“Good night, all.”
Charles slapped him on the back, his drunken amiability in sharp contrast to his wariness at dinner.
“Good night, Sokorvsky. See you in the morning.”
Anthony took the candle from the footman stationed in the hall and walked slowly up the stairs. He paused at Marguerite’s door but saw no light under it. Had she gone to bed in a rage? He leaned in closer to the panels, tried to calm his breathing to listen for some sense of her, but he felt nothing.
He continued on to his room and pushed open the door. Unfortunately, Marguerite hadn’t chosen to jump into his bed either. With a sigh, he set the candle down and walked across to the roaring fire. He felt off-kilter, his past and his secretly longedfor future weighed in the balance, forced together into the unlikely scenario of a weekend in the country. Minshom could destroy him with one word, and yet Anthony couldn’t hate him as much as he wanted to. The man still had the power to excite him, to lead him on, to make him dread disclosure, yet desire it at the same time.
“Damn him.”
Anthony hunkered down on his haunches and stared into the flames. Did he really want Minshom to tell Marguerite his secrets? Would that somehow make it easier, to be forced to confess, to blurt out his worst desires under threat of pain and punishment? God, he despised himself sometimes. Marguerite was right to doubt him and his courage.
There was a knock at his door, and he got to his feet. A young maidservant bobbed him a curtsey, her smile nervous.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, may I help you?”
The maid juggled the pile of folded clothes she carried and hitched it higher on her hip. “I’m supposed to be looking after the lady in the next room. It’s the first time Cook has let me out of the scullery to see if I’d be any good at it, you see.”
Anthony tried not to look puzzled as he waited for her to continue.
“The thing is that I don’t know if the lady is still downstairs or if she’s gone to bed or . . . what.” The maid looked hopefully up at him.
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
She frowned. “Well, I don’t know if I should go in there or not. What if she’s asleep?”
“Have you asked Cook what to do?”
“I can’t. She’ll say I should know and that I’m just not ready to be an upstairs maid, but I am ready, I really am.”
Anthony patted the girl’s shoulder. “I’m sure you are, but I still don’t understand the problem. Why don’t you just pop your head quickly around the door and check if the lady is in bed, and then close the door again?”
The maid’s lower lip trembled. “Because the door is locked, and I can’t find the spare key.”
“Ah.” Anthony glanced at the door that connected his suite to Marguerite’s. How kind of the fates to smile on him in this particularly appropriate fashion. “Do you want to use the door in here?”
“If that’s all right with you, sir, and you won’t tell Cook that I interrupted you and lost the key and everything, sir.”
“Of course I won’t tell her. Now come along, we’ll try the door together.”
Anthony followed the maid over to the door and waited as she tried to turn the handle.
“It’s locked, sir.”
“So it is. Well, I suppose that means the lady doesn’t want any visitors tonight.”
The maid rummaged in the pocket of her apron. “But I have the key for this door, sir.”
“Of course you do.”
Anthony thought about sending the maid away, but realized he was far more interested in seeing if Marguerite was in bed than the maid was. And for God’s sake, he wasn’t going to do anything, just check that she was indeed where she said she would be and leave.
“Try it then.”
The door opened with a soft click, and Anthony and the maid peered into the gloom. Marguerite’s familiar flowery scent invaded Anthony’s nostrils, and he breathed in deep.
“I can’t see her, sir.”
“Neither can I.”
Anthony’s throat tightened as he realized the elusive perfume was the only evidence of Marguerite in the room. Heat coiled in his body, leaving him shaking and almost light-headed. He looked down at the maid.
“I’m sure she’ll do without your services tonight. Leave the clothes by the bed, and tell Cook your lady was asleep and didn’t need your help at all.”
“But isn’t that a lie, sir?”
He forced a smile. “Not really, she’s probably fallen asleep in one of her friend’s rooms, so I doubt she’ll be back until the morning. I know she wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble on her account.”
Anthony fished in his pocket and found half a crown, held it out to her, keeping his tone light and unconcerned. “Take this for your trouble and get yourself to bed. You probably have to be up early in the morning.”
The maid studied the coin and then Anthony. “That’s very kind of you, sir, but my mother said never take money from a gentleman, because before you know it, he’ll be taking liberties with you.”
Anthony managed a laugh and walked back to the door leading into the main hallway. “Not this gentleman.” He opened it with a flourish and tossed her the coin. “Your mother is a wise woman. Good night my dear.”
She walked past him with exaggerated care. He wasn’t sure if she feared he’d ravish her or take the money back. Either way, he wanted to reassure her that nothing would happen.
“Good night, sir, and thank you.”
His smile vanished as he closed the door behind her. Where the hell was Marguerite, and what the devil was he supposed to do now?
18
“Ah, there you are, Lady Justin. Or may I call you Marguerite? We are practically related.”
Marguerite halted at the entrance to the snug kitchen. Lord Minshom sat by the open fireplace, an earthenware mug cradled in his hands, one booted foot propped up on the scrubbed pine table. There was no sign of the real occupants of the lodge, although a fire burned in the hearth and a kettle steamed on the stove as if waiting for their return.
“Where is Sir Harry?”
“Oh, he’s not here yet. He’s supposed to arrive tomorrow evening on his way back to the coast.”
“Then why did you ask me to meet you here?”
Lord Minshom leaned back in his chair and stared up at her. The smile in his eyes died. “To see if you were capable of obeying orders. Many women promise much and fail to deliver.”
Marguerite fingered the knife in her pocket, trying to remember all the places she might wound an unsuspecting man and render him helpless.
“Well, I’ve proved I’m punctual, so I’ll bid you good night.”
Minshom slowly shook his head as if admonishing a child. “There’s no need to be so abrupt. Don’t you want to share some of this excellent coffee with me? I’m sure you’re chilled from your walk.”
“Not really.”
“You don’t like me, do you?”
“I don’t trust you, sir.”
“Fair enough.”
Marguerite tensed as Lord Minshom got to his feet. Even though he wasn’t a particularly big man, the small kitchen seemed to shrink around her.
“Isn’t there anything you’d like to ask me about, say Anthony Sokorvsky, for example?”
“Any explanations I need can come from him.”
“So he hadn’t told you much about our relationship then?”
“He’s told me everything I need to know. That it is in the past.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “And if I tell you that as far as I am concerned, I still own him, will that change your opinion?”
“You cannot ‘own’ another person, sir.”
“Really? Not even if they offer themselves to you, body and soul?”