Page 82 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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“Maggie.”

Her gaze was fixed on the street outside the carriage window after having wedged herself into the corner to avoid touching him. Once he’d ushered her through the remainder of the gaming tables and out to the private garden, Maggie had shaken off his hand before climbing inside and settling herself against the leather with a puff of distress.

“Maggie,” he said softly. “Please talk to me.” Her declaration over engaging Lady Isley in fisticuffs explained why she’d left Georgina at the faro table. His wife had seen Lady Isley’s attempts at seduction and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Annoyance flared. Why would she assume such a thing?

Why would she not?

“You will eventually need to speak to me, if only so that you can instruct me to position my tongue correctly or—”

One small, slender hand slapped sharply against the seat. “I amnotin the mood for your blatant sexual innuendo. It ceases to amuse me. I have several things to ask you about Winthrop but first, let us discuss Lady Isley.”

“Of course.” He tried to take her hand and she twisted her fingers away.

“I saw you on the landing.”

“What do you imagine you saw?” Maggie didn’t trust him. Expected, but still painful.

“You werekissingLady Isley.” A muffled sound came from her.

“I wasnot. The lady in question kissed me.” It wounded him that Maggie thought him unfaithful.

“Were you flirting as you…tend to do?”

“Flirting with heras I do? What the bloody hell does that mean?” He took off his hat and tossed it across the carriage. “No, I did not flirt with Lady Isley, nor encourage her.”

Maggie’s entire body shrank back a bit more. “Your reputation precedes you, my lord. Is she your mistress? I would know now, Welles.”

Tony fell back against the squabs, for the first time trulyashamedof the sexual exploits he was well known for within theton.Maggie knew of his reputation. Christ, everyone did. There was no hiding all the immoral, improper things he’d done; for God’s sake, he owned Elysium. But he’d never considered how his past might hurt his wife someday, mainly because he’d never planned on having one.

“Lady Isley is not my mistress.” He took a deep breath, knowing Maggie would sense immediately whether he left something out. “She and I shared an encounter or two at Elysium long ago. Well before our marriage.” Truthfully, he’d not touched another woman since asking Maggie to play the piano for him in her chemise.

“In the private rooms on the second floor?”

“Yes.” His wife made a small sound of pain. “Butnothingmore. She wished to…rekindle our previous association, which I declined. Maggie,” he said, trying to draw her against him, “it will be hard to attend virtually any event in London without running into one of my previous lovers. You know of my reputation. My past. I can’t change it.”

Margaret turned her head to the window again.

“The street outside is more interesting than I am?” He slid across the squabs until she was trapped between the wall and his body.

“I have not been unfaithful to you,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the delicate skin beneath her ear. “Not in mind or body.” Nor did he intend to, which was surprising. “It’s rather shameful, I admit, to be brought to my knees by a woman half my size who is terrible with names no matter the number of times you are introduced to a person.”

“Untrue.” She slid a little closer to him.

“You can’t remember any of the names of our staff. You referred to Peckam earlier tonight as Peachum.”

“I know Fenwick’s name.” She sniffed.

“I hope so. He’s our butler and runs our household.” Welles wrapped an arm around her. “And you eat all the currant scones, no matter how many Cook makeseventhoughyou are aware currant is alsomyfavorite. I’m left with crumbs and nothing but insubstantial tea sandwiches.”

“I wasn’t aware you liked them so much. I’ll try to leave you one or two in the future.”

“My forgetful, scone-eating wife who,” he kissed the corner of his mouth, “begged me only last night to turn her in such a way that—”

“Enough, my lord.” She finally turned in his direction and grabbed the edge of his coat before one slender hand rubbed absently up and down his thigh.

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