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The Harlot
Countess
Wicked Deceptions # 2
Wicked Deceptions # 2
By: Joanna Shupe
Releasing April 28th, 2015
Zebra
Lady Hawkins’s debut was something she’d rather
forget—along with her first marriage. Today, the political cartoonist is a new
woman. A thoroughly modern woman. So much so that her clamoring public believes
she’s a man…
FACT: Drawing under a male pseudonym, Maggie is
known as Lemarc. Her (his!) favorite object of ridicule: Simon Barrett, Earl of
Winchester. He’s a rising star in Parliament—and a former confidant and love
interest of Maggie’s who believed a rumor that vexes her to this day.
FICTION: Maggie is the Half-Irish Harlot who seduced
her best friend’s husband on the eve of their wedding. She is to be feared and
loathed as she will lift her skirts for anything in breeches.
Still crushed by Simon’s
betrayal, Maggie has no intention of letting the ton crush her as well. In
fact, Lemarc’s cartoons have made Simon a laughingstock…but now it appears that
Maggie may have been wrong about what happened years ago, and that Simon has
been secretly yearning for her since…forever. Could it be that the heart is
mightier than the pen and the sword after all?
The long corridor outside the drawing room
resembled a maze, with doors every which way. Picking a direction, Maggie
searched for a footman. Perhaps he could draw her a detailed map on how to find
the terrace.
From the shadow of an alcove, a figure stepped into
her path. “Lady Hawkins.”
Simon.
She started, pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared the life out of me. What
are you doing out here?”
He folded his arms, the fine wool of his coat
pulling taut across his broad shoulders. “I could ask you the same
question—only I suspect the answer. Where did you have it planned?”
“Simon, I think you had better return to the dining
room—”
“The music room? The conservatory?” he continued,
steady steps bringing him closer. “I happen to know there are hundreds of
little spots all over this house where one—or perhaps two—could hide for an
extended period of time.”
She tried to make sense of his words over the thundering
of her heart. Was he insinuating . . . ? Oh, for heaven’s sake. Did he always assume the worst of
her? Feet planted, she stopped moving and lifted her chin. “Are you under the
impression I’m engaging in some sort of a tryst?
In the middle of a dinner party?” It was so absurd, she could hardly speak it.
His smirk confirmed it. “Convenient you and Markham
both excused yourselves within moments of one another, wouldn’t you say? Let me give you a piece of advice for
next time: It draws less attention if you sneak away once the gentlemen join
the—”
She came forward to hiss, “You hypocritical horse’s arse. I stepped out for some air. Alone.”
He had the gall to snort. “Yes, I’m quite sure Markham would offer up a similar story
if we were to ask him.”
Anger rushed through her veins, settling in her
chest like a heavy mound of potter’s clay. Simon
loomed over her, snarling down in self-righteous fury, and she discovered he’d backed her up against a wall. She knew in that
moment he would never believe her denials; he’d formed his opinion of her ten years ago and there
would be no changing his mind.
Fine, she could play the harlot for him. Maybe then
he’d leave her alone—though she truly longed to crack
him one across his closely shaven jaw.
She exhaled, forced her limbs to relax, and licked
her lips. Predictably, his gaze locked on her mouth, so she rolled her bottom
lip between her teeth. His chest continued to rise and fall, the harsh exhales
filling the room, and his eyes darkened to sapphires. Oh yes, revenge could be
sweet. Ever so slowly, she dragged one finger down the length of her bare
collarbone. “Did you corner me in hopes of taking his place?” she asked, her
voice low and intimate.
Simon shifted closer, the pure male, spicy scent of
him filling her nose. She liked the way he smelled, orange and sandalwood with
a hint of tobacco. The proximity of his frame distracted her as well. His
evening clothes held no padding, and the well-tailored fit hugged him quite
perfectly. She could see the outline—
“If I chose to take Markham’s place,” he started, placing his hands against the wall,
one on either side of her head, to cage her in. He leaned in and for one
terrifying, heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he
shifted just before their lips touched. The tip of his nose slid across her
cheek, tiny puffs of breath heating her skin as he nuzzled her. Maggie’s breasts swelled, and her lids fell with the rush
of pleasure that rippled the length of her body. “If I chose to take his place, it wouldn’t be here,” he whispered near her ear. “I’d take you to my bed at Barrett House and show you
wickedness Markham could not even begin to imagine. But that is not why I
cornered you.”
Close. He was much too close. Despite her desire to
remain unaffected, her belly fluttered and warmth tingled between her legs. Why
on earth had it only ever been this odious man to elicit such feelings? She
swallowed. “Then why?”
He flicked her earbob with his tongue, then nipped
the lobe with gentle teeth. She inhaled sharply. “What game are you playing at,
Maggie?”
“I—” Her traitorous voice caught, so she cleared
her throat. “There is no game, Simon.”
Her control began melting away. She longed to do
every improper thing in the world to him—and for him to return them in kind.
Odd since she hadn’t ever enjoyed intimacies with a
man. Had hated it, actually. But somehow, this was different.
Why had she started this? Oh yes, she’d thought to teach him a lesson, make a fool of
him. Have him panting with lust and then leave him begging—only this was
turning into something else entirely.
“I like games,” he continued, his lips brushing
over her throat in a seductive caress. “But I also like to win. I wonder, are
you prepared to pay the price when you lose?”
She shivered. There wasn’t enough air in the damn room. “I never
lose,” she rasped. “And you have more
at stake.”
“Do I?” His nose slid along the sensitive line of
her jaw, the skin prickling in his wake. “I think I could take you against this
wall. Right now. Right here.” His hips pressed against hers, his erection stiff
and unapologetic, and she sucked in a breath. Before she knew it, her hands
clutched at his waist to hold him in place.
“But you should know,” he continued, his mouth
hovering above her lips, “I only play games when there aren’t quite so many players. I do not care to be one of
many.”
Award-winning
author JOANNA SHUPE has always loved history, ever since she saw her first
Schoolhouse Rock cartoon. While in college, Joanna read every romance she could
get her hands on and soon started crafting her own racy historical novels. She
now lives in New Jersey with her two spirited daughters and dashing husband.
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