“Should I go back to bed now?”
He stopped. He knew he had to look at her and confront her with his painfully acquired knowledge. “Back to bed?”
Her eyes widened. “You unlocked the door, didn’t you? Were you spying on me?”
“Actually I was trying to help your maid. You locked her out. She had a key to the internal door, which I allowed her to use.”
He was proud of the calmness of his voice after such erotic intimacy, after she’d lied to him.
“So which one was it? Charles or Minshom?”
Marguerite got to her feet and retreated behind the chair opposite his, one hand clenched on the top of the delicately carved frame.
“Minshom.”
Fury shot through him. “Really? Did he teach you how to do that?”
“Suck a man’s cock?” Marguerite raised her chin. “I already knew how to do that, and you know it.”
Anthony managed a dismissive smile. “Was he any good?”
“At what?”
“Fucking.”
She glared at him for so long he thought he’d go blind. “Do you really think I’d sleep with him?”
“Why not? You sleep with me.” God, had he really said that? Was he comparing himself to Minshom, competing with him?
Marguerite briefly closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. But he wasn’t ready to apologize to her yet. She was the one who’d lied to him, had consorted with his worst enemy.
“I didn’t touch him. I’m afraid of him.”
Anthony went still. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m afraid of him. I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”
“That’s why you asked me to accompany you down here, to help you with Minshom?” He laughed. “Then why lie to me and go off and meet him by yourself?”
She met his dismissive gaze, her eyes desperate. “Because I didn’t realize he would actually be a guest at this house and that he would try to create discord between us. I thought to meet him privately. And I hoped I wouldn’t have to ask for your help.”
While he thought about her words, Anthony took a moment to tuck his cock away and button his breeches. “Is he your lover?”
“Of course not! Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“I’m afraid of him, and he’s fucked me.” She didn’t look surprised by that revelation. God knows what else Minshom had said about him. But she was here, wasn’t she? She’d come to him despite everything.
“Is Minshom blackmailing you?”
“Not really.”
He gestured at the chair opposite him. She sighed and came around to sit in it, drew her knees up and encircled them with her arms.
“Then why did you meet with him?”
“He knew Justin.”
“So?”
“He also knew Sir Harry Jones. Apparently, Harry is back in the country.”
“And Minshom claims to know where he is.”
She half-smiled. “Exactly, and he said he would arrange for me to speak to Harry.”
“Ah . . .” Anthony stared down at his clasped hands and addressed them rather than Marguerite. “And why is it so important for you to speak to Sir Harry?”
“Because he was there when Justin died.”
“Do you think he has the answers you seek?”
“I don’t know, but I have to talk to him, have to try . . .”
He looked up again, heard the strain in her voice, the misery that the years had failed to extinguish. Despite all his reservations about her consorting with Minshom, he could understand that need. God knows he’d lived every agonizing empty minute of it with his father after Valentin’s kidnap and his eventual return.
“Do you trust Minshom?”
“Non. That’s why I asked you to come with me.”
“But as I’m sure Minshom has already pointed out to you, I am not exactly a hero.”
“Do you think I would believe anything Minshom said to me?”
He smiled at her indignant expression and reached across to take her hand. “I’ll help you.”
“Thank you. I know after the way I treated you at dinner I don’t deserve it.”
“I’m beginning to understand that having me in your bed when you were attempting to meet Minshom might have been a little inconvenient.”
Her answering laughter was almost a sob. “Oh God, Anthony, I was so frightened . . .”
He stood up and pulled her into his arms, bringing her back to sit on his lap. “I assume, since you are still asking for my help, that he didn’t produce Sir Harry?”
She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “He didn’t. I wasn’t even surprised. I’m not sure if he intends me to meet with Harry at all.” She shivered. “It’s as if he likes to play with people, to watch them suffer like a cat with a mouse.”
Anthony stroked her hair and drew her even closer. “I’ll be with you next time, I promise, whether Sir Harry turns up or not.”
She sighed and cuddled close. “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of her head. He should be thanking her. She’d given him an opportunity not only to help her come to terms with her past, but to finally show Minshom he was a lot stronger than he looked.
“Will you come to bed with me now, Marguerite?”
She touched his cheek. “I’d like that.”
He smiled into the darkness as warmth coalesced around his heart. “I’d like that too.” He slid a hand around her neck and tilted her face up to meet his. When he kissed her, he caught a hint of leather and his own cum on her lips and was instantly hard.
Marguerite sighed and kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, her fingers settling into his hair. He picked her up, walked across to the big four-poster bed and placed her gently in the center. She watched him pull off his shirt and step out of his breeches. After the strain of the leather binding, his cock was overly sensitive, but he didn’t care. This was about Marguerite’s pleasure, not his own. This was about learning what pleased her.
“I want you, Marguerite.”
He knelt on the bed and simply stared down at her. Her long hair was spread out around her, and her dark eyelashes were lowered to conceal her expression. Anthony brushed his fingertip over the curve of her cheek and traced the edge of her mouth. Went lower to her throat and then circled her nipple through the thin muslin of her nightgown.
She sighed as he increased the pressure of his fingertips, drew the small nub tight before sucking it into his mouth. She liked that, her body arching into him. In truth, so did he. Not all men were so responsive. His fingers found her other nipple, worked that to a hard pulsing tip too, before he used his mouth to make it even harder.
He raised his head, saw that she was watching him and returned to kiss her mouth. Her tight nipples grazed the hair on his chest as she moved in rhythm with him. He pushed his knee between her thighs, pressed it to the intimate flesh he intended to arouse to the point of ecstasy. Soon her sex softened and creamed for him, the damp fabric of her nightdress riding up on his knee.
“Can I take this off you?”
In answer she sat forward, allowed him to pull the voluminous garment over her head and toss it to the floor. Even in the dim candlelight, her body looked magnificent, her breasts high, her waist small enough to encompass with his hands, her sex . . . His throat dried as he contemplated that neat triangle of hair. Such delights she concealed, such softness and strength, such feminine weapons to make a man scream and beg for release.
He kissed her flat stomach, nuzzled her belly button and moved lower, using the tip of his tongue to lick at her already exposed clit. She didn’t stop him when he crawled between her legs and spread them wide enough to accommodate his shoulders. He kissed her sex again, his lips meeting hers, his tongue spreading them to sample the delights of her wet and welcoming channel.
He drew back to look at her, saw her fierce concentration on what he was doing, the way her hands clutched at the bedclothes, the shallowness of her breathing. Perhaps it was time to push her a little, to discover the extent of her sexual curiosity, to allow her the freedom to express what she needed from him—things he suddenly realized he’d never been allowed to do, his sexual tastes dictated and forced by the demands of others.