Read Online The Harlot Countess by Joanna Shupe - Free Book Online

You’re quite gifted.”
    â€œYou are too kind,” she murmured, though there was a tone in her voice that sounded . . . offended?
    â€œWould you care to sit?” he heard himself ask again.
    She cocked her head, studied him with an enigmatic expression. “I’d rather stand. I suppose it’s only polite to offer you refreshment. Shall I ring for tea?”
    He refused as Maggie drifted away toward the armchair by the fire. Instead of sitting in it, she ran her fingers over the high back, stroking the fabric and regarding him thoughtfully. “Have you come to see if I live up to my name?”
    â€œWhat?” he blurted. She couldn’t mean—
    â€œWe’re both aware of what everyone calls me, Simon. I’ve heard the word nearly every place I have turned for ten years. One would not think the residents of Little Walsingham to be so current on gossip, but”—she shrugged—“there it is. So have you decided to find out if I have earned the title?”
    A vivid image flashed through his mind—one of Maggie on her back, skirts hiked up to her waist, legs spread invitingly—and lust swept through his groin. He had to force the arousing picture from his mind. “You believe I’ve come to try and fuck you.” He was deliberately crude.
    She didn’t flinch. “Yes, I do. Why else would you visit? Or perhaps you wanted to see if I decorated my house with nude frescos. Or if I keep young men tethered in my chambers to have my wicked way with them whenever I want. You would not be the first to ask if the rumors were true.”
    Astonishment rocked him back on his heels. Hard to say which he found more distasteful: that she’d said it, or that she thought so little of him in the first place. “And yet you seem determined to feed those rumors. With extravagant parties and dancing in pools, is it any wonder they talk about you?”
    â€œIf I give them something to talk about, at least they cannot fabricate stories out of sheer boredom. But really, this is all beside the point. Perhaps you should arrive at the purpose for your visit.”
    Hostility and bitterness did not suit her. If anyone had cause for those emotions, it was Simon. “What has happened to you? What has given you cause for such venom?”
    â€œ Life happened to me, Simon. Everything you likely hoped for and worse.”
    â€œMe? Hoped for?” He blinked. “I never wished you harm.”
    â€œDid you not?” she asked, calmly.
    â€œMaggie, you are not making sense. It’s as if you are blaming me for the affair with Cranford. And the others.”
    â€œ Others? ” She gave a dry chuckle. “Of course. The others. How could I possibly forget them? Men, women, livestock . . . with so many, it has been difficult to keep them all straight.”
    Simon clenched his jaw. She’d damn near broken his heart and that was cause for jests? “Do you think to make light of it?”
    â€œThe truth is rarely as humorous as fiction,” she answered, standing taller.
    This conversation had gotten away from him. He rubbed at the tension settling at the nape of his neck.
    â€œI think it best if you go.” She lifted the hem of her skirt and moved toward the bell pull behind him.
    Surprising even himself, Simon’s hand darted out to catch her wrist. “Wait.” He glanced down at her small, gloved hand. For an insane moment, he wanted to feel the softness of her bare skin, to have her delicate fingers touch and stroke him in return. Once, she’d removed her gloves to trace the edges of a painting at an exhibit all those years ago and it had nearly driven his twenty-three-year-old body mad with desire.
    Now why had that insignificant memory resurfaced ?
    He dropped her arm. “Wait. I need your help.”
    She took a step back and one black eyebrow shot up. “I am fairly certain you have a mistress for