The Harlot Countess Read Free Page B

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 that intimate, boyish smile on her she’d felt the warmth all the way down to her toes. He must have every woman in London falling at his feet, just as she had done once.
    Never again.
    Yes, she’d been foolish enough to trust him. Love him, even. But she was no longer foolish or naïve. She was smarter now. Stronger. An entirely different person.
    Worse than the flirting had been Simon’s effort to engage her in friendly conversation, as if he hadn’t a thing to apologize for. As if he hadn’t turned his back on her at the precise moment she’d needed him most.
    Out of all that had happened since the scandal, Simon’s betrayal had hurt the most. Which was why she took such delight in his very public humiliation at her hand. She knew of his reputation now—a respected and powerful young leader in Parliament. Never on the losing side. Reputed to be fair and intelligent, the rakehell ways of his youth long forgotten.
    Maggie had not forgotten. How could she, when the whispers of her downfall followed her wherever she went?
    The Half-Irish Harlot.
    The name used to upset her, especially when the ladies did not bother lowering their voices before saying it. But over the years she’d learned to embrace the name, to use it to her advantage. If one is a fallen woman, one learns to pick herself up or stay down—and Maggie had no intention of letting the ton crush her. No, it would be quite the other way around.
    Well, perhaps not crush— but definitely suffer. Fortunately Lemarc’s popularity gave her the forum to expose the hypocrisy and ridiculousness that comprised London Society. Lucien, her friend, frequently said artists should use art to expunge any pain and suffering, and she’d held on to her anger for far too long.
    “They’ve left, my lady.” Mrs. McGinnis returned, a brown parcel in her hands.
    “Thank heavens.” Nearly collapsing with relief, Maggie placed a hand over heart. “I nearly expired when I came in and found him here. What did he want?”
    “The cartoon, of course. Tried to bribe me in order to get Lemarc’s real name. When that failed, his lordship offered to buy the picture, whatever the cost.”
    “Whatever the cost? Well, I’m sorry to have prevented a sale. Just think of all the money you would make if we could reveal Lemarc’s identity.”
    Mrs. McGinnis shook her head. “If we did, I’d certainly lose in the long run, my lady. It’s the mystery that brings ’em in the door, if you don’t mind my saying so, and your ladyship’s talent has them buying up everything as quick as you draw it. Those bird watercolors were the last I had.” She reached out and patted Maggie’s hand. “And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for your ladyship. Indeed, no one could offer me enough money to give up our secret.”
    Maggie squeezed the other woman’s fingers. “Thank you. Your loyalty means everything to me.”
    “It’s me who’ll be giving thanks. If not for your ladyship, I’d still be in Little Walsingham, suffering beatings from that devil I married. I owe everything to you for giving me a bit of money and artwork to set up my shop. And I shan’t be forgetting it.”
    “We saved each other, then. Without your friendship, I wouldn’t have survived.” The other women in the village had only wanted to gawk at the scandalous woman who’d married their old, wealthy baron. Friends had not come easily.
    Mrs. McGinnis chuckled and pulled back to wipe her eyes. “Aren’t we a pair, then? Well, those days are behind us