Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

She bit her lip. If it were only that easy. Perhaps it was for Christian, who had never been in love. She nodded and managed a smile.

“It’s freezing out here. Let’s go home.”

“Maman, I don’t want to see him!”

“Marguerite, you have to.”

Marguerite swung around to glare at her mother, who had invaded her bedroom at the break of dawn complete with a breakfast tray and a lecture.

“Why must I see him?”

“Because you owe him an explanation?”

“He got an explanation. Thanks to your interference, he was there last night! I’m sure he heard everything he needed to hear about my transgressions.”

“There is no need to be rude.” Helene settled her skirts around her knees. “Obviously he’s not satisfied if he insisted on meeting you again this morning.”

“He probably just wants to tell me he never wants to see me again.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he knows what I did, he knows everything.”

“He knows that your marriage was full of problems and that your husband caused most of them.”

Marguerite rounded on her mother, fists clenched at her sides. “Why are you being so nice to me? Why isn’t anyone blaming me?”

“For what? You married Justin in good faith, oui? You didn’t know that after a few days of marriage he would suddenly produce a male lover?”

“Of course I didn’t know that, but I didn’t stop him, did I? I let him believe that it was all right, that I understood, that . . .” She ran out of words and stared helplessly at her mother. “God, I was prepared to do anything to keep him. I wanted a family of my own so desperately.”

Helene sighed and held out her hand. “Marguerite, you always had me and the twins; why do you make it sound as if you were alone?”

“I felt alone, Maman. I always tried to be a mother to the twins, but I knew they would be leaving the nunnery soon and coming to you. I knew they would no longer need me. When I met Justin, he seemed the answer to my prayers.”

Helene’s hand dropped onto her lap. “I’m sorry, Marguerite. I’m so sorry for giving you that burden. I should never have abandoned you like that.”

Marguerite went to kneel at her mother’s feet. “It’s all right. I know why you did it, Maman. I understand. Please do not feel guilty.”

Helene sighed. “I knew something was wrong when I came to meet you in Dover just after your marriage. I should’ve acted on my instincts and questioned you more closely.”

Marguerite took her mother’s hand and squeezed it hard. “And I would have continued to lie to you. I’d already made my decision to marry Justin, and I was prepared to live with that choice.”

“And now? You will destroy your chance at happiness with Anthony Sokorvsky by living in the past forever?”

“I thought you didn’t approve of my liaison with Anthony.”

Helene smiled slightly. “I’ve changed my mind. I think he has the potential to become an extraordinary man. You haven’t answered my question. Are you going to allow your guilt about Justin to sour your future with Anthony?”

“But how can I tell, Maman? How can I know if he is the right man for me? I haven’t chosen very well so far.”

“Anthony told me that Lord Minshom shared all his secrets with you, and that you didn’t turn away from him. Is that true?”

“Why would I?”

Helene’s face softened. “Most women would, my dear. Do you think he would have told you himself if Minshom hadn’t forced the issue?”

Marguerite met her mother’s searching gaze. “Yes, I think so; in truth, I know he would.”

“And were you intending to tell him about your complicated relationship with Justin?”

“Yes, I was.”

Helene smiled. “Then what is the problem? Lord Minshom saved you both a lot of trouble, didn’t he?”

Marguerite thought about that. Lord Minshom in the unlikely role of matchmaker felt decidedly odd, yet he had helped her connect with Sir Harry at the end, and had walked away from Anthony . . .

“I don’t know if Anthony wants me, Maman. I know he values our friendship, but he has never spoken of love.”

Helene patted Marguerite’s hand and released it, then got to her feet in a rustle of blue silk. “Both of you have good reasons not to want to fall in love. Both of you fear being vulnerable again. I suggest you see Anthony, tell him how you feel and see what he says in return.”

“You make it sound so easy, Maman.”

“Hardly that.” Helene hugged Marguerite. “It took me almost nineteen years to understand that I loved Philip. I couldn’t believe that anyone would find me remotely lovable, but I was wrong. Don’t waste your life like I did, Marguerite; be honest with yourself, forget the past and find happiness.”

Marguerite looked into her mother’s face and nodded. “I’ll try, Maman.”

“I’m so glad you agreed to speak to me.”

Anthony bowed as Marguerite hesitated at the door. Despite the current surroundings, he tried to look as nonthreatening as possible. He’d stripped off his coat and waistcoat and could feel the chill of the as yet unheated upper floor of the pleasure house in his bones. At ten in the morning, the place looked almost harmless—a stark contrast to the excesses that normally played out on this stage of extreme sexual pleasure.

Marguerite wore a simple brown dress, her long hair caught back in a bow at the nape of her neck. She looked far too pale for his liking, but after the series of shocks she had suffered over the past few days, he could hardly blame her. Her hands clasped the ends of a thick cream shawl over her breasts.

“I didn’t want to see you. My mother made me.”

He smiled. Her honesty always touched him. “But you are here, and I am grateful.”

“I think I know you well enough to understand that if I don’t deal with you now, you’ll follow me around until I do.”

Anthony shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve become very tenacious of late. I’ve realized I can’t allow others to dictate the pace of my life or make my decisions for me.”

Marguerite walked into the center of the room, her blue eyes fixed on his. “That is good. I am pleased for you.”

Silence fell as he contemplated his next move. So much hinged on her reactions that he was unsure of where to begin. His gaze fell on the farthest corner of the room, and he reached for Marguerite’s hand. She let him lead her toward his darkest moments, to the place he still had nightmares about.

“I used to strip naked and have myself chained up here.” He pointed at the bare floorboards, the manacles draped over a nearby stand containing whips of every type and length. “In the punishment corner, a man no longer has the right to say no, or to deny anyone the chance to fuck him or hurt him.”

Marguerite didn’t speak, but she didn’t pull away from him either. He gathered his courage. “Sometimes I even enjoyed it, giving up the responsibility of my sexual needs to others; sometimes I craved that pain. At first I did it to blot out the nightmares about Aliabad, the man who raped me. In my naiveté, I decided that if I had to experience such sexual torment every night, I’d prefer to make it real. I soon learned that was a mistake and that I had no control over the new nightmares either.”

He let go of Marguerite’s hand and crouched down to stroke the cold metal of the manacles. “And of course by then I was addicted to the sexual thrill of it all, thought I deserved it, thought Aliabad and Minshom had it right, that I was born to be submissive and crave pain.

“And then one morning I woke up here alone, covered in bruises and Minshom’s cum and realized I couldn’t take it anymore.” He looked up at her. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it was. I realized that I’d allowed others to dictate my sexuality to me for far too long and that I deserved the chance to find out what I wanted for myself.”

He sighed. “And then Christian introduced me to you. And I felt such a connection to you from the first . . . You fascinated me. I tried to tell myself that it was simply because you were the first woman I’d ever tried to be honest with, that the attraction was all on my part. But it wasn’t, was it?”

Marguerite shook her head but didn’t speak, so Anthony plowed on.

“Despite what you know of my sexual preferences, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to bed women, even up here, and I never felt the urge to do it until I met you.”

“Anthony, are you saying I was the first woman you made love to?”

He tried to smile. “If you overlook the lady Peter introduced me to at the pleasure house who showed me how to give a woman pleasure with my mouth and fingers, then yes.”

“I’m honored.”

Anthony let the manacles fall to the floor and stood up. “Honored that you were my first woman? I thought you’d laugh at me.”

She stared at him, her expression serious. “Why would I laugh? It took a lot of courage for you to try something different, to break away from what you were used to.”

He held her gaze, keen to come to the crux of the matter, to lay himself open for her, to pray for understanding. “But it doesn’t change everything. I still enjoy the unusual in my sex life. I think I always will.”

“Do you want to go back to Minshom?”

He shuddered. “Not at all.”

“Then what do you want?” She gestured at the racks of whips, the masks, the chains hung on the red-and-black-painted walls. “What here would make you sexually happy?”

“I don’t know. I’m not trying to be coy; I really don’t know quite what I, Anthony Sokorvsky, would actually enjoy.”

Marguerite picked up one of the riding crops from the stand nearest her and studied it. Despite himself, Anthony’s pulse quickened.

“You enjoy being tied up, don’t you?”