November 1924, London, Savoy Hotel.
Marguerite met her former business partner, Dominic Archer, for a drink at the discreet and elegant bar. They exchanged what could only be described as elaborately fake courtesies, although Dominic was genuinely pleased with the rendezvous. He was keen to maintain any sort of relationship with Marguerite. He admired her cunning and brilliance in navigating the treacherous waters of their previous dealings. He believed there was still great potential to pick up where they had left off, if only she wasn't so stubborn about the life she was now leading. They both ordered martinis, a drink that had become a symbol of their old business meetings.
"What were you able to find out?" Marguerite asked.
"About our pretty little socialite?"
"Yes."
"Well, it turns out there isn't any dirt — she's as clean as freshly fallen snow. She appeared on the scene and swiftly charmed her way into the hearts of the English society. However, her origins are somewhat of a mystery. I couldn't find anything about where she came from."
Marguerite didn't seem quite pleased with the answer. "It seems she's either very clever or genuinely as innocent as she appears."
"Or both," Dominic suggested, raising his glass to his lips. "It's rare, but not unheard of."
"On the other hand, my intuition rarely fails me and experience has taught me that there are no coincidences."
Dominic leaned forward. "But why sudden interest? Aren't you now a family woman who isn't interested in the intrigues of society?"
"Have I ever told you I have a sister?"
"You haven't, but I've found that out on my own."
"Regardless, as sweet and charming as she is, she is equally naive. Regina Redmond is one of her closest friends. Naturally, I want to know as much as I can about her, especially now that my suspicions are aroused."
Dominic nodded in understanding. "I'm at your disposal."
Margarite lowered her voice. "Keep an eye on her social engagements, who she meets, what charities she supports, where she invests her time and money. And particularly pay attention if any jewelry or gems go missing when she's around."
"Alright. Consider it done. I'll dig deeper into her current affairs. If there's a thread to pull, I'll find it."
Marguerite gave him a sharp, approving nod. "Good. Keep me posted on everything, no matter how trivial it may seem."
Later that day Marguerite hosted Gladys Lavinson for tea. She had chosen a selection of delicate finger sandwiches and freshly baked scones to complement the Darjeeling tea.
"Thank you for coming." Marguerite said as she welcomed her inside.
"An invitation from Lady Avebury herself? That is not something to be declined. It surely comes with an interesting story."
"Quite," Marguerite agreed, pouring the tea with a practiced hand. "There is something I wish to discuss. A matter of some delicacy and, perhaps, mutual interest."
"I'm all ears. Tell me, what's brewing?"
Marguerite slid a sheet across the table towards Gladys, adorned with sketches of various jewels and accompanying text that detailed each one.
"This is a list of some of the most famous gems currently in England, descriptions of their characteristics, and the names of the ladies who own them. I thought you might dedicate an article in your newspaper to these jewels. Every woman loves jewelry, right? I would like you to pay special attention to this diamond." Marguerite pointed to a particular sketch on the page. "Here are also some key phrases that are very important to be included in the text unchanged and in this order."
Gladys examined the paper closely. "It says your name on it. It's yours?"
Marguerite nodded with a mischievous smile.
"I don't know. This is the 1920s. Traditional luxury isn't as alluring as it used to be. Coco Chanel has popularized custom-made jewelry that's accessible to everyone. I'm not sure how relatable this article would be."
"It will be, because it comes with a dose of intrigue. You'll pose the question: Which of these diamonds is the Unicorn's next target?"
"So this is about the Unicorn, then? Well, that changes everything. The Unicorn is the most intriguing enigma in the country right now. You wouldn't happen to know their identity, would you?"
"I don't. I thought perhaps you did."
"I don't either. If I had known, I would have told you. Everything I do, I do for my newspaper. I'm not your enemy, Marguerite."
"Nor are you my friend."
"No, but I can be your ally, which is far more effective."
"True." Marguerite agreed with a sly smile.
"So... I publish this article and then what?"
"This article is meant to lure him out. I've included specifically chosen words that I know will bait him. Don't ask me how, but I understand the psyche of thieves and con artists. I know what drives them. Once we catch him, you'll get the exclusive on his identity."
"I must say, I love the way you think, Marguerite."
Just as Gladys was stepping into the foyer, she ran into Veronica and Ned who came back from a theater play. Gladys greeted Veronica warmly.
"Little dove, you look wonderful!" She exclaimed, taking both of her hands and kissing her on the cheek.
"Thank you, Gladys... You, too."
Gladys turned her gaze to Ned, her tone and demeanor changing considerably. "I see you're still wandering aimlessly."
"Gladys, it's good to see you, too."
As they entered the drawing room, Malone turned to Marguerite with a question.
"Marguerite, what was Gladys doing here?"
"I invited her over for tea." Marguerite simply replied without an explanation.
"And how would you like it if I invited over some of your exes?"
"You can't. They're all dead."
Malone looked at her sardonically and Marguerite said, "Relax, Neddy boy. I didn't invite her over to socialize. I had good reasons. She is harmless enough when you know how to handle her. "
That evening, Marguerite and John found themselves in a tense discussion. John's over-protective nature was at the forefront, as he wasn't entirely comfortable with her meeting Dominic Archer. John felt a duty to shield her from other men, especially in potentially dangerous situations. Occasionally, his comments bordered on the chauvinistic, which Marguerite sometimes found harmless and at other times infuriating, prompting her to argue back.
"Marguerite, I do wish you would reconsider these... engagements. I don't like the idea of you meeting strange men in hotel bars."
"John, I am perfectly capable of handling people like Dominic. He has connections and information I find valuable."
"I know you are capable. But you are a married woman now and—"
"John, do not start with that antiquated notion."
"It's a man's duty to protect his wife. You meeting with known criminals doesn't sit well with me."
"And what would you have me do? Sit at home and pour tea? I'm not involved because I want to be. I'm involved because I need to be. Edgard is after me because he thinks I'm the Unicorn. I believe Regina Redmond is the Unicorn, though she hardly deserves the title. Not to mention that the same Regina is a close friend of my naive, newly found sister. So, yes, I'm entangled in this story from multiple angles."
John took a moment to think about it, then nodded slowly. "Alright, I see your point. This situation is indeed more tangled than I realized."
"I did try to tell you."
"Come here, then." John extended his hand. As she stepped into his embrace, he wrapped his arms around her. "You have my full support and protection, you know that. I just can't help worrying—I love you too much."
With a soft chuckle, Marguerite replied, "In matters of the heart, there's no such thing as too much."
"Is there anything I can do to help with all this? Anything at all?"
Marguerite gave him a small, tired smile. "Actually, a back rub wouldn't go amiss right now."
John promptly complied. As always, her wish was his command.
He gently squeezed her shoulders. "It's been quite a day, hasn't it?"
"Yes, but as always, your fingers are doing wonders."
"How about a full body massage?" He offered.
"Lord John Roxton... Are you trying to find a way to get me out of my clothes?"
"Well, I am your husband. It's practically my duty to ensure you're relaxed and... well, unencumbered by unnecessary attire."
"In that case, let me get a lavender oil and a towel from the dresser."
She placed the items on the bed and slowly, began to undress. Slipping out of her clothing, she lay on bed, ready to let his comforting touch ease the day's tension.
John warmed a small amount of the lavender oil between his hands, releasing its calming scent into the air. He then began to massage her, starting from her shoulders and gradually working down her body. Marguerite sighed contentedly, her earlier tension melting away under his skilled touch. She fully surrendered to the soothing rhythm of his hands.
In the end, he gave a gentle massage to her lower back, then ventured slightly lower and planted a gentle kiss there.
"What are you doing?" Marguerite asked.
"Exploring the territory." John replied, his hands gently massaging her buttocks.
Marguerite turned over to lie on her back, her eyes alight with a fiery spark.
John caught the intense look in her eyes. "What do you say to a quick one and then we continue where we left off with the story?"
"Do you want it fast, or do you want it good?" Marguerite retorted with a teasing smile, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
"Well, when you put it that way, I'd much prefer it good. Take all the time we need."
"Come here," Marguerite beckoned with a sultry tone, stretching out her arms towards him. John immediately complied, leaning over her to capture her lips in a passionate kiss.
His kiss lingered, before he pulled back slightly to gaze into Marguerite's eyes.
"Oh, God, how much I love you." He whispered.
"How much?" She asked.
"Infinitely. More than the stars in the night sky, more than any measure known to man."
Marguerite's smile deepened, a sparkle of joy in her eyes. "That's quite a lot, then," she teased gently, drawing him back down to her.
He started kissing her neck, his hand gently gripping her breast, while he listened to her soft moans. It was a music to his ears. He was still fully clothed, in no rush to shed his garments, because, for him, her pleasure was the priority.