Simply Wicked

10

“Anthony, are you still here? I was about to lock up.”

Anthony looked up from the document he was squinting at. His office was so dark he could barely see Peter’s silhouette in the doorway. With a groan, he dropped his quill pen and flexed his fingers.

“I didn’t realize it was so late.”

Peter leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms. “I know Val and I asked you to work harder, but we don’t expect you to kill yourself.”

“I won’t. I just wanted to finish this.”

“And have you finished?”

Anthony sighed. “I suppose it will have to do.” He glanced at the clock and shot to his feet. “Damnation! I was invited for dinner at eight.”

Peter’s quiet chuckle filled the room. “You’d better hurry, then. Ladies don’t like it when you are late.”

Anthony stopped buttoning his coat. “How did you know it was a lady who’d asked me to dinner, and is that really true?”

Peter grinned. “I’ve never seen you move that quickly before, so I assumed you weren’t going home. And, in truth, all the ladies I’ve known haven’t taken to being ignored well.”

Anthony grabbed his hat and gloves and hesitated by the door. “Do you think a man should always tell a lady the truth about himself?”

“About why he’s late for dinner, or are you speaking in more general terms?”

“More generally.”

Peter considered him. “I think it depends on the type of relationship you have. For example, Abigail knows everything about me and my less-than-perfect past, yet she still loves me.” His slight smile died. “Unfortunately, not all women are so accepting.”

Anthony fiddled with his hat. “I don’t know how much I should reveal about my sexual tastes.”

“Do you trust her?”

Anthony thought about that, pictured Marguerite’s blue eyes and serious face. “Yes.”

“Then tell her.”

“And if she turns away from me in disgust?”

“Then she wasn’t the right woman for you, was she?”

Anthony sighed and walked toward the main office, which for once was quiet and deserted. “You’re not being much help.”

“I know.” Peter clapped Anthony on the back. “Tell her some of it, then, but for God’s sake, don’t lie.”

Anthony bade him good night, took a cautious look around the desolate, grimy streets and decided to walk back to the main thoroughfare to find a hackney cab. Despite attending to his work, he’d spent most of the day wondering what he should tell Marguerite and how she would react.

One thing was clear. He couldn’t allow her to see him as a perfect gentleman; he wasn’t comfortable with that pretense at all. He genuinely liked her and wanted her respect. But what could he say that wouldn’t shock her?

Nothing.

His whole life was a series of humiliations. Why the devil would she ever want to be associated with him anyway? On that glum note, he hailed a cab and headed for Marguerite’s house on Maddox Street.

Marguerite stuck her spoon in the bowl of gooseberry fool in front of her and slowly sucked the tart fruit from the silverware. Perhaps she was indeed a fool. Mrs. Jones had gone to bed, leaving Marguerite still waiting at the dining table for dear, dear Anthony to appear. In anticipation of his visit, she’d put on her favorite gown, allowed her maid to curl her hair into a cascade of ringlets and left off all but one of her petticoats.

And he hadn’t arrived. Marguerite took another swig of her red wine and savored the acidic taste. She wanted to squirm in her seat, to pace the room, to do something to get rid of the frustrated desire that lurked under her skin. She felt like the female cat in the convent kitchen that yowled and scratched to be let out whenever the males gathered to serenade her in the gardens.

So much for being ready to take a chance on another man . . . Marguerite’s fingers curled around the glass bowl. If Anthony appeared at this moment, he might find himself covered in green goopy pudding.

There was a knock on the door and her butler appeared. “My lady, there is a gentleman here to see you. It is rather late. Do you want me to turn him away?”

Her butler’s offended expression said that she should do just that, but Marguerite realized she wanted to see Anthony far too much to care about propriety.

“It’s all right, Jarvis. Ask him in and then you can retire.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Marguerite sat back in her chair as Anthony strode into the room. His dark hair was disordered, his cheeks flushed as if he had been running. She pointed at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“You are late.”

He bowed low. “I know. Will you accept my profound apologies?”

“It depends on what you have been doing instead of honoring your obligation to me.”

His smile was wary. “I was at work and I forgot the time.”

“Your work was more important than me?”

He sighed and sat on the delicate gilt chair next to hers. “Of course not. It’s just that with my job in jeopardy, I sometimes try too hard to prove my worthiness.”

“Why is your job at risk?”

He shrugged. “Because it was only supposed to be temporary, and now my father and Val want me to give it up and live like a true gentleman.”

“They want you to be idle?”

“Apparently so.”

“That is ridiculous.”

He glanced up at her then, his vivid blue eyes full of laughter, and took her hands. “I can’t help but agree with you.”

She snatched her hands away, not quite ready to forgive him yet, her courage bolstered by the two glasses of red wine she’d already drunk. “Have you eaten?”

He surveyed the array of dishes on the table and swallowed hard. “Unfortunately not.”

She waved a hand at him. “Then help yourself.”

She waited as he gathered himself a large plate of cold food, poured him a glass of the rich red wine and then sat back to finish her dessert.

“May I say you look beautiful tonight?”

Marguerite frowned down at her favorite blue gown and then at him. “Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t use that word?”

“Why does it offend you so much?”

Marguerite shrugged. “My mother is beautiful.”

“She is, but does that mean you can’t be beautiful as well? Do you think she would resent it?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that I hate to be judged on my appearance.”

“But how else is a man to judge you? It’s not as if any of us can see what’s inside a person on a first meeting.”

Marguerite swallowed hard. “Justin said he fell in love with my face on our first meeting.”

“Ah, now I understand.” Anthony put down his fork.

“Because you are so beautiful yourself?”

He grimaced. “Not that, but I’ve heard myself described as a handsome man.”

“You are.”

“Thank you.” His smile dimmed. “But I also get fed up with being characterized as a charming addle-pated idiot.”

“I don’t think you are an idiot, but I do wonder why a man with all your attributes isn’t married yet.”

“I’m only twenty-five!”

“But you are also the son of a marquis.”

“The second son. And, as my half brother has already been obliging enough to provide my father with a grandson, I have no reason to marry at all.”

Marguerite regarded Anthony. “It must have been difficult for you when Valentin returned from the dead.”

He glanced up, his expression hardening. “Are you trying to suggest I’m jealous of my brother?”

“Are you?”

“Not at all. In truth, I was relieved when he turned up. It took my father’s often obsessive attention away from me.”

“Then, if not jealousy, what do you conceal behind that handsome face that has made you avoid your social obligations for all these years?”

“Why should you assume I conceal anything?”

She opened her eyes wide at him. “You were the one who suggested there was more to you than a pretty face.”

He stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Are you trying to start a fight with me because I was late?”

“Not just because of that.”

He drained his wine glass and placed it back on the table with a thump. “I’ve apologized, what more can I do?”

“Honor your promise to me?”

“What promise?”

“To be honest.”

He sighed, “God, Marguerite, sometimes you remind me of your mother.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now tell me what lies beneath your charm and good looks.”

He refilled her glass and then his own; his hand shook, spilling red wine on the white damask tablecloth. His smile had gone and there was a bleakness in his eyes that made him seem the stranger he claimed to be.

He inhaled slowly. “I like to have sex with men as well as women.” He looked straight at her. “Is that honest enough for you?”

Marguerite’s chest tightened, and she fought an absurd desire to laugh. What was it about her that attracted such men? And was that why Christian had introduced her to Anthony? She took another sip of her wine and kept staring at him.

Anthony shrugged. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Have I disgusted you? I’ve certainly rendered you almost speechless.”

She licked her lips, tasted the sharpness of the grapes. “I’m not disgusted.”

“Why not?” His mouth twisted. “Sometimes I disgust myself.”

“That is understandable when such liaisons can result in severe penalties under the law.” Now she sounded as prim and proper as a governess, but it was hard to frame her replies when her heart was beating so wildly. Was she being given a second chance to understand the complexity of her sexual nature? Would she be able to help Anthony as she hadn’t been able to help Justin?

She met his gaze, observing the brittle tension in his. “It hasn’t stopped me wanting you—if that is what you are worrying about.”

He let out his breath. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

He stood up so fast that his chair tipped over, and pulled her into his arms. “Thank God.”

She struggled to free her hand and curved it around his neck, bringing his face down to hers. His lips brushed her mouth and she shivered.

“Marguerite, I want to take you to bed. Will you let me?”

She nodded, and he took her hand and dragged her toward the door. The hallway was deserted, the house quiet. She directed him up the stairs and into her bedroom at the back of the house. A single candle burned by the bed, and the banked fire glowed in the hearth. She caught the scent of her own perfume, the powder she used on her face, the burned smell of the curling tongs.

Anthony shut the door and leaned against it, his expression in shadow, the tension in his body palpable.

“Do you really want me, Marguerite?”

“Oui.”

She reached up to draw the pins from her hair, watched him take an unsteady step toward her and knew that everything would be all right.

Anthony watched Marguerite’s dark hair fall around her face and shoulders and swallowed hard. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Pick her up, throw her on the bed and ravish her? His cock was already hard and eager for anything, but his mind . . . His meager experience with women rose to mock him, to make him incapable of speech or action.

Marguerite came closer, and he inhaled the sweet scent of violets. She turned her back on him.

“Will you help me out of this gown, please?”

She sounded almost as scared as he felt. He stared at the small pearl buttons and wondered if his big blunt fingers would be able to manipulate them without shaking too much. He attempted the first one, breathed a little easier as it obligingly slipped free. Her bodice gaped forward, giving him an excellent view not only of the creamy slopes of her shoulders but of the tops of her breasts.

He wanted to taste her skin. With a groan, he dipped his head and touched his lips to her throat. She sighed and leaned back into him, his fingers crushed between them, his heart racing.

“Unlace my corset too.”

He studied the spiral bindings until he worked out how to release her and set to work coaxing the long strings through the holes. His mouth was dry, his breathing uneven. It was one thing to sexually service an unknown woman at the pleasure house, but making love to Marguerite, a woman he desired and liked, was a completely different equation. Would she detect his lack of expertise?

She turned in his arms, allowed her gown and corset to fall to the thick carpet. She was covered by only a thin muslin shift now, her nipples and the dark shadow between her legs visible through the sheer material. She tugged at his cravat.

“May I help you undress?”

He nodded and stood still as she eased him out of his tightfitting coat and waistcoat and unpinned his cravat. Her smile was beautiful as she touched him, and he yearned for her hands on other parts of his body, especially his cock. To be handled with such gentleness almost brought tears to his eyes. So different from Minshom and the other men, so humbling . . .

He cupped her cheek, drew her mouth toward his and kissed her soft, willing lips. Her hand slid between them and worked on the button of his pantaloons. He gasped as she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and squeezed hard.

“Anthony, you know you said I couldn’t shock you?”

He dragged his attention from his aching cock to her face. To his surprise, she looked almost as worried as he felt.

“You can do anything you want to me, Marguerite.”

She leaned in and bit down on his lower lip. “Would you mind if I had my way with you first? It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and I’m a little concerned about being at your mercy.”

He blinked at her as her fingers continued to caress his cock and balls. Had she heard that he liked it rough? Was she really afraid that he might harm her? He forced himself to respond. “I’d never hurt you.”

She patted his cheek. “I know that. It’s just that you are a big man, and I’d like to be in control of how you take me . . .” She stopped talking and stared up at him, biting her lip.

Suddenly he understood her all too well and was more than willing to oblige her. “I’d be delighted.”

Her laugh was low and full of relief. “Then take off your shoes and pantaloons and get on the bed.”

He stripped everything off and went to lie on the white sheets of the pristine bed. His cock rose, seeking relief, seeking a release he knew only Marguerite could give him tonight. He settled back against the headboard and waited for her to join him. The mattress barely dipped as she climbed onto the high bed and crawled toward him.

For one awful moment, he wanted to hide himself from her unabashed stare. Would she like what she saw? Would she somehow sense how unworthy he was of her regard and tell him to leave? He flinched as she straddled his hips, fisting his hands by his sides in an effort not to touch her. Her breasts danced in front of his eyes, their red tips already tight and ready for his mouth.

“Anthony, are you all right?”

He blinked and found her staring at him quizzically. Her face was as beautiful and delicate as the rest of her. He felt the wet heat from her sex on his balls, the way his cock brushed against the skin of her stomach as he tried to breathe normally.

She sighed. “I know I said I wanted to be in charge this first time, but I didn’t mean to stop you enjoying it.”

“I am enjoying it. Can’t you tell?”

“I’ve heard that some men don’t like a woman to be too aggressive in bed. Is that true?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m quite happy lying here, waiting for you to take me.”

She finally smiled at him. “Are you sure?”

He glanced down at his eager cock, rolled his hips toward her body. “God, yes.”

She knelt up and grasped his shaft around the base, drawing the tip back toward her. He groaned as he brushed against her core and was guided inside her. Instinctively, he tried to thrust upward but was met by a tightness that held him at bay.

Marguerite licked her lips. “Perhaps you are too big.”

“Perhaps you should be wetter.”

Anthony gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers over hers on his cock. He knew too well how painful a forced penetration could be, and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen to Marguerite. The lessons he’d been given about arousing a woman resonated in his head.

“Let me help you.”

He sat up straighter, drew one of her breasts into his mouth and began to suckle. She sighed deep in her throat and rocked toward him with every pull of his mouth. He withdrew his cock from the tight hole and instead rubbed the wet crown against the bundle of nerves at the front of her sex.

Strange that he could aid her, even stranger that she was obviously enjoying what he was trying to do. He transferred his attention to her other breast and used his left hand to caress her soft buttocks, to slide his fingers lower and penetrate her sex from behind—wet now and wider, easing his way, opening to his touch like a flower.

“Anthony . . .”

She moaned his name, kissed the top of his head, his ear, anything she could reach, her nails digging into his shoulder as she moved with him. He couldn’t believe how natural it felt to have her like this, her cream coating his fingers, the crown of his sensitive cock rubbing her clitoris.

He closed his eyes and repositioned his cock against her now slick entrance, encouraged her to guide him inside. This time he slid in at least three inches, the whole thick purple crown inside her. He felt her flesh give and yet not give, encase him in a lush cave that shifted and changed the deeper he penetrated her.

“Take more, Marguerite.”

He leaned back to watch the glorious sight of her body poised over his, his shaft disappearing inside her, and almost came. This was nothing like taking a man. Her sheath undulated and pulsed around his shaft, drawing him deeper even through the threat he’d be trapped forever, making him want to stay inside her more than breathe.

“God . . .”

He grasped her hips, encouraged her to shimmy lower, and groaned as she finally took him all. She looked at him, her smile tentative, her eyes huge in the shadowed darkness.

“You are even bigger than I thought you’d be.”

He held still, let her body settle around him and enjoyed the tight grip of a woman’s passage on his cock for the first time.

“You thought about having me like this?”

She stroked his chest, her thumbs feathering over his nipples making him shiver. “Of course.”

“Then perhaps you should continue to play out your fantasy and make me come for you.” He hesitated. “Unless you wish me to pull out . . .”

She shook her head. “That isn’t necessary.”

Anthony tightened his grip on her hips. “Then will you have mercy and ride me to completion?”

She started to move on him, her sex sliding up and down his shaft, squeezing and releasing him with a fierceness he would not have dreamed possible but that he was experiencing it firsthand. So tight now he could feel his cum being forced up his shaft by the demands of Marguerite’s body.

“Don’t stop,” he managed to groan, as she continued to move on him. He remembered to find her clit, thumbed her in time to their combined thrusts, felt the moment when she climaxed like a punch in the gut as his cock was squeezed to extremes and began to spurt seed deep inside her. The spasm seemed endless as he rocked and writhed beneath her, heard her answering moan of completion.

She collapsed over his chest and he held her there, one hand splayed over her buttocks, his cock still throbbing inside her. She threaded her fingers into his hair and cuddled deeper, her body shaking with little aftershocks as she curled up against him.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaled her beguiling scent. She’d trusted him to make it good for her, trusted him enough to let him inside her, for God’s sake. He smoothed his hand over her hair and felt her move closer. He’d never felt like this before in his life—so complete, so sexually sated, so happy. His eyes flew open.

How the hell had she done that to him? And what the hell was he going to do now?

Marguerite squeezed her eyes tightly shut as tears continued to seep from them. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be, had naively thought the sexual act would remain the same, even with a different man. But it hadn’t been like that all. Anthony was completely different from Justin; his smell, the texture of his skin, the way he moved beneath her—all different and infinitely strange.

Anthony sighed and kissed the top of her head, drew her closer into the curve of his warm muscular body. She managed to stop crying, terrified the tears would touch his skin and wake him up. She didn’t regret what she had done in the slightest, yet somehow it felt like the ultimate betrayal of Justin, another area of her life where he had been supplanted, another new experience to eradicate his memory.

She turned her face into Anthony’s shoulder and inhaled his particular scent. There was no way back now. She could only hope she would be able to live with the consequences and not allow her guilt to destroy the fragile beginnings of something she hoped would be precious.