Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

She sensed the hurt behind his words and met his gaze without flinching. “Not at all. It is always refreshing to meet a man with a mind of his own, a man not content with living his life in a way that doesn’t sit well with him.”

His smile warmed her and he leaned closer. “That’s exactly it. The job gave me a purpose when many of my contemporaries were too busy gambling, whoring and drinking away their allowances to think about their future. And I needed that steadying influence—” He abruptly stopped talking and stared into space. Marguerite held her breath, wondering what he would do next.

“Anyway, it seems I haven’t been paying enough attention to my job recently, and Valentin thinks I should give it up and concentrate on being a man about town.”

“What an unusual older brother you have.”

Anthony’s smile was guarded. “Indeed, much like the twins. Both of our families are trying to turn us into social butterflies when I suspect that, at heart, neither one of us truly wants to be here.”

She reached across the table to touch his hand and felt his start of surprise before he enclosed her fingers in his.

“Actually, I am quite enjoying myself.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I am too, but I suspect that is because I’m with you and not some simpering seventeen-year-old debutante.”

Marguerite laughed and then looked up as a shadow fell across the table.

“Anthony, is that you? Valentin said I’d find you here, but I could scarcely believe it.”

An older woman stared at her companion, both hands clasped to her breast. Anthony stood up, bringing Marguerite with him.

“Mama, may I present Lady Justin Lockwood?”

The woman stared at Marguerite as if she’d grown another head and then blushed. “Oh, a thousand apologies for my rudeness, I’m just so surprised to see Anthony here with you!”

Marguerite curtsied. “Your son has been very kind to me, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has. He can be quite charming when he wants to be.”

“Mama . . .” Anthony sighed, and his mother patted his arm.

“I won’t interrupt your evening any longer, my dears, but Lady Justin, please come and visit me at home one morning this week. I’d be delighted to see you again.”

Marguerite sat back down and waited until Anthony had kissed his mother’s cheek, submitted to a kiss in return and waved her off with a smile. When he sat, she studied him for a long moment.

“Why is your appearance here so startling that everyone we meet has to comment on it?”

He shifted restlessly in his seat. “Because I’ve avoided society like a plague for the last two years, and everyone’s wondering what has coaxed me back.”

Marguerite swallowed hard. “I hope they won’t think it’s me.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I’m trying to avoid becoming the subject of gossip, remember?” Marguerite rose clumsily to her feet. “Maybe this was a mistake. Will you take me home, please?”

Anthony followed her out of the ballroom and down the packed staircase to the equally crowded hall. He managed to catch her elbow and halt her flight, drawing her into the shadow of the stairwell near the servants’ door.

“Don’t go.”

She looked up at him, her expression distraught. “I have to. I can’t bear for people to look at me and whisper again; I simply can’t.”

“They won’t, I can promise you that. Everyone will be too busy gossiping about me.” He saw the doubt on her face and leaned in closer, rested one hand on the wall behind her head. “Please, Marguerite, we can do this. If we ignore the gossip, support each other and appear unaffected, it will soon die down, and we will both benefit from that.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

He gave in to a strange desire to comfort her by kissing the top of her head. She smelled tantalizingly of violets and warm skin. Before his mind even registered his interest, his body was already reacting to her scent. At the touch of his lips, she went still and then raised her chin to look up at him.

He stared into her eyes, a dark blue similar to his own, wondered why it was suddenly so necessary to convince her to stay with him and why he would miss her if she changed her mind. She slowly licked her lips, and his cock hardened in a sudden aching rush.

“You didn’t kill your husband, Marguerite, so why should you continue to suffer the consequences?”

She looked away from him then, and he almost regretted his words, but he needed to get his unruly thoughts and body under control. And what better way to do that than by mentioning her husband, the man she still claimed to love so much that she hadn’t had sex since he died?

“It isn’t that simple, Anthony.”

“Nothing ever is, but you can’t keep running away.”

He took another breath, inhaling a hint of his own arousal along with the sweetness of her skin, and wondered if she was aware of his erect cock inches away from her stomach. Mentioning her husband hadn’t destroyed his interest one bit.

“Are you all right, Anthony?”

He blinked as she gazed at him, the concern in her eyes an added balm to the side of himself he’d ruthlessly repressed for the last few years.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He watched her lips form a protest and edged closer so that his almost touched hers. “I just want to.”

He lowered his mouth and closed that final crucial space, carefully licking along the line of her lips, sighed when they opened to admit his questing tongue. He shivered as she kissed him back, the flick of her tongue sending a spear of heat straight to his groin.

Someone bumped into him from behind, and he raised his head, aware that they were surrounded by hundreds of people. Marguerite deserved better than this. Dammit, she deserved more than he could ever give her. He stepped away from her and bowed.

“I’m sorry, that was damned impertinent of me.”

She stared at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowed. Was she angry with him or aroused? It was hard to know with a woman.

“I’ll go and get your cloak, find Mrs. Jones and summon the carriage.”

She nodded but didn’t speak, and he sped off on his errand. Even as his mind sent out its warnings, his body craved more. He hoped his erection would subside by the time he got back to Marguerite.

Marguerite remained against the wall, one hand pressed to her hot cheek. She’d let Anthony Sokorvsky kiss her. Not only that, but she’d kissed him back. So much for her protestations of love for Justin. Anthony must think her fickle now. She swallowed hard. If he’d kissed her again, she would’ve responded, slid her hand into his thick black hair and held him captive while he plundered her mouth and drew her tight against his body.

He’d been hard; she’d felt the hot press of his cock through the thin silk of her dress and had wanted to rub herself against him and try to recreate the amazing sensations Justin had first aroused in her. Would it be different with another man? Anthony was much taller and broader than Justin, and he’d tasted differently too, more of lemon and lavender than Justin’s cigars and brandy.

God, what was she thinking? No wonder Anthony had backed away from her. He’d probably meant nothing by his kiss and here she was fantasizing about how he might perform in bed!

“Are you ready to leave, Marguerite? Mrs. Jones says she’ll be back later.”

Mentally berating her chaperone’s lack of concern for her safety, Marguerite managed to hide her blushes as Anthony helped her into her cloak. To her relief, he seemed even less inclined to talk than she was. She could only pray that the carriage ride home would be equally silent and uneventful.