Free The Harlot Countess by Joanna Shupe Page B

crushing my hand.”
    “My apologies.”
    “You know, you deserve everything she gives you and more,” the duchess said under her breath as they took their seats.
    “I shall remember you said as much,” he returned, “especially when Colton asks me if you’ve ever visited a gaming—”
    She slapped his arm. “Simon! Do not breathe a word of that to my husband.”
    “Something amiss, Duchess?” Colton called, glancing between his wife and Simon.
    Julia gave him a perfectly innocent look. “No, Colton. Merely starving.” She signaled to the footman to begin service.
    Simon purposely averted his gaze from Maggie and Markham during dinner. Maggie’s encouraging grins at the viscount made Simon contemplate stabbing someone with a dinner fork. So he drank more than he ate. Not until the sixth course did he realize he was fast on his way to becoming soused.
    It didn’t help that she was bloody beautiful, the witch. He wished he’d stop noticing, but he could picture every detail, every curve—even with his eyes closed. All those years ago, he’d spent hours pondering the delicate bones in her wrist. Or the curve of her ear. Imagining her bare, soft breasts would have turned him hard as stone.
    Tonight, the tops of said breasts were pushed absurdly high. He found the lush, creamy swells incredibly distracting, as likely did every other able-bodied male in the room.
    And why had she come tonight? He hadn’t expected to see her here. At the very least, Julia should’ve warned him Maggie would be attending. Then he could have sent his regrets.
    “Would you care to go and lie down?” Julia asked him quietly. “You are drawing stares.”
    He straightened and forked up a bite of roasted lamb. “Do not be ridiculous.”
    “Will you ever tell me what happened?”
    Everything you likely hoped for and worse. The comment had pricked at him for days. What had Maggie meant? He noticed Julia studying him and tried to remember her question. Damned wine. “What?”
    “I asked if you would tell me what happened between the two of you.”
    “No.”
    Julia contemplated his answer while she chewed. “Perhaps I’ll get Lady Hawkins to tell me, then.”
    “Ask her if you wish, but you know what everyone knows. There’s nothing more to the tale.” She’d made a fool of him. The end. What more needed to be discussed?
    “Oh, there’s often more to a story than what gossip carries. Look at Colton, the way the ton branded him a rapscallion and a murderer before the truth came out.”
    “Colton is a rapscallion,” Simon pointed out.
    Julia grinned. “Yes, but he’s my rapscallion now. And anyway, I am not so sure Lady Hawkins meant to break your heart.”
    Simon picked up his wine and threw it back. He signaled to the footman for more. “Men don’t get broken hearts, Julia. Those are for young girls and poets with nothing but time on their hands.”
    Julia drummed her fingers on the table. “Is that so?”
    “Quite. I figure she did me a favor.”
    “By all means, then, have another glass of gratitude before the end of dinner.”
     
     
    There were six women in attendance, so maneuvering a seat next to the duchess proved challenging. Yet Maggie managed it neatly. The ladies had all settled in the drawing room, having left the gentlemen in the dining room, and the duchess now began pouring tea.
    Maggie accepted her cup and added two lumps of sugar. She relaxed and took a grateful sip. Dinner had been excruciating. Not only had she juggled Markham’s attentions, but Simon spent the evening either scowling at her or pretending she didn’t exist. Hard to say which bothered her more.
    Truth be told, the ease with which Simon interacted with the duchess made Maggie envious. Clearly the two were close friends. Maggie had once enjoyed that same familiarity with him. They had shared jokes and laughed together, and he’d been the first person she’d sought out upon entering a room. Of course, she’d stupidly assumed his