Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

“So it’s my fault you are as twisted and needy as you are? I made you want sex to be as painful and humiliating as I could make it?”

“I wanted sex, yes.”

Marguerite bit her lip as Anthony simply stared at Minshom, his face heartbreakingly open, his expression unguarded. Yet she didn’t see weakness or neediness, she saw a quiet strength that perhaps Anthony wasn’t even aware of. Her hands fisted at her sides. She wanted to go to him, to enfold him in her arms and tell him it didn’t matter, that she would make everything right for him.

“Stay there, Marguerite. We haven’t finished yet.”

She blinked at Minshom’s harsh command, realizing she’d been poised to leave her seat. Anthony’s clear blue gaze flicked over her and then returned to Minshom. “Don’t tell her what to do.”

“Why not? Is that your prerogative? Is that why you like her so much?”

Minshom stood up and came up behind Anthony, resting the small pistol on his shoulder, still pointing at Marguerite. He slid a hand into Anthony’s pockets and removed the knife and the pistol Anthony had concealed there.

“I’ll keep the knife. It’s much easier to hold than a pistol.” Minshom dealt with his gun and then the one he’d taken from Anthony and tossed them onto the seat of the wing chair. “Don’t try to use them against me, Marguerite; neither of them are loaded now.”

“But I could still hit you over the head with one, couldn’t I?”

“You really are quite amusing, my dear, but you should know that I’m not afraid to defend myself, even from a woman.”

Marguerite couldn’t believe she’d actually said the words out loud. Lord Minshom had the nerve to smile as if she’d made a joke. Anthony said nothing, his attention on Minshom as he resumed his position behind him. He flinched as Minshom curved his arm around his waist and then dropped his hand to cover Anthony’s groin.

“Does she do what you tell her to? Or is it the other way around? Is she happy to hurt you to give you sexual release?”

“I wouldn’t ask it of her.”

Anthony flinched as Minshom twisted the fabric of his breeches, dug his fingers into the curve of his balls and kneaded his cock. Minshom smiled at Marguerite. “But surely you know that she likes the unusual. Why else would she have married Justin Lockwood if she wasn’t prepared to be . . . accommodating?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Anthony’s voice sounded strained as if he was fighting the pressure of Minshom’s fingers, and the obvious and gradual swelling of his shaft.

Marguerite shivered; perhaps this wasn’t about Minshom showing her how perverted Anthony was after all. Perhaps it was far more personal.

“Marguerite, didn’t you tell Anthony about the true nature of your liaison with Justin?” Minshom tutted. “And I thought you told me you believed in being honest.”

“I do.”

“Yet you omitted to mention that you shared a bed with your husband and his lover and fucked them both?”

Marguerite focused her gaze on Minshom’s hand which was roughly fondling Anthony’s cock through his breeches. She couldn’t bear to look up, to see the shock she knew would be on Anthony’s face.

“What Marguerite chose to do in her marriage is nothing to do with you.” Anthony’s quiet voice penetrated Marguerite’s haze of guilt.

“Really?” Minshom asked. “Yet Justin was my cousin. I believe I have a right to ensure that his reputation, even in death, is spotless. If his wife cuckolded him, surely the world should know?”

“You forget, I knew Justin. He was scarcely an innocent.”

Minshom laughed. “Are you suggesting my cousin encouraged his wife to indulge in an affair?”

Anthony looked straight at Marguerite. “I’m not sure. Perhaps Marguerite would like to tell me that part of it herself, in private.”

He swallowed a gasp as Minshom’s hand jerked hard on his cock.

“Oh, no, Sokorvsky. Nothing is private between us. Don’t you remember how that felt? How you used to beg to be fucked, to be beaten, to be used as I saw fit?” Minshom chuckled. “How many men fucked you, came in your mouth or in your arse at my command?”

Anthony grimaced and closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to remember. Marguerite pictured it instead, Anthony being repeatedly taken, naked, alone, hurting . . .

“I don’t care.”

“I beg your pardon?” Minshom said.

“I don’t care if he had fifty men a night.” Marguerite forced back her tears. “He had no choice, you said so. You said you forced him.”

“And you admire a man who allows himself to be used like that? A man so weak that he can’t say no?”

She opened her eyes wide. “But he did say no, didn’t he? That’s why we are here now and why you are behaving like a pathetic, discarded lover.”

Minshom’s face stilled as did the hand that gripped Anthony’s cock. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, my dear?” he purred. “When you realized Justin had only married you to conceal his affair with Sir Harry, you must’ve been furious.”

“That’s not how it happened . . .”

“Didn’t you know that? Justin told me he was looking for a suitably ignorant female to marry. The kind of woman who would be so grateful that she wouldn’t care what he got up to in the bedroom. But it was even easier for him than that, wasn’t it? Because you not only condoned his behavior but embraced it.”

“Leave her alone.”

Anthony stirred, tried to turn, but Minshom held him close, the knife edge biting into his throat. His cock throbbed along with the sting of the blade. Did Marguerite realize that in defending him, she had pushed Minshom too far, that now he would have no compunction in bringing her down?

“Shut up, Sokorvsky. Perhaps it’s time you realized Marguerite isn’t quite as pure and lovely as she appears. She married Justin, found out he was fucking Sir Harry, and deliberately tried to come between them.” Minshom’s laugh was deadly. “Perhaps even literally. She pretended to like Harry, all the while whispering lies and poison into his ear about how Justin no longer needed him or wanted him now that she was around.”

Anthony glanced at Marguerite, who seemed to have shrunk back into her chair, her eyes wide and terrified.

“It’s hardly surprising that Sir Harry picked a fight with his best friend, is it, when a woman like Marguerite starts to meddle?”

Anthony licked his lips. “It is hardly Marguerite’s fault if her husband cannot manage his affairs. She was married to him; surely she had a right to be first in his affections?”

“And the way to do that was to fuck his best friend? To ignore her wedding vows and conveniently end up a widow?”

Marguerite shook her head as if words were beyond her. Anthony drew an unsteady breath. Had she instigated a ménage à trois within her own marriage, and was Minshom really implying that she had caused her own husband’s death?

“I don’t care.” He echoed her earlier words, hoping she realized it. “I don’t care if she fucked them both.”

He almost groaned as Minshom gave his cock one last savage twist and then shoved him forward. He stumbled and fell to his knees, braced a hand on the floor to stop himself falling forward. He managed to look behind him and saw Minshom heading for the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving. I’ve never heard such pathetic drivel in my entire life. I fear the pair of you are beyond my help.”

“Your help? You call this help?”

Minshom’s eyebrows rose. “You deserve each other. You are both weak and easily manipulated. There is no enjoyment left even in tormenting you.”

Anthony got to his feet, conscious that Marguerite hadn’t moved or said anything since Minshom’s last diatribe. He advanced slowly toward Minshom, who had opened the door.

“Then you are done with us?”

Minshom bowed. “I believe I am.”

“Good.”

Anthony raised his fist and plowed it right into Minshom’s smiling face, did it again and watched Minshom’s legs buckle and him fall backward down the stairs to land in an untidy heap at the bottom. Without another glance he slammed the door shut and locked it.

“Marguerite, are you all right?”

Anthony went down on his knees beside her chair, and grabbed hold of her hands.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered.

“What?”

“Knock Minshom out. Now he can’t tell me where to find Sir Harry.”

Anthony let go of her hands. She watched distantly as his expression darkened.

“After all that just happened, why the hell are you still worried about Sir Harry?”

Marguerite licked her lips. “I only agreed to stay with Minshom because he promised to tell me where Harry was.”

“And I thought you’d stayed for me.”

“You don’t understand . . .”

Anthony got off the floor and walked away, coming to a stop in front of the fireplace, his back still facing her. “I think I do. I’d assumed you were grieving for a dead man, not pining for another. Minshom had it wrong, didn’t he? You were in love with Sir Harry, not Justin.”

Marguerite blinked as searing color flooded her cheeks, slowly shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “That’s not true. Lord Minshom deliberately tried to mislead you; are you going to believe him over me?”

Anthony finally swung around, one hand still cupping his groin as if to ease the ache of Minshom’s touch. He sighed and didn’t really look at her. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t choose whom we love, can we?”

Marguerite rose to her feet, advanced toward him and slapped him as hard as she could on the cheek. He grabbed her wrist when she attempted to do it again.

“What the hell was that for?”

“For believing Minshom, for pretending you didn’t care what I’d done and then throwing it in my face.”

“I’m hardly doing that. On the contrary, I just told you I understand!”