The Harlot Countess
Wicked Deceptions # 2
By: Joanna Shupe
Releasing April 28th, 2015
Zebra
Blurb
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?
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/03/the-harlot-countess-wicked-deceptions-2.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22715901-the-harlot-countess?from_search=true Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/130734-wicked-deceptions
Author Info
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.
Excerpt #1
Shock rendered Simon frozen, and the
only thing he could do was stare. The years had certainly been kind to Lady
Hawkins, if her appearance was any indication. Wisps of black hair fell out of
her bonnet, her delicate features fairly glowing from the cold. She had creamy
skin without a hint of imperfection, and green eyes that whispered of the Irish
meadows of her ancestors. As he watched, her generous mouth twisted into a
small smile. He remembered the simple beauty of that smile, the lengths he’d gone to in order to see it.
There had been a time he would have
done anything to make her happy. Such a foolish, foolish boy he’d been. Anger simmered in his gut at
her faithlessness—anger he forced away for its sheer ridiculousness. It had
been a decade, after all.
“Lord Winchester, it has been a long
time,” he heard her say, her tone cool and quiet.
He bowed stiffly. “Lady Hawkins. How
wonderful to see you.” Even to his own ears, it sounded flat.
She didn’t respond and an awkward silence
fell. Devil take it, but he had no idea of what to say to her. Both his
feet and tongue felt rooted to the floor.
Finally, Quint asked, “Are you
purchasing a print?”
She stepped toward the counter, the
top of her head barely reaching Simon’s shoulder. “I did, last week. Now it’s been framed and I’ve come to collect it. You?”
“Winchester’s the one buying today,” Quint
said.
Lady Hawkins turned, her questioning
gaze colliding with his. Hard to miss the intelligence—at once both familiar
and mysterious—lurking there. He cleared his throat. “I’m purchasing a collection of bird
paintings.”
“Are you?”
“Indeed, my lady,” the shopkeeper
confirmed. “All nineteen pictures by Lemarc. His lordship bought every one.”
“Ah. Have you discovered an interest
in ornithology, sir?”
The sound of her voice, teasing him
in that unique, husky way, prickled over his skin. He didn’t intend the visceral response but
found himself helpless to stop it. She’d teased him quite often over the months they’d spent together. She’d made him laugh, more than he’d ever thought possible, and it had
not gone unnoticed when it had stopped.
Had she made the late Lord Hawkins
laugh? And what of the other men in her past?
“That means birds,” she said,
drawing his attention back to the conversation. “I asked if you are interested
in birds.”
“More like ladybirds,” Quint
muttered, and Lady Hawkins chuckled.
“Yes, I’m aware what ornithology is,” Simon
answered. “While I do not claim to be an expert on birds, I find myself
suddenly fascinated by them. And you, madam?”
She turned away in order to stare at
some bric-a-brac in the glass case. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t know a partridge from a nuthatch,
I’m afraid.”
“Have you been to any of the other
recent art exhibitions?” Quint asked her.
Other exhibitions? Simon wondered over that. Quint had
definitely failed to mention bumping into Lady Hawkins. Odd, since Quint knew
the history between her and Simon. Not that Simon cared, of course. He most
definitely did not.
“I haven’t had the time,” she was saying.
“Did you purchase that painting you were admiring at the Waterfield exhibit?”
“No. I had no interest in buying
it,” Quint admitted. “I was trying to deduce how the artist achieved that
particular shade of yellow. I’ve
not seen one so bright before.”
“It’s produced from a metal called
cadmium. I’d
only read about the technique before that exhibit.”
“Extraordinary. They must use an
acid solution. . . .” Mumbling under his breath, Quint pulled a small notebook
and lead pencil from his pocket, then began making furious notes as he strode
directly out the door.
“Nice to see some things never
change,” Lady Hawkins said. “It appears Lord Quint still becomes utterly
absorbed in whatever he’s doing.”
“I had no idea you and Quint were so
friendly.”
She searched his face. “Yes, well.
Not everyone turned their back on me, I suppose.”
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