Simply Wicked

17

While Lord Minshom made himself comfortable at the dining table, Marguerite’s attention was drawn back to Anthony. His gaze was fixed upon Minshom’s face, but his expression was unreadable. Foolishly, she hadn’t thought that her nemesis would actually be a fellow guest. She’d assumed Minshom would stay with Sir Harry, wherever he was hiding. Had she done the right thing bringing Anthony or had she inadvertently made things worse?

“Lady Justin, how lovely to see you again. I trust you are well?” Lord Minshom’s voice carried clearly across the table to her. There was no chance of pretending she hadn’t heard him. She met his stare with one of her own and watched his eyebrow rise.

“I’m quite well, thank you.”

“Excellent.”

Minshom’s cool gaze moved to Anthony, and Marguerite found herself tensing.

“And Sokorvsky. What brings you here?”

Anthony just looked at him, his hand fisted on the tablecloth. Amelia giggled.

“You’ll never guess. Lord Anthony came with Lady Justin.”

Charles cleared his throat. “Actually, darling, Lord Anthony was invited by us, as were all our guests, and we’re delighted to see him.”

Minshom smiled. “As am I. We’ve spent some interesting evenings together, haven’t we, Sokorvsky?”

Anthony kept his gaze on his hand wrapped around his wine glass. “In the past, perhaps.”

“Oh come, come, surely not that long ago?”

Marguerite tried to catch Amelia’s eye. Surely it was time for the ladies to leave the men to their port? She didn’t relish the spectacle of Lord Minshom toying with Anthony. The tension between the two men was almost palpable.

“In fact, I seem to remember encountering you at the theater the other week.” Minshom nodded at Marguerite. “You were escorting Lady Justin.”

Marguerite frowned. Minshom’s tone implied that she was somehow irrelevant, that something far more important had occurred between Anthony and him at the theater than she knew about. She fixed on a polite smile.

“I don’t remember seeing you there, Lord Minshom. Did you enjoy the play?”

“I scarcely remember the play. I’m always more interested in the people.”

Amelia picked up her fan and smiled at the ladies. “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?”

Marguerite was the first to rise. She guessed the conversation had become too staid for Amelia’s liking. Before she left the room, she tried to catch Anthony’s eye, but he refused to look at her, his attention fixed on his wineglass. Part of her wanted to stay and protect him, from what she wasn’t quite sure. But hadn’t he complained that everyone tried to mollycoddle him? Perhaps he needed to face Lord Minshom by himself.

Anthony watched the ladies depart, all too aware that Marguerite had tried to get his attention but completely unwilling to give it to her. She hadn’t been surprised by Minshom’s arrival. Had she known he was coming? And if so, why had she brought Anthony face-to-face with a man he despised? Did she somehow know of the connection between them—that Minshom had sworn to do anything to get him back under his thumb?

He glanced over at Minshom, who sat opposite him, and saw him smile at one of Charles’s remarks. Perhaps he had it the wrong way round. Minshom knew of his connection with Marguerite. Had he told her to bring Anthony as a guest? He sighed. Unless there was a connection between Marguerite and Minshom, that idea was equally ridiculous. And Marguerite had sounded sincere when she’d told him she needed him. At this particular moment, he needed to believe that more than he needed to breathe.

“Cat got your tongue this evening, Sokorvsky?”

Anthony finally looked up at Minshom. Despite having no facts to go on, he knew in his gut that Minshom represented some kind of danger to Marguerite. The odds of them meeting in the same house on the same weekend were far too great. He had to find a way to honor his promise to Marguerite but not let Minshom rile him.

“Good evening, Lord Minshom.”

“Are you surprised to see me here?”

Anthony shrugged. “I’m always surprised to see you.”

Minshom leaned across the table as Charles headed toward the decanters on the sideboard. “I’m connected on my mother’s side to the Lockwood family. They consider me a cousin.”

“That explains it, then.”

“You’re not concerned about sharing a house with me?”

“Why should I be?”

“Because sometimes it is hard to resist temptation.”

“Perhaps it will be good for you.”

Minshom’s smile flashed out. “My, the little boy is finally showing his mettle. I was talking about you being unable to resist me, not the other way around.”

“I know what you meant. It doesn’t mean I have to agree with you. I’m not the one doing the chasing this time.”

Minshom’s light eyes narrowed. “You think I came here for you?” He laughed. “Your conceit is almost amusing. I came here for a completely different reason. You are not the only person I have an interest in.” Minshom got up and bowed. “Now, please excuse me. I have to go and change and then come down and charm the ladies. Lady Justin is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

Anthony barely managed to stay in his chair as Minshom headed for the door. With provocation like that, how the devil was he expected to deal with Minshom over the next two days? He poured himself a glass of port when it circled the table again and drained it in one swallow. When would Charles end his excruciatingly boring conversation about hunting and reunite with the ladies?

Half an hour later, Marguerite sat next to Anthony in the drawing room, a cup of tea balanced on her knee and one wary eye on Lord Minshom, who was talking to Amelia. The room was decorated in overly fussy pink stripes and clashing florals that made Marguerite feel quite dizzy. She risked a glance at Anthony and a smile, but he didn’t respond. She hadn’t been able to conceal her reaction to Minshom’s appearance, and she thought Anthony had noticed. She braced herself for the questions she knew would follow.

If only she’d realized exactly how strained the relationship between Minshom and Anthony was. In Minshom’s presence, Anthony’s easy charm had deserted him, leaving him grim and unsmiling, and his suspicions on obvious display.

“Did you know Lord Minshom would be here, Marguerite?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I don’t like the man, and he seems to be taking quite an interest in you.”

“Perhaps he admires me.”

“He told me you were beautiful.”

She winced. “He would.”

“So you admit to having an acquaintance with him?”

She turned to look up at him, kept her gaze steady. “I’ve met him at the Lockwoods’, and he escorted me home once. I’m not sure if that constitutes an acquaintance.”

“Do you like him?”

“Non.”

“Good. I suggest you keep away from him.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You say ‘suggest,’ yet it sounds more like a royal command. Perhaps we should discuss your acquaintance with Lord Minshom rather than mine.”

Anthony frowned. “Any association I had with him is in the past. I loathe the man.”

“Such strong sentiments for such an apparently minor relationship.”

“I didn’t say it was minor. I . . .”

“Goodness me, are the love birds quarrelling?”

Marguerite looked up to find Lord Minshom in front of them and tensed when he drew up a chair and sat down. He’d changed into a dark blue coat, silver waistcoat and tight black pantaloons which clung to his long legs.

“Surely that is none of your business?” Anthony asked.

Minshom looked pained. “You used to have such excellent manners, Sokorvsky. Whatever happened to them?”

“Perhaps I reserve them for those who deserve my respect.”

“And if I don’t want your respect?”

Anthony smiled. “Then surely we are even.” He took Marguerite’s hand. “Do you wish to see the gardens?”

She refused to meet his intent gaze or react to the pressure of his grip on her wrist. If Lord Minshom wanted her to meet with him, she needed to endure his conversation for a little while longer. In truth, it would almost be better if Anthony stormed off in a rage and left her alone with Minshom, although she didn’t relish that either. She opened her mouth to reply to Anthony, but Minshom got in first.

“It is a little too late to be wandering outside, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t asking you, Minshom.”

“I was answering for the lady. I would hate to see such a delicate flower catch a cold.”

Marguerite placed her hand over Anthony’s and gently squeezed, drawing his attention back to her face. “I fear Lord Minshom is right. It does look rather chilly out there. Perhaps we should wait until the morning.”

“Well, then would you like to take a stroll around the room and stretch your legs?”

Minshom chuckled. “I believe Sokorvsky is trying to get rid of me, Lady Justin. Perhaps he’s afraid I’ll steal you from under his nose.”

She raised her chin. “That is most unlikely, seeing as I enjoy his company immensely.”

“More than you enjoy mine?”

“I didn’t say that, my lord.”

Minshom raised his eyebrows. “Is that what brought you two together? Your dislike of me? How amusing. I’ve never seen myself in the role of cupid before.”

Anthony looked down at Marguerite. “To be perfectly frank, when I’m with Lady Justin, I can’t say I think of you at all.”

Lord Minshom placed a hand over his heart. “I believe my feelings are hurt.” He got up and gave them an elaborate bow, reached for Marguerite’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Perhaps I’ll see you in the morning?”

Marguerite folded her fingers around the scrap of paper Lord Minshom pressed into her palm and tried to look unconcerned. Anthony didn’t bother to reply as Minshom retreated, pausing to talk to Charles before leaving the room.

“Thank God he’s gone.”

“You were rather rude to him, Anthony.”

“Rude? The man deserves to be hung, drawn and quartered, and you think I’m rude?”

“It’s not like you.”

He sighed, “I know, but Minshom makes my skin crawl.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” He studied her, his usually calm expression absent. “I can’t tell you here. Perhaps later.”

“Tomorrow?”

He hesitated. “Later tonight when I creep into your bed?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” How on earth was she going to meet with Lord Minshom if Anthony was by her side all night?

He stared at her, his smile dying. “You don’t want me?”

“Of course I do. It’s just . . .” She looked desperately across at Charles. “I’m in Justin’s old house.”

“Ah, I see. You’re afraid of offending someone who is already dead.”

“That is scarcely fair, Anthony.”

“I don’t understand why you arranged for me to accompany you here if you didn’t want me.”

“I told you why I wanted you here.”

His shrug was dismissive. “To support you, to be your friend.”

“Is that not enough for you?”

“I suppose it will have to be.”

“Now you sound like a petulant child.”

He held her gaze. “A child wouldn’t want you the way I do.”

She briefly closed her eyes. “Anthony, why are you making this so difficult?”

“I don’t know.” He studied her intently. “Perhaps because you still haven’t told me exactly what is going on?”

Frustration rose inside her and battled with her conscience. “Do you think I came here to sneak off and indulge in a night of passion with Charles or Lord Minshom?”

“Well, that would certainly make sense of it all.”

Heat rose on Marguerite’s cheeks. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. I do not want to bed another man!”

“Then why are you behaving so oddly?”

“If by ‘oddly’ you mean that I took exception to you assuming you were welcome in my bed, then yes.”

“I did not ‘assume’; I thought we were going to be honest with each other.”

She stood up, snapped open her fan and plied it vigorously. “As honest as you are about your relationship with Lord Minshom?”

“Hold on a moment, you can’t just change the subject like that and expect me to respond.”

“I’m not changing the subject. You questioned my honesty; I’m simply repaying the favor.”

Anthony rose too, making Marguerite aware that their argument had gotten out of hand and was attracting a fair amount of interest.

“I will tell you anything you want to know about that man in private.”

She sighed. “And look, our argument has come full circle. We’re back to Lord Minshom again.”

“So we are, and that’s exactly what he probably intended, isn’t it?”

They stared at each other for a long moment and then Marguerite headed for the door. In the deserted hallway, Anthony caught up with her and grabbed her hand. “Please don’t let him come between us.”

Marguerite eased her hand out of his grasp and placed it flat on his chest. She had to stop Anthony from following her. She had to make it impossible for him to come to her room that night.

“He can only do that if we give him the power to hurt us. Rather than worrying about me, perhaps you should be concerned about yourself.”

“In what way?”

“You told me you hated everyone protecting you, but as soon as Lord Minshom confronted you, you tried to get away from him.”

“I was trying to protect you! Isn’t that what you asked me to do?”

“So you say, but I’m not the one who is afraid of him, am I?”

Anthony stepped back, the harsh angles of his face stark against the blazing blue of his eyes. “You think I’m a coward, don’t you? The kind of man who hides behind a woman’s skirts.”

Marguerite held her ground, aware that she was hurting him. But she had no choice. Hopefully Anthony would still be prepared to listen to her when she was able to tell him the truth. And what she was saying was true; she really didn’t understand his relationship with Minshom.

“I think you fear him, though I’m not sure why.”

“But you’re not interested in allowing me access to your room tonight to explain myself. You’re more worried about what Charles will think of you taking a lover than in sorting things out with me.”

Marguerite simply stared at him as panic gripped her and paralyzed her thoughts. What could she say?

Anthony bowed. With all the good humor stripped from his face, he resembled his older half brother.

“I’ll bid you good night. But perhaps I’m not the only one being contrary. If you’re too afraid to offend the Lockwood family, why on earth did you decide to bring me down here with you? What happened? Did you lose your nerve or am I suddenly not good enough anymore?”

He turned on his heel and headed back down the hall toward Charles’s oak-paneled library, where the roar of male conversation already resonated. Marguerite stared after him. The urge to follow and slap his face for his outrageous suggestions was so strong she had to clench her hands into fists. She was trying to protect him from Minshom, didn’t he see that? Didn’t he understand that the last thing she wanted to do was drag him into a situation that might not even happen?

She ran up the stairs and all the way to her bedroom, her heart thumping in her chest. Perhaps she wouldn’t bother to hear him out about Lord Minshom after all. Perhaps she’d ignore him for the rest of the visit and flirt with Charles to annoy Amelia instead.

She slowly opened her fingers to reveal the folded paper Minshom had pressed into her palm, took off her gloves and opened the note. It told her to meet him at the south gatehouse at midnight. Marguerite glanced at the clock on her mantelpiece. It was already past eleven and, if she remembered correctly, the gatehouse was at least a ten minute walk from the house.

She’d have to change, put on more serviceable boots and something warmer than the thin silk of her blue evening dress. She glanced uncertainly at the servant’s bell. Would she be able to get out of her dress without assistance? She didn’t want to waste time explaining her sudden need to change her dress to a maid or, even worse, have Anthony hearing her next door and coming in to help her undress.

Luckily, the small puffed sleeves slid easily off her shoulders and allowed her to wiggle around and gain access to the buttons at the back of the bodice. After a few contortions, she managed to get the dress off and find something plainer and warmer in her closet.

After another quick glance at the clock, she pushed her feet into stout walking boots and grabbed her hooded cloak. Hardly daring to breathe, she checked the connecting door between her suite and Anthony’s was locked and headed for the door.

Laughter and music rose from the rooms below, and cigar smoke mingled with brandy and perfume permeated the stuffy hallway. Marguerite drew her hood over her hair and went down the servants’ stairs, pausing at each landing to get her bearings before finding herself in a cold stone passageway beside the kitchen.

She took a deep breath and then tiptoed past the half-opened kitchen door and out into the gardens. It took her a few moments to adjust her vision to the dimness of the light, and then she set off, following the brick-edged path around the house and to the southern end of the park, where the smaller of the two lodges lay.

The beginnings of a frost glimmered on the pathway and the well-cut lawns and gilded the bare trees with silver. Marguerite shivered as she passed into a copse of trees hugging the edge of the ornamental lake and was swallowed into the shadows. Her hand closed around the small pocketknife her mother had given her for her eighteenth birthday. Not that she’d ever had to use it on anyone, but she’d been taught how to defend herself, something her mother considered every woman should know.

The lodge came into sight, its red brick solid and reassuring, as was the light in the window. Marguerite paused to gather her thoughts and calm her breathing. Minshom was far too astute to appear before without a plan or a show of confidence, even if it was put on. She continued up the brick path. Noting the side door was slightly ajar, she put her hand on it. She had to go through with this. She had to confront Sir Harry and lay her past to rest.

Anthony attempted another smile at one of Charles’s terrible jokes and took refuge in his glass of brandy. It was past midnight. Could he make his excuses and go to bed? Surely no one would miss him now, or, after seeing him argue with Marguerite, assume he was up to no good. He set his glass back carefully on the table, his fingers shaking. How much had he drunk? Would he even be able to make it up the stairs without assistance? He cleared his throat.

“Good night, all.”

Charles slapped him on the back, his drunken amiability in sharp contrast to his wariness at dinner.

“Good night, Sokorvsky. See you in the morning.”

Anthony took the candle from the footman stationed in the hall and walked slowly up the stairs. He paused at Marguerite’s door but saw no light under it. Had she gone to bed in a rage? He leaned in closer to the panels, tried to calm his breathing to listen for some sense of her, but he felt nothing.

He continued on to his room and pushed open the door. Unfortunately, Marguerite hadn’t chosen to jump into his bed either. With a sigh, he set the candle down and walked across to the roaring fire. He felt off-kilter, his past and his secretly longedfor future weighed in the balance, forced together into the unlikely scenario of a weekend in the country. Minshom could destroy him with one word, and yet Anthony couldn’t hate him as much as he wanted to. The man still had the power to excite him, to lead him on, to make him dread disclosure, yet desire it at the same time.

“Damn him.”

Anthony hunkered down on his haunches and stared into the flames. Did he really want Minshom to tell Marguerite his secrets? Would that somehow make it easier, to be forced to confess, to blurt out his worst desires under threat of pain and punishment? God, he despised himself sometimes. Marguerite was right to doubt him and his courage.

There was a knock at his door, and he got to his feet. A young maidservant bobbed him a curtsey, her smile nervous.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, may I help you?”

The maid juggled the pile of folded clothes she carried and hitched it higher on her hip. “I’m supposed to be looking after the lady in the next room. It’s the first time Cook has let me out of the scullery to see if I’d be any good at it, you see.”

Anthony tried not to look puzzled as he waited for her to continue.

“The thing is that I don’t know if the lady is still downstairs or if she’s gone to bed or . . . what.” The maid looked hopefully up at him.

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

She frowned. “Well, I don’t know if I should go in there or not. What if she’s asleep?”

“Have you asked Cook what to do?”

“I can’t. She’ll say I should know and that I’m just not ready to be an upstairs maid, but I am ready, I really am.”

Anthony patted the girl’s shoulder. “I’m sure you are, but I still don’t understand the problem. Why don’t you just pop your head quickly around the door and check if the lady is in bed, and then close the door again?”

The maid’s lower lip trembled. “Because the door is locked, and I can’t find the spare key.”

“Ah.” Anthony glanced at the door that connected his suite to Marguerite’s. How kind of the fates to smile on him in this particularly appropriate fashion. “Do you want to use the door in here?”

“If that’s all right with you, sir, and you won’t tell Cook that I interrupted you and lost the key and everything, sir.”

“Of course I won’t tell her. Now come along, we’ll try the door together.”

Anthony followed the maid over to the door and waited as she tried to turn the handle.

“It’s locked, sir.”

“So it is. Well, I suppose that means the lady doesn’t want any visitors tonight.”

The maid rummaged in the pocket of her apron. “But I have the key for this door, sir.”

“Of course you do.”

Anthony thought about sending the maid away, but realized he was far more interested in seeing if Marguerite was in bed than the maid was. And for God’s sake, he wasn’t going to do anything, just check that she was indeed where she said she would be and leave.

“Try it then.”

The door opened with a soft click, and Anthony and the maid peered into the gloom. Marguerite’s familiar flowery scent invaded Anthony’s nostrils, and he breathed in deep.

“I can’t see her, sir.”

“Neither can I.”

Anthony’s throat tightened as he realized the elusive perfume was the only evidence of Marguerite in the room. Heat coiled in his body, leaving him shaking and almost light-headed. He looked down at the maid.

“I’m sure she’ll do without your services tonight. Leave the clothes by the bed, and tell Cook your lady was asleep and didn’t need your help at all.”

“But isn’t that a lie, sir?”

He forced a smile. “Not really, she’s probably fallen asleep in one of her friend’s rooms, so I doubt she’ll be back until the morning. I know she wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble on her account.”

Anthony fished in his pocket and found half a crown, held it out to her, keeping his tone light and unconcerned. “Take this for your trouble and get yourself to bed. You probably have to be up early in the morning.”

The maid studied the coin and then Anthony. “That’s very kind of you, sir, but my mother said never take money from a gentleman, because before you know it, he’ll be taking liberties with you.”

Anthony managed a laugh and walked back to the door leading into the main hallway. “Not this gentleman.” He opened it with a flourish and tossed her the coin. “Your mother is a wise woman. Good night my dear.”

She walked past him with exaggerated care. He wasn’t sure if she feared he’d ravish her or take the money back. Either way, he wanted to reassure her that nothing would happen.

“Good night, sir, and thank you.”

His smile vanished as he closed the door behind her. Where the hell was Marguerite, and what the devil was he supposed to do now?