Simply Wicked

13

“How nice to see you, Maman.”

Marguerite smiled brightly at her mother, who was seated on the couch in her drawing room. Helene wore a dashing highpoke feathered bonnet and a blue pelisse that made her look as young as Marguerite. It was so unlike Helene to leave the pleasure house during the week that Marguerite was already wary.

“It is nice to see you too, my dear. I came to see how your love affair is progressing.” Helene smiled. “Although I hardly need to ask. You are glowing.”

Marguerite touched her cheek. So much for her mother keeping out of her love life. Whatever had happened to make Helene change her mind? Marguerite thought she looked pale, but perhaps her mother saw things differently. She was, after all, an expert in all things sexual and was never afraid to express an opinion.

“Everything is fine, Maman, thank you.”

Helene cocked her head to one side, her blue eyes considering. “But you do not intend to share the intimate details with me, do you?”

“Not really.”

Her mother’s smile faltered. “And so it should be. As Philip keeps reminding me, you are a grown woman. I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right. I always felt that I let you down over Justin.”

Marguerite tensed. “In what way?”

“In many ways. I wasn’t there to advise you. I wasn’t able to prepare you for your wedding night.”

“Justin prepared me quite well enough for that, Maman. I don’t think you should worry.”

Her mother sat forward, hands tightly clasped together. “When I met with you in Dover after the wedding, I was worried you had been forced to wed.”

“I knew that. I hope I convinced you it wasn’t the case.” She’d tried so hard to pretend to her mother that all was well, to make her leave so that she could get back to Justin and Harry.

“Indeed you did, but I was still unsure whether to tell you what I’d found out about Justin. With what happened with Sir Harry afterward, perhaps I should’ve been more direct.”

“What about him?”

Helene shrugged. “It is not important now, is it? Justin is dead, and I would hate to sully his memory.”

Marguerite gripped her hands together. “Maman, you came all this way to see me, you might as well tell me what you want to say. As we’ve already discussed, I am a grown woman.”

“All right.” Helene still hesitated. “You knew Justin came to the pleasure house as a guest of Sir Harry Jones?”

“Justin told me that.”

Helene nodded. “Did he ever share with you what he did there?”

Oh God, her mother knew, had known all along . . . Marguerite swallowed hard. “You forget, Sir Harry came with us on our honeymoon. It became obvious to me that his relationship with Justin was more complicated than perhaps it should’ve been.”

“That is what I thought too, although I never actually saw them doing anything indiscreet. From what I remember, they always slept with women.” Helene paused. “It seemed to me that Sir Harry was in love with Justin. Was that how it felt for you?”

Her mother’s voice was so soft, so understanding. Marguerite wrapped her arms around her waist. Could she share the truth with her mother or was it better to simply agree? Wouldn’t it be better to lay the blame on Justin, who was dead, rather than on Sir Harry, who was still alive and yet unable to defend himself?

“I wasn’t completely surprised when I heard that Sir Harry had challenged Justin to a duel,” Helene continued. “He was probably incredibly jealous of you.”

Marguerite closed her eyes. In truth, Harry had been the perfect gentleman. It was Justin who had proved to be the problem.

“Marguerite?”

She stood up and walked across to the window, presenting her mother with her back. “Maman, what exactly does all this reminiscing have to do with me embarking on a new affair?”

Helene sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t still blaming yourself over what happened. Justin couldn’t stop Sir Harry loving him and neither could you. Sometimes guilt and grief can affect how you choose a new partner.”

Marguerite turned around. “Is this visit because you’ve found out whom I’m seeing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And you think I’ve made a bad choice—again?”

“Anthony Sokorvsky is hardly an uncomplicated man.”

“I know that he sleeps with men. He told me.”

“He did?” Helene still didn’t smile. “Well I suppose that is a start. Perhaps he’ll tell you the rest of it before he breaks your heart.”

“I’m not planning on letting him do that. We’ve barely become intimate as it is.” Marguerite glared at her mother. “He has been nothing but kind and honest with me, and I resent you implying otherwise.”

“Really.” Helene got up and pulled on her gloves. “Then please feel free to ignore everything I’ve said to you.”

“He is a good man, Maman.” Marguerite pressed her hand to her heart. “I know it, here.”

“I’ve known Anthony Sokorvsky for years, and I’m sure you’re right.” Helene’s tight smile faltered. “I’ve always wished him well. I just didn’t expect him to take up with one of my children. Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, Marguerite.”

“What do you think he’ll do to me?” Marguerite tried to laugh. “Beat me?”

“I . . .” Helene shook her head. “I’ll pray for you, my darling.”

“Surely that’s a little melodramatic? I didn’t think you believed in God anyway.”

Helene gave her a quick hug and patted her cheek. “Since Philip reappeared in my life, I’ve realized there has to be a God somewhere. Now, please take care.”

Marguerite sat back down as her mother left and stared at the unused tea cups. So her mother knew something about the intense nature of Justin and Harry’s relationship. Did that mean others did too? And why was Helene so worried about her relationship with Anthony? He’d told her about his sexual peccadilloes, surely that was enough? Her mother seemed to be implying that his needs were far more complex and that Marguerite wasn’t the woman to deal with them.

Goodness, why was her love life always so complicated? Was her mother right that her guilt over Justin made her incapable of choosing a proper mate? Marguerite scowled at her indistinct reflection in the silver tray. She liked Anthony; she trusted him. How much worse could his sexual tastes be?

And now she was at odds with her mother as well. She sighed. Why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t she find a man who was straightforward and easy to please? It was as if she couldn’t make up her mind about what she wanted; her desire to be conventional was at war with her own sexuality.

A knock on the door made her compose her features into what she hoped was a welcoming smile. Had her mother come back or had Mrs. Jones finally remembered she was supposed to be a chaperone and gotten out of bed?

“My lady, are you receiving visitors?”

Marguerite smiled at her butler. “Who is inquiring?”

“A Lord Minshom, ma’am.”

Now what was she supposed to do? Minshom must have seen her mother leave, so he’d know she was at home. And if he had seen Helene, had he recognized her? She could only pray he hadn’t. After her scandalous conduct with Anthony that morning, could she risk offending an old family friend of the Lockwoods?

“Please tell him to come up, and bring some fresh coffee. And I wish to go out in about quarter of an hour, so have my carriage ready.”

She waited while the butler left with the tea tray and then returned with a smiling Lord Minshom. He looked as if he’d engaged in some sort of physical activity, his pale blue eyes were animated, his cheeks flushed. He swept her an elegant bow.

“Good morning, Lady Justin. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Good morning, Lord Minshom.” She gestured to a seat on the couch opposite her. “Did you ride here? You look quite invigorated.”

“Indeed I did, my lady. And before that, I spent an hour at Angelo’s fencing establishment honing my technique.”

“You enjoy fencing, sir?”

He shrugged. “It depends on my opponent. This morning’s session was exhilarating, although I would probably call the outcome a draw.”

“And I would imagine you prefer to win, sir.”

He met her gaze. “I always do in the end.”

The butler appeared with a tray of drinks, and Lord Minshom accepted a brandy while Marguerite poured herself some coffee.

“Was there something in particular you wished to see me about, Lord Minshom?”

He sat back, one long leg crossed over the other, his arm along the edge of the couch. “You doubt any man would seek you out purely for the sake of your company?”

Marguerite bit her lip. Did he intend to answer every other question with a barbed one of his own? She sipped at her coffee, refusing to gratify his ego with a response.

“Actually, there was something I wished to share with you.” Lord Minshom put down his brandy glass. “It concerns Sir Harry Jones.”

Marguerite stared at him and prayed the tension didn’t show on her face. “What about him?”

“I’ve heard he is back in Town.”

“That seems hard to believe.”

Lord Minshom shrugged, the gesture elegant. “Why? It’s not as if the Lockwood family is going to pursue him. Dueling is illegal. If they implicate Jones, they will also cast suspicion upon their son—and we all know whom they’d prefer to blame for the tragedy, don’t we?”

Marguerite ignored his provocative remark and held his gaze. “But surely the authorities . . .”

“What authorities? From all accounts, the duel was carried out in a perfectly respectable manner. Even if Jones’s peers don’t like what happened, they can hardly condemn him. Of course, the coroner wasn’t told about the duel, but he chose not to argue when Lord Lockwood informed him that there had been an unfortunate accident with a loaded gun.”

Lord Minshom half-smiled. “Trust me; the Lockwoods are powerful enough to stop any further inquiry into Justin’s death. And we both know that there are good reasons for that decision. What they choose to do to Sir Harry in private is another matter. I’ve already offered to ‘speak’ to Jones on their behalf myself.”

“You haven’t actually seen him then?”

“Not yet, but we were once quite . . . close. I suspect he might come to me for help.”

Marguerite contemplated pouring herself more coffee but decided against it in case her hand shook too much and betrayed her agitation. Lord Minshom might appear relaxed, but he watched her with all the attention of a cat about to spring on a fat little mouse.

“If he does turn up, will you keep me informed?”

Minshom stood up and bowed. “Of course, my dear. I would hate for you to worry.” He flicked her a knowing glance. “Although why you might think he would come after you is anyone’s guess. He was the one who killed his best friend, wasn’t he? Not you.”

“And yet society is more likely to accept him back than they are to accept me or a man who fails to honor his gambling debts.” Marguerite stood too and managed a curtsey. “Thank you for coming, my lord. I appreciate it.”

“I always enjoy coming . . . to visit a beautiful woman. Do you have time for a ride in the park this afternoon? I’d be delighted to escort you.”

“Unfortunately no, sir. I have a commission to finish for my mother.”

Lord Minshom paused by the door. “Another of your miniature paintings or something more mundane?”

“Actually, it is a portrait of my mother’s husband.”

He nodded and she prayed his sudden interest in her mother would disappear in his curiosity about her artistic skills.

“I would like you to paint a portrait for me one day.”

“Of your family, your children?”

His mouth twisted. “I have no children, none that I acknowledge anyway. I was thinking of a portrait of myself. It would save me having to seek out my reflection at every turn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t accept outside commissions, sir. I only paint for pleasure.”

“And it wouldn’t please you to paint me?”

She considered the interesting angles of his face, his high cheekbones, slightly slanted pale blue eyes, sensual mouth . . . Her fingers twitched as she imagined capturing the essence of his complex personality on less than two inches of porcelain.

“As I said, my lord, I paint only occasionally these days. I fear I’m not disciplined enough to take on real clients.”

He inclined his head. “If you change your mind, I would be more than happy to sit for you.”

She curtsied and moved past him to open the door. “I’ll walk you down to the hall. I’m actually on my way out.”

Minshom looked interested. “To visit the Lockwoods?”

“No, to pick up a new bonnet from my milliner.”

“That sounds like much more fun.”

She risked a smile at him. “I hope so.”

He followed her down the stairs and retrieved his hat and gloves then waited with her until the butler announced her carriage was ready. Marguerite held out her gloved hand and Lord Minshom took it.

“Thank you for coming to see me.”

He kissed her fingers and then straightened; cast a rueful look at the darkening sky.

“I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, Lady Justin? It looks like rain and I have no desire to get wet. Could you send my horse home with your groom and take me up in your carriage instead?”

Marguerite looked up, felt the first spots of rain on her face and inwardly groaned.

“Of course, Lord Minshom. Where would you like to be dropped off?”

“At my house? It is hardly out of your way.”

He followed her into the carriage, took the seat opposite her and smiled. “Do I make you nervous, Lady Justin?”

Marguerite forced herself to look him in the eye. “Not at all, my lord.”

“I think I do. I think you find me attractive and are trying to think of a way to flirt with me.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

He sat forward. “You don’t need to lie to me. A young woman in your position, widowed, alone, missing the delights of the marriage bed. It’s hardly surprising that you start to cast your lures elsewhere.”

“Believe me, I am not casting anything at you at all, my lord!”

“Are you sure, my dear?” He gave her a lazy smile. “Perhaps you have someone else in mind. On the day of the birthday party, I noticed you carried all the scandalous items necessary for an illicit affair in your reticule. I admire such organization in a woman, and I would be more than happy to sexually serve you.”

Marguerite simply stared at him, feeling her cheeks redden as he continued to smile.

“There is no need to color up. I would be more than willing to fulfill any needs you have at your convenience.” He slid his hand up from his knee to his thigh, and feathered his fingers lightly over his groin. “More than happy to oblige you. And I could promise you absolute discretion. The Lockwoods would never hear of your sexual dalliances from me.”

She found herself staring at his fingers, realized he was halferect, wondered how he would compare with Anthony, with Justin . . .

“I’m flattered by your gracious offer, my lord, but I have no need of your services.”

“Because you are wedded to Justin’s memory or because you have already found someone else?”

“That is none of your business, sir.”

He laughed and gently squeezed his shaft. “Indeed it isn’t, but as a past friend and a concerned relative of your husband, perhaps you might understand my interest.”

“Are you suggesting that if I don’t sleep with you, you might choose to reveal my actions to the Lockwoods?”

“As a member of the family, I believe I have a duty to protect the females of my line.”

Marguerite managed a laugh. “Do you really think they would care?”

“It depends on who you are fucking, doesn’t it?”

Marguerite blinked hard. How had their conversation degenerated to such an intimate level that he felt comfortable touching himself and using foul language in front of her?

“I think you should get out of my carriage.”

Lord Minshom sat back, his hand still cupping his groin. “You wouldn’t be disappointed. I’m an excellent lover, you know. Ask anyone.”

Marguerite glanced out of the small window and saw they were approaching Lord Minshom’s residence. The carriage slowed and then came to a halt.

“Good-bye, Lord Minshom.”

He touched his hat, smiled and opened the carriage door, pausing to look at her. “In fact, ask Sokorvsky. I’m sure he’ll give me a glowing recommendation.”

The slam of the door made Marguerite flinch. What on earth had Lord Minshom meant? Was he implying that he’d been intimate with Anthony, or was he just trying to shock her? She stifled a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

Either Lord Minshom was prepared to do anything to get her into his bed, or he was letting her know that he knew about Anthony and was staking a prior claim on her new lover.

Marguerite covered her face with her hands. God forbid she found herself in the same nightmarish situation again, caught between two jealous men, unable to stop them from coming to blows, from trying to kill each other . . .

She needed to talk to Anthony, to find out where he stood in regard to Minshom, and without revealing exactly why she found the idea of being trapped between them too horrific to contemplate.