The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(83)
“Cranford was in Paris?” Simon’s stomach clenched as the pieces began to fall into place. The man on Maggie’s balcony. The carriage accident. The fact that the blackmailer knew how to contact them. He put a hand to the wall to steady himself. “So did you send the note to Mrs. McGinnis, asking for the money?”
“Cranford told me what to say.” He scratched his head. “Now that I think on it, seems unlikely he’s still in France. How would he know you both were here otherwise?”
Simon pondered James’s surprisingly astute question. “Is the man in that room there the one who has been forging Lemarcs?”
“Yes. I found him. Good, isn’t he?”
Simon’s lip curled and he quashed the urge to strangle James once more. “Not a fact you should be proud of at this moment, James.”
James instantly sobered. “So what do you plan to do, now that you know?”
Simon considered his options. He mostly wanted to finish what he’d started in this alley, but killing James would prove difficult to explain to the family. What he needed was to get rid of James for good without committing murder. “Fortunate for you that I maintain a house in Edinburgh. I see a lifetime of Scotland in your future, James.”
Maggie stalked the floors of her studio, furious at being forced to remain home. The afternoon light had already started to fade. Surely the money had been turned over to the blackmailer by now, and she knew Simon and Mr. Hollister planned to follow whoever retrieved the parcel. Had they found the blackmailer? What was happening? She wanted to pull her hair out from the frustration.
She should be there. And she would be there, if it weren’t for Simon’s heavy-handedness.
He’d actually posted a man at her door to ensure she could not leave. Trapping her, as if she were a prisoner. The gall of that man . . .
He had no right to be making decisions for her or solving problems on her behalf. Nothing had changed between them since Paris. The threat of sedition still loomed, not to mention a madman was running amok in an attempt to ruin her life. Did Simon not realize the risk to his reputation if her identity was discovered ? Or what about his political standing when his name became linked to hers?
Even if I must give up my seat in Lords.
That he would be willing to walk away from his family legacy both humbled and terrified her. She would not allow him to do it, of course, would never force him to choose. Though he’d brushed away her concerns, Maggie knew what would happen if they married. Eventually he would come to resent the ramifications of their association. Resent her.
Her chest constricted, making it painful to draw breath. The temptation to throw it all away, to run to Simon and ignore the consequences nearly overwhelmed her . . . but she resisted it. She knew what it was like to have Society turn its back on you, how ugly one’s life could become when it was no longer in your control. Simon had been worshipped from the cradle, the golden heir to one of the wealthiest families in England. He had no idea of what awaited him should she give in.
So she would be the reasonable one. She would learn how to survive without him. She had no choice, really, because as soon as the blackmailer was dealt with Maggie planned to leave England for good.
“The Duchess of Colton to see you, milady,” Tilda said at the door.
Maggie’s chest fluttered as hope rose within her. She had not seen Julia since returning from Paris. Had the duchess brought news of the blackmailer? Maggie dashed past her servant and into the corridor. “No need to bring her up, Tilda. I shall go down!” she tossed over her shoulder.
She raced down two sets of stairs until she reached the front sitting room where Tilda always placed waiting guests. The duchess was examining a painting on the wall when Maggie entered. “Julia,” Maggie panted. “Have you any news?”
Julia turned and shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I was hoping you might have learned something. The wait, at home by myself, was interminable.”
Maggie sagged and tried to catch her breath. “Well, at least we may wait together, then.” She crossed and rang for tea.
“You are very talented.” Julia once again stared at the landscape, the one with the plover Simon had used to identify Maggie as Lemarc. “And Winejester was a stroke of genius.”
“Thank you, though part of me wishes I’d never thought of the name. None of this mess would have transpired in such a case.”
“You cannot mean that,” Julia exclaimed. “I was told you and Simon worked out your differences in Paris.”
“Allow me to guess,” Maggie drawled. “Simon told you that.”
Julia’s brow creased with concern. “Yes, he did. Is it not true?”
Maggie sat and arranged her skirts, deciding how best to answer. If she were honest, would Julia keep her confidence or repeat everything to Simon? When she hedged, the duchess lowered into a nearby chair.
“Maggie, I must confess something to you. I’m afraid . . .” Julia sounded unusually grave, her blue eyes showing signs of both worry and guilt. “Well, it’s time you knew, anyway.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Julia nodded. “Indeed, it is. And it’s something I should have mentioned ages ago. You see, back during your debut, when the scandal broke . . .” She cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap. “He wanted to challenge Cranford and I convinced him not to.”