The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(74)

In the ensuing silence, the other man’s disposition changed, Markham’s jocularity vanishing as quickly as the roasted pigeon on his plate. Lips compressed into a tight, thin line, it was clear he was unhappy. No secret why. Markham had made his intentions toward Maggie clear—he’d hoped to bed her. But Maggie had not returned his interest. That could hardly be Simon’s fault, could it?

Quint cleared his throat. “I wonder if we’ll see more rain.”

Markham, still devoting his attention to his meal, grunted in response. Simon and Quint exchanged a look. Damnation, this was going badly. He needed Markham’s support; the man had a small contingent of followers in Parliament and could wield considerable influence over them.

By the time their plates were cleared, Markham had turned downright surly. Still, Simon knew he had to try to win him over.

“Shall we discuss my proposal, Markham?” Simon suggested. “You may tell me your reservations and we’ll try and work through them.”

Markham finished off his claret, set the glass on the table. “Quite unnecessary. All my questions have been addressed.” He pushed back from the table and straightened his frock coat. “And I shan’t be supporting you, Winchester.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “And may I ask why not?”

“The reasons hardly matter. But I will do everything in my limited power to ensure you fail.” He turned and toddled off without a backward glance. Stupefied, Simon watched him go. Could petty jealousy have caused Markham’s shift in attitude?

“Well, it seems the Harlot just cost you your first vote.”

Simon pierced Quint with a hard stare. Quint held up his hands. “I meant no disrespect. I hold the lady in the highest esteem. But it’s clear Markham hoped to win her affections and cared little for the fact you’d beaten him to it.”

“It’s absurd, especially when the lady has never shown him the least bit of favor.”

“Not precisely true, if you will recall Colton’s dinner party.”

Simon drummed his fingers on the table, unhappily recalling how she had encouraged Markham that evening. That she’d done it as merely a way to irritate Simon did not lessen his annoyance.

Quint said, “I know you do not want to hear it, but are you prepared for what your association with her may cost you? You’ve worked years to get where you are. Think of all you might accomplish, if you are careful.”

“No one other than Markham will give it a moment’s thought.”

Quint’s brows lifted. “Are you so certain of that? It is one thing to have the usual mistress quietly tucked away over on Curzon Street. It’s altogether different to be linked to the most scandalous woman in Society, widow or no.”

“I plan to marry her,” Simon snapped.

Quint appeared even more surprised. “And you think such an alliance won’t reflect on you either socially or politically? You are fooling yourself. Are you prepared to let her throw those types of parties at Barrett House?”

Simon had to admit, Quint had a point. He hadn’t given much thought to Maggie’s lifestyle and if she planned to change it once they married. But if she would have him, sleep next to him every night, bear his children . . . he’d let her do whatever she damn well wanted. He’d be proud to stand at her side. “Yes,” he told Quint honestly.

Quint toasted Simon with his teacup. “Then I wish you luck.”





Chapter Eighteen


Maggie rolled over when something dragged slowly over her bare skin. A deep inhale filled her head with the scent of orange and sandalwood and just a hint of tobacco. Simon. She fought the cobwebs to come awake, aware that a very good reason awaited her. Then the mattress dipped and his warmth wrapped around her, strong arms pulling her near.

“Are you awake?” he asked into her ear. Rough end-of-day whiskers teased her skin.

“Hmmm,” she answered, wriggling into the delicious male heat and strength behind her. “Almost.”

He chuckled. “Very well. Let us see if I can hasten your progress.”

Maggie smiled, even though he could not see it. His presence in a room turned her positively giddy. Good thing she’d given him a key to the house. His lips found the top of her shoulder, gentle kisses whispering over her flesh like the silky bristles of a paintbrush. “How was your dinner?”

“Disappointing.”

There was an edge in his voice that caught her attention. Turning, she searched out his eyes. “You were to dine with Lord Markham, no?”

“Yes. Quint came as well.”

“And that made it disappointing?”

“No. My evening is unimportant. I’d rather we spent our time together on more worthwhile pursuits.” His hand swept over her bare hip and up her rib cage to settle on her breast. He squeezed gently, plumping her. “I am so very glad you didn’t bother with nightclothes.”

Momentarily distracted, she enjoyed the sensation. Then she asked, “Were you able to sway Markham, as you’d hoped?”

He bent his head to swirl the tip of his tongue over her nipple. She moaned and arched up. Though tingles shot all over her body, she forced herself to stay on task. “Are you attempting to evade my questions?”

His lips closed over the taut tip and he drew it inside the lush heat of his mouth. Sweet heaven. Her lids drifted shut and she threaded her fingers through his silky hair. Everything inside her began buzzing, a heady thrum of desire only Simon could produce. But he had not fooled her.