Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

He nodded and she prayed his sudden interest in her mother would disappear in his curiosity about her artistic skills.

“I would like you to paint a portrait for me one day.”

“Of your family, your children?”

His mouth twisted. “I have no children, none that I acknowledge anyway. I was thinking of a portrait of myself. It would save me having to seek out my reflection at every turn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t accept outside commissions, sir. I only paint for pleasure.”

“And it wouldn’t please you to paint me?”

She considered the interesting angles of his face, his high cheekbones, slightly slanted pale blue eyes, sensual mouth . . . Her fingers twitched as she imagined capturing the essence of his complex personality on less than two inches of porcelain.

“As I said, my lord, I paint only occasionally these days. I fear I’m not disciplined enough to take on real clients.”

He inclined his head. “If you change your mind, I would be more than happy to sit for you.”

She curtsied and moved past him to open the door. “I’ll walk you down to the hall. I’m actually on my way out.”

Minshom looked interested. “To visit the Lockwoods?”

“No, to pick up a new bonnet from my milliner.”

“That sounds like much more fun.”

She risked a smile at him. “I hope so.”

He followed her down the stairs and retrieved his hat and gloves then waited with her until the butler announced her carriage was ready. Marguerite held out her gloved hand and Lord Minshom took it.

“Thank you for coming to see me.”

He kissed her fingers and then straightened; cast a rueful look at the darkening sky.

“I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, Lady Justin? It looks like rain and I have no desire to get wet. Could you send my horse home with your groom and take me up in your carriage instead?”

Marguerite looked up, felt the first spots of rain on her face and inwardly groaned.

“Of course, Lord Minshom. Where would you like to be dropped off?”

“At my house? It is hardly out of your way.”

He followed her into the carriage, took the seat opposite her and smiled. “Do I make you nervous, Lady Justin?”

Marguerite forced herself to look him in the eye. “Not at all, my lord.”

“I think I do. I think you find me attractive and are trying to think of a way to flirt with me.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

He sat forward. “You don’t need to lie to me. A young woman in your position, widowed, alone, missing the delights of the marriage bed. It’s hardly surprising that you start to cast your lures elsewhere.”

“Believe me, I am not casting anything at you at all, my lord!”

“Are you sure, my dear?” He gave her a lazy smile. “Perhaps you have someone else in mind. On the day of the birthday party, I noticed you carried all the scandalous items necessary for an illicit affair in your reticule. I admire such organization in a woman, and I would be more than happy to sexually serve you.”

Marguerite simply stared at him, feeling her cheeks redden as he continued to smile.

“There is no need to color up. I would be more than willing to fulfill any needs you have at your convenience.” He slid his hand up from his knee to his thigh, and feathered his fingers lightly over his groin. “More than happy to oblige you. And I could promise you absolute discretion. The Lockwoods would never hear of your sexual dalliances from me.”

She found herself staring at his fingers, realized he was halferect, wondered how he would compare with Anthony, with Justin . . .

“I’m flattered by your gracious offer, my lord, but I have no need of your services.”

“Because you are wedded to Justin’s memory or because you have already found someone else?”

“That is none of your business, sir.”

He laughed and gently squeezed his shaft. “Indeed it isn’t, but as a past friend and a concerned relative of your husband, perhaps you might understand my interest.”

“Are you suggesting that if I don’t sleep with you, you might choose to reveal my actions to the Lockwoods?”

“As a member of the family, I believe I have a duty to protect the females of my line.”

Marguerite managed a laugh. “Do you really think they would care?”

“It depends on who you are fucking, doesn’t it?”

Marguerite blinked hard. How had their conversation degenerated to such an intimate level that he felt comfortable touching himself and using foul language in front of her?

“I think you should get out of my carriage.”

Lord Minshom sat back, his hand still cupping his groin. “You wouldn’t be disappointed. I’m an excellent lover, you know. Ask anyone.”

Marguerite glanced out of the small window and saw they were approaching Lord Minshom’s residence. The carriage slowed and then came to a halt.

“Good-bye, Lord Minshom.”

He touched his hat, smiled and opened the carriage door, pausing to look at her. “In fact, ask Sokorvsky. I’m sure he’ll give me a glowing recommendation.”

The slam of the door made Marguerite flinch. What on earth had Lord Minshom meant? Was he implying that he’d been intimate with Anthony, or was he just trying to shock her? She stifled a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

Either Lord Minshom was prepared to do anything to get her into his bed, or he was letting her know that he knew about Anthony and was staking a prior claim on her new lover.

Marguerite covered her face with her hands. God forbid she found herself in the same nightmarish situation again, caught between two jealous men, unable to stop them from coming to blows, from trying to kill each other . . .

She needed to talk to Anthony, to find out where he stood in regard to Minshom, and without revealing exactly why she found the idea of being trapped between them too horrific to contemplate.

“Marguerite, what is the matter?”

Anthony stopped walking and stared down at his companion. They were supposed to be enjoying a companionable stroll through the park. He’d already made remarks about the mildness of the weather, the scenery, the ducks on the pond, and received hardly a word in reply.

“Will you at least look at me?”

She turned her face up toward his, and he registered the worry in her blue eyes, the dark shadows beneath.

“Are you still unwell?”

“No.” She sighed. “I’m just trying to think what to say.”

“To me?”

“Yes.” Her quick smile was strained. “Four days ago my mother came to see me.”

“And?”

“She knows about us.”

Anthony grimaced. “I told the twins it would be impossible to keep that news a secret.” He took her hand, placed it firmly on his sleeve and resumed walking. The park was still bare of foliage, no sign yet of the spring bulbs or the blossom. “And what did your mother have to say for herself?”

“That you were not a good choice for a lover.”

He stopped again as an all-too familiar sense of inadequacy laced with frustration rolled through him. “Does anyone in this damned world think I’m capable of anything?”

Marguerite tugged at his arm. “There’s no need to shout; everyone is looking at us.”

“Let them look, or do you want me to leave? I’d hate to spoil your afternoon with my loathsome presence.”

“Now you are overreacting.”

Was he? Briefly he closed his eyes and then fixed them on the elaborate park gates. He hadn’t been home or gone to the shipping office for three days. David had given him a key to his lodgings and left Anthony there to wallow in his own misery while his friend was away on naval business.

He grabbed Marguerite’s hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can be private, or don’t you trust me enough to be alone with you?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Marguerite picked up her skirts in her free hand and hurried along by his side. They reached David’s building, which faced onto the park, and Anthony pulled out his key. She said nothing until he closed the door behind them.

“Where exactly are we?”

“Does it matter? It belongs to a friend of mine. We are safe here.”

She slowly took off her gloves and considered him. He tried not to shift around as her sharp gaze took in his disordered linen and badly shaved chin. He realized he wasn’t prepared to be examined, dissected, found wanting—not by Marguerite, not by a woman he desired. He scowled down at her.

“So what exactly did your mother say to make you so worried about being my lover?”

Her eyebrows rose. “There’s no need to be so defensive. I didn’t say I was worried.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s obvious from the way you are behaving.”

“You are impossible.” Marguerite yanked at the cream ribbons of her bonnet until they loosened and threw the contraption on a chair. She stormed across to him and poked him in the chest. “Why did I bother to defend you to my mother when you have obviously given up on yourself?”

He caught her wrist, retaining his grip even when she tried to pull away. “What the hell does that mean?”

“My mother tried to tell me that your sexual needs were too extreme for me to imagine, let alone satisfy.”

Abruptly his antagonism disappeared beneath his apprehension. “What exactly did she say?”

She looked up at him. “That you like men.”

“You already knew that.”

“I know, but she insisted you needed to tell me the rest.”

Anthony found it much easier to watch her luscious mouth rather than react to her cutting words. He bent his head, captured her lips and kissed her as hard as he could. She made an exasperated sound and kissed him back, her teeth nipping at his already bruised lower lip, which made him instantly hard. He wrenched his mouth away, hissing as her teeth gouged his lip.