The Harlot Countess (12 page)

“No more,” Cora repeated, shaking her head. “You can’t force me.”

Simon then knew it was the girl’s employer causing the hysterics. Whether Madame Hartley meant to keep the girl wasn’t the issue; the girl believed she’d be forced to endure another man’s advances.

“Madame,” he said gently, “allow me a moment alone with her.”

Madame departed and the room fell into gloomy silence. Since there was no chair, Simon sat on the edge of the bed. Cora’s harsh breathing filled the tiny space, and Simon waited. Cora had to see that he meant no harm.

After a few moments, when she quieted, he said, “I had a nurse. I was six and had a silly infatuation with her. I used to follow her about any chance I could, trailing her like a puppy. Well, one day, I couldn’t find her. Went looking all around and finally discovered her in the stables. A groom had her pinned and was using her roughly. I peeked through the stall and saw how she told him no, how he overpowered her. When I ran for help, they told me not to concern myself, that I would understand when I was a man.”

He frowned, realizing he’d never actually told this story to anyone before. The memory was sharp, and it disturbed him how many details he could recall, from the grunting, her cries, the color of her petticoats. He exhaled and continued, “They sent her away after that, but I’d always wondered what happened to her. I never found out until years later. When I left university, I hired some men to find her. Long disowned by her family, she’d bounced from place to place until she settled in Southwark. Scars on her face, body riddled with pox, her entire future had changed because of what happened in my family’s stables, a future that might very well have been prevented had the right person taken responsibility for his deeds.”

Cora was quiet, her eyes serious but no longer wary. Her grip on the knife had loosened, though she hadn’t let it go.

Simon added softly, “Let me help you. I can see you trained as a housemaid, or in the kitchens if you’d rather. A job where you needn’t worry about your day-to-day safety. And no one will touch you.”

“No one?” she asked softly.

“No one,” he repeated.

“Why would you want t’help the likes of me?”

“Because I can.” He held out his hand. “But before I can help you, I need to get you out of here. May I have the knife, Cora?”

The girl glanced down, surprised, as if she hadn’t even realized she still held it. Carefully, she placed it on the wood floor. Simon stood up and moved closer, lifting his hands so he didn’t frighten her. “I’m going to pick you up to carry you down the stairs. I’ll put you in my carriage and take you to Barrett House. There, my housekeeper will see you’re properly taken care of. I’d like my physician to come and see about setting your arm, perhaps give you something for the pain. Does all that seem acceptable?”

Cora’s swollen eyes filled as she nodded. “I don’t want t’do this no more.”

“I know. I promise you won’t have to.”

 

 

When the door closed behind Simon and Madame Hartley, Colton stalked to the sideboard. “I hope she’s got something stronger than sherry in here.”

“No doubt she still keeps your private reserve on hand somewhere. After all, you were her best customer for years.” There was no jealousy in Julia’s tone. It was clear she was teasing her husband.

“Indeed.” He grinned at her. “I cannot argue, though it has been some time.”

“And that does not bother you?” Maggie asked the duchess, curious about her friend’s attitude.

“Not a bit,” Julia said. “We were not married at the time. This was years ago, before Colton left for the Continent. All young men sow their oats before settling down. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“We spent many wonderfully debauched evenings here,” Colton said wistfully, now holding a glass of what looked like whisky. He laughed. “Of course, Winchester’s three-day sojourn here is the stuff of legend, though it happened, let’s see, eight or nine years ago. I wish I could’ve seen it but I’d just left for France. So it must have been . . . May or June, I suppose.”

“
Ten
years ago, husband. You left for France ten years ago. But who’s counting?” the duchess quipped.

Maggie frowned. Ten years ago. In May or June? That would have been right about the time of her scandal and subsequent marriage to Hawkins. So when Maggie’s life was being irrevocably ruined, he’d been . . . celebrating with a bacchanal orgy to make a Roman envious? For
three
days? She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath.

“Quint wrote me, though. Told me that Winchester—”

“Nick, darling, do shut up,” Maggie heard Julia say and lifted her lids to find the duchesses’s gaze trained on her face.

Colton gave Maggie a contrite smile. “My apologies, madam. My comments were in poor taste.”

“Everything you do is in poor taste, you devil,” Julia quipped. “Maggie, forgive him. Some days I believe my husband to have been raised by wolves.”

That got Maggie to smile despite the searing pain in her chest. “No apologies necessary. It was a long time ago and, verily, why should I care?” She gestured to Colton’s glass. “Is there any more of that?”

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Plenty. Shall I pour you a dram?”

God, yes.
“Please.” Maybe the whisky would wash the bitterness and anger out of her mouth.

“Me as well,” Julia put in. “I’d say we could all use a strong drink about now.”

Seconds later, Colton placed a crystal glass in Maggie’s hands, then gave one to his wife. Maggie watched him lean in and whisper something to the duchess that made Julia turn a deep scarlet. It was obvious the two were very much in love, and Maggie felt a sharp pang of envy. Her marriage had been devoid of any feeling, a strict business arrangement with nothing but responsibility and duty.
What must it be like to share your life with someone who worships the very ground you walk on?
she wondered, lifting the whisky to her lips.

As expected, the first swallow burned like the fires of hell. Maggie gasped, waited for her lungs to draw air once more. She’d had some experience with strong spirits, though she never could claim much tolerance for this particular one.

Dimly, she heard Julia coughing and the duke laughing, so Maggie assumed her friend’s experience hadn’t been much different than her own.

“Gad, how can you men drink such vile stuff?” the duchess rasped.

Once Maggie caught her breath, a pleasant warmth spread throughout her belly. Everything inside her relaxed. Loosened. Like a watch spring wound too tightly, her entire body . . . unfurled.

The second taste went down easier.

Colton raised his own glass in appreciation. “You hardly blinked on the first swallow. My admiration, madam.”

“Must be my Irish blood,” Maggie said with a rueful smile. “At least it’s useful for something.”

She hadn’t finished half her glass when Madame returned. The abbess explained that Simon planned to take the girl to Barrett House and would need transport since he’d traveled there in the duke’s carriage. Maggie immediately offered to take them. Not that she particularly cared to spend any amount of time with Simon. She’d much prefer never to see him again, in fact, but overseeing the girl’s care took precedence over any hurt feelings.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d never had hurt feelings before.

In moments, the two women had reaffixed dominoes and pulled cloak hoods over their heads. The back hall stood empty, so the duke led their small party to the mews.

Both carriages stood waiting, the cattle blowing clouds of impatient breath in the frigid air. Colton handed Maggie up first, had a quick word with her coachman, and then both he and Julia disappeared into his carriage. Maggie huddled against the squabs, the warming brick at her feet, as she watched the duke’s carriage lumber off.

At last, Simon appeared, hatless, his greatcoat wrapped around a large bundle in his arms. Maggie straightened as her coachman hopped down and pulled open the door. Simon maneuvered the entrance neatly, not even putting the girl down to step up and in. He settled on the seat, the girl resting on his lap protectively, and the door closed. She rapped twice on the roof and the carriage set off.

Maggie couldn’t see the girl’s face under the heavy wool of his coat. “Is she awake?” she whispered.

“No,” he answered. “She’s passed out, from the pain of moving her, I assume.”

“I want to help.”

“No. I will take her to Barrett House and then see you home.”

The dim lamplight outlined the hard set of his jaw. He clearly did not want her along, but that was too bad. Nothing would keep Maggie away. She lifted her chin, not avoiding his piercing blue gaze.

At length, he blew out a breath. “I know better than to argue when you’ve got that particular look on your face. So come to Barrett House, if you wish. You may assist once she’s inside and made comfortable. I’ve already sent for my physician to be roused out of bed.”

A hundred questions burned her tongue, but Simon turned to the window, all but ignoring her. She bit the eager words back, forced herself to wait. Before daybreak, she’d have her answers—both about the girl and the reason for his involvement.

 

 

He hadn’t expected to find her asleep.

Simon had maintained a respectable distance all evening while Maggie, his housekeeper, and his physician all tended to Cora’s injuries. When they finished, Simon spoke at length with his physician regarding the girl’s care. Thankfully, Madame Hartley’s bonesetter had done an excellent job on Cora’s arm. Dr. Gilchrist believed the girl would regain full use of it with no ill effects other than a slight stiffness in poor weather. The physician was concerned, however, about internal bleeding. He’d given Maggie and Simon’s housekeeper signs to watch for.

After Dr. Gilchrist quit the house, Simon returned to his study for a brandy.

He needed to gather his wits. Maggie was here. In the house. Just the idea of it made his cock half hard. God, he wanted her in his bed. Wanted her ink-colored hair to fan over his pillows, her pale, creamy limbs gracing his sheets. The picture caused his skin to prickle, need making him restless and randy.

Which was hardly appropriate, considering the reason for her presence in his house. He shouldn’t be lusting after the woman, shouldn’t be thinking of all the ways he wanted to pleasure her despite all that had transpired tonight. She wasn’t here for
him
, he reminded himself.

So he’d kept to his study, drinking. Cowardly, but better to avoid her than do something he’d regret.

As the hour grew later, he expected Maggie to barge into his study to pepper him with the questions she’d obviously longed to ask during the ride from Madame Hartley’s. Curiously, she hadn’t. He wondered if maybe she’d left. Snuck out without a word. He wouldn’t put it past her. In fact, he’d put very little past her. The woman had a spine of steel.

So he was surprised at half past one to find Maggie in a chair at Cora’s bedside, asleep.

Watching her, he hardly breathed for fear of waking her. She was so lovely, unguarded in her slumber. Black lashes a stark contrast to her pale skin. Full, pink lips parted slightly. Tendrils of hair framed her delicate face like streaks of midnight, her breasts rising and falling gently.

He started when a presence came alongside him.

His housekeeper, Mrs. Timmons, whispered, “Pardon the intrusion, my lord. I’ve had the yellow chamber made up for her ladyship.” She tilted her head toward Maggie. “She didn’t want to leave the girl earlier. Fell right asleep not long after the girl did.”

He’d figured as much but he nodded anyway. “Thank you, Mrs. Timmons. I’ll see that Lady Hawkins finds her chamber.”

“Very good, my lord. I’ve asked one of the maids to sit with the girl. I’ll have your lordship notified should her condition change.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. Good night.”

“Good night, my lord.”

Simon glanced at Maggie, his chest filling with a warmth he’d never experienced. She hadn’t wanted to leave Cora, a girl who most women of the
ton
would not even dare look at, let alone speak to. Whatever he’d originally believed regarding the reason for her presence at Madame Hartley’s tonight, it was now clear she and Julia had been on a rescue mission. So why the devil would the abbess send for two ladies of quality? Julia was an open book; Simon had known her long enough to be privy to all her secrets. And while there were many, none involved a crusade such as this. But Maggie was a mystery. What was her interest in all this?

One thing for certain: she was unlike any other woman of his acquaintance. He liked that about her. Always had. From the instant he’d met her, he’d liked her spirit, her fire. One had to respect how she refused to cower before the
ton
. Even before her scandal, when they snickered about her Irish blood, her poet father, or her looks, which were so unlike all the other English girls, Maggie had faced them down with her head high.

He knew because he’d been watching. Due to his mother’s friendship with Maggie’s mother, Simon had been directed to dance with Maggie once each night that Season. Initially, he’d chaffed at the order but found the girl so compelling he could not stay away. In addition to her beauty, she had wit. Not a quality many her age possessed, sad to say, but Simon appreciated it. She made him laugh. Better yet, she made him
think.

The question, though, was what to do about her now.

He bent, slid his hands underneath her, and, as gently as he could manage, lifted her. She barely stirred, merely threw her arms around him and burrowed her face into the side of his throat with a sigh. As if they’d done this a hundred times.