marguerite put down her glass. “Oh, is that all? Nothing much then, only that she doesn’t trust me to make any decisions at all.”

“That’s not what Philip said, Marguerite,” Christian interrupted her. “And to hell with being tactful, we’re all concerned about you.”

“Why?”

“Because of Anthony Sokorvsky.”

Marguerite fixed him with her best glare. “You were one of the people responsible for my meeting him!”

Christian shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to go this far.”

“Have you all been discussing me, then?”

Lisette nodded. “Of course we have. We’re your family.”

“No, you’re not.” Marguerite stood up and gripped the back of the chair. “Not if you think it gives you the right to tell me whom I can bed. I’m the widow of a peer, not an innocent unmarried girl.”