The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(91)
“No,” he barked. “Absolutely not.”
“Simon, be reasonable. Someone will try to discover the identity of my sobriquet, whatever I choose to use. The threat will never truly go away.”
“So do not use a sobriquet. Use your real name—or the Countess of Winchester, if you like.” He crossed his arms over his chest, stern and unhappy. “Do not run from me, Maggie. I’ll not let you go.”
The Countess of Winchester? He couldn’t possibly mean it. For a man of his position to be married to a sensational artist would bring nothing but embarrassment and shame. Not to mention she’d no longer have the freedom to paint and draw as she pleased . . . would she? No husband would allow raunchy political cartoons and half-naked mermaid chalk drawings.
“Whereby I must paint bowls of fruit and flowers?”
His brows lowered, lines etching his forehead. “Is that your concern, that I’ll try to tame you into someone respectable?” When she didn’t answer, he laughed softly. “Darling, if you want to paint nude frescos on the ceiling at St. Paul’s, I’ll go and speak with the archbishop. I could not be prouder of your talent. As long as it’s not of me or our family, I’ll never tell you what you can or cannot do.”
She nibbled her lip, trying to decide if she believed him. Did he want her badly enough to lie? He admittedly hated to lose, the silver-tongued devil.
“If you like, I’ll have it written into the marriage contract. ‘The countess is allowed to paint and draw whatever she damn well pleases.’”
“You will?”
“Without hesitation, if that’s what it takes.”
She felt a burst of warm relief until she remembered all the rest of it. “My art is the least of our problems. My reputation—”
“I do not care a whit what the gossips say. Have your parties at Barrett House. And if you want to leave London, fine. We’ll live at Winchester Towers—or in Paris. It matters not to me as long as we’re together.”
“But all your work in Parliament—I cannot ask you to give that up.”
“Maggie, in case you’ve forgotten, I was ready to give it up a few hours ago when I went to see Sidmouth. I promise you, nothing is more important to me than you.”
The strength of his conviction, unwavering and honest, seeped into her, an overwhelming feeling of happiness and love that brought tears to her eyes. God, she hated to cry. But everything inside her welled up, a joy so profound she could not bear it. Before she knew it, he’d pulled her into his arms.
“I love you, you maddening, exquisite woman. Whatever I must do to keep you happy, I’ll do it. Gladly.” He buried his nose in her hair, inhaled. “Just never leave me.”
His warmth surrounded her, the security and acceptance she’d searched for her whole life in this one embrace. She knew then she could never give it up, never give him up. She sagged into him, melted into his tall frame. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she felt him relax.
“I’ll make you a terrible wife.”
“You won’t. You’ll be exasperating, kind, loving, and strong. The one thing you’ll never be is boring, which is more than fine with me. Does this mean you agree to marry me?”
She almost said yes, but there were a few things still to work out first. Leaning back, she attempted to appear serious. “Will you build me a studio on the top floor, as I had in my old house?”
“Yes. All that’s there now is the nursery, which we can move to another floor. What else?”
“Will you allow me to paint your portrait?” She knew the ideal pose—one from the night where he’d pleasured himself—and her cheeks turned hot.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as his lips curved. “Is this a salacious sort of portrait, you minx?”
“If I am going to paint you, then it must be how I see you.”
He chuckled and glanced heavenward as if she tried his patience. “You may only paint me fully clothed, Maggie.”
“Why? It would only be for me, I promise. No one else would ever see it.”
“You never know what will happen to such a picture. It could end up in the wrong hands. Besides, you may see a more realistic and intimate version of me in our chambers any time you fancy.”
She tried to display the proper amount of disappointment. “You are already breaking your promise to keep me happy and we’ve not even married yet.”
He clasped her hand and began tugging her toward the door. “Come to my chambers and I’ll show you just how happy I can make you. Twice, if you ask nicely.”
“Simon,” she laughed. “There is still light outside.”
He threw open the latch. “You are not the only one who can be scandalous, my lady.”
Don’t miss the first book in the Wicked Deceptions
series, The Courtesan Duchess, available now!
And keep reading for a special sneak peek at
The Lady Hellion, coming in June 2015 . . .
Lady Sophia Barnes doesn’t take no for an answer. Especially when she’s roaming London’s seedy underground . . . dressed as a man.
A rabble-rouser for justice, Sophie’s latest mission is to fight for the rights of the poor, the wretched—and the employees at Madame Hartley’s brothel. She’s not concerned about the criminals who will cross her path, for Sophie has mastered the art of deception—including the art of wearing trousers. Now her fate is in her own hands, along with a loaded gun. All she needs is instruction on how to shoot it. But only one person can help her: Lord Quint, the man who broke her heart years ago. The man she won’t let destroy her again....