Simply Wicked

15

What the hell had he done now? Anthony shoved a hand through his hair and stared at the door through which Marguerite had departed. She’d seemed to like tying him up, exulted in it even, so why had she looked so forlorn and uncertain at the end? He sighed and bent to pick up his clothes.

Perhaps she’d gone along with what he suggested simply to appease him and hadn’t enjoyed herself at all. Dammit, why should she want to watch a man beg? Women wanted strength in a male, the kind of man who’d give them children and protect them from the realities of life.

Anthony paused as he pulled his shirt over his head. But she’d let David stay. In truth, she’d asked for his advice, and she hadn’t needed to do that. He wondered again exactly what had gone on during Marguerite’s short marriage, what had been her relationship with Harry Jones and her husband. Perhaps her frustration at being seen as naïve came from what she had experienced. Had she suspected Justin and Harry were lovers? She’d seemed almost comfortable being with two men.

“Anthony, you are a fool.”

He said it aloud, could almost hear Marguerite’s distinctive voice echoing the sentiment. He frowned as he tucked his crumpled shirt into his breeches. He stunk more than a fishmonger’s whore. It was definitely time to go home, replace his clothing and decide what to do next.

His father’s mansion was almost as forbidding from the rear as it was from the front. Anthony slipped through the mews and into the kitchen, winked at the cook and started up the back stairs. He paused on the first level to hold the door open for a flustered-looking footman with a laden drinks tray.

He frowned as the sound of raised voices reached him. What in God’s name were his father and Valentin shouting about now? He distinctly heard his name. With a sigh, he stepped into the vast empty hall and walked across to the library. The door was ajar enough for him to see his father confronting Valentin in front of the imposing marble fireplace.

He walked into the room and waited to be noticed, waited in vain as his father started speaking again.

“This is probably your fault, Valentin.”

“I think not. You asked me to speak to him. You were the one who wanted him out of my business and into yours.”

“Only because you refuse to face up to your responsibilities.”

Val sighed. “This is not about me. Perhaps if we focused on Anthony, we might find some answers.”

Anthony cleared his throat, and they both swung around to stare at him. His father spoke first. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Staying with a friend.”

“And you didn’t think to let us know?”

“Father, I’m almost twenty-six, not six. Why on earth would you want to know where I am?”

“Because . . .” The marquis glared at Valentin, his face still flushed with anger.

“Because you think Valentin has been leading me astray again?” Anthony stared at his brother. “He has been far too busy telling me to insinuate myself into the family business to bother about that.”

“Perhaps Valentin has shown some sense for the first time in his life.”

Val laughed. “Hardly. Can’t you see that because of my interference, Anthony is as angry with you as he is with me?”

“Anthony isn’t angry. He’s always been an excellent son.”

“Unlike me, of course.”

Anthony knocked hard on the desk. “Perhaps you could both shut up and pay some attention to me for a change. I’m sick to death of being either ignored or talked about as if I’m not here.”

The marquis frowned. “I hardly think that’s an appropriate way to speak to your father and older brother. We were worried about you.”

“Really? It’s hard to tell.” Anthony realized he was shaking as waves of heat rolled through him. He took a step forward until he was in between the two men. “You both treat me like a child.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Anthony forced a smile. “You see, sir? You can’t even allow me to have an opinion, can you? Valentin is the only one in this family allowed to do that, isn’t he?”

Val frowned. “He does have a point, Father.”

Anthony snorted. “Don’t try to placate me, Val. I know what you both think.”

“And what is that?”

Anthony swallowed hard and forced himself to look his brother in the eye. “That I’m too soft, too vulnerable, too damned young to make my own decisions.”

“We’ve already had this conversation, Anthony.” Val pulled on his gloves. “I told you what I thought, and you refused to discuss it further. Maybe when you show the maturity to have that discussion, then I, at least, will begin to take you seriously. I cannot of course speak for our father.”

Briefly Anthony closed his eyes, tried to gather his beleaguered resources. “Just because I was raped when I was nineteen does not make me less of a man.” He took the time to glare at them both. “That’s what you believe, isn’t it? That somehow I need to be protected from myself.”

Horror crossed the marquis’s face followed quickly by pity. Anthony hated both emotions, needed nothing more to confirm what he’d long suspected. He’d never be worthy in his father’s eyes, even less so now that his father knew the truth.

“I knew there was more to that kidnapping. Why didn’t you tell me?” The marquis avoided Anthony’s gaze and rounded on Val, his voice rising in accusation.

“Oh for God’s sake, Father! This isn’t about Val. It’s about me.”

“Anthony . . .” In an unseen display of unity, Val crossed the rug to stand by the marquis’s side. The formidable likeness between them shocked Anthony to the core. “That really wasn’t helpful.”

Anthony’s hands tightened into fists. How dare Val try to make him feel guilty for speaking the truth. “Did it ever occur to either of you that I like what I do in bed?”

“But you don’t.”

“How the hell do you know?” Anthony realized he was shouting and that he didn’t care who heard him.

“Because I’ve been in every possible sexual situation imaginable, and I know.”

“Just because you didn’t enjoy something means I can’t? We are only half brothers. Perhaps my tastes are different from yours.”

“How would you know what your tastes are when you’ve allowed them to be dictated by rape?”

The marquis suddenly moved as if to shield Anthony from his brother. “That’s enough, Valentin.”

“But, sir . . .”

“I said that’s enough.”

Anthony bowed to his father. “Am I supposed to thank you for saving me from the lash of Val’s tongue? As I’ve been trying to tell you for the last few minutes, I do not need your protection.”

“There is no need to speak to Father like that, Anthony.”

Anthony laughed. “Well, there’s something. I’ve managed to get you defending each other. But then why should I be surprised? It’s always been about you two, hasn’t it? I’m just a side show. My mother and my sisters are all secondary to your precious relationship.”

The marquis’s expression tightened. “You will go and change, present yourself to your mother, who is worried sick about you, and come back to my study.”

Anthony picked up his hat. “I’ll certainly go and see my mother, but I’m not coming back here to be shown the error of my ways or have you feel sorry for me.”

“Then where will you go? This is your home.”

“Actually, this is your home, Father, and one day, when he stops being so pigheaded and realizes he wants it, it will be Valentin’s. It’s probably time I found somewhere else to live anyway.”

The marquis lifted his chin, his gray eyes cold. “And how will you afford that when I cut off your allowance?”

“I’ll survive. In truth, thanks to Val, I’m more employable than most other noblemen. Perhaps this is the only way I can prove to you both that I’m not what you think, that I can succeed by myself without being cosseted.”

Valentin smiled. “Good luck.” He shot an irritated glance at the marquis. “And before you start, I promised Anthony I’d not tell you what happened with Aliabad. I honored that request. It was the least I could do.”

“Valentin,” Anthony said. “I don’t need your pity or guilt either.”

Val turned back, his expression chilly. “My feelings are my own. If I’m not allowed to speculate about yours, don’t you dare do it to me.”

“Agreed.” Anthony nodded at his brother and then at his father. “I’m going to see my mother. I’ll be in touch about the rest of it.”

The marquis swallowed hard and put his hand on the desk as if to steady himself. “I would appreciate that.”

Anthony fought an unheard of desire to kneel at his father’s feet and bawl like a babe. He had to see this through. He had to prove that he was more than capable of running his own life.

“Good morning, sir.”

He turned his back on his brother and his father and hurried up the stairs to his room.

“What do you mean I have visitors? I’m in the bath! Tell them to go away!”

Marguerite glared at Mary, her maid who stood by the door to her bedroom, hands clutched around a drying cloth.

“Not that kind of visitor, my lady, just your family.”

“Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, my lady. Mrs. Jones is entertaining them quite nicely, but they were asking for you.”

“Help me dress, then.”

Marguerite sighed and stood up, allowing the steaming fragranced water to stream down her body. After her unexpectedly erotic afternoon, she’d hoped to bathe, have her dinner in bed, and go to sleep. Her skin still felt hot, as if all her senses were on fire. She wished she’d overcome her fear and stayed to 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.”

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 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 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 impulsive 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 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 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?

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 clandestinely 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.