Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

Philip laid a hand on Christian’s arm, the quiet gesture enough to stem the anger brewing on her brother’s face and his impulsive step toward her. “I think what the twins are trying to say is that they are worried about you.”

“As is my mother, apparently.”

“Yes.”

Marguerite inclined her head a glacial inch. “Thank you all for your concern, but I am quite capable of dealing with Anthony Sokorvsky. If I need any help, I will ask for it.”

“Sokorvsky isn’t doing this because he’s enamored of you,” Christian said. “He’s doing it to avoid a scandal.”

Marguerite met his glare head on. “I know. He told me.”

“He told you?”

“Yes, imagine that, two adults having an honest conversation about their relationship. Isn’t it refreshing?”

“And you’re not disturbed by what he said?”

“I’m a grown woman; I’ve been married before. I understand that not all men have the same sexual inclinations.”

“But Maman didn’t think you knew about Justin and Sir Harry,” Christian said. “Mon Dieu, she wasn’t even sure herself . . .”

“Christian.”

Christian closed his mouth and nodded at his father. “I apologize, sir, that is none of my business.”

“How about apologizing to me?” Marguerite countered as anger finally forced its way through her tiredness. “I’m the one you’re insulting. Why is it all right for you and Lisette to enjoy yourselves at the pleasure house when I should not? Does having a titled father make you somehow more immune to scandal than a Bastille-born bastard like me?”

Lisette stepped in front of Christian, her chin raised, hazel eyes fired up for battle. “That’s not fair, Marguerite. Christian was only trying to help.”

Marguerite was the first to look away. She knew they meant well, but at this moment she hated their solidarity and their legendary closeness, hated them. “Perhaps you should go.”

Philip came around the twins and took her hand, enclosing it between both of his. “I’m sorry, Marguerite, I didn’t bring them here to start an argument.”

She struggled to smile. “I know. I just wish everyone would stop trying to protect me from my own choices.”

He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips. “That is the nature of loving someone though, isn’t it? I love your mother, but I’ve had to learn to allow her the freedom to make her own decisions and, God forbid, her own mistakes.”

He looked over his shoulder at the twins, who were whispering to each other, their heads close together. “I’ve also learned that being a father to adult children isn’t easy.”

“Have you met Anthony Sokorvsky?”

“Yes.” His expression became more guarded. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I value your opinion?”

He winced. “And despite that flattery, I’m not going to tell you what I think of him. Didn’t you just say that you were entitled to make up your own mind? If you have accepted him, faults and all, what else is there to say?”

She stared into his eyes and slowly nodded. “I won’t let him hurt me.”

Philip bowed. “I’m not sure anyone can guarantee that in a relationship, but you are an intelligent woman, and I’m sure you’ll make the right decisions.”

“Thank you for your support.”

His smile was wry. “I’m not sure I support your particular ‘choice,’ but I’m certainly not going to interfere unless you ask me to.” He turned to the twins. “Say good-bye to your sister, and let’s be off.”

Marguerite walked slowly toward the twins, but neither of them moved. To Marguerite, their expressions were identical, unreadable and infuriatingly familiar. She let her tentative smile die and simply nodded.

“Good-bye then, give my best to Maman.”

Lisette glanced at her silent brother before she answered. “We will.”

As she watched them leave, Marguerite was aware of an unpleasant tightening sensation in her chest. For years, it had been her and the twins against the world. They’d grown up together in the nunnery orphanage and hardly seen their mother, who was trapped in England during the war. Marguerite had loved them, mothered them and cried with them. Now it seemed she was outside that charmed circle. Had Philip stolen her place or had she pushed her own way out?

Mrs. Jones came back into the room and looked around. “Did they leave?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, how disappointing! I was looking forward to talking to Lord Philip.”

“So was I.” Marguerite sat down with a thump and finished off her neglected brandy in one long swallow. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

Mrs. Jones waved a note in front of her face. “I almost forgot. Lady Lockwood’s footman dropped this off for you.”

“Thank you.”

Marguerite took the note with her as she made her way up to bed. Was it yet another invitation insisting she masquerade as a valued member of the Lockwood family? When would that charade end? Would she ever feel completely wanted and welcomed simply for herself? Her mother had Philip, the twins had each other, and who did she have?

She thought she’d had Justin, had been prepared to do anything to keep him, and even then, she’d failed. Her eyes filled with tears, and she hurried to rip open the covering sheet. Inside, there were two folded notes addressed in unfamiliar handwriting. The first was from Charles’s wife, Amelia, and was an invitation to a party that weekend at their country house in Essex.

The singularity of such an invitation stopped her tears. Amelia had never liked Marguerite, so why on earth was she being invited to such an intimate gathering? She opened the second sheet, read the short sentences and all became clear. Lord Minshom informed her that he’d arranged for her to meet clandestinely with Sir Harry Jones at the house party, and that it would be her last chance to see the man before he left England again.

Marguerite laid the notes on the top of her vanity and smoothed out the sheets. A weekend in the countryside would get her away from her family and perhaps help her understand the reasons for her husband’s untimely death.

The thought of having to deal with Lord Minshom gave her pause. There was something about him that both repelled and fascinated her. How could she ensure her safety and yet still see Harry? She forced her tired mind to concentrate. What would Amelia do if Marguerite asked to bring Anthony with her?

Amelia would be delighted. She’d see it as a way to destroy Charles’s affection for Marguerite and perhaps even repeat the scandal to Lady Lockwood. And maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing after all . . . She would write to Amelia, ask if she might bring Anthony and pray that she could deal with the specter of Sir Harry Jones once and for all.

Marguerite breathed in the icy autumn air as Anthony’s curricle swept up the long driveway to Locking Hall. She’d defied convention, left Mrs. Jones happily ensconced at home, and driven down to Charles and Amelia’s little place in the country in an open carriage alone with a man. As declarations of intent went, it was quite a statement.

She grabbed a loose blue ribbon as it threatened to rip free of her bonnet, laughing as she retied the bow under her right ear.

“You seem very cheerful today.”

She glanced across at Anthony. He looked handsome in his dark blue driving coat, black boots and buckskin breeches. His booted feet were planted firmly on the floor of the curricle, his hands relaxed on the reins. As they’d navigated their way out of London, he’d proved to be an excellent whipster.

“I am. I’m escaping my family for the weekend.”

He grimaced. “I’m escaping mine too. I’ve decided to find my own set of rooms.”

His tone didn’t encourage questions, but she didn’t care about that. After all, he’d promised her honesty.

“I have my own house and they still come after me.”

His expression tightened. “They do?” He clicked to his horses, and they started to slow. “Mayhap I’ll start looking for a castle with a drawbridge. My father probably owns one somewhere. If I’m dragooned into becoming his estate manager, I’ll probably find out for myself.”

“He wants you to run the estates?”

“Unfortunately, he does, and for once Valentin supports him.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Marguerite asked tentatively. “Doesn’t it show that he trusts you?”

Anthony flicked a glance at her. “Strange, I don’t see it like that. It’s just another way for my father and Val to keep an eye on me, to control me, to keep me from disgracing the family.”

The hurt in his voice resonated within Marguerite and made her want to reach out and touch him. “I understand. You fear you’ll never be free of your father’s interference.”

He laughed, the sound carried off by the wind. “And I can’t really leave. My mother is married to him, remember? And she would be devastated if I walked away. God, what an unholy tangle . . .”

Marguerite stared hard at the beech trees edging the drive. “How nice to have someone who wants you to stay. Neither of the families I’m supposed to belong to seem to need or want me anymore.”

She refused to look at him, set her teeth on her lower lip to stop it from shaking. He guided the horses to the edge of the driveway and stopped the curricle. She gasped as he drew her into his arms and held her close, then she allowed herself to subside like a foolish girl against his broad chest.

“Marguerite . . .” She made the mistake of looking up, saw her tiny reflection mirrored in his dark blue eyes. “If you don’t think you’re wanted, why did you accept this invitation?”

She lowered her gaze to stare at the embossed silver buttons of his coat. Trust Anthony to reach into the very heart of the matter. How much of her true undertaking did she want to reveal? She had hoped for more time to ascertain that Harry was actually there before she revealed anything to Anthony. The whole weekend might just be part of some cruel joke on Lord Minshom’s part.

She sighed, her breath condensing in the cooling air, and put her hand on Anthony’s shoulder.

“I can’t tell you exactly why yet. But this visit could help me understand Justin’s death.”

“Ah.” Anthony brushed her mouth with his gloved fingertip. “Then I can scarcely complain, although if that is the case, I’m still not sure why you asked me to come with you.”

“Because I might need your help. Is that reason enough?”

His expression gentled, and he angled his head lower, licking a line with his tongue along her closed lips. “Yes.” He straightened and retrieved the reins. “Shall we proceed?”

Marguerite took a deep steadying breath. “I’m glad you are with me, Anthony. I don’t think there is anyone I would rather have by my side.”

He went still and looked back at her. “Thank you.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Is that all you have to say?”

“It’s all I’m able to get out at the moment.” He sighed. “Your faith in me is a new experience. No one else thinks I’m capable of doing anything except ruining my life.”

“My family says the same about me.”

He smiled and she smiled back, aware of the growing connection between them, the sense that she had truly found a man who understood her. He bent to kiss her cold cheek.

“Then perhaps we should prove them wrong together?”

“Perhaps we should.” Marguerite nodded decisively.

His laughter warmed her. With a light flick of his whip, he set the horses in motion and they headed to the front of the house.

A footman ran down the shallow worn steps to greet them and to assist Marguerite out of the curricle. While she waited for Anthony to confer with the stable hand, she looked up at the mellow red front of the house. Ivy grew around the diamond paned windows, and rose stems climbed around the door. If Justin had lived, this would’ve been his country estate until his father died.

Marguerite felt no sense of ownership. Her marriage had been so brief that she’d never even visited the house. She had no sad memories to spoil its obvious charm and beauty. Smoke rose from the ornate chimney pots and curled around the roof line before drifting lazily toward the almost barren trees.

Anthony touched her arm. “Are you ready to go in?”

She placed her fingertips on his sleeve, picked up her skirts and walked into the house. Whatever happened during her stay, she was determined to face it with as much grace and courage as she could muster. Another footman led them into a sunny drawing room where Amelia sat by the fire, her embroidery hoop in her hand, a bored expression on her round face.

Marguerite fixed on a smile. “Good afternoon, Amelia. I hope you are well?” She glanced up at Anthony. “May I introduce you to Lord Anthony Sokorvsky?”