The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(86)

She raised her chin. “Perhaps I’ll scream. The entire house will come to my aid.”

His arm shifted, materializing from behind his back. A small pistol now pointed at her. “You may try, but I cannot believe it worth your life. Especially since you shall want to hear what I have to say. Do have a seat, Maggie.”

Maggie slowly lowered onto a small wooden stool, casting subtle glances for a weapon in the vicinity. Her studio was tidy, however, and nothing lay within reach but a lead pencil. When Cranford shifted to lock the door, she snatched the pencil and concealed it in her skirts before he spun around.

He moved toward her, his black trousers and ruby-red topcoat a strangely civilized contrast to the sneer he sported. She vowed silently to remain calm, not to allow him to frighten her. Drawing in deep breaths, she kept her gaze trained on his face. “You do not want to do this,” she told him. “It’s a mistake.”

He stopped a few feet away, his right eye twitching slightly. “Do you toss your skirts up whenever he crooks his spoiled, privileged finger? Spread your legs and let him plow you to his heart’s content, like a whore would? Is that what you are for him?”

God, he was talking about Simon. She forced down the revulsion at Cranford’s crude words. “So this is about Winchester?”

“Why him? I’ve never understood it. You rebuffed me and yet jumped into his bed at the first opportunity.”

“You were betrothed to my friend!” Not to mention it had always been Simon for her, since the first time his brilliant blue eyes shined down at her.

“He cannot have everything! Why should they have it all?” Nostrils flared, he took a few deep breaths as if he were struggling to get back under control.

They? “Winchester’s family, you mean?”

“He and every other privileged, spoiled man with a title. They do nothing but roll around in money they did not earn. Wagers, gaming hells, boxing matches . . . they throw it away like crumbs.”

“But you are a viscount. You have—”

“Debt. I have a crumbling estate not worth the paper it’s printed on. I’ve had to scrape and suffer, marry a woman I detested just for her dowry. But I will get mine.” He gestured to her with the pistol. “That, my dear, is where you come in.”

Mind reeling, she clenched her hands tightly in order to stay focused. “What do you mean to do?”

“My mistake was in trusting Sir James. The man is a buffoon. But you, however . . .” His mouth curved. “I should have used you right from the start. He’ll do anything you ask, won’t he?”

Sir James? What was he talking about? She gripped the pencil, praying it would be enough when the time came. “Not any longer. We are no longer . . . close.”

He gave her a peevish look. “Please. Do not waste my time with lies. I’ve seen him with you, seen the way he watches you. God, you should have seen his face when I showed him those letters all those years ago! He truly believed you’d written them. I nearly pissed myself with joy.”

“I thought this was about money,” she blurted. “Or do you derive pleasure from ruining the lives of others?”

“Everything is about money—in this case the money I’ve worked damn hard to get. I’ve been forced to cozy up to Sir James for years just to bilk the Winchester estate of thousands of pounds.” He grinned. “Ruining lives is merely an additional benefit.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “As you ruined Cora’s?”

He blinked, confusion lining his forehead. “Cora?”

“The girl from Madame Hartley’s.”

“I know of no one named Cora,” he said, taken aback, and Maggie believed him. “I’ve never cheated one of Hartley’s girls.”

So another man was responsible for the attack on Cora. Madame Hartley had been wrong. Maggie filed that away for later. “I will not help you steal money from Winchester.”

“Oh, you will, madam. Or I will expose you as Lemarc to everyone in London.”

Maggie froze as the pieces fell into place. Cranford was the blackmailer. God, would she never be rid of this man? “How did you learn I was Lemarc?”

“Followed you. And everyone else will find out if you do not help me.”

“You wouldn’t dare. It’s your only hold over me.”

“Wrong,” he said with a sneer. “If you do not help me, I’ll ruin you. Again. So before you say no, think of your sister’s reputation. Think of your livelihood. Think of Winchester’s family and his brilliant political career,” he finished with a high drama Henri would envy.

She would never steal from Simon or abuse his trust in such a devious manner—even if it meant ruination once more. Besides, her sister had been the one to encourage Maggie to reveal herself as Lemarc; the likelihood of scandal had not concerned Becca in the least. And since Maggie and Simon were finished, any disgrace she endured would not affect him.

“Go ahead and do it, then. I’ll not help you.” She rose, still hiding the pencil in her skirts. “You’re a coward and a thief, Cranford, and everyone in London will soon know it.”

His face slackened, as if he couldn’t believe she had refused. The hand holding the pistol wobbled. “You would not dare. You shall be imprisoned for those drawings.”