Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

Anthony could only stare at Valentin’s rigid back and marvel at the change in his brother. If that was what loving someone did to a person, he was all for it. He cleared his throat.

“I’m quite happy to help deliver that inheritance to Alexis, even if you don’t want it. After all, that’s what family is for.”

“Damnation, I should be doing it, but I’m not ready.”

Anthony smiled at his brother’s halting admission, knowing that he was being asked for help and that for once he was able to provide it.

“I’m delighted to oblige, and I promise not to skim off too much money from the estate in my role as dastardly poor relation.”

Valentin swung around and stared at Anthony. “I know you won’t.”

Anthony found it hard to look away from his brother. For the first time, he felt they were equals, that by conquering his demons he was able to see his brother more clearly. Not as the man who’d returned to steal Anthony’s place in his father’s affections, but as a man who felt as uncertain of his place as Anthony did.

“I’ve finished with Minshom.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Does he understand that too?”

Anthony glanced down at his bruised knuckles. “I believe he does.”

“Good, and how goes your affair with the beautiful Lady Justin Lockwood?”

“What affair would that be?”

Valentin returned to his seat, his smile superior. “The one that everyone is talking about.”

“Minshom told her that the only sex I enjoyed involved pain and humiliation.”

“Ah, and how did she react to that?”

“She defended me, said she didn’t care.”

“A remarkable woman, then.”

It was Anthony’s turn to pace the room. “She is, but, the thing is, I do have peculiar sexual tastes. Sometimes I like to be tied up, to be dominated, to . . .”

“And you don’t think she will be able to tolerate such behavior or provide you with those things?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked her?”

Anthony ran his hand through his hair. “No, it’s complicated. She has secrets of her own, and there are reasons why she doesn’t want to see me again.”

“And you’re going to let her do that to you? Let her get away without being honest with her?”

Anthony stared long and hard at Valentin. “No. You’re right. I’m not going to let her walk away from me with things so unsettled.”

Val got to his feet. “Bravo, little brother.” He paused. “Sara lets me be myself. She knows that I need a little variation in my sex life. She understands and even enjoys the occasions when Peter and sometimes Abigail join us. So there are women who can understand, if they love you. I’m proof of that.”

He frowned as he reached the door. “And if you share that information with anyone, I’ll not only deny it, but I’ll take great pleasure in beating you to a pulp. Good night, Anthony. I’ll make sure your wages are sent on to you. I know where you live.”

“Good night, Val.” Anthony picked up the papers from his desk and placed them on top of the heavy accounting book. “I’ve finished all my work and left instructions for Taggart to clear up anything else that comes up.”

When he heard the outer door bang, he realized he’d been talking to himself. Clearly uncomfortable in his role of confidant and mentor, Valentin had already left. Anthony hefted the pile of papers into his arms and walked through into the main office. He carefully deposited the stack on Taggart’s neat desk and took a last long look around the shipping office. He’d learned a lot, but it was definitely time to move on and create something for himself.

He took a deep breath, inhaled the familiar smell of ink and spices and slowly let it out again. Time to talk things through with his father and then see if Marguerite would ever listen to him again.

“You want me to take you where?”

Marguerite tried to conceal her irritation as Christian slowly put his spoon down and stared at her across the kitchen table. He was working his way through a large bowl of chicken soup; the fragrant smell made Marguerite feel sick.

“To the Jugged Hare Inn.”

“Why would I want to do that? Don’t you have a perfectly good house of your own to get drunk in?”

With a thump, Marguerite sat down in the seat opposite Christian and tried not to glare at him. He’d taken off his coat and sat at his ease in his silver waistcoat and shirtsleeves. She glanced at Madame Dubois, who was busy stirring something on the stove and lowered her voice.

“Christian, could you stop being sarcastic and simply help me?”

He regarded her for a long minute as he continued to chew his food. “Does this have something to do with Anthony Sokorvsky?”

“Why do you ask me that?”

“Because I’ve heard that the Jugged Hare is a haven for men who prefer the more extreme sexual practices or like to dress up as women.”

“And you assume Anthony would want to meet me there.”

Christian leaned forward, his expression darkening. “If you don’t know about Sokorvsky’s sexual tastes by now, you don’t know him at all.”

“I know what he’s been forced to do. I know he wants to change.” Marguerite met Christian’s glare full on. “And this conversation isn’t about him anyway.”

“God, I wish I’d never introduced you to him.”

“Then why did you? I’ve wondered that myself.”

“Because I knew about Justin’s particular tastes, and I reckoned after he died, that you were concealing what you knew about him as well.”

“So you introduced me to another man who likes men?”

“I introduced you to a man struggling to overcome his demons, a man I hoped would help you discover what you really wanted in a mate as well.” Christian put his elbows on the table and pushed his hands through his thick blond hair. “Look, both of you seemed unsure of what you needed. I hoped you might work it out together.”

Marguerite studied her younger brother with close attention. In his ability to gauge the sexual tastes of the members of the pleasure house, he was even more like their mother than Lisette. Was he right? Had he seen something in her and Anthony that would bring them together? She couldn’t think about that now; all her attention had to be on her meeting with Sir Harry.

“But truly, this isn’t about Anthony. This is about the past, about Justin.”

Christian sat up straight. “Why do you need to meddle with the past? What about your future with Sokorvsky?”

Marguerite looked down at her clenched hands. “There is no future with Anthony. He thinks he knows what happened with Justin and Harry and . . . me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him nothing. Lord Minshom took care of that.”

“Merde.” Christian rose to his feet, determination etched on his handsome features. “Of course I’ll take you. I’ll just get my cloak.”

His father and mother hadn’t been home and neither, apparently, was Marguerite. Anthony tried not to grind his teeth as all his plans to miraculously sort out his future in one evening evaporated. He’d left the Stratham mansion and now stood staring at Marguerite’s butler—again.

“If her ladyship is out, may I speak to Mrs. Jones?”

“I’ll see, sir.”

Anthony was left fuming on the step, the door firmly closed in his face. Servants always had a way of knowing what was going on upstairs, and Anthony reckoned they already knew he was no longer in favor with their mistress.

“Lord Anthony?”

He nodded at Mrs. Jones, received a warm smile and a burst of gin-laden breath in return.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jones. I was wondering if you could tell me where Lady Justin has gone. I was supposed to meet her here.”

Mrs. Jones frowned. “She seemed settled for the night and then she suddenly came running into the kitchen where I was having a comfortable chat with the cook, demanding an escort to her mother’s place of business. Of course, I don’t go there with her, so she took one of the footmen.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Not so long ago, my lord, probably less than half an hour.”

He tipped his hat to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones, you have been most helpful. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

Before she had even shut the door, he was racing down the slippery steps and toward the main thoroughfare, where he hoped to pick up a hackney cab. Rain skittered sideways across the filthy cobbled street, obscuring his vision. Whatever Marguerite was going to do, his instincts told him it wasn’t good. He flagged down a cab, hopped in and gave the driver Madame Helene’s direction.

Marguerite hadn’t contacted him or asked for his help; she’d chosen to go to her mother instead. But he didn’t care. She might try to back away from him, to push him out of her life, but he wasn’t going to allow it. They’d both broken through their pasts to find themselves, and if he had to drag her into that new future kicking and fighting him, he’d do it, not just for himself but for her.

His knowledge of the layout of the pleasure house exceeded most members’, so after greeting the footman stationed in the hall, he headed straight down the back stairs to the kitchen. He halted at the door, wiping rain drops from his face in a vain attempt to improve his vision.

“Good evening, Anthony.”

“Good evening, Madame.”

Even as he continued to search the busy kitchen for Marguerite, he managed to bow to Helene. She walked toward him, her pale yellow skirts rustling, and effectively blocked his path.

“Are you looking for anyone is particular?”

He met her gaze. “Your daughter. Is she here?”

“Marguerite?” Helene raised her eyebrows. “Now why would you want to see her? I thought she had given you your marching orders.”

“She tried to.”

“And?”

“I refuse to accept them.”

Helene continued to study him, all traces of her usual relaxed smile absent. “I’m not sure whether that is a good thing for either you or Marguerite. Perhaps you can help me decide.”