“But how else is a man to judge you? It’s not as if any of us can see what’s inside a person on a first meeting.”
Marguerite swallowed hard. “Justin said he fell in love with my face on our first meeting.”
“Ah, now I understand.” Anthony put down his fork.
“Because you are so beautiful yourself?”
He grimaced. “Not that, but I’ve heard myself described as a handsome man.”
“You are.”
“Thank you.” His smile dimmed. “But I also get fed up with being characterized as a charming addle-pated idiot.”
“I don’t think you are an idiot, but I do wonder why a man with all your attributes isn’t married yet.”
“I’m only twenty-five!”
“But you are also the son of a marquis.”
“The second son. And, as my half brother has already been obliging enough to provide my father with a grandson, I have no reason to marry at all.”
Marguerite regarded Anthony. “It must have been difficult for you when Valentin returned from the dead.”
He glanced up, his expression hardening. “Are you trying to suggest I’m jealous of my brother?”
“Are you?”
“Not at all. In truth, I was relieved when he turned up. It took my father’s often obsessive attention away from me.”
“Then, if not jealousy, what do you conceal behind that handsome face that has made you avoid your social obligations for all these years?”
“Why should you assume I conceal anything?”
She opened her eyes wide at him. “You were the one who suggested there was more to you than a pretty face.”
He stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Are you trying to start a fight with me because I was late?”
“Not just because of that.”
He drained his wine glass and placed it back on the table with a thump. “I’ve apologized, what more can I do?”
“Honor your promise to me?”
“What promise?”
“To be honest.”
He sighed, “God, Marguerite, sometimes you remind me of your mother.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now tell me what lies beneath your charm and good looks.”
He refilled her glass and then his own; his hand shook, spilling red wine on the white damask tablecloth. His smile had gone and there was a bleakness in his eyes that made him seem the stranger he claimed to be.
He inhaled slowly. “I like to have sex with men as well as women.” He looked straight at her. “Is that honest enough for you?”
Marguerite’s chest tightened, and she fought an absurd desire to laugh. What was it about her that attracted such men? And was that why Christian had introduced her to Anthony? She took another sip of her wine and kept staring at him.
Anthony shrugged. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Have I disgusted you? I’ve certainly rendered you almost speechless.”
She licked her lips, tasted the sharpness of the grapes. “I’m not disgusted.”
“Why not?” His mouth twisted. “Sometimes I disgust myself.”
“That is understandable when such liaisons can result in severe penalties under the law.” Now she sounded as prim and proper as a governess, but it was hard to frame her replies when her heart was beating so wildly. Was she being given a second chance to understand the complexity of her sexual nature? Would she be able to help Anthony as she hadn’t been able to help Justin?
She met his gaze, observing the brittle tension in his. “It hasn’t stopped me wanting you—if that is what you are worrying about.”
He let out his breath. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am.”
He stood up so fast that his chair tipped over, and pulled her into his arms. “Thank God.”
She struggled to free her hand and curved it around his neck, bringing his face down to hers. His lips brushed her mouth and she shivered.
“Marguerite, I want to take you to bed. Will you let me?”
She nodded, and he took her hand and dragged her toward the door. The hallway was deserted, the house quiet. She directed him up the stairs and into her bedroom at the back of the house. A single candle burned by the bed, and the banked fire glowed in the hearth. She caught the scent of her own perfume, the powder she used on her face, the burned smell of the curling tongs.
Anthony shut the door and leaned against it, his expression in shadow, the tension in his body palpable.
“Do you really want me, Marguerite?”
“Oui.”
She reached up to draw the pins from her hair, watched him take an unsteady step toward her and knew that everything would be all right.
Anthony watched Marguerite’s dark hair fall around her face and shoulders and swallowed hard. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Pick her up, throw her on the bed and ravish her? His cock was already hard and eager for anything, but his mind . . . His meager experience with women rose to mock him, to make him incapable of speech or action.
Marguerite came closer, and he inhaled the sweet scent of violets. She turned her back on him.
“Will you help me out of this gown, please?”
She sounded almost as scared as he felt. He stared at the small pearl buttons and wondered if his big blunt fingers would be able to manipulate them without shaking too much. He attempted the first one, breathed a little easier as it obligingly slipped free. Her bodice gaped forward, giving him an excellent view not only of the creamy slopes of her shoulders but of the tops of her breasts.
He wanted to taste her skin. With a groan, he dipped his head and touched his lips to her throat. She sighed and leaned back into him, his fingers crushed between them, his heart racing.
“Unlace my corset too.”
He studied the spiral bindings until he worked out how to release her and set to work coaxing the long strings through the holes. His mouth was dry, his breathing uneven. It was one thing to sexually service an unknown woman at the pleasure house, but making love to Marguerite, a woman he desired and liked, was a completely different equation. Would she detect his lack of expertise?
She turned in his arms, allowed her gown and corset to fall to the thick carpet. She was covered by only a thin muslin shift now, her nipples and the dark shadow between her legs visible through the sheer material. She tugged at his cravat.
“May I help you undress?”
He nodded and stood still as she eased him out of his tightfitting coat and waistcoat and unpinned his cravat. Her smile was beautiful as she touched him, and he yearned for her hands on other parts of his body, especially his cock. To be handled with such gentleness almost brought tears to his eyes. So different from Minshom and the other men, so humbling . . .
He cupped her cheek, drew her mouth toward his and kissed her soft, willing lips. Her hand slid between them and worked on the button of his pantaloons. He gasped as she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and squeezed hard.
“Anthony, you know you said I couldn’t shock you?”
He dragged his attention from his aching cock to her face. To his surprise, she looked almost as worried as he felt.
“You can do anything you want to me, Marguerite.”
She leaned in and bit down on his lower lip. “Would you mind if I had my way with you first? It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and I’m a little concerned about being at your mercy.”
He blinked at her as her fingers continued to caress his cock and balls. Had she heard that he liked it rough? Was she really afraid that he might harm her? He forced himself to respond. “I’d never hurt you.”
She patted his cheek. “I know that. It’s just that you are a big man, and I’d like to be in control of how you take me . . .” She stopped talking and stared up at him, biting her lip.
Suddenly he understood her all too well and was more than willing to oblige her. “I’d be delighted.”
Her laugh was low and full of relief. “Then take off your shoes and pantaloons and get on the bed.”
He stripped everything off and went to lie on the white sheets of the pristine bed. His cock rose, seeking relief, seeking a release he knew only Marguerite could give him tonight. He settled back against the headboard and waited for her to join him. The mattress barely dipped as she climbed onto the high bed and crawled toward him.