The Harlot Countess Read Free Page A

him from head to toe. “You seem well. Not that I would have expected otherwise.”
    Something in her tone had him frowning. “Meaning?”
    “Meaning it has been a long time and you appear more . . . I don’t know, more earlish than I recollect.”
    “Earlish?” Despite himself, he chuckled. “I am the earl, Lady Hawkins. I was also the earl back when—”
    He couldn’t finish it, the words sticking in his throat. Had she known? Had she any notion of what he’d felt for her? Hell, there was a time when just a glimpse of the curve of her neck would give him fits.
    He had dreamt of seducing her but intended to wait until they could be married. The more fool he, believing she felt the same.
    “How 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?”
    “Her health is rather poor, I regret to say. But we’re managing.”
    “I’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.”
    “Yes, that’s what I hear.”
    Her head swung to face him. “Do you?”
    “You 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.”
    “Yes, but that is what the ton does so well.”
    He couldn’t very well argue with that.
    “I thought you would have attended one of my parties by now,” she continued.
    “I do not recall being invited,” he countered.
    “Hmm. 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.
    “Pardon 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.
    “Good 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.
    “You 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.”
    “I don’t. I was merely surprised.”
    “Indeed,” Quint drawled, then returned his attention to his notebook. “And people say I am a terrible liar.”
     
     
    “May I stop smiling?” Maggie felt foolish, with a fake grin nearly sewn on as she stood at the counter.
    “Not yet, my lady. The gentlemen are still in front of the window, looking at the shop.”
    “Any suggestions? I feel like a half-wit standing here and gawking at you.”
    “Why 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