The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(19)
When she stepped into the salon, the first person her eyes found was Simon. He stood across the room, tall, lithe, and handsome. The shock of his appearance felt similar to a kick to the stomach, and she appreciated it about as much.
Blast it all. She should have expected him to be in attendance, considering his relationship to the duke. If she’d known, however, she certainly would have refused the invitation. The memory of their last exchange still haunted her. Why did he, of all men, elicit such wanton, lustful feelings from her?
A blond beauty in a pale pink gown rushed forward to clasp her hands, diverting her attention. “Lady Hawkins,” the duchess exclaimed. “I am indeed grateful you decided to attend our motley gathering.”
“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.