Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

He guided her back into the shadows at the top of the stairs. Perhaps Valentin was right, and it was time to stop running away from the things he couldn’t change.

“Marguerite, when we get back to Town, may I come and call on you?”

“Of course you may. Why do you ask?”

“Because . . . because I want to be honest with you.”

She bit her lip and held his gaze. “I would like that. Perhaps by then I will be able to be honest with you too.”

Relief washed over him, and he brought her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”

Marguerite allowed Anthony to lead her into the drawing room and fixed a dazzling smile on her lips. No one here would know her inner turmoil, the sense that Lord Minshom was poised to disrupt her peace forever. Had Anthony understood what she’d said to him, that she had more truths to reveal, more secrets than he might imagine?

She hoped so. Hiding the truths about her marriage from everyone, perhaps even from herself, was a burden she would be grateful to relinquish. And who better to understand her than Anthony? A man who had made his own difficult sexual choices in the past and lived to regret them.

And then there was the matter of Justin’s death at the hand of his best friend. If she could find some peace from meeting Sir Harry, all the torment would be worth it. She glanced up at Anthony’s handsome face. He concealed his troubles almost as well as she did—the outsider in a family, much like her, the one always striving to fit in, to be acknowledged, to be loved.

She squeezed his arm, aware of the strength concealed by the fine broadcloth, the heat of him, the fire within. How strange that fate, in the shape of her brother and sister, had brought them together.

“Marguerite? Is something wrong?”

Anthony looked down at her, his expression concerned, and she smiled into his blue eyes.

“No, my lord. In truth, I’m glad you are with me tonight.”

“So am I.”

His answering smile was as warm and admiring as she could have wished. It didn’t matter what humiliations Lord Minshom made her endure. She was no longer alone, and if she concentrated on the future, a future which might contain the complex man by her side, she was also certain of success—wasn’t she?

Marguerite watched as Anthony carefully closed the door back into the main house. She drew her cloak around her and headed for the path between the kitchen garden and the wilderness beyond. With his longer stride, Anthony caught up with her within a few paces. Like her, he wore a black cloak and dark clothing, but his head was uncovered, his hair blowing in the bitterly cold wind.

The clock in the stable yard struck the quarter hour, and Marguerite paused in the shelter of one of the tangle of old holly trees and faced Anthony.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She’d asked him the same question at least a hundred times. His answer was always the same, so she wasn’t quite sure why she insisted on repeating it.

“I’m sure. I’ll give you a quarter of an hour to complete your business with Sir Harry. If he doesn’t appear or if anything changes, come to the door of the lodge and signal to me. I’ll be with you in an instant.”

Marguerite nodded and held out her hand, found herself dragged into a fierce embrace, Anthony’s mouth locked on hers for a deliciously deep and lingering kiss. When he drew back, he caressed her lower lip with his thumb.

“Don’t do anything foolish, will you?”

“Like what? Brain Lord Minshom with a candlestick?”

“Exactly. I’d rather like to do that to him myself, so don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Such double standards, my lord.”

He smiled and his teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Just be careful. Minshom is a wily opponent.”

“I know that.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cold cheek. “Let’s just pray all goes well and that I don’t need your help after all.” She stepped away from him, achingly conscious of the sudden lack of warmth and the strength of his embrace.

As before, the door into the rear of the lodge stood slightly ajar. She entered the hallway and pushed open the kitchen door. Lord Minshom stood by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. His black coat lay over a chair by the table, and he looked remarkably at home. He glanced up, his expression cordial.

“Ah, good evening, Lady Justin. I’m so glad you decided to return.”

Marguerite inclined her head a regal inch. “As I recall, you gave me very little choice in the matter. Is Sir Harry here?”

“Not yet. There are a few things I need to discuss with you before he arrives.” He gestured at the table. “Won’t you sit down?”

Even though her knees were shaking, Marguerite held her ground. “I don’t believe there is anything we have to say to each other.”

Minshom strolled across to the table and took a seat, crossed his booted feet and looked up at her. “Well, there you are wrong, my dear. In order for you to see Sir Harry, I have a few conditions of my own.”

“Then perhaps I’ll leave.” Marguerite curtsied low. “I resent being played like a fool. I think I’d rather not know your little plans.”

“Really? You’d rather my version of the events surrounding your marriage were made public than hearing the truth from Sir Harry? He certainly had some very interesting things to say about you.”

Marguerite moved closer to the table and grabbed the back of a chair for support. “And you expect me to believe you’ve talked to him? I doubt that.”

He reached inside his coat, drew out a folded parchment and laid it on the scrubbed table top. “Not only did I talk to him, but I got him to write down exactly what happened between him and Justin.” He met her gaze, his pale blue eyes hard. “All of it, from the very beginning. The poor fool thought I meant to help plead his cause.” His soft laughter chilled her. “As if I would.”

“Then what do you want and why are you doing this?”

“Sit down.”

Marguerite complied, her knees giving way gracefully as she sank onto the hard rush seat. Minshom toyed with the blue ribbon wrapped around the folded parchment.

“There are two reasons. The first is that I want justice for my cousin. Justin didn’t deserve to die, and Sir Harry will pay for that. The second is more personal.” He looked at Marguerite. “I want to deal with Sokorvsky once and for all. Luckily for me, you are rather intimately connected with both men.”

“So I am actually irrelevant?”

“Well, hardly that. You are an interesting woman, Marguerite, as is your mother.” He paused as if waiting for a reaction. “You always reminded me of someone and eventually I worked it out. You are Helene Delornay’s daughter.”

“That is scarcely a secret, sir. I’m very proud of my mother and have never tried to hide the relationship.”

“But everyone else has, haven’t they? Between the meddling Duke of Diable Delamere and Viscount Harcourt DeVere, your origins have been kept quiet, haven’t they?”

A cold ball of fear settled in her chest like a tight fist, but Marguerite didn’t say anything. Lord Minshom smiled.

“In truth, I only realized who you were when I caught a glimpse of your mother visiting you at home. It was enough for me to make the connection and follow up with some more solid investigating of my own.”

“So?”

“So, I wonder how the Lockwoods felt about their precious son and heir marrying the bastard daughter of a whore?”

“The Lockwoods knew everything they needed to know.”

“I doubt that.” He held her gaze. “And even if they did, I’m not sure they’d wish the rest of the ton to know the kind of woman their son chose to marry, do you?”

Marguerite gathered her courage, wondered how many minutes had passed since she’d walked into this emotional battlefield.

“If you spread this gossip, the only person you will hurt is Justin and the Lockwoods, not me. I’m already considered a pariah; this will certainly not alter their opinion of me.”

Minshom raised his eyebrows. “I must commend you, Marguerite—your calmness is remarkable, especially for a woman.”

“I suppose I should thank you for the compliment, but I’d rather finish this conversation as quickly as possible and leave.” She half-rose from her seat. “Have you finished trying to blackmail me?”

“Not quite.” His smile disappeared. “If we ignore the feelings of the surviving Lockwood family, there is also the little matter of your marriage and Justin’s reputation to consider.”

“What do you mean?”

“You cared for Justin, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I loved him.”

“And yet you slept with his best friend.”

There it was, the accusation she’d been expecting. And as she had always feared, it was far more devastating to hear it spoken out loud rather than whispered behind her back.

“If you asked Sir Harry about his relationship with Justin then you know what I did, and why.”

“I do know, but I’m quite willing to make you the scapegoat for Justin’s death. A jealous husband tries to shoot the best friend who has cuckolded him with his own wife and ends up dead. Now that is something the scandal sheets would love to hear the details of. It’s the story that everyone has been gossiping about for the last two years, why not bring it out in the open and make it the truth?”

“Because it isn’t the truth.”

“It’s the truth I intend to tell if you don’t agree to my conditions.”

Marguerite stared at Lord Minshom and saw no hint of compassion on his hard face. “Why would you do that to me? As you said, I am nothing to you.”

He shrugged. “And thus disposable. In one single blow I can ruin you, protect Justin, and destroy Sir Harry’s chances of ever being accepted back into English society again.”

Marguerite licked her lips. Her mind seemed to have frozen into ragged shards. There must be a way out of this trap, but she could no longer see it. She couldn’t betray Justin, but the thought that all the blame for what had happened should rest on her was intolerable. She’d just started to find herself, to believe she was worthy of love, to breathe without fear . . .