The Harlot Countess Read Free Page B

felt the same.
    â€œHow is your mother? I have such fond memories of her,” Lady Hawkins asked.
    Simon shifted on his feet, restlessness nearly overcoming him. He wanted both to bolt and never move in equal measure. “She is quite well, thank you. And yours?”
    â€œHer health is rather poor, I regret to say. But we’re managing.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Maggie.” The familiar name slipped out before he could take it back.
    She swallowed, but her expression gave nothing away, her gaze still trained on the paintings. “No apologies necessary, Simon,” she said, returning the familiarity. “One thing I’ve learned about myself in all these years is that I’m very good at managing.”
    â€œYes, that’s what I hear.”
    Her head swung to face him. “Do you?”
    â€œYou are all anyone talks about.”
    Her brow lifted. “And here all I find is constant commentary on your feats in Parliament, Lord Winejester.”
    His shoulders stiffened, an instinctual reaction to the character name. Of course she had seen the cartoon in the window. Resisting the urge to stalk to the front and rip it down, he gritted out, “I am afraid they exaggerate.”
    â€œYes, but that is what the ton does so well.”
    He couldn’t very well argue with that.
    â€œI thought you would have attended one of my parties by now,” she continued.
    â€œI do not recall being invited,” he countered.
    â€œHmm. Is that what keeps you away? An invitation?”
    She was laughing at him, he realized. Mocking him. But something else . . . Her rigid shoulders and the flat line of her mouth suggested anger. Simon turned that knowledge around in his mind and tried to make sense of it.
    â€œPardon me, but here is a receipt, my lord,” Mrs. McGinnis called from over by the counter.
    Maggie moved to the other side of the store, dismissing him, and Simon had no choice but to retrieve the receipt from the shopkeeper. He tucked the small piece of paper in his pocket.
    â€œGood afternoon, Lady Hawkins,” he said to Maggie’s back.
    She didn’t turn, merely waved her hand. “And good afternoon to you, Lord Winchester.”
    Once outside, he found Quint still scribbling away. While Simon waited for his friend, he couldn’t resist turning toward the shop, telling himself it was to study the embarrassing drawing once more . . . yet found his eyes drawn to Lady Hawkins instead.
    â€œYou saw her and did not tell me,” he mentioned as casually as possible.
    Quint’s head snapped up. “I didn’t think you would care either way.”
    â€œI don’t. I was merely surprised.”
    â€œIndeed,” Quint drawled, then returned his attention to his notebook. “And people say I am a terrible liar.”
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    â€œMay I stop smiling?” Maggie felt foolish, with a fake grin nearly sewn on as she stood at the counter.
    â€œNot yet, my lady. The gentlemen are still in front of the window, looking at the shop.”
    â€œAny suggestions? I feel like a half-wit standing here and gawking at you.”
    â€œWhy don’t you stroll about, and I’ll go in the back as if I’m retrieving your frame.” Mrs. McGinnis gave her an apologetic glance before escaping into the depths of the store. Taking the woman’s advice, Maggie strolled to the stack of prints resting against the wall and tried to calmly flip through them, though her heart raced faster than a sparrow’s wings. Simon had actually been here, staring at the cartoon. What had he experienced when he looked at it? Humiliation? Anger?
    Satisfaction roared through her.
    He didn’t know, of course. How could he possibly realize who was responsible for the caricatures of Lord Winejester? Only three people knew of her hidden talents: her sister, her mentor, Lucien, and Mrs. McGinnis. None would ever reveal her secret.
    Heavens, when Simon had turned