Simply Wicked (30 page)

“Are you ready to leave?”

She nodded again, still unable to speak, and walked past him into the hallway and out into the cold bleakness of the night.

The stable clock chimed once. Was it only an hour since she’d walked into Minshom’s trap? Only an hour since he’d deliberately revealed his own version of her brief marriage to Anthony, the man she’d come to care for? She stopped walking, turned toward his dark shape.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

SIMPLY WICKED / 255

“My marriage. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Marguerite, it really doesn’t matter does it? It’s in the past.”

“Not if Lord Minshom decides to gossip about it.”

There was a long silence as he considered her. “I won’t let that happen. I promise you.”

“Why?”

“Because as I told you, I don’t care what happened between you, Justin and Harry.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Because you are my friend?”

Ah, she’d forgotten that. She’d forgotten that just because she’d come to want him as more than a friend didn’t mean that he had. In truth, after what he’d just heard about her, his diplo-matic retreat was all too understandable.

“I will take care of Lord Minshom myself.”

He shifted in the darkness and laid his hand on her arm.

“Marguerite, you don’t have to do that. I’m quite capable of taking him on.”

Tears crowded her eyes, falling down her cold cheeks in hot, angry waves. “What are you going to do? Challenge him to a duel?”

“If necessary.”

“And you think I would want that? Another man dead on my account? More gossip?”

“Marguerite . . .”

She pushed past him, picked up her skirts and ran for the house, the tears now pouring down her face. Were all men fools?

Was Anthony about to make the same mistake Sir Harry had made and risk everything to save her reputation? She would not let that happen again. She would not; she’d kill Lord Minshom herself before she allowed Anthony within a mile of him.

She realized she was standing in the center of her bedroom, her breathing so loud she couldn’t even hear the clock. She hur-256 /
Kate Pearce

ried to lock the door between her and Anthony’s suites and checked the main door. He wouldn’t be able to get to her here, not that he would want to . . .

With a sob, she fell to her knees, pressed her hands to her face and let the tears fall. Anthony had protected her from Lord Minshom, offered himself in her stead, refused to allow Minshom to destroy either of them. He’d also shown great courage when his worst secrets were revealed, refusing to allow Minshom to dominate or shame him. She realized she was proud of him. He might have unconventional sexual tastes, but he was no longer enslaved by Minshom.

And even if he’d been shocked by Lord Minshom’s revelations about her, he hadn’t shown it, hadn’t allowed his anger and doubts to surface until after he’d disposed of his nemesis.

Marguerite raised her head to stare into the fire. She should be grateful to him for that, even though he seemed to believe she’d really been in love with Harry.

How had he come to that conclusion? It was no more accu-rate than Minshom’s version of the truth. She glanced at the door to Anthony’s suite. Was it worth trying to tell him how it had really been? She shook her head. No, because he’d probably say that it didn’t matter, that she could’ve fucked a whole regiment of Sir Harry’s and he would still pretend to be fine with it.

All she could do was to arrange to go back to London without having to see either Lord Minshom or Anthony again. Resume the quiet uneventful life she’d envisaged before Anthony had arrived to unsettle her. Despite his promise, once he’d thought about her past, she doubted he’d ever want to see her again.

She stifled a sob and continued to cry silently, a necessary skill learned in the loneliness of the nunnery school when any sound at night would result in a beating. She didn’t want An-SIMPLY WICKED / 257

thony to hear her, didn’t want anyone to know how bleak her future now looked.

Anthony let himself into his room and took off his clothes, left them lying on the floor in a pile. He walked across to the china wash jug and poured water into the matching cream basin.

The coldness of the water suited his mood, shocking his senses much as the events of the evening had.

God, what had he done? Taking Marguerite like that, using her to prove something to himself. No wonder she was disgusted with him. He sighed and dropped down onto the side of the bed. What a mess. Minshom had told Marguerite the worst of his sexual secrets and then shocked him by revealing that Marguerite had secrets of her own.

And despite what he’d tried to say to Marguerite, he had been shocked. Worse still, Marguerite had seen through him and realized it as well. He shoved his wet hair back from his face, shivered as freezing water drops rained on his bare shoulders.

What the hell had been going on in that marriage to make Marguerite cuckold her husband with his own lover?

He focused on the rug at his feet and made himself think logically. Much better to think than to dwell on the fact that Marguerite knew the worst about him . . . He forced his thoughts away from his humiliation.

None of the explanations he’d heard about Marguerite’s marriage made sense, not if he factored in what he knew of her, or thought he knew. It was as if Marguerite had decided she was guilty and had deliberately set out to hurt him, to force him away from her. And she’d damned near succeeded. For a moment, he’d been so confused that he had to put some distance between them.

With a shudder, he got under the covers and lay down. Whatever happened, they weren’t done. He would insist on seeing 258 /
Kate Pearce

her in London whether she liked it or not. He smiled savagely at the ceiling. He’d finally beaten Minshom, and Marguerite had helped him do that. She might think she was unworthy of him, but he knew better, knew she’d helped him become the man he should’ve been all along.

She now knew the worst about him, but he still wasn’t clear about her past, and he wanted to be. He needed to find out exactly what she had done. He closed his eyes. One thing was clear to him: there was no way in hell he was ever going to lose her again.

22

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jones, really I am.” To Marguerite’s dismay, Mrs. Jones continued to flap around her as she tried to climb the stairs. “I’m just fatigued by the journey.”

She entered her bedroom and tried to shut the door behind herself, but she wasn’t quick enough to evict her companion, who was still eying her with every appearance of concern. Marguerite took off her bonnet and rubbed her aching temples.

Rather than drive back with Anthony, she’d begged a ride from one of the other couples. Unfortunately, the couple she’d chosen hadn’t enjoyed their weekend together, and she’d been the unwilling witness to a fine display of marital disharmony for the entire three hours of the journey.

“I’ll get them to send you up some tea, shall I?” Mrs. Jones asked.

“That would be nice, and perhaps a tisane for my headache.”

She managed to smile. “Thank you, Lily.”

“It’s nothing, my dear.” Mrs. Jones sniffed. “Even though you’ve taken to jaunting off around the countryside without me, I am supposed to be your companion.”

260 /
Kate Pearce

“Indeed you are.” Marguerite closed her eyes as her maid pulled off her boots and unbuttoned her pelisse. “I think I’ll drink my tea and go to bed for a while.”

In truth, she couldn’t wait to be alone in her own bed, to find shelter in the familiar. To try to pretend that she hadn’t been engaged in a torrid affair with the son of a marquis but had simply dreamed it all.

It felt like she had barely closed her eyes before there was a commotion outside her door and a familiar voice demanding to see her. Even though she knew it was no use, she rolled into the far corner of the bed and put her pillow over her head.

“Marguerite, I know you’re in there.”

She opened one eye to glare at her sister Lisette. “I’m asleep.

Didn’t Mrs. Jones tell you?”

Lisette sat on the side of the bed, making the mattress dip and bounce Marguerite toward her.

“She did, but I want to know what happened this weekend.”

Marguerite sat up and eyed her sister. “I thought you weren’t talking to me. And how do you know what I did this weekend anyway?”

Lisette smiled. “I have my sources. In truth, the whole family knows you went to Charles Lockwood’s country house with Anthony Sokorvsky.” She leaned forward. “How was it?”

“None of your business.”

“Marguerite! You have to tell me something.” Lisette folded her arms. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

Marguerite grabbed her cream silk dressing gown from where it lay at the foot of her bed and put it on. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, knew she looked like a pale ghost next to Lisette’s liveliness and golden beauty.

“I really don’t have anything to tell you.”

“But Mrs. Jones said you returned without Anthony. So something must have happened.”

SIMPLY WICKED / 261

Marguerite closed her eyes. “Lisette, will you just go away?”

There was silence, and then she felt Lisette’s hands close over hers. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

Her sister’s suddenly gentle tone was enough to start Marguerite crying again. God, she was sick of crying over men and the ruin of her reputation.

“Marguerite . . .”

“I can’t tell you.” She managed to choke out the words. “It’s too complicated.”

“Did Anthony Sokorvsky hurt you?”

The steel in Lisette’s voice almost amused Marguerite. Despite her sister’s deliberately frivolous exterior, she was as sharp and protective as their mother.

“No, he was the perfect gentleman. He was . . .” She shook her head. “It wasn’t him, it was me. I’m the one who ran away.”

Lisette drew Marguerite closer, put one arm around her shaking shoulders and held her tight. She lapsed into the colloquial French they’d grown up using. “Ssh . . . you are perfect, you are my big sister, you deserve the best man in the world, and if Anthony Sokorvsky isn’t good enough for you, then so be it.”

“He is good enough,” Marguerite said fiercely. “I’m not good enough for him.”

“I doubt that.” Lisette handed Marguerite her handkerchief.

“Please don’t cry. Come home and talk to
Maman,
and we’ll sort everything out.”

Marguerite took the handkerchief and wiped at her tears, looking her sister in the face for the first time. “
Non
, Lisette. I don’t think even
Maman
can fix this.”

After she finally got rid of Lisette, Marguerite’s day dragged on interminably. She’d spoken to her housekeeper, dined with Mrs. Jones and retired to her sitting room to contemplate the fire and supposedly embroider a set of handkerchiefs for Philip’s 262 /
Kate Pearce

upcoming birthday. When she was sure she was alone, she took out the package Lord Minshom had left her and put it on her lap.

Her fingers shook when she attempted to untie the blue ribbon. Did she really believe this was Harry’s account of the events surrounding the duel, or was the whole thing merely a fabrication, another twist in Minshom’s plan to blacken her name? It was also possible that Minshom hadn’t intended her to have the information at all and had left it at the cottage by mistake. She tugged uselessly at the knotted ribbon, and then used her embroidery scissors to saw through the silk.

She unfolded the pages; the top piece was written in a different handwriting than the rest—Minshom’s hand. She whispered the words he’d written into the stillness.

“Sir Harry is staying at the Jugged Hare Inn by Saint Katherine’s dock until Tuesday morning when he will take a ship back to France. I suggest you go and meet him. Yours, Minshom.”

She glanced at the clock. It was already seven o’clock and dark outside. Could she persuade Christian to come to the inn with her? Sir Harry would be gone by the next morning, and she could hardly expect Anthony to oblige her. She placed her hand flat over the page, felt the rough edge of the ink from Minshom’s flashy signature under her palm. Why would Minshom choose to help her now? Did the man have a conscience after all?

“Anthony?”

Anthony looked up to see Valentin standing in the shadows at the door to his office. He stacked the pages left on his desk into a neat pile and closed the last ledger.

“Good evening, Val.”

Valentin strolled farther into the office, his keen violet gaze assessing both his brother and the contents of his desk.

“You’re here very late. It’s almost seven.”

SIMPLY WICKED / 263

Anthony gave him a brief smile. “I know, and I also know I’m not supposed to be here at all.”

“As to that,” Valentin said, “perhaps I was a little hasty. I never meant to imply that your work here wasn’t appreciated.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re feeling well, Val? I’ve never heard you sound so conciliatory.”

His brother shrugged. “Maybe I’ve learned my lesson and decided not to meddle anymore.”

Anthony sighed. “I’m glad that you did. I realized there was some truth in what you said. That I needed to assert myself, to decide what I wanted out of life, rather than forever seeing myself as a victim.”

“Did I really say all that? I thought I just told you to find a new job.” Val sat down in the chair in front of Anthony’s desk and studied the toes of his well-polished black boots.

“You know it was much more than that.” Anthony let out his breath. “And I’ve decided to do what you suggested. I’ll talk to Father; see if I can lift some of the burden of the estate from his shoulders.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Val frowned. “You were right: that was an incredibly selfish suggestion of mine.” He winced.

“Sara and Peter haven’t let me forget it.”

“Val, I am seriously worried about you. Since when have you ever cared what anyone else thought?”

Val got up and walked across to the grimy window, his expression obscured by the gathering shadows in the ill-lit room.