Simply Wicked (28 page)

“So?”

“So, I wonder how the Lockwoods felt about their precious son and heir marrying the bastard daughter of a whore?”

“The Lockwoods knew everything they needed to know.”

“I doubt that.” He held her gaze. “And even if they did, I’m not sure they’d wish the rest of the
ton
to know the kind of woman their son chose to marry, do you?”

Marguerite gathered her courage, wondered how many minutes had passed since she’d walked into this emotional battle-field.

“If you spread this gossip, the only person you will hurt is Justin and the Lockwoods, not me. I’m already considered a pariah; this will certainly not alter their opinion of me.”

Minshom raised his eyebrows. “I must commend you, Marguerite—your calmness is remarkable, especially for a woman.”

“I suppose I should thank you for the compliment, but I’d rather finish this conversation as quickly as possible and leave.”

She half-rose from her seat. “Have you finished trying to blackmail me?”

“Not quite.” His smile disappeared. “If we ignore the feelings of the surviving Lockwood family, there is also the little matter of your marriage and Justin’s reputation to consider.”

“What do you mean?”

“You cared for Justin, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I loved him.”

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Kate Pearce

“And yet you slept with his best friend.”

There it was, the accusation she’d been expecting. And as she had always feared, it was far more devastating to hear it spoken out loud rather than whispered behind her back.

“If you asked Sir Harry about his relationship with Justin then you know what I did, and why.”

“I do know, but I’m quite willing to make you the scapegoat for Justin’s death. A jealous husband tries to shoot the best friend who has cuckolded him with his own wife and ends up dead. Now that is something the scandal sheets would love to hear the details of. It’s the story that everyone has been gossiping about for the last two years, why not bring it out in the open and make it the truth?”

“Because it isn’t the truth.”

“It’s the truth I intend to tell if you don’t agree to my condi-tions.”

Marguerite stared at Lord Minshom and saw no hint of compassion on his hard face. “Why would you do that to me?

As you said, I am nothing to you.”

He shrugged. “And thus disposable. In one single blow I can ruin you, protect Justin, and destroy Sir Harry’s chances of ever being accepted back into English society again.”

Marguerite licked her lips. Her mind seemed to have frozen into ragged shards. There must be a way out of this trap, but she could no longer see it. She couldn’t betray Justin, but the thought that all the blame for what had happened should rest on her was intolerable. She’d just started to find herself, to believe she was worthy of love, to breathe without fear . . .

“What do you want Lord Minshom?”

“In order for me to keep me quiet about Justin and to get your own chance to speak to Sir Harry?”

“Yes.”

Minshom leaned forward. “I want you to call Sokorvsky. I SIMPLY WICKED / 239

know he’s out there. And when I’ve finished with him, I’ll tell you where to find Sir Harry.”

“And what guarantee do I have that you’ll leave me and Justin alone afterward?”

He patted the pile of parchment. “I’ll give you this to burn and leave Sir Harry to his own conscience, as long as he stays out of my way.”

“Anthony is worth so much to you?”

“Anthony is . . .” He paused. “Anthony deserves to pay for daring to leave me, for thinking he could have you instead.”

“Are you jealous, Lord Minshom?”

“Jealous of you?” He stood and loomed over her, forcing her to look up at him.

“Why would I be jealous of a woman? Sokorvsky needs a man to master him, and he knows it.”

“And yet, he chose to be with me.” She tensed as Minshom’s expression went blank. He slowly produced a pistol from his coat pocket and pointed it at her.

“Go upstairs and into the first bedroom on the right. Take off your dress and sit in the chair facing the door.”

“Are you going to shoot me if I don’t do what you say?”

“Do you wish to take the risk?”

Marguerite shook her head. One thing had become clear to her: in order to safeguard both the past and her possible future, she was willing to endure his confrontation with Anthony. “Do you give me your word that Lord Anthony will survive your encounter?”

He pointed toward the door, taking her elbow to help her up the narrow stairs. “You care for him, then?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll survive. I’ve never killed one of my lovers yet, although I’ve come close.” He laughed, the sound echoing up the stairs. “Sokorvsky would probably like being fucked to death.”

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Kate Pearce

Marguerite stumbled, and he shoved her up the final steps and into the bedroom. A fire had been lit and candlelight illuminated the small space. A four-poster bed draped in brown quilts dominated the room. A wooden chair sat opposite the bed facing the door.

“Take off your dress.”

“Why? Are you intending to rape me too?”

“I try not to fuck women. In my experience, they cry and break far too easily.” He turned her around, pulled off her cloak and tugged at the laces at the back of her bodice. He bit her throat, and she jerked her head away.

“I want Sokorvsky to think the worst when he bursts in here. I want him to imagine my hands on you, my tongue in your mouth, my fingers buried in your cunt.”

Marguerite tried to wrench away from him, but his hands held the laces of her gown, and he yanked her back like a tod-dling child or a disobedient horse. She shuddered as he dragged down her bodice and then her petticoats, forced her to step out of them, leaving her in her corset, stockings and shift. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs over her nipples.

“You are beautiful, Marguerite. I’m almost tempted to find out what Sokorvsky sees in you, to explore all your delicious possibilities.” He angled his hips against her buttocks until she could feel the hot press of his cock.

“You’ve even made me hard. It’s a long time since I’ve allowed a woman to have that effect on me.”

“Perhaps you’re losing your touch?” Marguerite gasped as he suddenly pushed her toward the chair. His smile was not reassuring.

“Perhaps I am.” He sat down in the more comfortable wing chair by the fire and crossed his legs. “Now we just have to wait for Sokorvsky.”

* * *

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Anthony checked his pocket watch for the hundredth time and then returned his gaze to the gatehouse. There was a light in the kitchen and one in the room directly above, but the rest of the house remained dark. There was no sign of any horses or indication that Sir Harry had arrived, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t already there.

Damnation, what on earth was going on in there? Anthony exhaled and watched his breath condense in the frigid air. In the distance, the clock in the stables chimed the half hour. He couldn’t wait any longer; Marguerite might be in trouble. To his relief, his fears for her safety far outweighed his fear of Minshom. He set off down the brick path to the kitchen door, let himself in and studied the deserted kitchen.

Where were they? Had they left through the front door when he was hiding in the bushes? Surely he would’ve heard them. He inhaled the floral scent of Marguerite’s perfume, and the more masculine smell of brandy and the particular brand of cigars Minshom favored. Retreating, he checked out the dark front parlor and an office, found the door to the cellar locked and chained.

There was still a faint light coming from one of the rooms upstairs, but why would Marguerite have agreed to go up there with Minshom? Anthony gripped the knife in his pocket and headed back to the foot of the stairs. With as much care as he could, he climbed the steep carpeted steps and paused on the small square landing. Light shone from under the door to his right. After a deep breath, Anthony turned the handle and stepped over the threshold.

The first thing he saw was Marguerite. He frowned as he realized she was half undressed, her gown pooled at her feet, her gaze distraught. He took half a step toward her and was brought up short by a familiar drawling voice.

“Good evening, Sokorvsky.”

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Kate Pearce

He turned toward the fire and the single candle and saw Minshom stretched out at his ease in one of the wing chairs.

“What the devil have you done to her?”

“Nothing yet, although she truly is a luscious piece, isn’t she?”

Fury roared through him, followed by cold resolve as his mind tried to make sense of the scene. God dammit, if he’d laid one finger on Marguerite, Minshom was a dead man. He picked up her gown and threw it into her lap.

“Come on, Marguerite, I’ll take you back to the house.”

Minshom raised his arm, pointed a dueling pistol at Marguerite’s head. “No, you won’t. She stays here. I’ll let her go when I’ve finished with you.”

Ignoring Minshom, Anthony turned to Marguerite and held out his hand. “Don’t listen to him; he’s bluffing. He won’t kill you; he’s not that stupid.”

Marguerite bit down on her lip. “I can’t leave, Anthony.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I agreed to stay because . . .”

Minshom interrupted Marguerite. “Because I promised to show her all the juicy details about our relationship. Isn’t that right, my pet?”

Anthony stared at Minshom, his mind curiously calm. “You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

Minshom’s smile widened. “Oh, but I can. That was the part you always liked best, remember? I don’t have to kill her, Sokorvsky. Even a slight wound can fester, become infected, and lead to a slow, lingering, painful death. I’ll say the same to you as I said to your lover: Are you prepared to risk it?”

Anthony locked gazes with Marguerite. “If you want to leave, I’ll make sure he doesn’t shoot you.”

“But I don’t want him to shoot you either.” Her quiet, reasonable reply almost made him want to smile. How like her to be so pragmatic.

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“I’d much rather it was me, Marguerite, really.”

Lord Minshom shifted in his seat. “This is all very edifying, but neither of you are leaving until I’m satisfied. Marguerite, tell him you want to stay and then be quiet.”

“Why would she want to stay?” Anthony turned to Minshom. “What possible sick gratification can you get from making her witness you forcing me to have sex with you?”

“I don’t need to force you. You’ve always been more than willing.” Minshom nodded at Marguerite. “I knew he liked men before I even met him. He fagged for my cousin at Eton, enjoyed being fucked even then.”

“Hardly. I had no choice. None of us did.” Anthony grimaced at the memory. “Your cousin was twice my weight and three years my senior. He also embodied your family’s renowned appetite for savagery and bullying, which made him impossible to fight off for long.”

“Poor Sokorvsky, always the victim, always the one not to blame.” Minshom steadied his elbow on the chair arm, keeping the pistol trained on Marguerite. “I suppose what happened when you were nineteen wasn’t your fault either, was it?”

Shock flickered across Anthony’s face and he notably paled.

Minshom gestured at Marguerite, who remained in her chair, hands gripping the sides as she watched them both, hardly daring to breathe.

“Did he tell you about that, Marguerite? Or perhaps your mother did. After all, it happened at the pleasure house.”

“She told me nothing.” Marguerite hoped her calm response would help Anthony gather his wits, show him that she refused to be shocked by anything Lord Minshom intended to say to her.

“As I understand it, dear Anthony got mixed up in some ne-farious sexual business with his half brother Valentin involving a Turkish gentleman named Aliabad.”

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Kate Pearce

“And what does that have to do with you, Lord Minshom?”

Minshom shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose, but for Sokorvsky, it helped cement his sexual tastes, made him crave pain and humiliation.”

Briefly Anthony closed his eyes and then refocused on Marguerite as if she were the only person in the room and that he was speaking to only her. “After Aliabad raped me, I refused to have sex with anyone for years. That’s what he made me crave—nothing.”

“But you eventually came around, and that’s when I met you on the top floor of the pleasure house, seeking . . . What exactly were you seeking, Sokorvsky?”

Marguerite tried to picture the top floor of the pleasure house. She’d only visited it a couple of times; the extreme sexual practices enjoyed there hadn’t excited or intrigued her.

Anthony cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what I was seeking, but I found you, and you were quick to tell me what you wanted.”

“So it’s my fault you are as twisted and needy as you are? I made you want sex to be as painful and humiliating as I could make it?”

“I wanted sex, yes.”

Marguerite bit her lip as Anthony simply stared at Minshom, his face heartbreakingly open, his expression unguarded.

Yet she didn’t see weakness or neediness, she saw a quiet strength that perhaps Anthony wasn’t even aware of. Her hands fisted at her sides. She wanted to go to him, to enfold him in her arms and tell him it didn’t matter, that she would make everything right for him.

“Stay there, Marguerite. We haven’t finished yet.”

She blinked at Minshom’s harsh command, realizing she’d been poised to leave her seat. Anthony’s clear blue gaze flicked over her and then returned to Minshom. “Don’t tell her what to do.”

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“Why not? Is that your prerogative? Is that why you like her so much?”

Minshom stood up and came up behind Anthony, resting the small pistol on his shoulder, still pointing at Marguerite. He slid a hand into Anthony’s pockets and removed the knife and the pistol Anthony had concealed there.

“I’ll keep the knife. It’s much easier to hold than a pistol.”

Minshom dealt with his gun and then the one he’d taken from Anthony and tossed them onto the seat of the wing chair. “Don’t try to use them against me, Marguerite; neither of them are loaded now.”