He groaned and rocked harder, ground himself against her sex until she wanted to scream and writhe, bite and scratch. Her climax caught her by surprise, forced him to stiffen too and come inside her. He sank down, his body covering hers completely.
She lay still and let his weight settle over her like a heavy living blanket. He suddenly rolled off her.
“Did I hurt you?”
His quiet question made her turn her head to look at him. “Non.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why would you even think that?”
He stared at her, his face a pale outline in the darkness. “Because I’m more used to being with men, and they aren’t quite as delicate as you are.”
He moved to the side of the bed, groaned as his feet thumped onto the wooden floorboards. Marguerite rose up on one elbow to watch him gather his clothes and put them on, his movements jerky and unsure in the dim light.
“Anthony, are you all right?”
“Of course I am. You told me it was time to go, and I’m leaving.”
Marguerite gathered the sheets tightly around her breasts. Although he sounded quite amiable, he was hardly exhibiting the loverlike behavior she had unconsciously expected. She bit down on her lip.
“Is this how you treat your male lovers?”
He paused, his hands at his throat as he wrapped his cravat around his shirt collar. “What?”
She waved her fingers toward the door. “You just get out of bed and walk away without a word?”
“Usually, yes.”
“Oh.” She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Good-bye, then.”
He came back to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out to touch her hunched shoulder. “Marguerite?”
“Go away.”
She refused to look at him; obviously the experience they had just shared meant nothing more to him than any of his other, no doubt varied, sexual conquests.
“Marguerite . . . there is something I want to say to you, but I refuse to talk to a pillow.”
She opened her eyes and stared into his face. His smile was so tender it made her want to cry. “What?”
“You are right: men don’t make polite bedfellows, but you . . .” He swallowed hard, traced the line of her cheekbone with his fingertip. “I’m not sure I even have the right words. You honor me by accepting me into your bed.” He kissed her nose. “Over you, inside you . . .”
Now she felt foolish for having snapped at him. She turned her head and kissed his finger. “All right. You can go now.”
“Are you sure?” He slid his thumb along her lower lip, and she tasted herself, him and something metallic. She sighed as he bent to kiss her.
“May I take you out tonight?”
“If you promise not to be late again.”
His quiet chuckle made her feel both treasured and appreciated. “If I’m late, don’t let me in. I don’t deserve to be forgiven twice and in such an intimate and, quite frankly, such an encouraging manner.”
“Go away, Anthony.”
He retreated to the door, kissed his fingers to her and left. Her body felt different; muscles she’d forgotten she owned pulled at her and made her ache. She slid her hand down to her belly and then lower, to where she was still wet and open from his lovemaking. She must remember to take the sponge out . . .
With a contented smile she turned onto her side and closed her eyes. There was plenty of time for the practicalities of life. For the moment, she just wanted to luxuriate in the fascinating physical effects of being bedded by a man.
Anthony was still smiling as he walked quietly across the marble floor of his father’s grand house and toward the servants’ stairs. It appeared his mother had gone to bed, so he had nothing to fear from her. And it was unlikely that even the servants would be up at four in the morning.
Making love to Marguerite had been a revelation. Her fierce natural response to him was as arousing as any of the calculated beatings or sexual toys Minshom used. He shuddered as he remembered how powerful he’d felt when he put Marguerite on her back and shoved his cock deep . . .
Alerted by the flickering glow of a candle, he paused by his father’s half-open study door. Had someone forgotten to snuff out the lights? He pushed at the door, squinting into the sudden glare.
“Anthony?”
He stiffened as he realized his father sat behind his ornate mahogany desk, a quill pen in his hand, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. For some reason, the harshness of the setting made him look older, more careworn and infinitely more human.
“Father.” Anthony tried to appear relaxed, feeling like his ten-year-old self caught in some mischief. “What are you doing up so late?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
Anthony shrugged. “I thought I was expected to behave like a young man about town. Isn’t this what you wanted? Me staggering home late and in my cups?”
His father’s expression tightened. “Come in and shut the door.”
“Actually, Father, I’m rather tired. I was heading for bed.”
“I said come in and sit down.”
Anthony straightened and did what he was told. The grim set of his father’s mouth made it impossible to refuse. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“You can stop working at Valentin’s place of business, for one.”
Anthony gripped the arms of the chair. “We’ve already had this discussion. You’d prefer me to racket about town like a fool rather than seek honest employment. I don’t agree.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You might not have used those exact words, but that is what you implied.”
“There are other ways to be employed rather than in trade.”
Anthony laughed. “You make it sound like I’m whoring down at the docks rather than working in a respectable shipping company.”
The marquis whipped off his spectacles. “I’m glad you mentioned whoring. I’ve heard you like to play with the mollies and the sadists on the top floor at Madame Helene’s.”
Anthony hoped his shock didn’t show on his face. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not dead, Anthony—I do venture out into society, and I hear the gossip about you in the clubs.”
“And you believe it?”
“You wouldn’t be the first of my sons to make a name for himself as a libertine.”
“A libertine is a far cry from calling me a male prostitute, sir.”
The marquis fixed him with a hard stare, which reminded Anthony forcibly of Valentin. “If you allow others to use you as they will, what else should I call you?”
“A man who likes sex?”
“Not the kind of sex a man should be proud of.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows. “And who made you the judge of what is acceptable? If I was out fucking ten different women a night like Val used to, would that make it better?”
“Of course it wouldn’t, but it would be better than the choices you make now.”
Anthony bit back his next answer and forced himself to relax in his chair. He would not allow his father to ruin his evening with Marguerite with insinuations about his past.
“The rumors about me are no longer correct, sir. Recently I have seen the error of my ways.” Ruthlessly, Anthony buried the erotic memory of his evening with David Gray and stared right into his father’s eyes. “So you have nothing to worry about.” He half-rose from his chair. “If there is nothing else you wish to say to me, I’ll go to bed.”
His father’s fist thumped onto the desk. “Anthony, will you please listen to me? Why do you think I’m sitting here at this time in the morning?”
“Because you wanted to talk to me about my lack of morals and responsibility?”
“I did want to talk to you, but I’m also trying to run an estate that includes five dwellings, two farms, three villages and approximately two thousand tenants.”
Anthony sat back down. “But you have staff to do that for you.”
“It is a foolish man who allows his servants to run his business completely for him. I like to oversee the details. It stops sloppiness, deceit and incompetence.”