Simply Wicked

9

Marguerite hurried out of the anonymous back entrance of the pleasure house on Barrington Square and headed for the park. Tucked discreetly in her bag were a selection of small sponges and some tansy oil, courtesy of her mother. Her cheeks still felt hot after Helene’s frank explanations, but Marguerite was grateful nonetheless.

To her continued surprise, her mother hadn’t asked for any details as to why Marguerite was suddenly willing to listen to a lecture about how to avoid pregnancy. Marguerite suspected Helene was just glad her daughter was contemplating making love to anyone and had held back from questioning her for fear of alienating Marguerite completely. It was not like Helene at all, but Marguerite was grateful for the reprieve.

The clock on the church tower at the corner of the busy square struck eleven, and Marguerite increased her pace. She was due at the Lockwoods’ to celebrate Charles Lockwood’s birthday. In truth, she had no inclination to attend, but her mama-in-law had insisted, and she had reluctantly promised to make an appearance. The Lockwoods en masse were never very pleased to see her, but she’d always liked Justin’s younger brother Charles, and she was willing to brave the others for his sake.

Spots of rain darkened the flagstones ahead of her, and clouds covered the brightness of the sun. It was usually far quicker to cross through the gardens of the adjoining squares than to go around the busy streets in her carriage. She hadn’t reckoned on the rain. Marguerite picked up her pale green muslin skirts and ran toward the imposing white steps of Lockwood House. With her head lowered, she wasn’t completely surprised when she ran into another person also ascending the steps.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she gasped as he steadied her elbow and prevented her falling. “I couldn’t see where I was going.”

“I noticed that.”

The man’s smile was pained as if she had somehow injured him in her precipitous flight. Marguerite pulled out of his grasp, straightened her bonnet and bobbed him a small curtsey.

“As I said, I apologize. Did I hurt you?”

He kept staring, his pale face inscrutable, and his light blue eyes fixed on hers. What she could see of his hair was crow black, making her guess he was in his early thirties. He wore a simply cut dark blue coat, black breeches and well-polished boots, which gleamed despite the gloom.

“Not at all, ma’am.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go in?”

Marguerite hesitated, but he didn’t move on. He wasn’t a member of the Lockwood family she’d met before, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a perfect right to be at the party. She reluctantly placed her fingers on his pristine sleeve and headed inside. He took off his hat, waited as she gave her pelisse to the footman and ascended the stairs to the drawing room at her side. She couldn’t fault his manners, but there was something in his thorough appraisal that made her uneasy.

“Marguerite?”

She looked up as Lady Lockwood came toward her. “Good morning, ma’am.”

Lady Lockwood brushed her lips against Marguerite’s cheek and then turned to her companion. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with my daughter-in-law, Lord Minshom. Did Justin introduce you?”

Marguerite stepped slightly away from her silent companion. “We haven’t been formally introduced. We simply arrived on the steps together, and Lord Minshom was kind enough to escort me in.”

“It was a pleasure, my lady.”

“Minshom is a distant connection on my father’s side. His mother and I met as debutantes and were married in the same year.” Lady Lockwood’s smile was fond and far warmer than the one she’d offered Marguerite. “I believe I am one of your godparents.”

Lord Minshom bowed to them both, his smile dazzling, his pale eyes cold. “I believe you are, although you scarcely look old enough.”

Lady Lockwood laughed and tapped his sleeve with her fan. “You are an incorrigible flirt. Now pray don’t forget to give your good wishes to Charles in person. He is over by the window with dear sweet Amelia.” She nodded and walked back into the chattering throng, leaving Marguerite stranded with her silent companion.

He bowed slightly. “My condolences on your husband’s death. Despite the disparity in our ages, I considered Justin a friend.”

Marguerite inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord. It was a terrible tragedy.”

“Indeed. Did the authorities ever prosecute anyone over the duel?”

“I don’t believe so, sir,” Marguerite said carefully. “As far as I understand it, the man fled the country.”

Lord Minshom smiled and showed perfect white teeth. “You sound almost disappointed. Did you want to dispense justice on him yourself?”

Marguerite met his amused gaze. “I would’ve liked to hear his side of the story. The reports I received about the cause of the duel were very garbled.”

He shrugged. “I believe that is often the case when men are in their cups. They say and do things that are contrary to their true natures.”

“Having known both men, I still find it difficult to understand exactly why they decided to fight to the death.”

“You met Sir Harry?”

“Indeed I did; in fact, he accompanied us on our honeymoon in Europe.”

“Did he really? How amusing.”

Marguerite raised her chin. “I would hardly consider it amusing, sir, seeing as my husband died at his hand.”

“Touché, my lady.” He met her gaze, his eyes as hard as her own. “Men are animals at heart, Lady Justin, don’t forget that.” He gestured at the window where Charles stood surrounded by friends. “Shall we go and pay our respects?”

He took her hand again and led her forward before she had a chance to escape him. And why would she wish to do so? His frank discourse had not only alarmed her but surprised her. At least he was honest. He was probably the only person present who would bother to speak to her about Justin. Everyone else avoided the subject at all costs.

Marguerite hesitated and patted her reticule.

“Please go ahead. I have a present for Charles. I need to find it before I meet with him.”

She turned toward a small table close to the wall and dumped her reticule on the surface. After untying the knots, she opened the bag wide and rummaged inside for the small package.

“May I help you, ma’am?”

She jumped as she realized Lord Minshom had remained at her side and was now looking over her shoulder at the exposed contents of her bag. She felt her cheeks redden. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice the sponges and oils. It was unlikely that a man in his position would care or even know how a woman might protect herself. Thankfully, she grabbed the small wrapped present and drew the strings of her reticule tight.

“Thank you, sir, but I’ve found what I was looking for.”

To her relief, he said nothing and simply followed her over toward Charles.

“Marguerite, how nice to see you!”

“It’s wonderful to see you too, Charles, and may I wish you a happy birthday?” She kissed his cheek, drawing back quickly as Amelia, his wife, cleared her throat.

Charles’s warm greeting wasn’t replicated on Amelia’s face. Marguerite wasn’t quite sure why, but Amelia had always seen her as a competitor. In an effort to diffuse any potential awkwardness, Marguerite smiled. “Good morning, Amelia, and congratulations on your exciting news.”

Amelia placed her hand on her rounded stomach and smiled smugly. “Thank you. I’m thrilled to be carrying the heir to such an ancient and esteemed title.”

“Amelia . . .” Charles’s urgent whisper made Marguerite smile even harder.

She allowed Amelia her moment of victory, determined not to spoil the young couple’s joy. It was yet another small way to remain loyal to Justin and his family, even if they didn’t appreciate it.

“I have a gift for you, Charles.”

She handed Charles the small package, waiting anxiously as he opened it to reveal the miniature portrait of Amelia she’d labored over.

“It is beautiful.” Charles looked up, admiration clear in his eyes. “Is this your own work?”

Marguerite shrugged. “It is nothing.”

“May I?” Lord Minshom took the frame and held it up to his eyeglass.

“It is exquisite. You are obviously a woman of many talents, Lady Justin.” He handed it back to Charles. “I think you have just been given something your family will cherish for generations.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, but Charles nodded. “I agree. Thank you, Marguerite; I shall carry this with me always.”

Marguerite glanced around the others in the group and saw some of the faces were still hostile. And who could blame them? She’d let the family down in so many ways. It was definitely time to beat a retreat.

“It was a pleasure to see you both again, but unfortunately, I have to leave. Mrs. Jones is sick, and I promised to return to her side as soon as I could.”

In truth, Mrs. Jones was sleeping off the effects of overindulging at dinner the night before, but the Lockwoods didn’t need to know that. Marguerite’s incompetent chaperone suited her perfectly, and she had no wish for her to be replaced.

Charles sighed. “I’m sorry to see you go, Marguerite. We’ll have to invite you around for dinner when Amelia is feeling more the thing.”

“That would be delightful.” Marguerite met Amelia’s eye and knew the invitation would never be issued, but she smiled nonetheless. “Now I must go and say good-bye to your mother.”

Charles drew her into a hug and took the opportunity to whisper in her ear. “I always think of Justin on days like this. I miss him like hell, don’t you Marguerite?”

“Oui,” she whispered. “But I think he would be very proud of you.”

He released her with another smile, and she went to find Lady Lockwood, ready to repeat her story about Mrs. Jones and make her escape. With a small prayer of thanks, she headed down the stairs and waited in the cold marble hall for the footman to fetch her things. A portrait of the Lockwood children above the fireplace caught her attention, and she wandered over to study Justin’s innocent face.

After he’d died, she’d tried to paint a portrait of him but had been unable to catch his essence. Her memories of him were too painful to allow her gift to surface. Would he have put on weight by now like Charles? Or would he still be as tall and elegant as the mysteriously blunt Lord Minshom?

“Lady Justin?”

As if conjured from her imagination, Marguerite turned to find Lord Minshom at the bottom of the stairs. He took her coat from the footman and held it out.

“I notice you arrived on foot. Would you permit me to escort you home?”

Marguerite thrust an arm into the coat sleeve he held out for her. The clean flowery scent of his body surrounded her as he enveloped her in the thick fabric.

“I would hate to take you out of your way, sir.” She glanced doubtfully out of the door, which the footman now held open, and viewed the steady rain.

“It would be a pleasure, my lady. I only intended to stay for a few moments, so we can be off immediately. I instructed my coachman to walk the horses rather than stable them.”

He took her arm and guided her down the slippery steps into his luxurious coach. Marguerite settled herself on the seat and waited as he took the place opposite her. She gave him a tentative smile.

“I haven’t told you where I live.”

He shrugged. “I asked Lady Lockwood. My coachman already has your direction.”

“You were so sure I would accompany you then?”

“In this weather? You would’ve been a fool not to. And you do not strike me as a foolish woman.” He shifted in the seat, placing his arm along the back to brace himself against the motion of the carriage. “And, I have always wanted to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Because I heard a lot about you from Justin and Sir Harry.” His gaze was keen. “They both found you beautiful and irresistible.”

Marguerite managed a tight smile even as her throat dried up. Earlier Lord Minshom had seemed surprised that she’d even known Sir Harry. Despite his benign appearance, this man was sharp as a needle and, as a friend of Justin, not necessarily inclined to like her.

“I don’t claim to be a beauty, sir.”

He considered her for a long moment, his head angled to one side. “You don’t need to claim anything. You are beautiful.” He frowned. “You remind me of somebody, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Her heart accelerated and thumped in her chest. Was he one of her mother’s clients? He had the look of a man who could afford the high fees of the pleasure house and had the appetite to enjoy them.

“Ah, perhaps that’s it.” He clicked his fingers making her jump. “I believe I saw you at the theater the other night with an acquaintance of mine, Lord Anthony Sokorvsky.”

“I was at the theater, sir. It was most enjoyable.”

“I’m sure it was. And Sokorvsky can be good company when he chooses.” Lord Minshom’s dismissive smile flashed out. There was an unmistakable edge to his voice when he mentioned Anthony. Desperately, Marguerite wondered how to change the subject.

“Do you live near the Lockwoods, Lord Minshom?”

“Actually I have a house on Hanover Square. It isn’t that far from where you live on Maddox Street.” He crossed one long leg over the other. “I seem to remember visiting that house when I was a child and meeting an elderly female relative of Justin’s who had lots of cats.”

“That’s correct, sir. The Lockwoods offered me the house after Miss Priscilla’s death. It was very kind of them.”

Lord Minshom raised his dark eyebrows. “Hardly. As the widow of their eldest son, one might expect a lot more—a place in their home and their affection, perhaps?”

How interesting that he’d picked up on the lack of welcome for her at the Lockwoods’ and had the nerve to mention it. “And what if ‘one’ did not wish to live with the Lockwoods?”

He stared at her and then nodded. “I can see how they might make you feel unwelcome.”

She raised her chin. “I am not complaining, sir. The family has been more than generous.”

“Indeed.”

Marguerite stared out the window as they rounded a corner and a familiar row of terraced townhouses appeared. She began to gather her things and retied the ribbons of her bonnet.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Lord Minshom.”

He smiled as the carriage drew to a halt. “It was my pleasure.” He shifted along the seat toward the door his coachman was already opening. “As I said, I’ve always looked forward to meeting you.”

Marguerite ducked her head to exit the carriage and stilled as Lord Minshom’s hard fingers closed around her upper arm.

“At least allow me to escort you to your door.”

She sighed as he exited the carriage ahead of her and waited until he helped her down. The rain had almost stopped, although black clouds continued to boil and churn overhead. Lord Minshom kissed her gloved hand, his expression once more impossible to read.

“Good-bye, Lady Justin. I hope we’ll meet again soon.”

I hope we don’t. Marguerite bobbed a curtsey and managed to smile back before hurrying to her door. Lord Minshom had unsettled her; his intimate knowledge of both the Lockwood family and her deceased husband made her nervous. Exactly how close a friend had he been to Justin?

Even worse, if he was a patron of the pleasure house, he might know exactly where Justin’s sexual tastes lay and how he’d chosen to enjoy them. He might even know her mother. Behind that bland smile, did Lord Minshom harbor a grudge against the woman who had caused Justin’s death, and if so, what did he intend to do about it?