The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(77)
Dear Lady Hawkins—
Surprised? I wanted to send you this painting as proof of my own painter’s abilities. He’s quite good, wouldn’t you say?
If you want the drawings to cease, I require two thousand pounds in two weeks’ time. Otherwise, I’m afraid Lemarc may find himself (herself ?) in a spot of trouble with the authorities. Instructions for delivery will be left with Mrs. McGinnis.
It was unsigned. Lucien, who had read over her shoulder, exclaimed, “Two thousand pounds! That is ridiculous. This scheme, who is behind it?”
Maggie shook her head. “I do not know. Anyone, I suppose. Why target Lemarc? Many artists are more successful than me.”
“This is meant to hurt you, ma chère. Someone wants to discredit you, to ruin your career. Who?” Lucien gave her a pointed look. “Perhaps—”
“No. Winchester would never do such a thing.”
“Of course not.” Lucien scowled at her. “The earl, he loves you. Passionately. He would never want to hurt you like this. I saw it myself, how much he cares for you.”
“When? At the opera?”
He nodded. “He hardly took his eyes off you all evening. Staring at you like a girl at her very first amour.”
Though the information warmed her, she elbowed him in the arm. “Be serious. And do not make jests at his expense.”
Lucien’s brows shot up. “Is that so? While I am happy for you, I have now lost a great deal of money to Henri. I thought you would at least hold out until—”
“Lucien,” she snapped, “you are not helping.”
He straightened and regarded the painting once more. “Well, who then? Who else would do this?”
Though her mind reeled, Maggie tried to focus enough to come up with a name. Whoever had sent this note wanted more than just money; he or she wanted to tarnish Lemarc’s name. And for all she knew, that plan may have already succeeded in London. Amongst artists, a fine line existed between noteworthy and dangerously improper. The former meant she could count on being hired by anyone wealthy and bored enough to want to rub elbows with a notorious artist. The latter meant she would never be hired by patrons who cared about soiling their precious reputations—in other words, just about everyone in the ton. If she didn’t get to London and repair the damage already done to Lemarc’s name, then all would be lost. Oh, and she’d still have to evade the authorities.
She really, truly did not wish to go to prison.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, “I swear, I cannot imagine. I’ve kept a low profile in London, barely going out except for my own parties. There isn’t anyone, other than Winchester, who is mocked enough in the cartoons for this sort of retribution—and I know he isn’t responsible. What am I going to do?”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Tilda appeared. “My lady, the Earl of Winchester to see you.”
“I beg your pardon for barging in like this.” Simon stepped around Tilda and came forward. Dark blue trousers showed off his long, lean legs, while a tailored matching topcoat hugged his shoulders. His handsome face, ruddy from the cold, showed lines of concern. “Ah, I see you’ve received one as well,” he said, gesturing to the table. “I came as soon as mine was delivered.” Slipping a hand inside of his pocket, he retrieved a folded piece of paper.
“Yours? You mean you received a letter as well? But that makes no sense . . .” She looked at Lucien for answers, but her friend merely shrugged.
“Here. Read this.” Simon thrust the paper into her hands. Maggie turned and spread it out on the table near the others, so she and Lucien could study it together. She motioned to her letters. “You might as well read mine, then.”
Short and on point, Simon’s missive informed him of the seditious cartoons penned under Lemarc’s name. It demanded money—three thousand pounds annually—in order to leave Maggie/Lemarc alone. In flipping it over, she noted the letter had been addressed to his hotel in Paris.
“Who knows you are in Paris, at H?tel Meurice?” she asked him.
He glanced up from reading Mrs. McGinnis’s note. “Anyone, really. I’ve made no secret of it.”
“I must go back to London,” she told both men.
“I shall go with you,” Simon stated in a hard, determined voice she recognized well.
“No, that is—”
“Do not argue with me, Maggie.” He slapped his hand on the scarred wooden table. “You have no idea what trouble you face. Do you know how serious sedition charges are? It is a common law offense. You could be imprisoned indefinitely. I can protect you from that. At the very least, allow me to use my position and name to shelter you from the worst of it.”
He was quite worked up, and his concern warmed her. Nevertheless, she must prevent her troubles from dragging him down. “And what will it cost you to embroil yourself in this fiasco? More votes? Your political standing? I cannot allow you to align yourself with Lemarc against the Crown. What if you end up imprisoned?”
“That will not happen. I have known these men all my life, Maggie. They will not believe me of conspiring to overthrow the very system I have worked so hard to uphold. They will listen to me. And there is every chance I can keep your real identity a secret if I act as an agent for Lemarc.”