The Harlot Countess (6 page)

“Truly, I am honored,” Maggie replied, with a genuine smile and a proper curtsy.

“None of that,” the duchess said. “We’re amongst friends. Well, mostly friends anyhow.”

“Lady Hawkins.” The Duke of Colton arrived at his wife’s side. A dark and handsome man, one could easily imagine how he’d earned his reputation as the Depraved Duke. “How lovely to see you. My wife has been speaking of you all week.”

“Good evening, Your Grace. I am happy to be included.” Not to mention baffled.

“Come along,” the duchess said, “and I’ll introduce you to tonight’s group.” Slipping her arm through Maggie’s, the duchess thankfully steered them in the opposite direction from where Simon stood.

The introductions took several minutes. Most were familiar faces—the men, at least. When the duchess excused herself to check on the other guests, Maggie found herself with Lord Quint. The viscount gave her an elegant bow, stood, and pushed overly long brown hair out of his face. “Lady Hawkins. I look forward to more discussions on painting this evening. Do you plan on attending the Bathmore exhibit in two weeks’ time?”

“I do, indeed. I am curious to see if this new batch of paintings solves the perspective issues in his last exhibit.”

Quint chuckled. “You are a harsh critic.”

“I suppose that is true. I am much more interested in the technique and the choices an artist makes rather than the end result.”

“I quite agree. I find myself fascinated by the whys and hows of things.”

Quiet and whip-smart, Quint had a subtle handsomeness under that rumpled exterior. Even his appalling fashion sense was endearing. So why did she not get fluttery in his presence instead of Simon’s? Quint would be better suited to her, with his keen eye and perceptive nature, and he seemed much too reasonable to mind her blackened reputation.

Not that it mattered, as she intended to avoid the male species.

Another familiar face joined them. A bit older than the others, Lord Markham’s presence tonight had been an unwelcome surprise. He’d attended a few of Maggie’s recent parties, never failing to issue at least one not-so-veiled invitation to her during the evening. She never encouraged him, but some men were more determined than others.

“Lady Hawkins.” Markham bowed, his smile a touch too wide as his eyes traveled up and down her form. “May I say how happy I am to find you here this evening? I had no idea you were on such intimate terms with Colton.”

The gleam in his gaze said exactly what intimate terms he assumed. From everything Maggie knew, the duke and duchess were happily married, and there had been no rumors regarding the duke and another woman since his return from the Continent. But even if Colton did have discreet affairs, did Markham truly think the duchess the sort of woman to tolerate her husband’s conquests at her dinner table?

“Her Grace issued the invitation after she attended my party last week,” Maggie told him.

“Indeed,” Markham said, giving her an audacious wink that caused bile to rise in her throat.

Yes, why else would the Half-Irish Harlot be invited? Markham’s assumptions were likely being made by everyone here, save Colton and his duchess. She straightened her spine to stand a bit taller. Let them think what they would; they always did.

“Excuse me,” Quint murmured before sliding away. Maggie considered clutching his arm in order to prevent his escape, but Quint proved too quick.

Markham took this as an invitation to move closer. Desperate for help, Maggie glanced wildly around the room. Her gaze swung in Simon’s direction, then stopped. Sharp blue eyes were locked on her, the irises bright with cold fury. She’d never seen him so furious. What in heaven’s name?

“Lady Hawkins,” Markham whispered, boldly reaching out to touch her hand.

Simon didn’t miss Markham’s audacity either. A muscle in the earl’s jaw clenched before he pointedly turned away. An idea occurred. Perhaps if she kept Markham close this evening, Simon would maintain a distance. The notion was a harsh one and would ensure a tedious evening—but a woman must do what she must, after all.

She gave Markham a blinding smile. “Yes, my lord?”

The viscount blinked. “Oh, yes. Well, I had hoped to escort you to dinner. You never—”

“Yes,” she blurted. “I meant to say, I would be honored.”

“Excellent.” Markham puffed up, his ruddy face turning a bit ruddier. “I quite enjoyed your last party. Interesting how Rowlandson had that cartoon about the mermaids.”

“Lemarc,” she corrected.

Markham’s brows dipped. “I beg your pardon?”

“The cartoon was drawn by Lemarc, not Rowlandson.”

“Oh, yes, Lemarc. Clever gents, those cartoonists. I wonder how they’re privy to the
on-dits
used in their drawings.”

If they’re smart, they host parties.
“Who knows? Perhaps they are more resourceful than we give them credit for.”

He leaned in, as if to share a great secret. “All you need is to press a coin into the right palm, m’dear. Any information can be bought.”

That comment gave her pause. Markham was active in Parliament, so was he speaking from experience? More to the point, perhaps she could use this opportunity to undermine Winchester’s proposal. Yes, this evening was looking up.

At that moment, the duchess announced dinner. Markham presented his arm. “Shall we?”

Chapter Six

“Simon, really. You must stop glaring at her,” Julia said.

Simon and Julia were making their way down to dinner, last in the line of guests. He clenched his jaw and forced his gaze away from Maggie and Markham. Anger still burned in his gut, however. Markham had attached himself to Lady Hawkins like an apothecary’s leech from the moment she’d arrived. Did the man have no shame?

“And you are the one who insisted I invite Markham,” Julia continued.

“Thank you for the reminder,” he muttered.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you jealous. This is quite interesting.”

He made a dismissive noise as they reached the stairs. “I’m hardly jealous of Markham. There’s a reason his wife stays in Cornwall and no mistress will tolerate him for more than a few weeks. The man wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she dropped, naked, into his lap.”

“A good thing we’ve been friends forever, otherwise my husband might take offense to the nature of this conversation.”

“Colton hardly scares me. After all, I’m the reason you two reconciled. He should thank me every chance he gets.”

“Oh, it was your doing, was it?”

He grinned down at her. “You never would have made it to Venice without my assistance.”

“True, but I had the hard part.”

“Please.” He held up his free hand. “Let’s not discuss Colton’s virility before I’ve food in my stomach. I’m likely to lose my appetite.”

Julia chuckled. “You are incorrigible. It’s a wonder anyone takes you seriously in Parliament.”

“They don’t know me as well as you do, that’s how.”

“Quite so. Otherwise, they would not be so easily intimidated by the illustrious statesman you’ve become.”

They entered the enormous dining room. Colton had taken his place at the head of the elaborate table, Julia’s aunt on his right. Simon noted that Markham had, of course, secured the chair beside Maggie. Bloody fool.

“Ease up, Simon,” Julia muttered. “You are crushing my hand.”

“My apologies.”

“You know, you deserve everything she gives you and more,” the duchess said under her breath as they took their seats.

“I shall remember you said as much,” he returned, “especially when Colton asks me if you’ve ever visited a gaming—”

She slapped his arm. “Simon! Do not breathe a word of that to my husband.”

“Something amiss, Duchess?” Colton called, glancing between his wife and Simon.

Julia gave him a perfectly innocent look. “No, Colton. Merely starving.” She signaled to the footman to begin service.

Simon purposely averted his gaze from Maggie and Markham during dinner. Maggie’s encouraging grins at the viscount made Simon contemplate stabbing someone with a dinner fork. So he drank more than he ate. Not until the sixth course did he realize he was fast on his way to becoming soused.

It didn’t help that she was bloody beautiful, the witch. He wished he’d stop noticing, but he could picture every detail, every curve—even with his eyes closed. All those years ago, he’d spent hours pondering the delicate bones in her wrist. Or the curve of her ear. Imagining her bare, soft breasts would have turned him hard as stone.

Tonight, the tops of said breasts were pushed absurdly high. He found the lush, creamy swells incredibly distracting, as likely did every other able-bodied male in the room.

And why had she come tonight? He hadn’t expected to see her here. At the very least, Julia should’ve warned him Maggie would be attending. Then he could have sent his regrets.

“Would you care to go and lie down?” Julia asked him quietly. “You are drawing stares.”

He straightened and forked up a bite of roasted lamb. “Do not be ridiculous.”

“Will you ever tell me what happened?”

Everything you likely hoped for and worse.
The comment had pricked at him for days. What had Maggie meant? He noticed Julia studying him and tried to remember her question. Damned wine. “What?”

“I asked if you would tell me what happened between the two of you.”

“No.”

Julia contemplated his answer while she chewed. “Perhaps I’ll get Lady Hawkins to tell me, then.”

“Ask her if you wish, but you know what everyone knows. There’s nothing more to the tale.” She’d made a fool of him. The end. What more needed to be discussed?

“Oh, there’s often more to a story than what gossip carries. Look at Colton, the way the
ton
branded him a rapscallion and a murderer before the truth came out.”

“Colton
is
a rapscallion,” Simon pointed out.

Julia grinned. “Yes, but he’s my rapscallion now. And anyway, I am not so sure Lady Hawkins meant to break your heart.”

Simon picked up his wine and threw it back. He signaled to the footman for more. “Men don’t get broken hearts, Julia. Those are for young girls and poets with nothing but time on their hands.”

Julia drummed her fingers on the table. “Is that so?”

“Quite. I figure she did me a favor.”

“By all means, then, have another glass of gratitude before the end of dinner.”

 

 

There were six women in attendance, so maneuvering a seat next to the duchess proved challenging. Yet Maggie managed it neatly. The ladies had all settled in the drawing room, having left the gentlemen in the dining room, and the duchess now began pouring tea.

Maggie accepted her cup and added two lumps of sugar. She relaxed and took a grateful sip. Dinner had been excruciating. Not only had she juggled Markham’s attentions, but Simon spent the evening either scowling at her or pretending she didn’t exist. Hard to say which bothered her more.

Truth be told, the ease with which Simon interacted with the duchess made Maggie envious. Clearly the two were close friends. Maggie had once enjoyed that same familiarity with him. They had shared jokes and laughed together, and he’d been the first person she’d sought out upon entering a room. Of course, she’d stupidly assumed his attention meant something, that it showed a depth of feeling on his part. She’d been wrong; he’d snubbed her just as the rest had.

“I see you like your tea sweet,” the duchess remarked as she sat back. “I do as well, though I can’t resist a bit of cream.”

“I have a terrible sweet tooth,” Maggie admitted. “I’ve been known to have a slice of cake for breakfast.”

The duchess’s brows shot up. “How deliciously decadent. You are a woman after my own heart.”

“I hope so.” Maggie leaned closer, lowered her voice. “Perhaps you’ll be amenable to providing help to a friend of mine.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Pearl Kelly.” The duchess’s eyes widened, so Maggie continued. “She and I have embarked upon an endeavor, and we’ve encountered a strange request.” Maggie proceeded to fill the duchess in on the three girls who wanted to apprentice with a modiste.

“It is a challenge,” the duchess admitted. “But I do love a challenge. And because of the baby, I’ve ordered three new complete wardrobes in two years. My dressmakers are ready to nominate me for sainthood. Tell me, what do you and Pearl hope to accomplish?”

“For the most part, we offer the owners additional funds for better care. For disease and other delicate . . . problems. We also try to help the girls learn, whether it’s reading, writing, sewing, or an instrument.”

“A worthwhile cause. Indeed, I am a bit jealous she did not ask me to help.”

“It was I who approached her originally. However, if you and I had known one another, I would have asked for your involvement.”

“Well, you shall be hard-pressed to keep me out of it now. I’ll pay some visits tomorrow and let you know. Have you told Simon of this work?”

Maggie frowned. “No. Why would I?”

Julia’s lips twisted as if she stifled a smile. “No reason. Amazing how little we know of one another, is it not?”

Maggie shrugged. “Often what we show the world is not our true selves.”

“Indeed.” The duchess’s gaze was far too calculating for Maggie’s comfort. Another guest secured Julia’s attention, so Maggie took the opportunity to excuse herself. She needed a moment alone, or perhaps some fresh air.

The long corridor outside the drawing room resembled a maze, with doors every which way. Picking a direction, she searched for a footman. Perhaps he could draw her a detailed map on how to find the terrace.

From the shadow of an alcove, a figure stepped into her path. “Lady Hawkins.”

Simon
. She started, pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared the life out of me. What are you doing out here?”

He folded his arms, the fine wool of his coat pulling taut across his broad shoulders. “I could ask you the same question—only I suspect the answer. Where did you have it planned?”

“Simon, I think you had better return to the dining room—”

“The music room? The conservatory?” he continued, steady steps bringing him closer. “I happen to know there are hundreds of little spots all over this house where one—or perhaps two—could hide for an extended period of time.”

She tried to make sense of his words over the thundering of her heart. Was he insinuating . . . ? Oh, for heaven’s sake. Did he always assume the
worst
of her? Feet planted, she stopped moving and lifted her chin. “Are you under the impression I’m engaging in some sort of a
tryst
? In the middle of a dinner party?” It was so absurd, she could hardly speak it.

His smirk confirmed it. “Convenient you and Markham both excused yourselves within moments of one another, wouldn’t you say? Let me give you a piece of advice for next time: It draws less attention if you sneak away once the gentlemen join the—”

She came forward to hiss, “You hypocritical horse’s arse. I stepped out for some air. Alone.”

He had the gall to snort. “Yes, I’m quite sure Markham would offer up a similar story if we were to ask him.”

Anger rushed through her veins, settling in her chest like a heavy mound of potter’s clay. Simon loomed over her, snarling down in self-righteous fury, and she discovered he’d backed her up against a wall. She knew in that moment he would never believe her denials; he’d formed his opinion of her ten years ago and there would be no changing his mind.

Fine, she could play the harlot for him. Maybe then he’d leave her alone—though she truly longed to crack him one across his closely shaven jaw.

She exhaled, forced her limbs to relax, and licked her lips. Predictably, his gaze locked on her mouth, so she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. His chest continued to rise and fall, the harsh exhales filling the room, and his eyes darkened to sapphires. Oh yes, revenge could be sweet. Ever so slowly, she dragged one finger down the length of her bare collarbone. “Did you corner me in hopes of taking his place?” she asked, her voice low and intimate.

Simon shifted closer, the pure male, spicy scent of him filling her nose. She liked the way he smelled, orange and sandalwood with a hint of tobacco. The proximity of his frame distracted her as well. His evening clothes held no padding, and the well-tailored fit hugged him quite perfectly. She could see the outline—

“If I chose to take Markham’s place,” he started, placing his hands against the wall, one on either side of her head, to cage her in. He leaned in and for one terrifying, heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he shifted just before their lips touched. The tip of his nose slid across her cheek, tiny puffs of breath heating her skin as he nuzzled her. Maggie’s breasts swelled, and her lids fell with a rush of pleasure that rippled the length of her body. “If I chose to take his place, it wouldn’t be here,” he whispered near her ear. “I’d take you to my bed at Barrett House and show you wickedness Markham could not even begin to imagine. But that is not why I cornered you.”

Close. He was much too close. Despite her desire to remain unaffected, her belly fluttered and warmth tingled between her legs. Why on earth had it only ever been this odious man to elicit such feelings? She swallowed. “Then why?”

He flicked her earbob with his tongue, then nipped the lobe with gentle teeth. She inhaled sharply. “What game are you playing at, Maggie?”

“I—” Her traitorous voice caught, so she cleared her throat. “There is no game, Simon.”

Her control began melting away. She longed to do every improper thing in the world to him—and for him to return them in kind. Odd since she hadn’t ever enjoyed intimacies with a man. Had hated it, actually. But somehow, this was different.

Why had she started this? Oh yes, she’d thought to teach him a lesson, make a fool of him. Have him panting with lust and then leave him begging—only this was turning into something else entirely.

“I like games,” he continued, his lips brushing over her throat in a seductive caress. “But I also like to win. I wonder, are you prepared to pay the price when you lose?”

She shivered. There wasn’t enough air in the damn room. “I never lose,” she rasped. “And you have more at stake.”

“Do I?” His nose slid along the sensitive line of her jaw, the skin prickling in his wake. “I think I could take you against this wall. Right now. Right here.” His hips pressed against hers, his erection stiff and unapologetic, and she sucked in a breath. Before she knew it, her hands clutched at his waist to hold him in place.

“But you should know,” he continued, his mouth hovering above her lips, “I only play games when there aren’t quite so many players. I do not care to be one of many.”

It took a few seconds for that remark to sink in. When it did, hurt and anger resurfaced to eclipse whatever else she might have felt. The unbelievable, thick-skulled
swine
.

All of her muscles clenched and she shoved at his shoulder with all her strength. When he stepped back, she pushed by him and strode for the door. While the idea of running had merit, she couldn’t resist a last parting jab over her shoulder. “Fitting, then, that we shall never know how you measure up.”