Simply Wicked

19

For Marguerite, the next morning passed in a daze of polite conversation punctuated by intervals when she forced herself to eat whatever was put in front of her and pretended to listen to the whispered gossip swirling around her. The afternoon progressed so slowly she wanted to scream, and as the conversation centered on Amelia’s pregnancy, Marguerite had nothing to say, nothing to add that might not be misinterpreted as jealousy, sarcasm or both.

To her secret relief, the men had gone out shooting, or some such manly sport. So she didn’t have to contend with Anthony’s concern or the barbed comments of Lord Minshom. She could only hope Anthony had the sense to keep out of Minshom’s way.

“Marguerite?”

She smiled vaguely into Amelia’s irritated face. “I’m sorry, Amelia, did you say something?”

One of the other women sitting in the circle of chairs around the cozy fire in the cluttered drawing room tittered. Marguerite recognized her old tormentor, Amelia’s cousin Drusilla, who was still unmarried and had somehow convinced herself that Marguerite had stolen Justin from under her nose. She was famous for her cutting set-downs and complete lack of humor.

“Mayhap Lady Justin is wondering how to placate Lord Anthony Sokorvsky when he gets back from his shooting expedition.” Drusilla looked down her long nose at Marguerite. “In my experience, gentlemen do not like it at all when a lady shows them up in company.”

Marguerite put down her tea cup and faced Drusilla. “You’re quite right, Drusilla. Men don’t like to be questioned do they?” She glanced around the avid circle of listeners. “But surely it is our feminine duty to ruffle their self-importance occasionally?”

Two of the married women chuckled. Drusilla’s cheeks reddened, and she glared at Marguerite. “Perhaps some of us prefer to behave in a more ladylike fashion, particularly those of us who should know better.”

“You are too hard on yourself, Drusilla.” Marguerite smiled sweetly. “Just because you pride yourself on your honesty doesn’t make you a pariah to all men.”

“Indeed! Perhaps I was talking about you, Lady Justin. A woman whose husband is scarcely cold in his grave racketing around with another man.”

Marguerite refused to allow Drusilla’s aggressive tone to intimidate her. Perhaps it was time to bring her simmering dislike out into the open, to dispel a few rumors once and for all.

“My husband died two years ago. I’m sure he’d want me to be happy again, and I’m hardly ‘racketing around.’ I’m visiting my brother-in-law and his wife for a restful weekend in the countryside.”

“In the company of another man.”

“Who is another invited guest in this house.”

“Not that I wanted either of you here,” Amelia muttered.

“Then why invite us?” Marguerite looked inquiringly at Amelia. Would Amelia admit she’d asked Marguerite both on Lord Minshom’s behalf and to expose her affair with Anthony in an unfavorable light to Charles? Marguerite didn’t think Amelia would do either. She hated not to be liked and approved of.

“Amelia invited you because her husband gave her no choice,” Drusilla said. “Although, perhaps having seen the way you treat Lord Anthony, Cousin Charles will speedily revise his good opinion of you.”

“Perhaps he will. But I suspect his good sense will prevail, and he will simply be happy for me.”

Drusilla laughed. “You’re expecting Lord Anthony to propose to you?”

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

It was strange: she’d never thought of marrying Anthony, never wanted to be married to anyone ever again. The idea seemed ludicrous. Anthony deserved someone young and innocent and . . .

Marguerite realized Drusilla was speaking again.

“Why not? Because, if you’ll excuse my bluntness, Lady Justin, a man doesn’t need to buy the cow when he has already tasted the cream.”

A collective gasp rippled through the other women. Marguerite realized she wanted to laugh. Was Drusilla really so naïve about what men wanted? Perhaps she was. Perhaps Marguerite was the one who was out of step with society. But what was new about that? Her mother had hardly brought her up in a conventional manner.

“What an incredibly coarse comparison. I confess I’m quite shocked.” Marguerite got up and curtsied to the assembled women. “I think I’ll go and lie down and try to pretend you didn’t embarrass yourself by saying that out loud, Drusilla.”

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?