Simply Wicked

7

“I was looking for my sister.”

Marguerite blurted the words out as Anthony stared down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked on the verge of tears. Her slender body shook in his arms. A silver mask fell from her fingers, and she made no move to pick it up. He glanced back at the door she’d exited from.

“In there?”

She pulled out of his grasp and ineffectually patted her hair. “I just took a shortcut to avoid walking along the main corridor alone. I’m not really supposed to be here tonight.”

“Neither am I.”

She started back along the hallway, almost running in her eagerness to get away from him, but he kept after her, his gaze fixed on the back of her head.

“Marguerite, will you slow down?”

She came to an abrupt halt and turned on him.

“Why? Do you want to tell me what you are doing here? Didn’t you say you wanted to keep away from this place?”

Unaccustomed resentment filled him. Dammit, he’d come here for her.

“You said you never came here at all.”

She walked off again, reached the main staircase and started down to the main salons. He followed her, catching her arm at the bottom of the stairs.

“Marguerite, are you angry because I am here or because I found you here?”

She glared up at him. “Both.”

Well at least she was being honest. He drew her away from the staircase toward the servants’ door.

“I’m sure you have a key to the private areas of the house. Let’s go through here.”

He followed her onto the darkened landing beyond the greenbaize-covered door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The starkness of his new surroundings was a huge contrast to the lavishness of the salons.

“Men are such deceivers.”

“Not all men, and who says I was deceiving you?”

Her eyes flashed a challenge at him. “You’ve had sex. I can smell it on you.”

“I didn’t, really, I was just . . .”

Hell, his explanation sounded weak even to his own ears. He could hardly tell her he’d been improving his technique for her benefit. Marguerite took three steps away from him, her shoulders rigid, and her arms hugging her waist.

“Why didn’t you have sex with me?”

He struggled not to gawp at her. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I have turned into a figure of fun. A lonely widow who can’t do without a man in her bed. A woman reduced to arguing with a man about why he won’t have sex with her.”

“I don’t quite follow you.”

She swung around to face him. “Of course you don’t; you’re a man.”

He spread his hands wide. “What do you want me to say, Marguerite? I’m sorry that I’m a man, I’m sorry that I didn’t immediately put you over my shoulder, climb the stairs and ravish you on our first meeting?”

“Now you are being absurd.”

“Then help me understand.”

She slowly raised her head. In the dim light, tears glinted in the corners of her fine eyes. “I told you I loved my husband so much that I couldn’t contemplate bedding another man.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“And yet the first time you kissed me, I kissed you back.”

He inclined his head. “You did.”

“And then . . . then I sucked your cock.”

He leaned back against the wall, tried to appear relaxed even as his body responded to that intimate memory. “Yes.”

“I lied to myself because I was afraid to admit I liked being bedded far more than a lady should.” She grimaced. “I want to be a chaste and pure widow, but I can’t seem to stop wanting.”

“I’m sure your mother would say that a woman is entitled to just as much enjoyment in bed as a man.”

She went still. “And do you agree with her?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

“But it feels wrong to have such brazen thoughts, to want something so . . . basic.”

“Why?”

She looked at him and then away. “Because sex is such a powerful thing. Strong emotions can ruin people’s lives.”

“Are you thinking about your husband again?”

“No, about myself and my mother. The passion she and Philip shared almost destroyed her.”

“But she found love with him, didn’t she, so wasn’t it all worth it?”

“For her, perhaps. For her children, it meant a lifetime of separation, of not knowing.” She sighed. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I have nothing but admiration for my mother, but I swore to myself that I would live a more conventional life and avoid grand passions if I could.”

Silence fell between them as he contemplated her. “Do you think your needs will shock me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Marguerite, nothing shocks me.”

She tried to smile. “I doubt it.”

“And what, if you were to be completely honest at this particular moment, would you want from me?”

She shivered. “Your hands on me, your mouth . . .”

His pulse quickened. “And if I offered you those things, in the spirit of honesty between us, would you be shocked by my behavior?”

“No, as I said, you are a man.”

“But if, as your mother insists, we are sexual equals, why shouldn’t you get what you desire?”

She didn’t speak, but her body angled away from him, poised for flight. He held out his hand.

“Marguerite . . .”

She turned slowly, and he pulled her hard against him. In truth, he hadn’t expected to be exercising his newfound skills quite so quickly, but he wasn’t about to let Marguerite down again. He sought her mouth, kissing her lips until she opened to him. Her hand curved around the base of his skull, keeping him close.

She moaned against his mouth, the plaintive sound enough to make him hard and encourage his hands to roam her body at will.

“Please . . .”

He kissed her throat, her ear, the line of her jaw.

“What do you want, Marguerite?”

She grabbed his right hand and settled it over her breast. He ran his fingers along the edge of her bodice and the silk whispered back. Sliding the tip of his index finger below the fabric, he found her nipple already hard and ready for him. God, he wanted to taste her there.

He drew her back over his arm and bent his head, shoved aside as much of her bodice and corset as he could and settled his mouth over her breast. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him on even as his hand slid over her hip and rucked up her skirts and petticoat. He cupped her mound in his palm and held still.

“Do you want me here?”

“Yes, oh please, yes.”

He thumbed her swollen bud, felt her shiver in his arms and slid one finger through her slick wet heat, his heart pounding, his breathing as uneven as hers. This meant so much more with Marguerite; his desire to please her knew no boundaries. He began to move his finger in and out, wondered how his cock would feel doing the same, wanted to come at the very thought of it.

“More, give me more.”

He smiled as she arched against him, her sex pressing into his trapped hand, so demanding for such a petite woman, so sure of what she needed from him. She shuddered as he added two more fingers and pumped harder. Her whole body shook as she climaxed and clung to him as if he offered her everything a man could give her. For a glorious moment, he felt as if he could even be that man.

After she finished clenching and writhing against his fingers, he simply held her balanced on his palm, her whole body relaxed against him, as languid and satisfied as a kitten. Her curls tickled his face and he bent his head to nuzzle her neck.

“Better?”

She shifted in his arms. He reluctantly raised his head as she pushed him away.

“What did I do now?”

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair disordered, her skirt creased, and yet she looked more beautiful to him than she ever had before. He found himself grinning at her like a fool and realized she wasn’t smiling back.

“You gave me what I asked for.”

“And that was wrong?”

She raised her chin to look him in the eyes. “No, it was . . . wonderful.”

“Then why aren’t you happy?”

“Because you proved to me how much I want to be bedded.”

Anthony sighed. God, why were women so complicated? At least a man took his pleasure and walked away without having to analyze every second of it.

“I’ll bed you if you want.”

She briefly closed her eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

She moved suddenly toward the stairs, pausing to look over her shoulder at him. “Now I’ll be dreaming about you all night.”

“And that is a bad thing? I’ll be dreaming about you too.” He held out his hand again. “If you really want me, come back inside and we’ll find a room.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I can’t.”

Anthony let his hand fall back to his side. “I’m not good enough for you now?”

“That’s not what I said!”

He bowed, aware of an ache in his cock and, ridiculously, his heart. “Perhaps you’d prefer to experiment with someone else?”

Marguerite sighed. “You are being stupid, and I am in no state to argue with you anymore. Come and see me tomorrow, and we’ll discuss this in a reasonable manner.”

“But I don’t feel reasonable.”

“I can see that.”

He watched as she sped down the stairs, skirts flying, and her kid slippers barely making a sound. Part of him wanted to follow her, push her against the wall and bury his thick shaft deep inside her until she screamed her release. He slammed his hand into the wall, enjoying the pain that shot up his arm.

But what if she really was done with him? He pressed his forehead into the cold unforgiving brick. God, he hated this self-doubt. Minshom had done this to him, and he needed to stop believing it. At the thought of his tormentor, Anthony’s frustrated cock started to throb in anticipation. Was that what he really needed now? To go up to the third floor, kneel in front of Minshom and repent for his stupid fantasy that he could connect sexually with a woman?

A sound below him made him straighten up and spin around. Was Marguerite coming back? His shaft responded with enthusiasm. But it wasn’t a woman’s light tread on the stairs. It was a man’s heavier footfall.

Anthony leaned back against the wall as Captain David Gray appeared on the landing, hat in hand, blue coat unfastened as if he’d just arrived. He hesitated when he saw Anthony, but his smile was warm.

“What are you doing here?”

Anthony simply stared at him. He’d known David for years, knew that his friend had no illusions about what he was or what he wanted.

“I’m hiding, I suppose.”

“From what?”

“From myself.”

David nodded as if Anthony made perfect sense. “I haven’t seen you on the third floor for a while. Is that what you’re trying to avoid?”

“Yes.”

“I can understand that. I try to avoid it myself.” He gestured at the stairs. “I was just about to leave; would you care to walk out with me?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Because you think you can’t survive the night without Lord Minshom’s attentions?”

Anthony’s eyes snapped to David’s. “How the hell did you know that?”

“Because a few years ago I felt the same.” David’s smile disappeared. “But I broke free of him, so it is possible.”

“Perhaps you are simply a stronger man than I am.”

“No, I’m not. I just learned to value myself more.”

Anthony dropped his gaze. “At this moment I crave his ‘attention’ more than I want to breathe.”

“He has that effect on people, but there are many other ways to achieve sexual satisfaction without submitting to that bastard.” He paused. “What if I offered you one alternative to Lord Minshom and the third floor?”

Anthony straightened and ran an unsteady hand through his already disordered hair. “You have an alternative?”

David’s smile was calm. “At my lodgings, if you care to join me.”

Dark excitement threaded through Anthony’s body. He was hard and ready to fuck. If he couldn’t have Marguerite—and why should she want him inside her after all—he needed someone, and if Lord Minshom was out of the question, David would definitely do.

Marguerite stepped into the kitchen, her face flushed, her whole body still trembling from Anthony’s caresses.

“Marguerite, are you all right?”

She jumped and turned to face her mother, who sat in the shadows beside the hearth. Despite the lateness of the hour, her mother still looked beautiful as she rocked back and forth in the old pine chair, her dainty feet swinging with every motion.

“I thought you were staying with Philip tonight.”

Helene made a dismissive gesture. “We made magnificent love and then he had to spoil it by insisting we make plans to spend more time together. Men are so annoying.”

Marguerite stayed where she was and leaned back against the door. She hoped her mother couldn’t see her too well.

“I can understand Philip’s frustration, Maman. You are a very busy woman.”

“He knew that when we married. That is no excuse.”

Marguerite knew it was pointless to argue. She’d never understood the inner workings of her mother’s tempestuous marriage with Philip. They, however, seemed to thrive on it.

“And what are you doing here, Marguerite, so flushed and unlike yourself?”

Silently Marguerite groaned. Her mother was notorious for her ability to sniff out romantic discord, the beginnings of an affair or the ending of a marriage.

“I came to see Lisette.”

“And?”

“And she was upstairs in the pleasure house with a Captain Gray, so I went to find her.”

“That must have been a while ago, as Lisette was just here talking to me.”

“I know, I just saw Captain Gray on the stairs. He told me Lisette was here.”

Helene stopped rocking. “Marguerite, come and sit where I can see you, and tell me what is going on.”

When her mother used that voice, it was very hard to disobey. Marguerite came closer, trying to decide which pieces of the story she could share and which not.

“Bon,” her mother said. “Now tell me why you lingered in the salons.”

“Because Lisette called me a coward and dared me to look around while I was up there.”

“That sounds like your sister. But why did you agree?”

“Because I was curious?”

“Finally!” Helene clapped her hands together. “I knew you were too young to bury yourself in your husband’s grave.”

“Maman . . .” Marguerite hunched one shoulder.

“Now what advice can I give you about starting again?” Helene sat forward, her expression purposeful. “The most important thing, I believe, is how to avoid a pregnancy, oui?”

Marguerite stared helplessly at her mother. Perhaps it would be better to simply keep quiet and listen. She might pick up some useful advice without having to betray herself.

“Yes, Maman.”

“I’ve spoken about this with many women over the years, and I have a few ideas about when is the best time to conceive or, in your case, to avoid making love.” She frowned at Marguerite. “And before you suggest that any real gentleman would pull out before his seed emptied into your womb, then think again. In the throes of passion, many men forget this most basic thing, or would secretly like you to be pregnant in the first place.”

“I’m not sure . . .”

Helene kept talking, her slim fingers ticking off each point as she made it. “It is the middle of your moon cycle that you must avoid. I think a woman is most fertile then. I’m not sure why, but that seems to be the case. It’s easy to work that out, my dear, just note the day you start to bleed and count on from there until the day you bleed again.”

“Maman . . .”

Helene stood up and patted Marguerite’s shoulder. “I know— it’s a lot to take in. Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll show you how to use a sea sponge dipped in vinegar as well.”

What on earth did vinegar have to do with anything? Marguerite dredged up a smile. “I’ll do that, and thank you.”

Marguerite got up too and gathered her belongings. Her mother’s businesslike attitude toward sex never ceased to amaze her. At least it had stopped her inquiring too deeply about exactly what was wrong. Perhaps she should be grateful for her mother’s incessant chatter. Marguerite clutched her bonnet to her chest. And perhaps her mother knew her better than she realized and had achieved what she intended all along.

“Here we are.”

David opened the door to his lodging and led Anthony inside, shutting the door behind him. Anthony looked around the Spartan apartment in surprise.

“It’s very clean.”

David shrugged as he took off his hat and gloves. “When you’ve lived in a tiny cabin on a ship for months, you learn to stow your belongings carefully so that they don’t all descend on you in a storm.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

Anthony continued to walk around the room, touching the mahogany desk in the corner, the pair of leather wing chairs by the welcoming fire.

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I have a man who comes in every morning to help with the essentials, and a woman who cooks for me when I’m here. I’ve never cared to have live-in help. I find it a little suffocating.”

“I agree, but as I still live at home, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Would your family object if you had your own suite of rooms?”

Anthony stroked the worn brown leather of the chair. “It’s complicated. My father almost lost one of his sons, and he’s determined not to lose the other.”

“That must be something of a burden for you.”

“I suppose it is. I’ve never really thought about it before.”

“Perhaps you should. My father was glad to see the back of me.” David’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He insisted that as the fourth son of an impoverished earl I was a damned inconvenience. I was expected to make my own way in the world.” David picked up a candelabrum and headed down a dark hallway. “Bring the brandy.”

Anthony picked up the bottle and two glasses and followed the source of the light. He drew in an unsteady breath as he realized he was in David’s bedroom. Again, the room was stark— a narrow bed with dark red coverings and two other pieces of furniture that looked distinctly foreign.

David indicated a large black lacquered chair that sat in front of a mirror.

“I bought this in Heung Gong harbor a couple of years ago.” His fingers trailed over the high ladder back and down to the red silk cushion on the high seat. “It is exactly the right height for shibari.”

“What is that?”

David smiled. “Literally it means beautiful bondage, or so I was told. It’s an ancient erotic art from the land of the rising sun. The exact translation proved elusive and, to be honest, the pleasure was so extreme that I didn’t really care to inquire any further. I was too busy enjoying it.”

Anthony licked his lips as his excitement grew. “Will I enjoy it too?”

“I hope so. Will you take off your clothes?”