Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

“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?

“Anthony, are you still here? I was about to lock up.”

Anthony looked up from the document he was squinting at. His office was so dark he could barely see Peter’s silhouette in the doorway. With a groan, he dropped his quill pen and flexed his fingers.

“I didn’t realize it was so late.”

Peter leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms. “I know Val and I asked you to work harder, but we don’t expect you to kill yourself.”

“I won’t. I just wanted to finish this.”

“And have you finished?”

Anthony sighed. “I suppose it will have to do.” He glanced at the clock and shot to his feet. “Damnation! I was invited for dinner at eight.”

Peter’s quiet chuckle filled the room. “You’d better hurry, then. Ladies don’t like it when you are late.”

Anthony stopped buttoning his coat. “How did you know it was a lady who’d asked me to dinner, and is that really true?”

Peter grinned. “I’ve never seen you move that quickly before, so I assumed you weren’t going home. And, in truth, all the ladies I’ve known haven’t taken to being ignored well.”