Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

Marguerite held her breath as it opened a scant inch to reveal the haggard face of Sir Harry Jones. Christian smartly stepped to one side so that Harry could see her. The door swung open, and after one last reassuring nod from Christian, Marguerite stepped into the room.

It stank of brandy and cigar smoke and the greasy remains of the badly cooked food piled in half-finished platefuls on the small desk. Clothes hung at random over the backs of the two rickety chairs, along with stockings, waistcoats and under things.

“Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t really expecting visitors.” Sir Harry cleared his throat and started gathering up his belongings and throwing them into an open trunk so that Marguerite could sit down.

“Didn’t Lord Minshom tell you I wanted to speak to you?”

Despite her fears, her voice sounded reassuringly normal. Sir Harry stared at her, one hand smoothing over his unshaven chin. He seemed to have aged ten years since she’d last seen him, all the joy in his face exterminated, all the hope gone.

“I told Minshom I would be quite happy to see you, but I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Marguerite tried not to show her concern. What had happened to Minshom after Anthony had hit him? Had he crawled away somewhere to die? A tap on the door made her jump. Christian produced a pistol from his pocket and motioned for both her and Harry to stay still.

The knock came again and then the door handle slowly turned. Marguerite’s gaze fixed on Harry’s horrified face. Was it Minshom come to complete his revenge, or had the authorities finally caught up with her dead husband’s lover?

“I apologize for turning up late, but Marguerite didn’t tell me the correct time for our appointment.”

Christian sighed and put his pistol away. “Sokorvsky.”

“What are you doing here?” Marguerite stared at Anthony, her heart hammering so loudly she imagined they could all hear it. Despite her fear, she drank in the sight of his disheveled black hair and determined expression.

“Because I deserve to know the truth.”

“You don’t ‘deserve’ anything.” God, she was frightened, so frightened by the intensity of his blue gaze, of the knowledge and supreme confidence burning there, as if he knew her through and through.

He shrugged. “You’re right, I deserve your contempt for what I am, but you don’t hate me do you? So why should I hate you?”

Sir Harry cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Marguerite, but who is this man? And what does he have to do with my relationship with you and Justin?”

Anthony bowed. “I’m Anthony Sokorvsky, a friend of Marguerite and her brother.”

Sir Harry eyed the door, his throat working convulsively. “Delighted, I’m sure, but I’m still none the wiser as to what you are doing here.”

Anthony sat down on the side of the unmade bed, his expression gentle, his gaze fixed on the other man. “I’m trying to understand what makes a man kill his best friend, and what makes a woman lie to protect the men she knew.”

Sir Harry exhaled and sat down suddenly in the other chair facing Marguerite. Christian resumed his position against the door, his gun in one hand.

“I told Minshom everything. I even wrote it down for him.” Harry looked up at Marguerite. “Didn’t he even give you that?”

Marguerite drew out the sheets of closely written parchments and put them on the table. “I haven’t read them yet. I wasn’t sure Minshom could be trusted to tell me the truth.”

Harry laughed, the sound bitter. “Minshom is a complete bastard.”

“That we can all agree on.” She leaned forward, trying to catch Harry’s eye. “Will you tell me the truth?”

He glanced around at Christian and Anthony. “In front of them?”

She nodded. There was nothing left to lose. If Anthony wanted to hear the awful facts of her marriage, she no longer had the energy to prevent him. What happened after that, she would leave in God’s hands.

Harry started to speak, his voice low, his expression uncertain. “I wasn’t surprised when Justin wrote and told me he was getting married.” He sighed. “He’d already told me that he would have to do it for his family’s sake. He was the oldest. I understood that. But I didn’t expect him to marry someone like you.”

He lifted his gaze to Marguerite. “You were not the biddable old spinster Justin had imagined, you were . . . yourself, and he was clearly enamored. I was reluctant to join you on your wedding trip, but Justin insisted. He told me that you would understand, that you had been brought up in France and had a more pragmatic view of marriage and adultery.”

When Harry hesitated, Marguerite nodded to encourage him to go on. She didn’t want to disrupt his story by telling him that she’d dreamed of a handsome man sweeping her off her feet, of true love, or happily ever after, thought she’d found it in Justin. She’d been a fool wanting that, wanting to be normal, to be loved.

“Anyway, the more time I spent in your company, the more I liked you, and the less comfortable I felt with our deception. I told Justin he should tell you the truth—let you decide for yourself, but he was reluctant to disturb the apparent harmony between us all.”

“And then I found you in bed together one afternoon when I was supposed to be on a sightseeing tour.”

Harry nodded. “And you were shocked, and rightly so. Justin, of course, hated being caught in the wrong and handled everything very badly. If it wasn’t for your good sense, things might have turned ugly.” He leaned forward in his seat. “You were magnificent.”

Marguerite shrugged. “I merely told Justin that I understood his needs. There is nothing particularly heroic about that.”

“I beg to disagree, my lady,” Anthony said. “But please continue, Sir Harry.”

Harry’s gaze flicked between Marguerite and Anthony. “Well, she allowed Justin and me to be together, she even stayed and watched, which Justin adored.” He licked his lips. “In truth, I found it difficult to enjoy myself in those circumstances, when I knew I was interfering in a marriage. When we reached Dover, I told Justin I was no longer comfortable being his lover and that I intended to return to London.

“I tried to explain to him that I respected Marguerite too much to want to come between them. Justin lost his temper and accused me of coveting his wife, accused her of allowing my attentions. Nothing was his fault, nothing ever was.” His smile was full of anguish. “So I returned to London and set about requesting a transfer to India, to get me as far away from the Lockwoods as possible.”

Harry got up and walked to the small window, aimlessly peered outside and then sat down again. “Of course, Justin followed me to London and found me at my club. He accused me of sleeping with you in front of everyone and demanded satisfaction.” He buried his face in his hands. “God knows, I tried to persuade him to back down, promised him anything, even that I’d fuck him again if he’d only stop the duel.”

“I always wondered where that rumor came from. I didn’t realize it was Justin who said I was an adulterer.” Marguerite stared down at her hands, gripping them tightly together until her nails dug into her skin. “How could he do that to me?”

“Because he was jealous?” Anthony asked. “Because he had finally realized his true nature and knew how much Harry meant to him? Perhaps he couldn’t bear the thought of Harry going away?”

“But I told him I didn’t mind, that he could bed Harry as much as he wanted.”

“And did you really mean that?” Anthony said quietly.

“I thought I did. I was willing to accept anything if it meant he stayed with me.” She met Anthony’s compassionate gaze. “But I was a fool, wasn’t I? Trying to save something that didn’t even exist.”