Simply Wicked (22 page)

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 186 /
Kate Pearce

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 SIMPLY WICKED / 187

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?”

Amelia dropped her embroidery on the floor, her mouth a perfect O. She craned her neck to look behind Marguerite.

“Where is Mrs. Jones?”

“She decided not to accompany me. Lord Anthony very kindly brought me down in his curricle.”

“You were alone?”

Marguerite pretended to frown. “Well hardly that, Amelia.

We were together.”

Anthony nudged Marguerite and swept Amelia a perfect bow. “Good afternoon, my lady, and thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Amelia smiled distractedly at Anthony and continued to stare at Marguerite as if she’d never seen her before. Marguerite 188 /
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hoped she looked calm and confident. It was harder to pretend she hadn’t behaved shockingly than she had imagined. She had no idea how Lisette carried it off so convincingly, but perhaps it was time she learned. Amelia got to her feet and held out her hand to Anthony.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” She cast Marguerite a sly glance. “I’m even more intrigued about how you came to meet my dear sister-in-law.”

“Oh, through mutual friends. Isn’t that always the case?”

“I suppose it is.” Amelia beckoned to a footman. “Please show my guests to their rooms.” She nodded at Marguerite. “And we’ll see you down here for dinner in an hour or so?”

“That would be lovely, Amelia,” Marguerite said. “Is Charles here?”

“No, I believe he’s out shooting at some kind of bird. He should be back soon. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you both.” Amelia studied Anthony. “Especially you, my lord.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him as well. I know Marguerite holds him in high regard.”

With a last cordial nod in Amelia’s direction, Anthony escorted Marguerite back into the hall and up the carved oak staircase. To her surprise, the footman led them to adjoining rooms.

She remembered to thank him as he closed the door behind him. Her luggage sat in a pile on the blue rug in front of a welcoming fire.

With a sigh, she took off her bonnet, set it on the dressing table and studied her face. Despite the openness of the carriage she looked remarkably well, her cheeks flushed from the cold and wind, her eyes bright.

A knock on the door made her straighten and turn away from the mirror. A young woman entered the room and bobbed a curtsey.

“Good afternoon, my lady. I’m Rachel. I’m here to unpack your luggage and help you change.”

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“That would be lovely.” Marguerite smiled and resigned herself to not getting a moment to see if Anthony was all right. He’d seemed more than capable of dealing with Amelia. His manners were always exquisite, his countenance serene. In truth, she suspected he was as good at hiding his inner turmoil as she was.

As she helped the maid unpack, Marguerite pondered his revelations about his family. Did they disapprove of his sexual tastes? Was that why he was being forced to move out? Despite being at odds with her own family, she still believed that when they realized she was happy, they’d come around to her involvement with Anthony.

She stared down at the petticoat she was attempting to fold.

Would Anthony ever receive that acceptance? And if not, how would he deal with it? She would hate to lose him.

By the time Marguerite emerged from her room, darkness had fallen and the candle sconces in the hallways had been lit.

Anthony leaned against the wall beside his door, immaculately turned out in shades of brown and black, his dark hair glinting in the soft light. He bowed and offered her his arm. “You look very nice. Blue suits you.”

“Thank you. Were you waiting for me?”

“Of course I was. Do you think I want to brave your relatives alone?”

“They aren’t that bad. I’m quite fond of Charles. He’s always been very kind to me.”

“I’m sure he has.”

His dry tone made her look up at him. “Do you mean because he got to inherit everything instead of Justin?”

“Good God, no! After seeing how his wife reacts to you, I
meant
that he’s probably infatuated with you.”

“It’s true that Amelia doesn’t like me. I’ve never bothered to ask why. I always try to be nice to her.”

“And that probably makes her dislike you even more.” An-190 /
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thony continued down the stairs until they reached the bottom and then stopped. He cupped Marguerite’s chin in his hand so she had to look at him.

“Why don’t you believe you have a right to be part of the Lockwood family?”

“Because they didn’t want me. After Justin’s death, they tried to annul the marriage, tried to pretend it had never happened.”

“But you know it did. Why don’t you act as if you believe it?”

“That is hardly fair. I’ve done my best to fit in.”

“Have you?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, I have, and it’s no use. How would your father feel if you brought home a girl whose mother was a notorious brothel owner and your father . . . your father wasn’t even named, because . . .”

Anthony’s fingers covered her mouth. “Don’t.”

She shoved his fingers and his sympathy away. “. . . not even your mother knew who he was, because she was forced to bed so many men in the Bastille.” She choked a laugh. “I could have royal blood or the blood of murderers in my veins. What a perfect addition to an aristocratic family.”

She wiped hastily at her eyes and glared at Anthony. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”

“I won’t.” He brushed her cheek once, twice, taking the tears and some of the hurt away. “You are an amazing woman, Marguerite. Any man should be honored to have you in his family.” He held her gaze, kissed her fingers and placed her hand back on his sleeve. “Now, let’s go and make ourselves pleasant to our hosts, and perhaps you’ll finally tell me what on earth we are doing here.”

Marguerite was right; the Lockwoods didn’t like her. So why had she braved their chilly disapproval? Anthony observed the SIMPLY WICKED / 191

various members of the intimate gathering as they sat around the dining room table. Eleven chairs were full. The twelfth guest apparently delayed in London. Four of the couples, including their hosts, were members of the Lockwood clan, and none of them, except Charles, bothered to address a word to Marguerite unless forced to out of politeness.

Marguerite seemed as serene as ever, her smile charming, her interest in the conversation around her genuine. Was he the only one who knew how hard this was for her? How much effort it took to pretend that everything was fine? He knew. He’d played the same game his whole life. He tried to make up to his father for Valentin’s loss by being the perfect son, tried to fade into the background and pretend that nothing had changed when Val returned . . .

At least on the top floor of Madame’s pleasure house he’d been allowed to attend to his own feelings, his own needs. To be recognized for what he was, rather than ignored or found wanting. He picked up his glass of red wine and drained it.

Marguerite’s courage humbled him, made him realize how far he still had to go to find himself.

“Sokorvsky, are you enjoying the wine?”

He turned to look at his host, his empty glass still in his hand. Charles Lockwood clicked his fingers and a footman instantly refilled it.

“The wine. Is it to your liking?”

“It’s excellent.” Anthony put down his glass and gave his full attention to Charles, who didn’t look particularly friendly.

“Thank you for inviting me for the weekend.”

“I didn’t invite you. Marguerite asked if you could come.”

“But you could’ve said no.”

“I was going to, but my wife had already sent you an invitation.”

Ah
, so Charles believed in getting to the point. Anthony smiled. “Well, however it happened. I’m still grateful.”

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“Why?”

“Because I always enjoy Marguerite’s company.”

“She permits you to address her by her first name?”

Anthony met Charles’s furious gaze. “She does.”

Charles busied himself lighting a cigarillo and didn’t offer one to Anthony. “I still consider Lady Justin part of this family.”

“Really?”

“Of course I do. And as such, she is still under my protec-tion.”

“Do you think I mean to harm her?”

Charles scowled. “I’ve heard about your ramshackle ways, Sokorvsky.”

“I’m surprised you have time to listen to gossip, Lockwood.

I never do.” Anthony sipped at his wine, wondered if the rest of the diners were straining to hear the muted conversation at the head of the table. “I have a great deal of respect for Marguerite.”

“I’m glad to hear it. She’s not been widowed for long.”

“More than two years, I believe.”

“Is it that long?” Surprise mixed with sadness filled Charles’s eyes. “It feels like only days since my brother died.”

Anthony let out his breath. “I knew your brother. He was a true gentleman.”

“Yet you are spending time with his wife.”

“His
widow
. You knew Justin better than anyone. Do you think he would want Marguerite to mourn him for the rest of her life? Wouldn’t he want her to be happy?”

“In principle, I agree with you.” Charles sighed. “In my heart, I find it difficult to let her go.”

“I can understand that. She is a wonderful woman.”

They both looked down the table toward Marguerite, who looked back, a puzzled expression on her face. Anthony winked, and she relaxed and turned back to her neighbor.

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“She likes you, doesn’t she?”

“I hope so. She can certainly trust me.”

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t interfere.” Charles leaned close.

“To be frank, I was surprised when Amelia suggested Marguerite attend this house party. They have never been close. Perhaps Amelia did it to show me that Marguerite doesn’t need me anymore.”

“I’m sure that was part of it. But, please, Marguerite is very fond of you. I’m sure she’ll want to remain friends.”