The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(64)
She fervently wished their conversation the other night had not taken place. Without that infernal headache, she never would have revealed the fact he’d broken her heart. Silly female notion anyway, a broken heart. No doubt he thought the revelation ridiculous.
“I could enjoy the attention if I knew what he hoped to gain,” she told Lucien.
“It is obvious, non? Your earl intends to lure you back to his bed.”
The performance began, leaving Maggie to contemplate Lucien’s statement. Could it be as simple as that? If he merely wanted to bed her again, would he go to so much trouble? It wasn’t as if she were a maiden, for heaven’s sake. Not that it mattered. She could not allow her resolve to weaken. Any association between the two of them must be avoided. His political career would certainly suffer from her reputation, and she had no plans to curtail either her behavior or her career as Lemarc. No one would take away the freedom she’d worked so hard to achieve.
The first act had been bloody torturous. Maggie’s box was not far and Simon had hardly taken his eyes off her, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. She looked devastatingly beautiful. The silver and white opera dress showed off the creamy, rounded tops of her breasts. Her long, black hair was fashioned into rings of curls held away from her face with a silver band, exposing the long column of her throat. He wanted to nibble on that soft pale skin.
When they reached the first break, Simon turned to his companions. “Lady Sophia, Lady Ardington, if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I must speak with.”
Lady Sophia stood, her brown eyes shrewd and knowing. “I shall come with you.”
Simon blinked. Sophia was the Duchess of Colton’s closest friend, which meant she enjoyed trouble every bit as much as Julia—only Sophia had no husband to keep her in line. Under normal circumstances, Simon avoided her, but she’d requested his escort to the Opéra-Comique this evening. Since he’d already planned to attend, there had been no reason to turn Sophia and her stepmother down.
Of course, he hadn’t counted on Sophia dogging his every step tonight. He needed to have a private conversation with Maggie, one no unmarried lady should overhear. Impatient to leave, he frowned at Sophia. “No.”
Sophia waved her hand dismissively, then said, “Stepmama, Lord Winchester and I will return shortly.” She grabbed Simon’s arm and began tugging him out of the box. “Come on. I am dying to meet her.”
Once in the corridor, he placed her hand on his sleeve. They started in the direction of Maggie’s box. “How do you know where I’m going?”
“Please. You have been staring at her all night and I read the broadsheets. Everyone talks about her. I was desperate to go to her masquerade, but my stepmother wouldn’t dare let me. Were you there?”
“Yes.” He recalled Nero fondling Boudica’s buttocks. “And the marchioness was right not to let you attend.”
“Et tu, Brute?”
He laughed. “I pity your future husband.”
“Me as well. Papa is growing more irritated every Season. I fear he may put his foot down this year.”
“So just pick one and be done with it. Marriage might not be as bad as you think.”
“Or it may be much, much worse—and I’d hardly take your word for it. You’ve certainly been in no rush to take a countess.”
“Julia and Colton are very happy,” he pointed out.
“Disgustingly so,” she agreed. “But she’s stuck with him so why not make the best of it? No, I think I’ll wait a little longer. What is going on between you and Lady Hawkins?”
“As if I’d tell you. The marquess would have my head on a stick.”
“You’re wrong. Papa likes you. Says there’s talk you may replace Liverpool one day.”
Simon drew back the curtain on Maggie’s box, held it open for Sophia. “I think that talk is vastly premature.” Especially if anyone ever discovered Lemarc’s true identity.
They stepped inside and found Maggie conversing with a man, their bodies in close proximity, her hand placed familiarly on his arm. Simon recognized him as Don Quixote from her masquerade, the one who had led her out to the terrace. His gut clenched, the jealousy swift and fierce. He’d expected to find her with Barreau, not one of her admirers. Forcing a smile, he continued on. “Lady Hawkins.”
Her head shot up, emerald-green gaze locking on him. Surprise flickered across her features before she schooled them, and she gave him a polite nod. “Lord Winchester.”
Introductions were made all around, during which it became clear that this artist, Jean-Louis, and Maggie were lovers. She was uncharacteristically skittish and talkative, and color stained her cheeks. The Frenchman kept his hand atop hers, where it lay firmly on his arm. Simon barely restrained himself from hauling Maggie over against his side.
Lady Sophia held up the conversation. “Lady Hawkins, the Duchess of Colton is one of my dearest friends and she insisted we meet. How fortunate you attended the premiere tonight.”
This resulted in a long exchange about Paris and shopping, the sort of discussion a man could safely tune out. It was then Simon noticed that Maggie made several subtle attempts to pull her hand off Jean-Louis’s arm but the Frenchman held fast. Had Simon misread the situation, or was she merely trying to employ discretion? The idea nearly made him laugh. Maggie, discreet?