Simply Wicked (21 page)

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.”

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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 SIMPLY WICKED / 179

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 180 /
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whom I can bed. I’m the widow of a peer, not an innocent unmarried girl.”

Philip laid a hand on Christian’s arm, the quiet gesture enough to stem the anger brewing on her brother’s face and his impul-sive 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 SIMPLY WICKED / 181

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 182 /
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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?

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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 clandes-tinely 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.

16

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.

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“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.”