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“You should be, too. You’re a dazzling woman and I’ll never tire of telling you that.” She sent Margot a glance. “But loving yourself takes work. I wasn’t always my best advocate—I let others determine my worth. But we only have one body, and that makes it precious.”
“That is wise advice.” Margot sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever see myself the way you see me, Ara. Everyone else sees tall and daunting.”
Ara grinned and winked. “I believe the words you’re looking for, my lady, are majestic and statuesque.”
“Ah, yes, the ever imposing Ice Queen.”
Ara’s grin grew teeth as she stalked closer, one fingertip dragging over Margot’s hip through the satin robe, sliding tantalizingly close to the crease of her inner thigh. “Speaking of nicknames, I now have it on unimpeachable authority that the misnomer Frost Quim is categorically incorrect.” Her knuckles grazed over Margot’s mound, drawing a smothered gasp from her. “This perfect cunt shall here-so-forth be dubbed Blazing Quim.”
Margot gave a shrill laugh, a violent flush streaking her cheekbones at Ara’s vulgar choice of words. “Goodness, you are outrageous.”
Oh, how Ara loved to provoke those strict, highbrow sensibilities. Hiding her amusement, she pretended to be thoughtful, tapping her chin. “What do you call it then? The altar of Venus? Cupid’s furrow? Cyprian fountain? Pleasure pit?” She giggled at Margot’s scandalized expression. “Or maybe even cock lane. Though there’re no cocks here.” She stuck out her tongue and waggled her fingers lewdly. “Only these, but they’re more than capable of fucking you boneless.”
“Ara!” Margot’s eyes dilated, her pulse flickering. “Now you’re just trying to shock me.”
Ara took the empty glass of water from her hand and drew her back to the bed. “Yes, my sweet muse. I plan to shock you all night long, if you let me. Let the re-education of Margot Foxglove begin!”
“Ara, wait.”
While she collapsed in a lazy sprawl of limbs on the sheets, Margot perched primly on the edge of the mattress, her bottom lip rolled between her teeth. Spine straight and chin up, she looked like every inch the frosty marchioness she was—intimidating, icy, and untouchable. One day soon, Ara would persuade her to leave all that rigid propriety behind, but it was so deeply entrenched into her psyche that Margot didn’t even realize she was channeling that persona. Ara longed to know what, or who, had shaped her so.
“There’s something I need to say before I lose my courage and you deserve to hear it properly from me,” Margot said softly, that beautiful face stark but earnest. “I’m so sorry about how I behaved. I was afraid of what my feelings meant, so I took charge as I always do to make sure that I was protected from any vulnerability. I was jealous and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
Ara’s pulse skipped and soared as she propped herself on one elbow. There was a lot in there, but she only heard one thing. “Feelings?”
Margot bit her lip, pink color spilling across those high cheekbones. For someone who never deigned to blush, she was certainly doing quite a bit of it now. That was one small win, at least, in Ara’s opinion. “When I married Waverly, I was young. Seventeen. I’d been a sheltered girl who knew my duty was to wed a peer. Like most girls that age, I’d hoped that affection, possibly even love, might come in time.” Margot clasped her hands in her lap, her body barely moving. “I was wrong.”
“Margot, you don’t have to…”
She lifted a delicate wrist. “Let me get this out. I want you to know all of me before you decide to go any further. I’m…complicated, at best.” Ara wanted to say that there was nothing Margot could share that would make her change her mind, but she suspected that opening up was somewhat curative for Margot as well. “The marquess was deeply cruel and oftentimes violent. I developed an early aversion to touch, which I know you noticed, and the only place I could go to escape was somewhere deep in my head, especially after he started coming to my bed. Coitus was perfunctory, painful, and degrading, and became a duty I feared.”
Ara felt rage fill her veins on Margot’s behalf. She reached for a nightrail and pulled it over her head, moving closer to sit near her. Earlier, she’d wanted to know Margot’s story, but now she wasn’t sure she could bear it. The idea of this strong, invulnerable woman in any kind of pain was unfathomable.
“Eventually, Percy was conceived,” Margot went on softly. “And I was left blessedly alone for nine months until his birth. Waverly entertained himself with his mistress for a few months after that. I refused to have a wet nurse, which angered him beyond belief, but Percy was my child.” A muscle in her jaw flexed, her shoulders starting to shake slightly as they curved inward, sheltering her body from the threat of some phantom memory.
Ara frowned. “Margot, did he hit you?”
The flinch was involuntary, her hand curling over her abdomen, but it made rage gather in Ara’s veins. That craven bastard! As if remembering who she was and who she had been forced to become out of sheer survival, Margot’s chin lifted. “Sometimes.”
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Ara whispered, wanting to hold her and knowing intuitively that she wouldn’t want to be touched right then. Too much of her pain was woven into the tapestry of her skin.
“No more than I,” Margot said in an emotionless tone that scraped Ara raw. “I should have left him years ago, but I stayed for Percy’s sake. If I’d taken my child and run, I would have been robbing him of his birthright, and if I went alone, he would have had to grow up under the thumb of that rotten man. I had no choice.” She met Ara’s eyes with a grim expression. “So now you understand why he means so much to me. Percy was…is my entire world.”
“I know he is,” Ara said quietly.
“He’s all I ever had.” Margot’s face pinched. “Your painting of the dog reminded me of one I used to have. They had the same soulful eyes. One day he was there and the next he was gone. It was a message.” Her eyes slid closed. “Waverly took everything I had and then some. I was afraid he’d take Percy from me, too, just because he could.”
“Did the marquess get worse?” Ara asked.
The only visible signs of Margot’s distress were the white-knuckled fists curled in her lap and a slightly hitched intake of breath. After all, Ara knew she’d had nearly two decades of practice in burying her emotions. “Yes. He was a powerful peer in a society that rewards powerful men. When I was unable to fulfill my duty and provide a requisite spare, his abuse behind closed doors worsened. God, the things he would say…the horrid names he would call me.” Her voice went so low that Ara could barely hear her. “One would never expect such a respected marquess could ever treat his wife with such contempt, such derision. I was too frigid, too stupid, too barren.” She laughed and the sound was heartbreaking. “Barren after Percy. No, I made certain that that bastard would never again get me with child.”
“Margot.”
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t you dare feel pity for me, Ara. I survived. I taught myself to collect power and influence wherever I could, and eventually, I was able to fly out of his reach. The Marchioness of Waverly rose to unprecedented heights in the ton, one even a marquess wouldn’t dare assail. My fame reflected on him, you see. Word could not possibly get out that the marquess was hurting his highly regarded wife. I protected my position ruthlessly until the day he died.”
“And after he died?”
She exhaled softly. “I went into mourning for the allotted time, I brought Percy home from boarding school, and I sent Waverly’s various mistresses each a small settlement.” Ara made a surprised noise, and Margot shrugged. “We were all trying to survive. If he could hurt me, his own wife, who knew what he was doing to them behind closed doors?”
