The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(62)

Lucien pushed his unruly mass of hair back from his face and dropped into a chair. “From the gardens? Who was it?”

Maggie shrugged. “I do not know. He wore a mask and would not give me his name. He’d been waiting to find me alone, he said.”

“I begin to see why your earl left you with me and dashed off into the crowd. This man, did he hurt you?”

“No. He merely wanted to frighten me, I think.” She took another swallow of brandy. “He knew of Lemarc, Lucien.”

Her friend’s eyes rounded. “Knew that you and Lemarc are one and the same?” When she nodded, he asked, “Comment?”

“I do not know how. Only a small number of people are aware of Lemarc’s real identity and they are all trustworthy. I would never suspect you or Rebecca. Or Mrs. McGinnis.”

“What about your earl? You said he knew. What would he do with such information?”

“Stop calling him ‘my’ earl,” she snapped, then softened her tone. “And it’s not Winchester. Lemarc as a woman makes him appear an even bigger fool, which he would want to avoid with his proposal going to vote this spring.”

“You cannot be sure, ma chère. Perhaps he—”

“No, he would not.”

Lucien’s face gentled while his eyes remained sharp. She remembered the look well, the master softening a blow for the pupil. He never liked to hurt her feelings. “Maggie, do not let your tendre for him blind you to the most obvious of things. For two years, you have maintained the secret. But in a few short months your earl reappears and learns you are Lemarc, and now someone else knows as well. This appears more than coincidence, non?”

The door swung open, sounds from the party spilling inside. Simon strode into the room, his handsome face pulled into a deep frown as he stalked to the sideboard. Maggie allowed herself a moment to appreciate the sight of his lithe body in the Roman costume. Henri was right; Simon did have very fine legs.

Were her feelings for Simon preventing her from seeing the truth, that he’d spilled her secret to another? Perhaps he had confided in Quint, who had in turn told someone else. If that were the case, half of London could know her identity by now. The pain behind her temples increased twofold, and she began to massage the area with her fingers.

He’ll take what he wants and then move on.

What had the stranger meant by such a statement? “He’s gone,” Simon announced. “Jumped into a waiting cabriolet and disappeared. The staff only took note of his exit, not his entrance.” He turned, a glass of claret in his hand. “Will you tell me what he said to upset you?”

Maggie had no intention of telling him the truth. The only person she fully trusted was Lucien, and even he had not learned all of it. Some details were best not shared. She lifted a shoulder. “Nothing of consequence. I suspect he was returning from a tryst in the gardens and stopped merely to be polite.”

Simon swallowed the rich, dark wine, all the while leaning against the sideboard and watching her over the rim of his glass. “You are lying,” he finally said. “Did he proposition you? Is that what you are hiding?”

A choking noise of disbelief came from Lucien’s direction, but Maggie kept focused on Simon. “Why must you continue to believe the worst of me?”

His brows drew together. “It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the situation. If a man finds a beautiful woman alone on a terrace, it’s hardly unheard of to deliver a proposition.”

“The voice of experience, no doubt,” she snapped.

Lucien came to his feet. “I believe it is time for me to excuse myself and return to the party.”

“Lucien, wait,” she told her friend. “My head is pounding. If I decide to retire, will you see to the guests?”

“Of course, ma chère.” He sketched a bow and whirled toward the door.

When they were alone, Maggie sighed. Too many emotions warred inside her, and she was exhausted. Her head throbbed, as if a carver were chiseling away at the hard planes of her skull, a sure indication she needed rest. She rose. “You have wasted your time in coming to Paris, Simon. I am weary of our battle and it’s plain it cannot be resolved.”

He straightened and set down his wine. “That is nonsense. The only battle is your refusal to be honest with me or to trust me. Like not telling me you were undermining my proposal behind my back.”

The surprise must have shown on her face because he said, “Yes, madam. I have learned of your efforts to woo Markham.”

“I did not woo him, Simon. I merely expressed my concerns about your proposal and pointed out its flaws.”

“And why would you not discuss these concerns with me?”

“I told you I did not care for it.”

Frowning, he placed his hands on his hips. The motion showed off the ripple of muscle along his bare forearms and biceps. Oh, God. Even with a headache she still noticed things she should not. Annoying how very aware of him she was at that moment.

“This is a perfect example, Maggie,” he continued. “You are determined to thwart me and hold me at arm’s length. If you would only trust me—”

“Trust you?” she scoffed, her voice sharp. “Why the devil would I ever do something so foolish? No, you broke my heart once. I shall not give you the chance to do it again.”