Simply Wicked. Kate Pearce
“Good evening, Mama, you look very nice.” He bent to kiss her soft scented cheek. “Are you going out or coming in?”
She was dressed in pale green satin, with pearls at her throat and in the tiara in her hair. Her skin was so soft and unlined, it was hard to believe she was his mother. She had been only eighteen when Anthony was born, a bride of less than a year trying to deal with a household grieving for the loss of the first countess and kidnapping of the first-born son.
“I’m going to the Sutcliffs’ ball.” Her expression tightened. “I suppose you’re off to Madame’s.”
There it was again, that note of apprehension beneath her tight smile. Had his behavior become so predictable and extreme that even his mother had noticed? He’d tried hard to conceal the worst of his excesses from her. He hastened to pat her hand.
“I’m not going to Madame’s tonight; I have other plans. Perhaps I’ll see you later?”
He felt her surprised expression follow him out of the house and into his waiting carriage.
By the time he walked up to Marguerite’s narrow front door, it was already open. The butler who had admitted him and the twins on their previous visit bowed low.
“My lady is ready, my lord. She has been informed of your arrival.”
Anthony stepped into the hallway and looked up toward the landing. Marguerite was in the process of descending the stairs, one hand grasped the skirt of her dark lilac gown. Diamonds glinted at her wrists, around her throat and in her hair. Behind her trailed an elderly rotund woman dressed in canary yellow which matched the color of her exceedingly obvious wig.
Anthony bowed as Marguerite reached him and held out his hand.
“You look…” he paused until she locked gazes with him. “I’m not allowed to say you’re beautiful, am I? You look passable. Will that suffice?”
Her mouth twitched up at one corner. “Perfectly.” She turned toward the older woman who had finally made it to the bottom of the stairs. “May I present Mrs. Lily Jones? She is one of Justin’s great-aunts and my chaperone.”
Anthony took the small pudgy hand held out to him and bowed. “Ma’am, it is a pleasure.”
“I’m sure it isn’t. You’re probably wishing me to the devil.” She scowled at Anthony. “I know what young men are like.”
Anthony suppressed a grin and turned back to Marguerite. “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded and he took her hand and placed it on his sleeve. He bent closer. “Is she always so protective of you?”
“It’s not that she’s protective of me, she just hates men.”
“All men? What about her husband?”
“Apparently, he was the worst.”
He broke off the conversation to settle her into the carriage and return for Mrs. Jones. He took the seat opposite the ladies and smiled benignly even though Mrs. Jones continued to stare at him as if he were an insect that should be trodden underfoot. Luckily the journey to Grosvenor Square, where the Sutcliffs had their residence, was short, so he didn’t have to endure the close scrutiny for long.
Anthony waited in the vast hallway for the ladies to reappear, absorbing the chattering crowds of people and the sense of excitement. He slowly inhaled the smell of over-perfumed bodies and, even worse, those who obviously didn’t bathe at all. Why did people flock together like this? Was it really supposed to be fun?
He turned to find Marguerite at his elbow, her expression apprehensive, and smiled down at her. “Are you ready to brave the ballroom?”
She hesitated for so long that he almost repeated his question. “I suppose I am.”
“That’s the spirit, tallyho.”
Anthony patted her hand as Mrs. Jones took up a position on his other side.
Marguerite looked up at him. “You sound as if you are encouraging your horse over a difficult fence.”
He smiled. “I apologize; I was just trying to make you feel better. It seems I’ll have to work on my social skills.”
She squeezed his arm. “If I really hate it, we don’t have to stay, do we?”
He paused at the top of the stairs to look down at her and saw the anxiety in her fine eyes.
“Of course not. I’ll take you home whenever you wish as long as you allow me at least one dance with you first.”
She tilted her head back, and he inhaled the scent of some sweet flower and her skin. So different from a man, so fragile and dainty, so unthreatening…He realized she was speaking and forced his unruly thoughts back to the present.
“You expect me to dance?”
“You know how, don’t you?” He walked her straight into the ballroom, adroitly avoiding the receiving line and crush of guests waiting to be announced. No need to advertise their presence here; he was sure they’d be spotted soon enough. Mrs. Jones gave him another scathing look and rapped him on the arm with her closed fan.
“I’ll be in the card room. Behave yourselves.”
He bowed and watched her walk away, leaving him alone with Marguerite.
“It seems Mrs. Jones doesn’t let her dislike of men interfere with her gambling.”
Marguerite sighed. “She is already quite cross with me for making her come out at all. She was convinced her job as a chaperone was going to be easy because I liked to stay close to home. I can hardly insist she remain at my side. In truth, I’m glad to be free of her. I’m a widow, not a green girl.”
“A fact for which I’m extremely grateful. I hate chaperones.”
She sat in the gilded chair he pulled out for her and unfurled her fan. “Do you hate them because they stop you from misbehaving?”
He sat next to her, his knee touching hers, and leaned closer to be heard above the strains of the minuet being played.
“I just hate the whole hypocrisy of it. These women pretend to guard the innocent but take every opportunity to push the girls at men and wring a marriage proposal out of us before we’ve had time to even think.”
“You sound as if you’ve had some experience with this.”
He grimaced. “When I was younger and more foolish, perhaps. I’ve avoided places like these for the last couple of years.”
“And taken yourself to the pleasure house instead.”
He glanced sharply at her. “Do you disapprove of your mother’s business?”
“Of course not. I admire my mother tremendously.”
“But you don’t use her facilities yourself.”
She blushed. “I loved my husband, sir. I haven’t ever felt the need to replace him.”
Anthony studied her flushed cheeks. Had she just admitted she hadn’t had sex since her husband died? His body stirred to life. How in God’s name had she managed that? He’d done without sex for two days, and he was already getting randy.
Marguerite frowned at him. “From the expression on your face, you are about to ask me another of your embarrassing questions. Please don’t.”
“Why would you think that? I was just admiring your charming profile.”
She sniffed her disbelief and closed her fan with a snap. “I’m not stupid, my lord.”
“Anthony, call me Anthony, or Tony if you prefer.” He couldn’t help smiling down at her. She was so unlike most of the women of his acquaintance, so much more direct, so refreshing. The orchestra played a final chord and the dancers streamed