Simply Wicked

4

Anthony allowed his valet to help him into his tight navy blue coat and settle it on his shoulders. From Brody’s muttered comments, he knew he looked well tonight and hoped Marguerite would think so too. It was strange to be dressing to go out on the town with a woman. When he wasn’t at work or at Madame Helene’s, he tended to pursue his pleasures with a group of gentlemen he’d known since his school days—younger sons of wealthy families and a few upstart cits who were happy to pay their way to be included in high society.

“You’ll do, sir.”

Anthony winked at Brody who scowled back at him.

“Thank you, I’m glad I meet with your approval.”

Brody snorted. “Now don’t come back with those fine clothes all ruined, sir.”

“I promise I’ll take care of them. I’m going to a ball at the Sutcliffs’. I doubt I’ll get up to anything too dangerous there.”

“You’re going to a ball, sir? A real one?”

“Yes. Don’t look so shocked.”

Brody smiled and displayed several missing teeth. “Well I never. Are you sure it ain’t at one of those ungodly places where men dress up as women?”

Anthony picked up his gloves and black cloak. “No, it is a real ball with real women.”

“Well thank the lord for that. I thought the day would never come.”

“Obviously your prayers have been answered; may I suggest you keep praying?”

Brody’s amusement faded. “I will, sir, don’t you ever doubt it.”

Embarrassed by the gleam of devotion and real concern in Brody’s brown eyes, Anthony turned away. That was the problem with servants who had known you since you were a child— nothing was sacred or secret. It seemed Helene was right and everyone was worried about him. He smiled. Perhaps tonight he would make Brody proud.

He came down the main staircase, his attention fixed on buttoning his gloves, and almost walked straight into his mother.

“Good evening, Mama, you look very nice.” He bent to kiss her soft scented cheek. “Are you going out or coming in?”

She was dressed in pale green satin, with pearls at her throat and in the tiara in her hair. Her skin was so soft and unlined, it was hard to believe she was his mother. She had been only eighteen when Anthony was born, a bride of less than a year trying to deal with a household grieving for the loss of the first countess and kidnapping of the first-born son.

“I’m going to the Sutcliffs’ ball.” Her expression tightened. “I suppose you’re off to Madame’s.”

There it was again, that note of apprehension beneath her tight smile. Had his behavior become so predictable and extreme that even his mother had noticed? He’d tried hard to conceal the worst of his excesses from her. He hastened to pat her hand.

“I’m not going to Madame’s tonight; I have other plans. Perhaps I’ll see you later?”

He felt her surprised expression follow him out of the house and into his waiting carriage.

By the time he walked up to Marguerite’s narrow front door, it was already open. The butler who had admitted him and the twins on their previous visit bowed low.

“My lady is ready, my lord. She has been informed of your arrival.”

Anthony stepped into the hallway and looked up toward the landing. Marguerite was in the process of descending the stairs, one hand grasped the skirt of her dark lilac gown. Diamonds glinted at her wrists, around her throat and in her hair. Behind her trailed an elderly rotund woman dressed in canary yellow which matched the color of her exceedingly obvious wig.

Anthony bowed as Marguerite reached him and held out his hand.

“You look . . .” he paused until she locked gazes with him. “I’m not allowed to say you’re beautiful, am I? You look passable. Will that suffice?”

Her mouth twitched up at one corner. “Perfectly.” She turned toward the older woman who had finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. “May I present Mrs. Lily Jones? She is one of Justin’s great-aunts and my chaperone.”

Anthony took the small pudgy hand held out to him and bowed. “Ma’am, it is a pleasure.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. You’re probably wishing me to the devil.” She scowled at Anthony. “I know what young men are like.”

Anthony suppressed a grin and turned back to Marguerite. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded and he took her hand and placed it on his sleeve. He bent closer. “Is she always so protective of you?”

“It’s not that she’s protective of me, she just hates men.”

“All men? What about her husband?”

“Apparently, he was the worst.”

He broke off the conversation to settle her into the carriage and return for Mrs. Jones. He took the seat opposite the ladies and smiled benignly even though Mrs. Jones continued to stare at him as if he were an insect that should be trodden underfoot. Luckily the journey to Grosvenor Square, where the Sutcliffs had their residence, was short, so he didn’t have to endure the close scrutiny for long.

Anthony waited in the vast hallway for the ladies to reappear, absorbing the chattering crowds of people and the sense of excitement. He slowly inhaled the smell of over-perfumed bodies and, even worse, those who obviously didn’t bathe at all. Why did people flock together like this? Was it really supposed to be fun?

He turned to find Marguerite at his elbow, her expression apprehensive, and smiled down at her. “Are you ready to brave the ballroom?”

She hesitated for so long that he almost repeated his question. “I suppose I am.”

“That’s the spirit, tallyho.”

Anthony patted her hand as Mrs. Jones took up a position on his other side.

Marguerite looked up at him. “You sound as if you are encouraging your horse over a difficult fence.”

He smiled. “I apologize; I was just trying to make you feel better. It seems I’ll have to work on my social skills.”

She squeezed his arm. “If I really hate it, we don’t have to stay, do we?”

He paused at the top of the stairs to look down at her and saw the anxiety in her fine eyes.

“Of course not. I’ll take you home whenever you wish as long as you allow me at least one dance with you first.”

She tilted her head back, and he inhaled the scent of some sweet flower and her skin. So different from a man, so fragile and dainty, so unthreatening . . . He realized she was speaking and forced his unruly thoughts back to the present.

“You expect me to dance?”

“You know how, don’t you?” He walked her straight into the ballroom, adroitly avoiding the receiving line and crush of guests waiting to be announced. No need to advertise their presence here; he was sure they’d be spotted soon enough. Mrs. Jones gave him another scathing look and rapped him on the arm with her closed fan.

“I’ll be in the card room. Behave yourselves.”

He bowed and watched her walk away, leaving him alone with Marguerite.

“It seems Mrs. Jones doesn’t let her dislike of men interfere with her gambling.”

Marguerite sighed. “She is already quite cross with me for making her come out at all. She was convinced her job as a chaperone was going to be easy because I liked to stay close to home. I can hardly insist she remain at my side. In truth, I’m glad to be free of her. I’m a widow, not a green girl.”

“A fact for which I’m extremely grateful. I hate chaperones.”

She sat in the gilded chair he pulled out for her and unfurled her fan. “Do you hate them because they stop you from misbehaving?”

He sat next to her, his knee touching hers, and leaned closer to be heard above the strains of the minuet being played.

“I just hate the whole hypocrisy of it. These women pretend to guard the innocent but take every opportunity to push the girls at men and wring a marriage proposal out of us before we’ve had time to even think.”

“You sound as if you’ve had some experience with this.”

He grimaced. “When I was younger and more foolish, perhaps. I’ve avoided places like these for the last couple of years.”

“And taken yourself to the pleasure house instead.”

He glanced sharply at her. “Do you disapprove of your mother’s business?”

“Of course not. I admire my mother tremendously.”

“But you don’t use her facilities yourself.”

She blushed. “I loved my husband, sir. I haven’t ever felt the need to replace him.”

Anthony studied her flushed cheeks. Had she just admitted she hadn’t had sex since her husband died? His body stirred to life. How in God’s name had she managed that? He’d done without sex for two days, and he was already getting randy.

Marguerite frowned at him. “From the expression on your face, you are about to ask me another of your embarrassing questions. Please don’t.”

“Why would you think that? I was just admiring your charming profile.”

She sniffed her disbelief and closed her fan with a snap. “I’m not stupid, my lord.”

“Anthony, call me Anthony, or Tony if you prefer.” He couldn’t help smiling down at her. She was so unlike most of the women of his acquaintance, so much more direct, so refreshing. The orchestra played a final chord and the dancers streamed off the floor, chattering and laughing. Anthony held out his hand. “Would you dance with me?”

She hesitated for less than a second. “I would like that.”

He stood up and bowed, waited for her to place her hand in his and walked toward the dance floor. She curtsied gracefully and he inclined his head as the first strains of the old-fashioned country dance emerged. The dance was slow and stately and involved separating on every other measure. He wondered what it would feel like to have her fragile body in his arms, to swirl her around the floor held against him.

“My lord?”

“What?”

With a start he looked down into her eyes. What the hell was wrong with him, fantasizing about a woman?

“You are not attending to your steps. I’ve had to push you the right way twice now.”

He circled her three times and then bowed, watched as she did the same. “I think I’ve forgotten the steps. Do you want to sit down?”

She gave him a frown. “Non, we would disrupt the set. Just concentrate.”

He did his best, hid his amusement at her ordering him around as if he were her brother and managed to make it to the end of the dance.

“Next time we’ll try something more lively.”

He bore her off toward the refreshment room, ignoring the occasional startled glance from one of his old cronies.

“I didn’t say I’d dance with you again.”

“But you will. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

His mother loved to dance and had patiently taught him the steps herself when he was a child. He glanced impatiently around the crowded room. Was she there yet?

“Anthony?”

He turned to find his older brother and Peter Howard at his elbow. Valentin looked very fine in black, and Peter wore blue and gray.

“Good evening.”

Val continued to stare at him. “You’re at a ball.”

“I am.”

“And yet, as far as I can tell, you’re neither foxed nor insane.”

Anthony scowled. “I’m also escorting a lady of my acquaintance, so please mind your manners.” He touched Marguerite’s arm. “Lady Justin Lockwood, may I present my older brother, the Earl of Landsdowne, and his business partner, Mr. Peter Howard?”

Valentin held out his hand, his smile pained, and kissed Marguerite’s extended fingers. “Lord Valentin Sokorvsky will do perfectly well; you know I don’t use that title, Anthony.”

Peter Howard laughed. “And I have no title to speak of, so you’ll probably remember me just fine.”

“My brother and Peter run a shipping business together. I used to think I had a job there, but apparently I’m not up to scratch.”

Val opened his mouth, but Peter got in first. “I wouldn’t say that, although you have been a little distracted recently.” He smiled at Marguerite. “It is, however, a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I doubt it,” Anthony said. “The lady has only recently emerged from mourning her late husband.”

“How did you meet her, then?” Valentin said.

Anthony winced as Marguerite pinched his arm and smiled up at him before answering for herself. “Through mutual friends. Lord Anthony was kind enough to offer to escort me to a few functions, so that I can find my feet again.”

Val bowed. “And I’m sure he’ll be the perfect gentleman, won’t you?” He nodded cordially at Marguerite. “When I find my wife, I’ll bring her over to meet you. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

To Marguerite’s amusement, Anthony continued to frown until Peter and his brother disappeared into the crowd. It seemed that Anthony’s family was as good at speaking their minds as hers. She nudged his arm.

“You don’t really have a ‘job,’ do you?”

Anthony looked down at her. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you have all this.” She made a wide gesture of the room. “You are an aristocrat.”

“So is Valentin, and he’s the one who started a shipping company with Mr. Howard.”

“Really? How fascinating.”

He led her toward the buffet table and, without asking what she wanted, started loading food onto two plates.

“And you have worked there as well?”

He found a small table and plonked both of the plates down on it.

“For the last few years since I was sent down from Oxford. My father thought I was just going through a rebellious stage, but I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.”

He glanced across at her, his blue eyes full of challenge. “Do I look too stupid to actually work for my living, like some overbred pedigree lap dog?”

She sensed the hurt behind his words and met his gaze without flinching. “Not at all. It is always refreshing to meet a man with a mind of his own, a man not content with living his life in a way that doesn’t sit well with him.”

His smile warmed her and he leaned closer. “That’s exactly it. The job gave me a purpose when many of my contemporaries were too busy gambling, whoring and drinking away their allowances to think about their future. And I needed that steadying influence—” He abruptly stopped talking and stared into space. Marguerite held her breath, wondering what he would do next.

“Anyway, it seems I haven’t been paying enough attention to my job recently, and Valentin thinks I should give it up and concentrate on being a man about town.”

“What an unusual older brother you have.”

Anthony’s smile was guarded. “Indeed, much like the twins. Both of our families are trying to turn us into social butterflies when I suspect that, at heart, neither one of us truly wants to be here.”

She reached across the table to touch his hand and felt his start of surprise before he enclosed her fingers in his.

“Actually, I am quite enjoying myself.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I am too, but I suspect that is because I’m with you and not some simpering seventeen-year-old debutante.”

Marguerite laughed and then looked up as a shadow fell across the table.

“Anthony, is that you? Valentin said I’d find you here, but I could scarcely believe it.”

An older woman stared at her companion, both hands clasped to her breast. Anthony stood up, bringing Marguerite with him.

“Mama, may I present Lady Justin Lockwood?”

The woman stared at Marguerite as if she’d grown another head and then blushed. “Oh, a thousand apologies for my rudeness, I’m just so surprised to see Anthony here with you!”

Marguerite curtsied. “Your son has been very kind to me, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has. He can be quite charming when he wants to be.”

“Mama . . .” Anthony sighed, and his mother patted his arm.

“I won’t interrupt your evening any longer, my dears, but Lady Justin, please come and visit me at home one morning this week. I’d be delighted to see you again.”

Marguerite sat back down and waited until Anthony had kissed his mother’s cheek, submitted to a kiss in return and waved her off with a smile. When he sat, she studied him for a long moment.

“Why is your appearance here so startling that everyone we meet has to comment on it?”

He shifted restlessly in his seat. “Because I’ve avoided society like a plague for the last two years, and everyone’s wondering what has coaxed me back.”

Marguerite swallowed hard. “I hope they won’t think it’s me.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I’m trying to avoid becoming the subject of gossip, remember?” Marguerite rose clumsily to her feet. “Maybe this was a mistake. Will you take me home, please?”

Anthony followed her out of the ballroom and down the packed staircase to the equally crowded hall. He managed to catch her elbow and halt her flight, drawing her into the shadow of the stairwell near the servants’ door.

“Don’t go.”

She looked up at him, her expression distraught. “I have to. I can’t bear for people to look at me and whisper again; I simply can’t.”

“They won’t, I can promise you that. Everyone will be too busy gossiping about me.” He saw the doubt on her face and leaned in closer, rested one hand on the wall behind her head. “Please, Marguerite, we can do this. If we ignore the gossip, support each other and appear unaffected, it will soon die down, and we will both benefit from that.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

He gave in to a strange desire to comfort her by kissing the top of her head. She smelled tantalizingly of violets and warm skin. Before his mind even registered his interest, his body was already reacting to her scent. At the touch of his lips, she went still and then raised her chin to look up at him.

He stared into her eyes, a dark blue similar to his own, wondered why it was suddenly so necessary to convince her to stay with him and why he would miss her if she changed her mind. She slowly licked her lips, and his cock hardened in a sudden aching rush.

“You didn’t kill your husband, Marguerite, so why should you continue to suffer the consequences?”

She looked away from him then, and he almost regretted his words, but he needed to get his unruly thoughts and body under control. And what better way to do that than by mentioning her husband, the man she still claimed to love so much that she hadn’t had sex since he died?

“It isn’t that simple, Anthony.”

“Nothing ever is, but you can’t keep running away.”

He took another breath, inhaling a hint of his own arousal along with the sweetness of her skin, and wondered if she was aware of his erect cock inches away from her stomach. Mentioning her husband hadn’t destroyed his interest one bit.

“Are you all right, Anthony?”

He blinked as she gazed at him, the concern in her eyes an added balm to the side of himself he’d ruthlessly repressed for the last few years.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He watched her lips form a protest and edged closer so that his almost touched hers. “I just want to.”

He lowered his mouth and closed that final crucial space, carefully licking along the line of her lips, sighed when they opened to admit his questing tongue. He shivered as she kissed him back, the flick of her tongue sending a spear of heat straight to his groin.

Someone bumped into him from behind, and he raised his head, aware that they were surrounded by hundreds of people. Marguerite deserved better than this. Dammit, she deserved more than he could ever give her. He stepped away from her and bowed.

“I’m sorry, that was damned impertinent of me.”

She stared at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowed. Was she angry with him or aroused? It was hard to know with a woman.

“I’ll go and get your cloak, find Mrs. Jones and summon the carriage.”

She nodded but didn’t speak, and he sped off on his errand. Even as his mind sent out its warnings, his body craved more. He hoped his erection would subside by the time he got back to Marguerite.

Marguerite remained against the wall, one hand pressed to her hot cheek. She’d let Anthony Sokorvsky kiss her. Not only that, but she’d kissed him back. So much for her protestations of love for Justin. Anthony must think her fickle now. She swallowed hard. If he’d kissed her again, she would’ve responded, slid her hand into his thick black hair and held him captive while he plundered her mouth and drew her tight against his body.

He’d been hard; she’d felt the hot press of his cock through the thin silk of her dress and had wanted to rub herself against him and try to recreate the amazing sensations Justin had first aroused in her. Would it be different with another man? Anthony was much taller and broader than Justin, and he’d tasted differently too, more of lemon and lavender than Justin’s cigars and brandy.

God, what was she thinking? No wonder Anthony had backed away from her. He’d probably meant nothing by his kiss and here she was fantasizing about how he might perform in bed!

“Are you ready to leave, Marguerite? Mrs. Jones says she’ll be back later.”

Mentally berating her chaperone’s lack of concern for her safety, Marguerite managed to hide her blushes as Anthony helped her into her cloak. To her relief, he seemed even less inclined to talk than she was. She could only pray that the carriage ride home would be equally silent and uneventful.