Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

Marguerite laid the notes on the top of her vanity and smoothed out the sheets. A weekend in the countryside would get her away from her family and perhaps help her understand the reasons for her husband’s untimely death.

The thought of having to deal with Lord Minshom gave her pause. There was something about him that both repelled and fascinated her. How could she ensure her safety and yet still see Harry? She forced her tired mind to concentrate. What would Amelia do if Marguerite asked to bring Anthony with her?

Amelia would be delighted. She’d see it as a way to destroy Charles’s affection for Marguerite and perhaps even repeat the scandal to Lady Lockwood. And maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing after all . . . She would write to Amelia, ask if she might bring Anthony and pray that she could deal with the specter of Sir Harry Jones once and for all.

Marguerite breathed in the icy autumn air as Anthony’s curricle swept up the long driveway to Locking Hall. She’d defied convention, left Mrs. Jones happily ensconced at home, and driven down to Charles and Amelia’s little place in the country in an open carriage alone with a man. As declarations of intent went, it was quite a statement.

She grabbed a loose blue ribbon as it threatened to rip free of her bonnet, laughing as she retied the bow under her right ear.

“You seem very cheerful today.”

She glanced across at Anthony. He looked handsome in his dark blue driving coat, black boots and buckskin breeches. His booted feet were planted firmly on the floor of the curricle, his hands relaxed on the reins. As they’d navigated their way out of London, he’d proved to be an excellent whipster.

“I am. I’m escaping my family for the weekend.”

He grimaced. “I’m escaping mine too. I’ve decided to find my own set of rooms.”

His tone didn’t encourage questions, but she didn’t care about that. After all, he’d promised her honesty.

“I have my own house and they still come after me.”

His expression tightened. “They do?” He clicked to his horses, and they started to slow. “Mayhap I’ll start looking for a castle with a drawbridge. My father probably owns one somewhere. If I’m dragooned into becoming his estate manager, I’ll probably find out for myself.”

“He wants you to run the estates?”

“Unfortunately, he does, and for once Valentin supports him.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Marguerite asked tentatively. “Doesn’t it show that he trusts you?”

Anthony flicked a glance at her. “Strange, I don’t see it like that. It’s just another way for my father and Val to keep an eye on me, to control me, to keep me from disgracing the family.”

The hurt in his voice resonated within Marguerite and made her want to reach out and touch him. “I understand. You fear you’ll never be free of your father’s interference.”

He laughed, the sound carried off by the wind. “And I can’t really leave. My mother is married to him, remember? And she would be devastated if I walked away. God, what an unholy tangle . . .”

Marguerite stared hard at the beech trees edging the drive. “How nice to have someone who wants you to stay. Neither of the families I’m supposed to belong to seem to need or want me anymore.”

She refused to look at him, set her teeth on her lower lip to stop it from shaking. He guided the horses to the edge of the driveway and stopped the curricle. She gasped as he drew her into his arms and held her close, then she allowed herself to subside like a foolish girl against his broad chest.

“Marguerite . . .” She made the mistake of looking up, saw her tiny reflection mirrored in his dark blue eyes. “If you don’t think you’re wanted, why did you accept this invitation?”

She lowered her gaze to stare at the embossed silver buttons of his coat. Trust Anthony to reach into the very heart of the matter. How much of her true undertaking did she want to reveal? She had hoped for more time to ascertain that Harry was actually there before she revealed anything to Anthony. The whole weekend might just be part of some cruel joke on Lord Minshom’s part.

She sighed, her breath condensing in the cooling air, and put her hand on Anthony’s shoulder.

“I can’t tell you exactly why yet. But this visit could help me understand Justin’s death.”

“Ah.” Anthony brushed her mouth with his gloved fingertip. “Then I can scarcely complain, although if that is the case, I’m still not sure why you asked me to come with you.”

“Because I might need your help. Is that reason enough?”

His expression gentled, and he angled his head lower, licking a line with his tongue along her closed lips. “Yes.” He straightened and retrieved the reins. “Shall we proceed?”

Marguerite took a deep steadying breath. “I’m glad you are with me, Anthony. I don’t think there is anyone I would rather have by my side.”

He went still and looked back at her. “Thank you.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Is that all you have to say?”

“It’s all I’m able to get out at the moment.” He sighed. “Your faith in me is a new experience. No one else thinks I’m capable of doing anything except ruining my life.”

“My family says the same about me.”

He smiled and she smiled back, aware of the growing connection between them, the sense that she had truly found a man who understood her. He bent to kiss her cold cheek.

“Then perhaps we should prove them wrong together?”

“Perhaps we should.” Marguerite nodded decisively.

His laughter warmed her. With a light flick of his whip, he set the horses in motion and they headed to the front of the house.

A footman ran down the shallow worn steps to greet them and to assist Marguerite out of the curricle. While she waited for Anthony to confer with the stable hand, she looked up at the mellow red front of the house. Ivy grew around the diamond paned windows, and rose stems climbed around the door. If Justin had lived, this would’ve been his country estate until his father died.

Marguerite felt no sense of ownership. Her marriage had been so brief that she’d never even visited the house. She had no sad memories to spoil its obvious charm and beauty. Smoke rose from the ornate chimney pots and curled around the roof line before drifting lazily toward the almost barren trees.

Anthony touched her arm. “Are you ready to go in?”

She placed her fingertips on his sleeve, picked up her skirts and walked into the house. Whatever happened during her stay, she was determined to face it with as much grace and courage as she could muster. Another footman led them into a sunny drawing room where Amelia sat by the fire, her embroidery hoop in her hand, a bored expression on her round face.

Marguerite fixed on a smile. “Good afternoon, Amelia. I hope you are well?” She glanced up at Anthony. “May I introduce you to Lord Anthony Sokorvsky?”

Amelia dropped her embroidery on the floor, her mouth a perfect O. She craned her neck to look behind Marguerite. “Where is Mrs. Jones?”

“She decided not to accompany me. Lord Anthony very kindly brought me down in his curricle.”

“You were alone?”

Marguerite pretended to frown. “Well hardly that, Amelia. We were together.”

Anthony nudged Marguerite and swept Amelia a perfect bow. “Good afternoon, my lady, and thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Amelia smiled distractedly at Anthony and continued to stare at Marguerite as if she’d never seen her before. Marguerite hoped she looked calm and confident. It was harder to pretend she hadn’t behaved shockingly than she had imagined. She had no idea how Lisette carried it off so convincingly, but perhaps it was time she learned. Amelia got to her feet and held out her hand to Anthony.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” She cast Marguerite a sly glance. “I’m even more intrigued about how you came to meet my dear sister-in-law.”

“Oh, through mutual friends. Isn’t that always the case?”

“I suppose it is.” Amelia beckoned to a footman. “Please show my guests to their rooms.” She nodded at Marguerite. “And we’ll see you down here for dinner in an hour or so?”

“That would be lovely, Amelia,” Marguerite said. “Is Charles here?”

“No, I believe he’s out shooting at some kind of bird. He should be back soon. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you both.” Amelia studied Anthony. “Especially you, my lord.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him as well. I know Marguerite holds him in high regard.”

With a last cordial nod in Amelia’s direction, Anthony escorted Marguerite back into the hall and up the carved oak staircase. To her surprise, the footman led them to adjoining rooms. She remembered to thank him as he closed the door behind him. Her luggage sat in a pile on the blue rug in front of a welcoming fire.

With a sigh, she took off her bonnet, set it on the dressing table and studied her face. Despite the openness of the carriage she looked remarkably well, her cheeks flushed from the cold and wind, her eyes bright.

A knock on the door made her straighten and turn away from the mirror. A young woman entered the room and bobbed a curtsey.

“Good afternoon, my lady. I’m Rachel. I’m here to unpack your luggage and help you change.”

“That would be lovely.” Marguerite smiled and resigned herself to not getting a moment to see if Anthony was all right. He’d seemed more than capable of dealing with Amelia. His manners were always exquisite, his countenance serene. In truth, she suspected he was as good at hiding his inner turmoil as she was.

As she helped the maid unpack, Marguerite pondered his revelations about his family. Did they disapprove of his sexual tastes? Was that why he was being forced to move out? Despite being at odds with her own family, she still believed that when they realized she was happy, they’d come around to her involvement with Anthony.