Free The Harlot Countess by Joanna Shupe

allow it. Could not allow it.
    The room had grown unnaturally still. She found him studying her, his gaze locked on her hands. Maggie looked down. Her fingers were clutching the top of the wingback chair in a white-knuckled grip. She would not be surprised to find indentations from her nails in the fabric. She forced her hands to relax.
    He lifted one supercilious brow, a knowing smirk on his lips, and mortification burned in her chest. He was aware of, or suspected, the direction of her thoughts, the blackguard.
    Straightening, she asked, “Is that all?”
    â€œYou appear”—he gestured to his face and neck—“flushed. Is it overly warm in here? I should hate to think you’re coming down with a fever of some kind.”
    Unbelievable, his impertinence. “A gentleman would not comment on the color of a lady’s skin.”
    â€œShall I open a window, Maggie? Fetch a cool cloth? I shouldn’t want you to—”
    â€œAll I need,” she bit out, “is for you to leave .”
    He smiled, bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”
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    So the attraction was reciprocated. Interesting.
    Simon knew the signs of a woman’s desire—high color, heavy lids, rapid breathing, tight, beaded nipples poking through cloth—and Maggie had exhibited those and more. His own body’s reaction to her lust had almost knocked him to his knees. Christ, he’d wanted to take her right then on the small sofa. Rutted like an animal in heat until he lost himself in her.
    But he had been duped before. What a clever actress she’d been ten years ago, with her coy smiles and lingering glances. He hadn’t questioned her feelings until he’d seen the irrefutable proof of her perfidy. So he would not allow her to humiliate him once more—or have her questionable standing damage his reputation in Parliament. Hard to argue for preserving morals for future generations when linked to the most scandalous woman in Society. As an earl, his father had said, people will depend on you to do the honorable thing. Without a doubt, the honorable thing would be to keep his distance from Lady Hawkins.
    Therefore, as he returned to his study at Barrett House, he put the idea of tumbling Maggie firmly out of his mind. There were other matters to attend to today.
    First there were meetings with members of Liverpool’s circle to outline Simon’s upcoming proposal, a law that would force men convicted of rape to pay financial restitution to their victims. Then he sat with his secretary to deal with correspondence before his solicitor arrived to review a contract for a parcel of land in Scotland. By the time late afternoon crept over the city, he was starving.
    His housekeeper, Mrs. Timmons, arrived with the footman bearing provisions. “My lord,” she said, “a Mr. Hollister is here to see you. But before you begin your meeting, may I have a moment of your time?”
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Timmons. Thank you, Michael,” he told the footman, dismissing him.
    â€œMy lord, a girl presented herself at the back door last night, a cousin to one of our lower housemaids. I’ve taken her on, which means I must place one of our older girls in another residence. I sent a note to the viscount’s housekeeper, but I believe she’s new and not yet acquainted with our staffing arrangement.”
    Simon sighed. “I’ll speak to Quint. His housekeepers do not last, as you well know.”
    â€œThank you, my lord. That would be most helpful. The duchess’s housekeeper, however, was only too glad to take Annie. I’ve got the girl packing her things now. Shall I give her the usual reference and severance ?”
    â€œYes, please, Mrs. Timmons. And thank you for your diligence.”
    â€œIt is my pleasure, my lord. It’s a sorry thing, to see a twelve-year-old girl with bruises all over her face and body.”
    â€œThe girl from last