The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(12)
“Better not have too many, Winejester!”
Three young men dissolved into laughter, and Simon forced a smile and raised his glass toward them. He recognized each one, the fools. “Appreciate the warning, Pryce.”
Colton made a noise. “The reason you should humor those walking cocks is unfathomable to me. It’s as if your bollocks have shriveled up and fallen off since you started up in Parliament.”
“Pryce’s father is the Earl of Stratham, one of my biggest allies. Pulverizing his son for a drunken jest is not how the game is played, Colt.”
“Exactly why I never took up my seat in Lords. Too many favors and slaps on the back. No one saying what they truly mean. I don’t know how you tolerate it.”
Simon sighed. Colton knew him better than anyone, but not even his childhood friend would understand. Colton’s father had been a cold-hearted bastard, not particularly well liked in either Parliament or Society. But Simon could perceive his family’s legacy everywhere he turned. Some men came from a long line of butchers or blacksmiths; the Barrett men were statesmen, helping to shape the policy and future of the realm since Henry the Sixth. The fifth Earl of Winchester had once served as Lord President of the Council. And Fox himself had taken counsel with Simon’s father on occasion.
His father had died at forty-five. Rare heart condition, they’d said. Simon had no idea if his own health would follow a similar path—if he were going to keel over and expire, dear God, let it be a surprise—but he did intend to do something worthwhile in the time he had left.
So six years ago, he had taken up his seat in Lords. Turned out he had the family knack for politics as well, and he’d quickly gained a reputation for backing the winning side. He enjoyed the competitiveness of Parliament. The thrill of success. The challenge of exploiting an opponent’s weakness to get what he wanted.
“I rather like the Winejester cartoons,” Colton continued. “At least I’ll always have those to remember our drunken escapades.”
Simon turned sharply. “Have you purchased one?”
Colton’s lips twitched. “I’ve tried. Twice. Curst shopkeeper won’t sell it to me.”
“Well, I wish they would stop. Certainly there are more interesting subjects to skewer.”
“Doubtful.” Colton followed Simon’s gaze to the circle of men on the other side of the room. They both knew who stood in the center of that pack of jackals. “Do you plan to stare at her all night, my friend? You’re glowering like an elderly chaperone, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.”
Simon took a healthy swallow of champagne, wished for something stronger. “I’m trying to reconcile the somewhat shy and sweet girl I knew with this confident and brazen . . .”
“One can change,” Colton murmured. “Or perhaps you never really knew her at all—you only assume you did.”
Yes, she had certainly duped him. How many men had she taken to her bed before Cranford had revealed her true nature? And to think, he’d even asked his mother for the Winchester rubies as a betrothal gift.
Watching her flirt and entertain her circle of admirers put him in a foul mood. Which must have shown on his face because Colton asked, “Wondering whom she may choose tonight?”
“The fortunate sod,” Simon growled.
“Who says she’ll take only one? There were plenty of nights where I—”
“God, don’t say it. You know how much I loathe it when you attempt to be insightful.” Simon threw back the rest of his bubbly. “I’m off. Give Julia my excuses and I’ll see you on the morrow, if you’re about.”
“Allow me to guess,” Colton drawled. “Curzon Street.”
No need to answer. Colton was right and they both knew it. He shoved his empty glass into his friend’s hand and headed for the door.
Outside, Simon set a brisk pace for the small house where his current mistress, Adrianna, resided. Curzon Street was not far, so he told his coachman he’d rather walk. If nothing else, he needed the cold air to clear his head. The sight of Maggie surrounded by her throngs of admirers gave him a pounding ache precisely behind the eyes.
He knew what those men saw because he’d seen it once, too. Maggie could hold the attention of a room merely by lifting a dainty finger. Heart-stoppingly beautiful, her unique looks and confidence could bring a man to his knees. It had taken him years to forget her.
So Adrianna was precisely what he needed at the end of this evening. A soft, warm, and willing body to take his mind off everything else. He’d first met Adrianna at Drury Lane, where she’d upstaged Kean in a production of Brutus. It had taken some doing to get her away from her former protector, but Simon had charmed her until she relented—charmed as well as promised better lodgings and more money.
They got on well and she was an enthusiastic and adventurous lover. He hadn’t planned to see her this evening so he had no clue whether she was in. Approaching the tiny brick house, he noticed the lamps were on. That boded well. He took the front steps quickly, rapped on the door.
Adrianna’s maid, Lucy, answered. She confirmed Adrianna was in, took his things, and asked him to wait in the small sitting room in the front. Odd, since he normally would venture directly to Adrianna’s bedchamber. Instead of trying to understand the workings of his mistress’s mind, Simon used the opportunity alone to get a strong drink. He splashed a liberal amount of his favorite scotch whisky into a tumbler. Imported from an illegal distillery in one of the Inner Hebrides, the whisky did not come cheap. But it’s worth every shilling, he thought, taking a swallow as he settled on the small sofa to wait.