The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(56)
The footmen were in costume as well, each bare-chested and wearing a black half-mask resembling a jackal. The top portion of each mask covered the men’s eyes, with tall, dark ears pointing to the ceiling, leaving their mouths and noses free. Gold bands encircled their upper arms and thick neck plates of gold and onyx rested against the naked skin of their collars. Black and gold skirts fell to their mid-thighs. Where on earth had she hired these fellows?
Despite the sea of costumes and dominoes, he spotted her with little effort. She stood at the far end of the ballroom, surrounded by guests. Mostly men, from what he could see. Little wonder considering the flimsy, nearly transparent white gown she wore. The cloth pulled tight across her bosom, thrusting her breasts up and out, while ropes of gold beading hung in her black hair, attached to a gilded band encircling her head. Gold shoes adorned her feet, the straps crossing over her ankles. She held a glass of champagne in one hand and a curved scepter in the other.
Cleopatra, exotic temptress of the ancient world. His belly warmed, relief and desire building upon one another until all he could think of was getting to her.
He took a step in her direction, but Quint’s hand landed on his arm, stopping him. “Patience, Winchester. Let her greet the guests. No sense getting us thrown out before supper.”
“She won’t throw us out, but you’re right. I’ll wait until she’s had a glass or two of champagne first.”
Quint chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day where your skills with a woman were dependent upon her being soused.”
Simon shot Quint a look. “I do not want her soused. I want her amenable.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Winchester!”
Simon turned at the sound of his name. A man in a black domino stood in front of him. With the smug set of the man’s mouth, Simon had no trouble recognizing him.
“Markham. Didn’t expect to find you here.” He turned to include Quint and noticed his friend had disappeared into the crowd.
“London gets frightfully dull this time of year,” Markham said. “Thought I’d pop over to see what our French brethren had in store. Imagine my surprise in finding such lively entertainment.”
No doubt Markham had followed Maggie to Paris. At one time, Simon might’ve been jealous, but he no longer cared how many men were in her past. Or in her present, for that matter. Simon meant to have her again. Meant to have her smiles and laughter. Meant to have her quick wit and sharp tongue. And most definitely meant to have her luscious body writhing under his.
A loud clapping cut through the chatter as Maggie stepped into the center of the room. She called for attention and the crowd quieted.
“Mesdames et messieurs,” she said loudly. “My lords and ladies, welcome. In keeping with our theme this evening, I give you the wonders of Ancient Egypt.”
A slow, steady drumbeat started. At the opposite end of the room, two jackal footmen appeared, each holding the poles of a litter. Relaxing on the portable bed was a woman dressed very much like Maggie’s Cleopatra. Dark hair swinging to her shoulders, a gold band encircling her head. When they reached the middle of the dance floor, the men lowered the litter and she stepped out, a gauzy white dress falling in pleats to her ankles. The neckline was absurdly low and Simon would almost swear her nipples had been rouged. Lifting her bare arms and hands like an Egyptian statue, she froze. Another litter followed, the same slow procession, and its occupant joined the first woman on the floor, adopting a slightly different position of her hands.
Three more joined for a total of five women, all in identical costumes and wearing serious expressions. Once the jackal footmen retreated, the drum tempo sped up, joined by the tinkling of bells. The dancers’ torsos began undulating as their hands moved in quick, efficient bursts. Simon stole a glance at Markham, who stood enraptured by the performance. In fact, Simon wouldn’t have been surprised to see a spot of drool on the side of the man’s mouth.
Not that he hated the display. Indeed, he’d never seen a dance so uninhibited. So . . . carnal. The women were all rolling hips and bouncing breasts in a blatant depiction of the sexual act. It reminded Simon of Barrett House when Maggie had sat astride him, naked and glistening with sweat, as she worked his shaft in and out of her body. Now, there had been a performance worth savoring.
The dancers began a flurry of coordinated hand motions, then added their feet as well. None wore shoes, so delicate toes whispered over the worn wood of the dance floor as they stepped forward and back. After a few more minutes, the music swelled to a crescendo, the women spinning in circles to lift their dresses above the knee. Bare legs peeped out, to the delight of the crowd. They each struck a final pose as the notes held, and everyone broke out into riotous applause. Simon grinned and clapped as loudly as the rest. Only Maggie could pull off something this brazen.
The slow drumbeat began once more and the women slowly traveled the length of the room, stepping at the same time. They disappeared and the guests began tittering and talking—marveling at the performance, no doubt.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Markham said to Simon. “Well, I feel invigorated. I’m off to find a spot of fluff. Always easier at a masquerade, I find. What will you do?”
“Think I’ll wait here.” He planned to keep an eye on Maggie.
“Ah, got your sights set on someone already, do you? I’d best hurry, then. Excuse me.” Markham hurried away, black cape swirling behind him, and Simon breathed a sigh of relief.