Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

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?”

“Yes, and as you saw, David Gray is an expert in that.”

She came toward him, the tip of the crop stroking her palm. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“But how much pain is enough, Anthony? How is your lover supposed to know when to stop if you don’t?”

He looked away from her. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I could hurt you.”

He exhaled and slowly forced a smile. “It’s all right, I appreciate your honesty . . . I understand.” He turned toward the door, his heart felt like a lead weight in his chest. “I just wanted to explain, to tell you the truth, to . . .”

She barred his way with the crop, pushing it against his chest.

“Don’t walk away from me. You asked to see me, insisted on it.”

“Because I had some stupid idea that you cared about me, that you might want to help me discover myself sexually. But I understand now that it would be too distasteful for you.”

“That’s not what I said.” Marguerite sighed. “Why me? I’m not the woman you thought I was. Wouldn’t you prefer a young debutante who would be too ignorant to understand your preferences and probably oblivious to your partaking of them, if you were careful?”

“And I would be living my life as a lie? Unable to share my true self with the woman I’d chosen to marry?” He hesitated, making himself meet her gaze. “I’d much rather live with a woman who knew the worst of me and loved me despite myself. Wouldn’t you prefer a relationship like that?”

“It’s not the same, is it? A man can stray sexually, and no one thinks anything of it. If a married woman is unfaithful, she becomes an object of scorn, of ridicule.”

“Marguerite, do you really think I find you an object of scorn?”

“No, you prefer to pretend I was wholly innocent of anything that happened in my marriage, and that isn’t true. Didn’t you hear me say I would’ve slept with Harry if it had meant Justin stayed with me? I was so fixated on hiding my past, on becoming socially acceptable, that I was prepared to do almost anything.”

“So what? I know you, Marguerite. You are incredibly loyal, and I can understand that you would’ve done anything to save your marriage.”

“It’s not that simple.” She struggled to meet his gaze. “I was intrigued by the idea of sleeping with two men—aroused!”

Anthony smiled. “Do you think that shocks me? I saw the way you reacted to David when he was tying me up. I know you enjoyed it.”

“So you’d be quite comfortable with me fucking any man I want?”

He grabbed the tip of the whip, drew her hard against his body. “If you were mine, you wouldn’t need to fuck any other man.”

“Because you’d be fucking them for me?”

He stared down at her face, absorbed her pain and his own, allowed the emotions inside him to solidify and condense, and sent them outward to her. “Marguerite, I love you, don’t you understand that yet?”

“You are infuriating!” She tried to kick his shin, but he pulled her even closer.

“I would only fuck another person if you ordered me to. In truth, I would probably like it if you did. And only men. I wouldn’t want another woman besides you.” He kissed the top of her head. “And you’re right. I mustn’t be selfish. If you asked nicely, I’d let you join in.” He hesitated. “And, of course, if you asked me not to touch anyone else but you, I’d try to do that as well.”

“You mean that after all you’ve just said, you’d be prepared to give up all your sexual interests for me?”

He sighed. “I’d certainly try. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I crave and what I can do without.” She tried to move away from him, but he held on. “I’m trying to be honest here, Marguerite; can you at least give me credit for that?”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“Help me? Explore all the possibilities with me?”

She looked up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He bent his head, licking the spot she’d gnawed on, tasting her blood. She moaned as his tongue slid into her mouth, took possession of it and dueled with hers. She pulled back, her breathing as short as his.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you want to? Because you care about me?”

“Anthony, I’m not sure I am the right woman for you. Perhaps you need to experiment more before you make any decisions.”

“Because I’ve only made love to you?” He released her and took two steps back, let her see his already tented breeches. “Perhaps I am a man who finally knows what he wants.”

“But you just told me you didn’t know.”

“What I know , Marguerite, is that you are being a coward.” He pointed at the door. “You’d rather I went out there and spent the next six months trying everything the pleasure house has to offer. Then I suppose you’d like me to run back to you with a list, so that you could make up your mind if you could bear to love me?”

“You don’t understand; I can’t risk another mistake. I can’t . . .”

“Can’t risk loving me.” Anthony bowed. “I have to go and speak to my father now. I’ve decided to take up his offer and become his land manager for at least the next six months. It might not work out, but at least it will be valuable experience if I decide to branch out on my own again.”

He picked up his coat and waistcoat and headed for the door, his mouth uncomfortably dry as he swallowed down his agony. “Good-bye, Marguerite. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Anthony . . .”

He heard the riding crop clatter to the floor, but he couldn’t turn back. He’d risked all and he’d lost, but he’d also learned something. Despite his heartbreak, he wasn’t going back to the life he’d led before. He grimaced into the darkness of the stairwell. Perhaps he should follow his own advice and start on a career of true debauchery. As long as he fucked women, his father wouldn’t mind.

He came to an abrupt stop on the first landing. But he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want any other woman but Marguerite. Briefly, he closed his eyes. A morning spent with his father was the perfect cure to any emotional display he might be tempted to make. But it wouldn’t cure his heartache; he doubted anything ever would.

Marguerite stared at the bare floorboards until the sound of Anthony’s retreating footsteps disappeared completely. She’d lost her nerve, frightened herself, doubted herself and finally succeeded in pushing Anthony away. She swallowed hard. He loved her? She drew her shawl closer around her body.

God, she needed to think. Could she bear never seeing him again, never touching him, never waking up with him moving over her? She shivered just at the thought of it. Had she just made a colossal blunder? Was Anthony right? Was she a coward?