“Thank you.” Her smile was wry. “I feel as if I’m readying myself to go into battle.”
“You anticipate a struggle?”
She glanced up at him and the diamond and sapphire necklace around her throat glittered in the candlelight, making him blink.
“Don’t you?”
He held out his hand and she got up, shaking out the skirts of her pale blue, high-waisted, silk gown. Diamonds encircled both her wrists and swung from her ears. Although she was smaller than him, he sensed her strength of purpose, her courage, her resolve. Suddenly he wished he had something to give her, something of value to show the world how much he admired her.
“I’d like to buy you jewels.”
Marguerite’s eyebrows rose and she shrugged. “There’s no need. I feel conspicuous enough already.” She touched his arm. “And you’ve already given me much more than mere jewels.”
He stared down into her eyes and, finding a sense of acceptance he’d never had before, swallowed hard. “Did you manage to amuse yourself without me today?”
“I managed to antagonize one of Amelia’s old cronies by refusing to be ashamed of my liaison with you.” She smoothed a hand over the silk of her dress. “That’s one of the reasons I decided to dress up tonight. I want her to see how happy I am with my choice.” She reached up and straightened Anthony’s cravat. “You must promise to look equally delighted by my company.”
“That won’t be difficult. You are a delight.” For an instant she looked away from him, and he caught her chin. “Why do you find it so hard to accept a compliment?”
“Probably because I’m used to being overlooked for my mother and the twins.”
“They neglected you?”
“Non, they are just . . .” She shrugged. “So much more interesting than I’ll ever be.”
He kissed her nose. “I know how that feels. My father and brother are the same.” She looked at him, her expression serious until he cleared his throat. “But I see you, Marguerite. I see the strength and the honesty in you, and I’ll always appreciate that.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she hastily dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Now you have made me cry. How do you expect me to make a grand triumphant entrance at your side if my nose and eyes are red from weeping?”
“You’ll still outshine them all.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and gently patted the tears. “There, you look beautiful.”
She grimaced at him but didn’t speak, waiting until he put his handkerchief away to take his arm. He opened the door out into the hallway and looked down at her. “Is there anyone in particular you wish me to be obnoxious to, or shall I just practice a look of general slavish adoration?”
She laughed, the sound warming him as they approached the stairs. Even the sight of Minshom dressed in black and silver prowling the hallway below didn’t destroy his sense of wonder, of delight in her company. When all this was over, when she’d met with Sir Harry and hopefully found the answers she wanted, he’d tell her everything, the whole sordid pitiful story.
“Anthony?”
He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until Marguerite spoke. Could he do that? Could he share not only the depths of his depravity but his utter humiliation? Share the needs he wasn’t sure he could suppress even though he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his contemptible life?
He guided her back into the shadows at the top of the stairs. Perhaps Valentin was right, and it was time to stop running away from the things he couldn’t change.
“Marguerite, when we get back to Town, may I come and call on you?”
“Of course you may. Why do you ask?”
“Because . . . because I want to be honest with you.”
She bit her lip and held his gaze. “I would like that. Perhaps by then I will be able to be honest with you too.”
Relief washed over him, and he brought her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”
Marguerite allowed Anthony to lead her into the drawing room and fixed a dazzling smile on her lips. No one here would know her inner turmoil, the sense that Lord Minshom was poised to disrupt her peace forever. Had Anthony understood what she’d said to him, that she had more truths to reveal, more secrets than he might imagine?
She hoped so. Hiding the truths about her marriage from everyone, perhaps even from herself, was a burden she would be grateful to relinquish. And who better to understand her than Anthony? A man who had made his own difficult sexual choices in the past and lived to regret them.
And then there was the matter of Justin’s death at the hand of his best friend. If she could find some peace from meeting Sir Harry, all the torment would be worth it. She glanced up at Anthony’s handsome face. He concealed his troubles almost as well as she did—the outsider in a family, much like her, the one always striving to fit in, to be acknowledged, to be loved.
She squeezed his arm, aware of the strength concealed by the fine broadcloth, the heat of him, the fire within. How strange that fate, in the shape of her brother and sister, had brought them together.
“Marguerite? Is something wrong?”
Anthony looked down at her, his expression concerned, and she smiled into his blue eyes.
“No, my lord. In truth, I’m glad you are with me tonight.”
“So am I.”
His answering smile was as warm and admiring as she could have wished. It didn’t matter what humiliations Lord Minshom made her endure. She was no longer alone, and if she concentrated on the future, a future which might contain the complex man by her side, she was also certain of success—wasn’t she?
20
Marguerite watched as Anthony carefully closed the door back into the main house. She drew her cloak around her and headed for the path between the kitchen garden and the wilderness beyond. With his longer stride, Anthony caught up with her within a few paces. Like her, he wore a black cloak and dark clothing, but his head was uncovered, his hair blowing in the bitterly cold wind.
The clock in the stable yard struck the quarter hour, and Marguerite paused in the shelter of one of the tangle of old holly trees and faced Anthony.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” She’d asked him the same question at least a hundred times. His answer was always the same, so she wasn’t quite sure why she insisted on repeating it.
“I’m sure. I’ll give you a quarter of an hour to complete your business with Sir Harry. If he doesn’t appear or if anything changes, come to the door of the lodge and signal to me. I’ll be with you in an instant.”
Marguerite nodded and held out her hand, found herself dragged into a fierce embrace, Anthony’s mouth locked on hers for a deliciously deep and lingering kiss. When he drew back, he caressed her lower lip with his thumb.
“Don’t do anything foolish, will you?”
“Like what? Brain Lord Minshom with a candlestick?”
“Exactly. I’d rather like to do that to him myself, so don’t hesitate to call me.”
“Such double standards, my lord.”
He smiled and his teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Just be careful. Minshom is a wily opponent.”
“I know that.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cold cheek. “Let’s just pray all goes well and that I don’t need your help after all.” She stepped away from him, achingly conscious of the sudden lack of warmth and the strength of his embrace.
As before, the door into the rear of the lodge stood slightly ajar. She entered the hallway and pushed open the kitchen door. Lord Minshom stood by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back. His black coat lay over a chair by the table, and he looked remarkably at home. He glanced up, his expression cordial.
“Ah, good evening, Lady Justin. I’m so glad you decided to return.”
Marguerite inclined her head a regal inch. “As I recall, you gave me very little choice in the matter. Is Sir Harry here?”