The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(32)

“A mistake?” he whispered darkly, prowling toward her. “The moans? The sighs? The way you wrapped your legs around my hips? Was that all a mistake, Maggie?”

She opened her mouth to confirm it, but he continued, cutting her off.

“The wetness pooling between your thighs said otherwise. The way you begged me to take you said otherwise.” He now stood much too close. She had to wrench her neck to look at him as he loomed over her. “You say you’re no doxy; well, I am no untried lad you can chew up and spit out. Nor am I an old man rutting with rheumy eyes and a withered prick. Believe what you must to be able to sleep at night, but what happened was no mistake.”

Oh, he was intolerable. “It shall not happen again, Simon.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Take comfort, then, that I won’t force my attentions on you. There are any number of women who won’t cringe at the idea of me in their bed.”

“Like your mistress,” she couldn’t help saying.

Something flashed in his eyes, and she feared it might be satisfaction. “Why, you almost sound jealous, Lady Hawkins.”

The idea of Simon and another woman doing what had just occurred in Maggie’s drawing room sickened and depressed her, but she’d be damned if she ever let him know. “Hardly. All of those women can have you, as far as I’m concerned.”

Shoulders stiff, he took a step back and bowed. “I shall remember you said so, madam.”




“Good afternoon, Mother. You look lovely, as always.” Simon bent to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“I’ll overlook the fact you’re late because of that compliment—which, I’m sure, was your intention.” Still a handsome woman, the countess was tall and thin with features similar to his own. She looked much the same as she always did, in a high-neck violet gown. She put down her embroidery, an activity she only undertook when anxious.

He’d gone home after Maggie’s in order to change, which had made him late for his afternoon appointment with the countess. He grinned at her. “I never could get anything by you.”

“You still cannot,” she retorted. “Please, sit. I cannot strain my neck to converse with you.” She requested tea as he settled into a chair. When they were alone, she asked, “Have you been to your club today?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s that wastrel, Sir James!” his mother blurted, color high on her cheeks. “I heard the news last night. Lady Keller heard from Lady Peterson that Sir James lost all of their money. All of it! Sybil is utterly ruined.”

Oh, Christ. “Wait.” Simon sat forward. “There is the money I set aside in her trust, is there not?”

“I confess I do not know, but I suspect that shiftless excuse for a man found out about the trust and convinced her to turn it over. Lord Peterson saw James drunk at the hazard table inside a gaming hell, babbling on about his investments failing. He was playing with every last farthing they had.”

“Unbelievable,” Simon muttered, slumping in his chair. “How can he be so stupid? But perhaps Sybil did not turn the money over to him. Surely she would not be so brainless.”

His mother shook her head. “Women who love the wrong man are blind to sloth, stupidity, or spite. Precisely why those of our class should never be allowed to make their own matches.”

“Seemed a good match at the time, though I wish I’d dug a bit deeper on him before we allowed it.”

“It would not have mattered. Sybil was determined to have him. She’d have run off to Scotland if we tried to stop them.”

That was true. Sybil had been madly in love with Sir James. Only sixteen at the time, Simon hadn’t understood the importance of his role as head of the family and had also lacked the experience to know what men of Sir James’s ilk were like. He’d had the title for a mere two years but hadn’t even finished school. Still, he wished he’d asked for advice or had James investigated because the man was an utter arse, through and through.

And now Simon had to clean up the mess. Again.

“I’ll go and see him this afternoon,” he told his mother. “No matter what has happened, I’ll not let Sybil suffer because of James’s stupidity.”

The dowager’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank you, Simon. I knew when he ran through her dowry in less than three years the man would be trouble.” The tea tray arrived and she labored over it for a few moments. “Remember that Greek diamond mine he invested in? Failed to produce a single stone and all the workers quit.”

He shook his head. “What about the fleet of merchant ships overtaken by pirates? Or the abandoned Russian coal venture?”

“My favorite was the monkey-breeding scheme where all the animals turned out to be male.” They both chuckled, and the dowager covered her mouth. “Oh, it’s wrong to laugh, Simon. The man has absolutely no sense and he’s ruining Sybil’s future.”

“I shall do what I can, Mother. Sybil will not end up on the streets.”

She picked up her cup. “Your father would be so proud of you.”

Simon liked to think so. He had worked hard over the last six years to carry on the Barrett family legacy in Parliament. The three estates he owned all prospered and were well-managed. True, he hadn’t married and started producing offspring, but he would someday. Just not anytime soon.