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she danced or not?
    She had revealed too much. Blame his handsomeness, the distraction of looks so blond and aristocratic they could be sculpted out of fine Roman marble. His tall frame, elegantly turned out in a dark blue coat and matching breeches, drew every feminine eye in the room. And the way her pulse sped up at the sight irritated Maggie beyond measure, as she should be the one woman to know better.
    Why had he mentioned the afternoon of skating? She would rather not remember the Simon of her debut, the charming man who seemingly could accomplish anything. He’d been so gentle that day, so solicitous, and had given her every bit of his attention. They had laughed often, and more than once he’d told her how much he admired her wit.
    But too much had changed between them. Too much to ever go back, to be sure.
    He opened his mouth—no doubt with some question or insight she had no desire to hear—so she blurted, “You wished to speak with me?”
    His jaw snapped shut. After a moment, he said, “Not here, I think. No, I will come to see you tomorrow.”
    â€œWill you.”
    â€œYes. The answers I require are best discussed in private.”
    Oh, indeed? Little doubt what the line of questions would be, then. God knew she’d heard them all hundreds of times over the last ten years.
    A small knot of disappointment twisted in her chest. She hadn’t expected it, though she should have. Simon was no different from the others. Hadn’t she learned that lesson when he’d ignored her after Mr. Davenport—now Viscount Cranford—spread those filthy lies? She’d loved Simon madly once, and he’d proven unworthy of such a powerful and generous emotion.
    Yet hearing him say the words would open a wound she’d worked hard to heal. She needed to find a way to dissuade him. Ignoring him hadn’t done the trick. Neither had refusing him. There was another path to take.
    â€œYou assume I will be home to accept callers. Perhaps I have plans—or perhaps I will be occupied with another guest. The evening is far from over, after all.”
    The expression on his face changed, hardened, as she’d hoped it would. Satisfaction was short-lived, however, because he returned, “If that is so, perhaps he could see his way to allowing you a few minutes for a friend.”
    She almost laughed. “ Friend? Simon, I have nothing to offer or say to you. The idea of a friendship between us is ludicrous for so many reasons, the least of which is your lauded political career. What will people think, the powerful Earl of Winchester with the Half-Irish—”
    â€œDo not say it,” he snapped, surprising her.
    â€œDo not say what? Harlot? ” A dry, brittle laugh escaped. “Come, you know what everyone calls me. There’s no getting around it, I’m afraid. And one thing I’ve learned over the years is that it is better to embrace your destiny rather than try and alter it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must change.”
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    Maggie threw open her chamber door with more force than she intended. Her sister, Rebecca, glanced up from where she sat on Maggie’s bed, reading. “My heavens. What is the matter?”
    Maggie strode to the bell pull and tugged. She’d need Tilda’s help with a new gown. “I stepped in the pool and dampened the hem of my dress.”
    â€œDid you? Oh, I wish I could have seen that.”
    Maggie smiled at her sister. This was an old battle—one Becca would never, ever win. “You know my parties are not for respectable Society ladies. Coming below would ruin your reputation, which I might add already suffers from our being related. It’s bad enough you insist on sending your husband.”
    Becca lifted her chin. “Someone needs to watch out for you. Marcus will never let anything happen.”
    â€œWhat, precisely, worries you? That I’ll run low on champagne and