Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

Drusilla opened her mouth, but Marguerite was already moving toward the door, head held high. Her mother had taught her never to be ashamed of herself or to explain or defend her actions.

She reached her bedroom and lay back on the cream satin counterpane, stared up at the elaborately decorated ceiling. Peace surrounded her for the first time that day.

Could she really imagine Anthony married to one of the fresh-faced innocents who made their debut every Season? His sexual tastes were far too complex to be satisfied by a young virgin. Restlessly she kicked her slippers off. But was that quite true? She’d been an innocent when she married Justin, and yet she’d quickly acquiesced to his unusual sexual requests.

But she suspected Anthony’s needs were more complicated than she, or perhaps even he, knew. That didn’t scare her though— it just made her more determined to find them out. Marguerite’s slight smile died. Anthony had never suggested marriage to her. He was obviously content with their original bargain to support each other through the Season and to be friends.

She rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillows. And that was enough for her, wasn’t it? Having Anthony for a friend had proved to be a blessing in many ways. She hadn’t expected a marriage proposal, had she?

The dainty clock on the mantelpiece struck six times, and Marguerite groaned. Six hours until she was due to meet Lord Minshom again, and hopefully, Sir Harry. How on earth was she going to get through them? Instinct told her to make her excuses and stay in her room for the rest of the evening, but she couldn’t do that. Drusilla would take it as an admission of guilt, and Anthony needed her help to fend off Lord Minshom.

And she was done with hiding, with trying to please everyone and not pleasing herself at all. It was ironic that her liaison with Anthony had put her at odds with the Lockwoods and her own family. If that taught her anything, it was that she could never win and might as well be herself.

With a sigh, she got off the bed and rang the bell. If she was going to face the assembled company for dinner, she was determined to look her best.

Anthony knocked twice on the inner door between his suite and Marguerite’s and waited for a response. Just as he raised his hand to knock again, the door opened and the maid he’d met the previous night emerged. She curtsied to him and smiled.

“Good evening, sir.” Her voice descended to a shrill whisper. “And thanks for your help last night!”

“You’re welcome.” Anthony nodded at the grinning maid. “Is her ladyship ready to go down to dinner yet?”

“I am.” Marguerite answered for herself. “Come in, Anthony, and close the door, you’re creating a draught.”

With a wink at the maid, Anthony stepped past her into the room and found Marguerite sitting at her dressing table powdering her face. He strolled over to drop a kiss on the top of her head and was greeted with an expanse of lush bosom that made him instantly hard.

“Good evening, my lady. You’ll be pleased to hear that I kept out of Minshom’s way today, or perhaps he kept out of mine. He didn’t stay all day, said he had errands to run. Let’s hope they involved Sir Harry Jones.”

Marguerite sighed and met his gaze in the mirror. “I’m still not convinced Sir Harry will turn up, are you?”

“It depends what Minshom is really after, doesn’t it? If he truly wishes to help you, I’m sure Sir Harry will be produced. If he’s just trying to get revenge on me for leaving him, the outcome is less certain.”

“Of course, you were lovers.”

Anthony froze. He’d forgotten how little Marguerite knew about him and Minshom. She met his horrified gaze in the mirror, her expression tranquil and reached up to pat his hand that rested on her shoulder.

“It’s all right. Lord Minshom told me he wanted you back, or that he was quite happy to share.”

Anthony shuddered. “We weren’t exactly ‘lovers.’ I don’t want to go back to him. I’d rather die.”

He hoped she heard the determination in his voice and knew that he spoke the truth. He tensed, wondering what else Minshom had told her about their unequal relationship.

“I can understand that. He seems a most unpleasant man.”

“Trust me, he is.” Anthony moved closer and squeezed Marguerite’s shoulder, desperate to touch her fine skin and forget Minshom.

“You look particularly lovely tonight, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was wry. “I feel as if I’m readying myself to go into battle.”

“You anticipate a struggle?”

She glanced up at him and the diamond and sapphire necklace around her throat glittered in the candlelight, making him blink.

“Don’t you?”

He held out his hand and she got up, shaking out the skirts of her pale blue, high-waisted, silk gown. Diamonds encircled both her wrists and swung from her ears. Although she was smaller than him, he sensed her strength of purpose, her courage, her resolve. Suddenly he wished he had something to give her, something of value to show the world how much he admired her.

“I’d like to buy you jewels.”

Marguerite’s eyebrows rose and she shrugged. “There’s no need. I feel conspicuous enough already.” She touched his arm. “And you’ve already given me much more than mere jewels.”

He stared down into her eyes and, finding a sense of acceptance he’d never had before, swallowed hard. “Did you manage to amuse yourself without me today?”

“I managed to antagonize one of Amelia’s old cronies by refusing to be ashamed of my liaison with you.” She smoothed a hand over the silk of her dress. “That’s one of the reasons I decided to dress up tonight. I want her to see how happy I am with my choice.” She reached up and straightened Anthony’s cravat. “You must promise to look equally delighted by my company.”

“That won’t be difficult. You are a delight.” For an instant she looked away from him, and he caught her chin. “Why do you find it so hard to accept a compliment?”

“Probably because I’m used to being overlooked for my mother and the twins.”

“They neglected you?”

“Non, they are just . . .” She shrugged. “So much more interesting than I’ll ever be.”

He kissed her nose. “I know how that feels. My father and brother are the same.” She looked at him, her expression serious until he cleared his throat. “But I see you, Marguerite. I see the strength and the honesty in you, and I’ll always appreciate that.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she hastily dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Now you have made me cry. How do you expect me to make a grand triumphant entrance at your side if my nose and eyes are red from weeping?”

“You’ll still outshine them all.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and gently patted the tears. “There, you look beautiful.”

She grimaced at him but didn’t speak, waiting until he put his handkerchief away to take his arm. He opened the door out into the hallway and looked down at her. “Is there anyone in particular you wish me to be obnoxious to, or shall I just practice a look of general slavish adoration?”

She laughed, the sound warming him as they approached the stairs. Even the sight of Minshom dressed in black and silver prowling the hallway below didn’t destroy his sense of wonder, of delight in her company. When all this was over, when she’d met with Sir Harry and hopefully found the answers she wanted, he’d tell her everything, the whole sordid pitiful story.

“Anthony?”

He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until Marguerite spoke. Could he do that? Could he share not only the depths of his depravity but his utter humiliation? Share the needs he wasn’t sure he could suppress even though he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his contemptible life?

He guided her back into the shadows at the top of the stairs. Perhaps Valentin was right, and it was time to stop running away from the things he couldn’t change.

“Marguerite, when we get back to Town, may I come and call on you?”

“Of course you may. Why do you ask?”

“Because . . . because I want to be honest with you.”

She bit her lip and held his gaze. “I would like that. Perhaps by then I will be able to be honest with you too.”

Relief washed over him, and he brought her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”

Marguerite allowed Anthony to lead her into the drawing room and fixed a dazzling smile on her lips. No one here would know her inner turmoil, the sense that Lord Minshom was poised to disrupt her peace forever. Had Anthony understood what she’d said to him, that she had more truths to reveal, more secrets than he might imagine?

She hoped so. Hiding the truths about her marriage from everyone, perhaps even from herself, was a burden she would be grateful to relinquish. And who better to understand her than Anthony? A man who had made his own difficult sexual choices in the past and lived to regret them.

And then there was the matter of Justin’s death at the hand of his best friend. If she could find some peace from meeting Sir Harry, all the torment would be worth it. She glanced up at Anthony’s handsome face. He concealed his troubles almost as well as she did—the outsider in a family, much like her, the one always striving to fit in, to be acknowledged, to be loved.

She squeezed his arm, aware of the strength concealed by the fine broadcloth, the heat of him, the fire within. How strange that fate, in the shape of her brother and sister, had brought them together.

“Marguerite? Is something wrong?”

Anthony looked down at her, his expression concerned, and she smiled into his blue eyes.

“No, my lord. In truth, I’m glad you are with me tonight.”

“So am I.”

His answering smile was as warm and admiring as she could have wished. It didn’t matter what humiliations Lord Minshom made her endure. She was no longer alone, and if she concentrated on the future, a future which might contain the complex man by her side, she was also certain of success—wasn’t she?

Marguerite watched as Anthony carefully closed the door back into the main house. She drew her cloak around her and headed for the path between the kitchen garden and the wilderness beyond. With his longer stride, Anthony caught up with her within a few paces. Like her, he wore a black cloak and dark clothing, but his head was uncovered, his hair blowing in the bitterly cold wind.

The clock in the stable yard struck the quarter hour, and Marguerite paused in the shelter of one of the tangle of old holly trees and faced Anthony.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She’d asked him the same question at least a hundred times. His answer was always the same, so she wasn’t quite sure why she insisted on repeating it.

“I’m sure. I’ll give you a quarter of an hour to complete your business with Sir Harry. If he doesn’t appear or if anything changes, come to the door of the lodge and signal to me. I’ll be with you in an instant.”

Marguerite nodded and held out her hand, found herself dragged into a fierce embrace, Anthony’s mouth locked on hers for a deliciously deep and lingering kiss. When he drew back, he caressed her lower lip with his thumb.

“Don’t do anything foolish, will you?”

“Like what? Brain Lord Minshom with a candlestick?”

“Exactly. I’d rather like to do that to him myself, so don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Such double standards, my lord.”

He smiled and his teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Just be careful. Minshom is a wily opponent.”

“I know that.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cold cheek. “Let’s just pray all goes well and that I don’t need your help after all.” She stepped away from him, achingly conscious of the sudden lack of warmth and the strength of his embrace.

As before, the door into the rear of the lodge stood slightly ajar. She entered the hallway and pushed open the kitchen door. Lord Minshom stood by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. His black coat lay over a chair by the table, and he looked remarkably at home. He glanced up, his expression cordial.

“Ah, good evening, Lady Justin. I’m so glad you decided to return.”

Marguerite inclined her head a regal inch. “As I recall, you gave me very little choice in the matter. Is Sir Harry here?”

“Not yet. There are a few things I need to discuss with you before he arrives.” He gestured at the table. “Won’t you sit down?”

Even though her knees were shaking, Marguerite held her ground. “I don’t believe there is anything we have to say to each other.”

Minshom strolled across to the table and took a seat, crossed his booted feet and looked up at her. “Well, there you are wrong, my dear. In order for you to see Sir Harry, I have a few conditions of my own.”