Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins: Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (Hadley′s Hellions) / Stolen Encounters with the Duchess (Hadley′s Hellions)
Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins: Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (Hadley's Hellions) / Stolen Encounters with the Duchess (Hadley's Hellions)
Julia Justiss
Power, privilege and the daring pursuit of passion! Lady Margaret Roberts has sworn off passion…that is, until she meets Giles Hadley. Reluctant viscount Giles is prepared to indulge in an illicit affair. But he must beware, for spirited Maggie awakens in him something even more forbidden – the desire to claim her as his wife! • Faith, Duchess of Ashedon, is saved from attack by an unlikely figure from her past. But David Tanner Smith is no longer the penniless orphan Faith once knew, and with one spine-tingling kiss, their old friendship is transformed to an explosive mix of illicit encounters and forbidden desire…
Regency Rogues
August 2019
Outrageous Scandal
September 2019
Rakes’ Redemption
October 2019
Wicked Seduction
November 2019
A Winter’s Night
December 2019
Unlacing the Forbidden
January 2020
Stolen Sins
February 2020
Candlelight Confessions
March 2020
Rescued by Temptation
April 2020
Wives Wanted
May 2020
Disgraceful Secrets
June 2020
Talk of the Ton
July 2020
Exotic Affairs
About the Author (#ulink_830d8ebe-263e-5e9c-80c0-c7123b0d0185)
Long before embarking on romantic adventures of her own, JULIA JUSTISS read about them, transporting herself to such favourite venues as ancient Egypt, World War II submarine patrols, the Old South and, of course, Regency England. Soon she was keeping notebooks for jotting down story ideas. When not writing or travelling, she enjoys watching movies, reading and puttering about in the garden trying to kill off more weeds than flowers.
Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess
Julia Justiss
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90607-8
REGENCY ROGUES: STOLEN SINS
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount © 2016 Janet Justiss Stolen Encounters with the Duchess © 2016 Janet Justiss
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#ulink_48a65432-01f7-5bf0-bb04-313de9dc0a2b)
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Table of Contents
Cover (#u9f07e4d2-6170-52bd-ac09-014c8290ede8)
About the Author (#u749f19a0-00a5-5846-a645-972af59c65b2)
Title Page (#u2ab32786-0bc9-573b-b61b-12dd5cb836c7)
Copyright (#u005e2b33-f116-5b03-83e6-eb1b9b9524b9)
Note to Readers (#uf18458c7-de7b-557b-bb7c-b91ba04a794b)
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (#u938ddbf7-a3a2-5099-b364-fb19a71eefcf)
Dedication (#u8efc6fca-a14d-523d-a81c-2852aa3dc021)
Prologue (#udffc6c64-c514-5c4b-ad1d-13502bfea944)
Chapter One (#u7f9123f1-2b76-5d27-b8f9-392e65524396)
Chapter Two (#u518225c4-8da3-5acd-a34e-fd74c56eb4be)
Chapter Three (#u7eb6b702-682a-5286-b935-4a70cf16fe2a)
Chapter Four (#uea1b6fe3-ccfd-589e-93e0-618fe113a75e)
Chapter Five (#u295a1239-dfab-549a-ba5f-046b4359c386)
Chapter Six (#u967eb140-0d1e-5568-b368-3ddff79dcf0f)
Chapter Seven (#uc41e7e5f-1716-5ab5-8cda-15331d39fd34)
Chapter Eight (#u898552d5-3ccf-5c92-bc8a-e8833a94a087)
Chapter Nine (#ue8711704-2117-5555-81d4-21a5617f972e)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (#ulink_536f065a-efec-5492-a7a0-32cc47dd09d2)
Julia Justiss
To the Beau Monde group of RWA,
without whose historical expertise and
graciousness in sharing it, this book could
not have been written.
Prologue (#ulink_dcb81b58-77a8-5ea4-8e59-53ac3651afad)
London—late April, 1831
‘So your half-brother is getting married.’
At his best friend’s comment, Giles Hadley, ostensible Viscount Lyndlington and Member of Parliament for Danford, looked up from the reports he was studying in the small private room of the Quill and Gavel, a public house near the Houses of Parliament. ‘George?’ Giles asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.
David Tanner Smith, Member from the Borough of Hazelwick, gave Giles a patient smile. ‘Yes, George. Have you another half-brother?’
Stifling his first sharp reply—that he didn’t care who or whether his irritating half-brother married—he said instead, ‘What makes you think George is getting leg-shackled?’
‘It all but says so in the Morning Post. “Lady M., daughter of the Marquess of W.,” David read, “has been seen frequently of late in the company of the Earl of T.’s younger son, the Honourable G.H. The lady has wealth and impeccable connections, the gentleman aspirations to high office, even if he is not to inherit. Might this be a match made in political heaven?”’
‘Lady Margaret, daughter of the Marquess of Witlow—if I’m correctly filling in the newspaper’s discreet blanks—certainly possesses the credentials to make an ideal wife for any man wanting to dominate Tory circles,’ Giles admitted. ‘No wonder George is interested.’
‘Indeed. With the marquess’s wife in delicate health, Lady Margaret has played hostess for her father for years, ever since she lost her husband—Lord Roberts. Died in a carriage accident, tragically soon after their marriage.’
‘Five or six years ago, wasn’t it?’ Giles asked, scanning through memory.
‘Yes. Besides that, her brother doesn’t care for politics. Which means the man who marries Lady Margaret will not only gain a wife with extensive political expertise, but also inherit all the power and influence the marquess would otherwise have expended on behalf of his son.’
‘A shame she supports the wrong party,’ Giles said. ‘Not that I’ve any interest in marriage, of course.’
‘A greater shame, if reports I’ve heard about the lady’s charm and wit are true, to waste even someone from the wrong party on George.’
Just then, the door slammed open and two men hurried in. With a wave of his hand towards the stacks of paper on the table, the first, Christopher Lattimar, MP for Derbyshire, cried, ‘Forget the committee reports, Giles! The session’s going to be dissolved!’
‘Truly, Christopher?’ David interposed. Looking up at the last arrival, Benedict Tawny, MP for Launton, he asked, ‘Is it certain, Ben?’
‘For once, Christopher isn’t joking,’ Ben replied, his handsome face lit with excitement. ‘Grey’s tired of the Tories making endless delays. He’s going to take the issue to the people. Which means a new election!’
‘That’s great news!’ Giles cried. ‘Sweep the Tories out, and the Reform Bill will be sure to pass! Equal representation for every district, a vote for every freeholder, an end to domination by the landed class—everything we’ve dreamed of since Oxford!’
‘An end to rotten boroughs, for sure,’ David said. ‘I doubt we’ll get the rest—yet. Though I’m not sure why, as a future earl, the rest is so important to you, Giles. To any of you, really. I’m the only one here not of the “landed class”.’
‘You’re the son of a farmer—which makes you “landed” by occupation,’ Christopher said with a grin.
‘My late father’s occupation, not mine,’ David replied. ‘I’d be lucky to tell a beet seed from a turnip.’
‘Whether we get the reforms all at once or by stages, it’s still a landmark day—which calls for a toast!’ Ben said. Stepping to the door, he called out, ‘Mr Ransen, a round of ale for the group, if you please.’
‘Did you truly believe, when we sat around in that dingy little tavern in Oxford recasting the future, that we would ever see this day?’ David asked, shaking his head with the wonder of it. ‘Our views certainly weren’t very popular then.’
‘Neither were we, except with the inn’s doxies. What a mismatched set!’ Christopher laughed. ‘Me, ostensibly the son of a baron, but really the offspring of one of Mother’s lovers, as the snide were ever fond of remarking. Giles, ostensibly heir to an earldom, but estranged from his father, with the favoured half-brother dogging his heels, practically panting with eagerness to step into his shoes.’
‘And making it clear to our classmates that, should he attain that earldom, he’d not forgive or forget anyone who befriended me,’ Giles added, suppressing the bitterness that always simmered beneath the surface.
‘Then there was me, illegitimate son of a lowly governess,’ Ben chimed in. ‘The snide never tired of recalling that fact, either.’
‘But all still gentry born,’ Davie said. ‘Unlike this true commoner. It’s selfish, I know, but I’m glad you three never quite fit in with your peers. I can’t imagine how lonely Oxford would have been otherwise.’
‘You wouldn’t have been lonely,’ Christopher replied. ‘You’re too clever. You always knew the answers, no matter the subject or the don. Who else could have coached us so well?’
Before his friend could reply, the innkeeper walked in with their ale. Claiming glasses, the four friends raised their mugs.
‘To Giles, our impatient leader; to Davie, our philosophical guide; to our rabble-rouser, Ben; and to the final accomplishment of our dreams,’ Christopher said. ‘To the Hellions!’
‘To the Hellions!’ the others repeated, and clinked their mugs.
While the others drank, Davie turned to Giles. ‘A new election means new strategy. Will you campaign?’
‘I’ll make a run through the district,’ Giles said, ‘but my seat’s secure. I’ll probably go canvass in some of the boroughs we’re still contesting. Maybe we can pry more of them out of the hands of the local landowners.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe we can even steal some away from the father of the oh-so-accomplished Lady Margaret.’
Davie laughed. ‘I hear his seats are pretty secure. But by all means, give it a try.’
Giles downed the last of his ale. ‘I just might.’
Chapter One (#ulink_7840605e-a603-567f-8875-40593935305d)
A month later, from her seat in the open carriage in front of the hustings in the market town of Chellingham, Lady Margaret Roberts smiled out at the crowd. ‘You will all turn out for the election tomorrow, won’t you? I’d be most grateful if you’d vote for my cousin, Mr Armsburn! I assure you, he will do his very best to serve your interests in Parliament.’
‘If he promises to send you back every time he needs a vote, it’s his!’ one of the men next to the carriage declared.
‘Aye, and mine, too, for such a pretty smile,’ the man beside him shouted.
‘Thank you, gentleman,’ she replied, blowing each of them a kiss. The crowd’s roar of approval made her laugh and blow another.
Ah, how she loved this! The excitement of the milling crowds, the rising anticipation on election day as the votes were given, knowing that the winner would take his place in Parliament and help forge the destiny of the nation. The thought that she might in some small way have a part in the making of history was a thrill that never faded.
Since the bitter pain of losing her husband Robbie, resuming the role of her father’s hostess and political assistant had been her chief pleasure in life, the only pursuit that distracted her from grief.
The love of her life might be gone, but there was still important work to do. Or at least, she told herself so in the loneliness of her solitary bed.
Pulling herself from her reverie, she looked up—and met a gaze so arresting she instinctively sucked in a breath. Deep-blue eyes—like lapis sparkling in moonlight, she thought disjointedly—held her mesmerised, the pull so strong she felt as if she were being drawn physically closer to him.
And then she realised they were closer. The owner of those magnificent eyes was making his way through the crowd towards her carriage. At the realisation, her heartbeat accelerated and a shock of anticipation sizzled along her nerves.
Those fascinating eyes, she noted as he slowly approached, were set in a strong, lean face with a purposeful nose, sharp chin and wide brow over which curled a luxuriant thatch of blue-black hair. The gentleman was tall enough that his broad shoulders, clad in a jacket of Melton green, remained visible as he forced his way through the crowd.
Just as he drew near enough for her to note the sensual fullness of his lips, he gave her a knowing smile, sending a shiver of sensation over her skin.
How could he make her feel so naked while she was still fully clothed?
And then he was before her, smiling still as he extended his hand.
‘How could I not wish to shake the hand of so lovely a lady?’ he asked, his deep voice vibrating in her ears like a caress. And though she normally drew back from physical contact when there were so many pressing close, she found herself offering her hand.
His grip was as strong and assured as she’d known it would be. Waves of sensation danced up her arm as he clasped her fingers, and for a moment, she could hardly breathe. If she were given to melodrama, she might have swooned.
Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, trying to recover her equilibrium. ‘I hope you will be equally amicable about according your vote to Mr Armsburn?’ she asked, pleased her voice held a calm she was far from feeling.
His smile faded. ‘I hate to disoblige a lady, but I’m afraid I’m here to support Mr Reynolds.’
‘The radical Mr Reynolds? Oh, dear!’ she exclaimed, her disappointment greater than it should have been. ‘I fear our politics will not be in agreement, then, Mr—’
Before the gentleman could answer, a tide of men washed out of the tavern across the street. ‘Free beer, free men, free vote!’ they chanted, pushing into the square. From the corner, a group of men wearing the green armbands of her cousin’s supporters surged forward. ‘Tories for justice!’ they cried, shoving against the free-vote supporters. Several of the tussling men fell back against her horse, causing the gelding to rear up and fight the traces. Alarmed, she tugged on the reins, but the panicked animal fought the bit.
The gentleman jumped forward to seize the bridle, settling the nervous horse back on his feet. ‘You should get away in case this turns ugly,’ he advised. Making liberal use of his cane to clear a path, he led the horse and carriage through the throng and on to a side street.
‘There’s a quiet inn down Farmer’s Lane,’ he told her when they’d turned the corner. ‘I’ll see you safely there, then locate your cousin.’
She opened her lips to assure him she’d be fine on her own, but in truth, the sudden rancour of the crowd, the shouts and sounds of scuffling still reaching them from the square, disturbed her more than she wished to admit. ‘I would appreciate that,’ she said instead.
Within a few moments, they reached the inn, the gentlemen sent the horse and carriage off with an ostler and offered her his arm into the establishment. ‘A private parlour for Lady Margaret, and some cheese and ale,’ he told the innkeeper who hurried to greet them.
‘At once, sir, my lady!’ the proprietor said, ushering them to a small room off the busy taproom.
Once she was inside, shielded from the view of the curious, the gentleman bowed. ‘It is Lady Margaret, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But I don’t believe we have been introduced, have we? I’m sure I would have remembered you.’ No woman under ninety with eyes in her head and any sense of appreciation for the male of the species could have met this man and forgotten him.
‘We’ve not been formally presented—a lapse I am delighted to rectify. But the Borough of Chellingham has long been in the pocket of the Marquess of Witlow, so what other lovely lady could be canvassing for his candidate than his daughter, the celebrated Lady Margaret?’
‘Oh, dear! That makes me sound rather…notorious.’
He shook his head. ‘Admired and respected—even by your opponents. I don’t believe the squabbles outside will escalate into actual violence, but with “free beer” and elections, one can’t be sure. Promise me you’ll remain here until your cousin can fetch you. Though I cannot help but feel a man lucky to have so lovely a canvasser working on his behalf should take better care of her.’
‘How can I thank you for your kindness—and to a supporter of your opponent?’ she asked. ‘Won’t you at least allow me to offer you a glass of ale? I hate to admit it, but I would feel easier if I had some company while I…calm my nerves.’
That might have been overstating the case—but for once, Maggie didn’t mind imposing on the gentleman’s obvious sense of chivalry, if it meant she could command his company for a bit longer.
And discover more about the most arresting man she’d met in a very long time.
He smiled then—setting those sapphire eyes sparkling, and once again sending shivers over her skin. ‘I wouldn’t want to leave you…unsettled.’
Oh, the rogue! She bit back a laugh, halfway tempted to rebuke him. Those knowing eyes said he knew exactly how he ‘unsettled her’ and didn’t regret it a bit.
With that handsome figure, fascinating eyes and seductive smile, he’d probably unsettled quite a few ladies, her sense of self-preservation argued. It would be prudent to send him on his way before he tempted her to join their number.
After all, she’d had a lengthy page from that book, and wanted never to pen another.
But despite the voice of reason, she didn’t want to let him go.
The landlord hurried in with her victuals on a tray, offering her a perfect excuse to delay. ‘You will allow the innkeeper to bring you a tankard of his excellent home brewed? Mr Carlson, isn’t it?’ she asked, turning to the proprietor. ‘My cousin, Mr Armsburn, told me you have the best ale in Chellingford. I know he’s drunk many a pint when coming through to campaign.’
‘That he has, Lady Margaret, and bought rounds for the taproom, too,’ Carlson replied. ‘I’m happy to stand a mug to any of his supporters.’ After giving them a quick bow, he hurried back out.
‘Now, that is largesse you cannot refuse,’ she told her rescuer.
‘Even if I’m accepting it under false pretences?’
‘We needn’t upset Mr Carlson by telling him that. He’s been a Tory voter for many years.’
‘No wonder you charm the electorate—if you know even the names of the local innkeepers.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course I know them. One cannot represent the best interests of the district unless one knows the people who live there, and their needs. But you have the advantage; you know who I am, but have not yet given me your name. All I know is that you’re misguided enough to support a Radical.’
He laughed, as she’d meant he should, and made her an exaggerated bow. ‘Giles Hadley, ma’am, at your service.’
The note of challenge in his tone puzzled her for the few seconds it took for the name to register. ‘Giles Hadley!’ she repeated with a gasp. ‘The leader of the Hellions, the infamous Viscount Lyndlington—although you do not use the title, do you? Should I be expecting a whiff of fire and brimstone?’
He laughed again. ‘Rumours of our exploits have been highly exaggerated! I doubt we were any more given to frequenting taverns and consorting with the, um, gentle ladies who worked there than most undergraduates. We just patronised a humbler class of establishment, and consulted, rather than patronised, the patrons.’
‘So what was this about being hell-bound?’
He shrugged. ‘One of the dons who was a clergyman heard that, if we ever had the power, we would eliminate churchmen’s seats in the Lords. The sacrilege of wanting to upset the established order, along with our “dissolute” activities, led him to denounce us all as the Devil’s minions. As for my title as a viscount, it’s only a courtesy accorded to the son of an earl. I prefer to be known for what I’ve accomplished.’
‘Which is quite a bit, I understand! I’ve heard so much about you!’
‘If you heard it from my half-brother George, no wonder you’ve been imagining me with wings and a forked tail,’ he said drily.
She shook her head. ‘Most of what I know comes from my father and his associates—who see you as a rising star in the Whigs. My father, who does not praise lightly, has several times lamented that Lord Newville managed to snag you for the Reform cause before he could persuade you to join the Tories. I am honoured to make the acquaintance of a man so esteemed by my father!’
And she was—awed enough at meeting the man even his opponents spoke of as likely one day to become Prime Minister that for an instant, she forgot his physical allure.
But only for an instant. With her next breath, the shock of learning his identity was once again subsumed in awareness of the powerful attraction he generated.
What a combination! she thought dazedly. That intense masculine appeal embodied in a man pursuing a career she admired above all others. And despite what he’d said, there was something of the wicked about him.
Rather than preening a bit at her obvious admiration, though, as most men world, he seemed somewhat discomforted—an unexpected display of modesty that only enhanced his charm.
She barely suppressed a sigh, immobilised by eyes that seemed to look deep into her soul.
‘Thank you for the compliments, though I’m sure I do not deserve them,’ he said after a moment, as if only then realising that they’d spent the last several minutes just gazing at each other. ‘And forgive me for speaking slightingly of George. From the article I read recently in the Morning Post, it appears I should wish you happy?’
‘Wish me happy?’ she echoed. As his meaning grew clear, irritation flashed through her. ‘Certainly not! As a member of my father’s Tory caucus, I see Mr Hadley quite often, but there’s no understanding between us. Newspapers!’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘The gossips have been pairing me off ever since I came out of mourning.’
‘So you are not about to bestow your hand on my half-brother?’ At her negative shake of the head, he smiled again—that brilliant smile that made her stomach do little flips and curled her toes in her half-boots. ‘I have to admit, I am glad to hear it.’
No female he smiled at like that would ever look at his half-brother. Dazzled, she said without thinking, ‘George Hadley isn’t looking for a wife, but someone to reflect his glory, and I make a very poor mirror.’
Not until those honest but appallingly indiscreet words exited her lips did she realise how much Giles Hadley had unsettled her. She seldom voiced unflattering assessments of her acquaintances, and never to a stranger.
Flushing with mortification, she said, ‘Pray, excuse me! That was most unkind, and I should never have said it.’
‘Even if you know it to be true?’
‘Whether or not it is true is irrelevant,’ she shot back, flustered. ‘I am not generally so critical. Or at least, I seldom utter such criticisms aloud,’ she amended more truthfully.
‘Then I am all the more honoured by your honesty. And relieved, I must say. Women usually find George charming.’
‘Truly?’ She frowned, replaying in her mind’s eye a typical exchange with the man. ‘Perhaps with ladies he wishes to charm. When we converse, he always seems to be looking towards my father, as if he’s much more interested in Papa’s approval than in mine.’ She made a wry grimace. ‘Makes me feel rather like a prize pullet he’s bartering to install in his hen house. And I should not have said that, either.’
Hadley laughed. ‘If that’s true, he’s even more a fool than I thought—and I should not have said that! But there’s bad blood between us, as I imagine you know.
‘So I understand. I always find it sad when there is a dissension within a family.’
A bit more than dissension—there’d been a scandal of rather large proportions, she knew, although she’d heard none of the particulars. Hardly to her surprise, he did not attempt to enlighten her.
Before she could introduce some safer topic, her cousin’s aide, John Proctor, rushed into the room. ‘Lady Margaret, are you all right?’ he cried. ‘Armsburn and I have been looking everywhere for you! When I heard about the ruckus on the square, and then couldn’t find you…’ He exhaled a shuddering breath. ‘I knew Michael would have my head for leaving you on your own, had you been harmed or even frightened! Please, forgive me!’
‘Nothing to forgive,’ she replied. Except his arrival, which would doubtless mean an end to her interlude with this fascinating gentleman. ‘Mr Hadley took good care of me.’
The two men exchanged bows. ‘Hadley, we are much in your debt for safeguarding Lady Margaret,’ Proctor said.
‘It was my pleasure,’ Hadley replied. ‘I’d advise you to take better care of your lovely canvasser in future, though. If I find her wandering unattended again, I might just keep her.’
His words, and the beguiling smile he directed at her as he said them, sent a little zing of pleasure through her. Empty gallantry, she told herself, trying to fight the effect.
Before she could try to determine how genuine the compliment might be, Proctor took her arm and all but tugged her out of her chair. ‘Can I escort you back now, Lady Margaret? Your cousin is most anxious.’
‘I wouldn’t wish to worry Michael, of course.’ With regret, she turned to her rescuer. ‘I very much enjoyed our conversation, Mr Hadley. Despite holding opposing views, I hope we may continue it at some time in future.’
‘You could not desire it more fervently than I! Good day, Lady Margaret,’ Hadley said, and bowed over her hand.
As his fingers clasped hers, her heart fluttered and a flush of heat went through her. It took her a moment to remember to pull free from his grasp.
‘Good day to you, Mr Hadley,’ she said faintly, acutely conscious of his gaze on her as she walked out.
She would like to meet him again, she thought as her cousin’s aide escorted her through the taproom. Though it would be better if she did not. She cringed inwardly as she recalled the unguarded words she’d let slip about his half-brother. A man mesmerising enough to cause her to suspend all of her breeding and most of her common sense was best avoided.
But oh, how he stirred her mind and excited her senses!
‘I hope you weren’t too friendly with Hadley,’ Proctor said after he’d helped her into the carriage.
‘Since when do I become “friendly” with men I hardly know, John?’ she replied sharply.
Proctor held up a restraining hand. ‘Please don’t be offended, Lady Margaret! I know it’s not my place to question your behaviour. But Michael—and your father—trust me to watch out for you. I’d have you steer clear of Hadley. He’s a dangerous man.’
‘Dangerous—how? Surely you don’t believe all that nonsense about the Hellions! My father told me he admires him.’
‘His own half-brother refuses to associate with him, and he’s completely estranged from his father. His views are extreme, even for a Radical: he’d give the vote to every man in England, from the highest lord down to a common stew from the London slums. I’ve heard he even favours abolishing the House of Lords entirely!’
‘Shocking, certainly,’ she allowed, unsettled to have the radical nature of his positions confirmed—if what Proctor said was true. ‘But Papa has always favoured an open exchange of views, even if the two parties cannot ultimately agree. I doubt I could be endangered just by talking with him.’
‘Perhaps. But a man with such extreme political views might have equally radical social ideas—advocating Free Love and the abolishment of marriage, perhaps. I wouldn’t trust a lady in his company, certainly not alone in a private room.’
Did Hadley believe in Free Love? No wonder he seemed wicked! The naughty idea sent a spark through her still-simmering senses. Oh, she could readily imagine making free with him!
She shook her head to rid her mind of the lusty—and pointless—thought. She had nothing more erotic in mind for her future than directing Papa’s dinners—and perhaps throwing a kiss to a voter.
Turning back to Proctor, she said, ‘At a busy inn, with the door to the taproom standing open? Hardly a convenient site to lure someone into impropriety. Although I wouldn’t mind debating Free Love and the abolishment of marriage with him,’ she added, watching Proctor’s face.
At his look of horror, she laughed. ‘Relax, John, I’m teasing! Though it serves you right, trying to lecture a woman of my age about her behaviour. How did the canvassing go? Does Michael think he’ll hold against Reynolds?’
It took only that bit of encouragement to launch Proctor into a detailed explanation of how the campaign had fared in the rest of the town.
Normally, Maggie would have listened with rapt attention. Today, however, her mind kept drifting back to a certain gentleman with vivid blue eyes and a seductive smile that had made her feel more like a desirable woman than she had since…since the debacle with Sir Francis.
That memory ought to apply a fast brake to this runaway carriage of attraction. Recalling Hadley’s flowery last words, she frowned.
Of course it had been gallantry. What else could it have been? They’d barely met, after all. And handsome as he was, he surely was accomplished in the fine art of flattery, and of persuading women who should know better that he found them more desirable than he did.
She sighed. It seemed she was a slow learner.
And yet… She had not imagined the spark that flared before them. She might have little experience, but she could still remember that enchanted time, when love for her childhood companion Robbie had transformed into something more, a layer of desire enveloping the friendship and tenderness. Ah, the mesmerising beauty of touch, the thrill of surrendering to passion, the ecstasy of possession.
How she ached for its loss!
No, she was not imagining the physical response she’d felt. But did Hadley truly find her desirable? Since an affair was too dangerous to contemplate, was there any point in pursuing this further?
Common sense warned to avoid a man who might prove such a temptation. But surely life was meant to be experienced, not hemmed in by caution. Such pleasures as it presented should be grasped greedily, before they were snatched away—losing Robbie had taught her that, too.
She was seven-and-twenty, a widow unwilling to risk her heart by marrying again, and she might not have many more opportunities to be tempted.
His seductive person aside, Hadley was a fascinating man, with views and values she would be interested to debate. From the not-so-flattering words his half-brother had dropped about him, she’d expected he might be something of a wild man, and he did have an untamed essence about him. An aura of purpose, too, with a trace of impatience, as if he were in a great hurry to do important things. And there was more than a trace of anger smouldering under the surface, particularly when he mentioned his half-brother.
Or was that just the passion that seemed to simmer in him? Recalling it sent a response swirling through her, and suddenly the carriage seemed too hot.
Yes, she would see more of him, she decided. He addressed the Commons frequently, her father said. Popular as he was, there was no question that he would be re-elected to the next Parliament. If she visited the Ladies’ Gallery after the sessions began again in June, she would surely hear him speak.
Before she heard more of his politics, though, she ought to learn more about the man. If he truly were dangerous, it would be best to know beforehand just how much of a risk he might pose.
But who to ask? Papa, who abhorred gossip, would be unlikely to tell her more than the bare minimum about Hadley’s background.
Then she recalled just the person who would happily spill every detail she might want to know. As soon as she returned to London, she decided, she would pay a call on her great-aunt Lilly.
Lounging in his chair, Giles took his time finishing the home brew, which was as excellent as advertised. So he’d met the renowned Lady Margaret—and found her as witty and even more attractive than Davie had pronounced her.
He had to admit, he’d hoped to see her. When the four friends had drawn up that list of the boroughs to canvass, he’d chosen this one because it was known to be controlled by her father—and she was known to often canvass on behalf of his candidates. After the discussion of the possibility that she might marry George, and Davie’s description of her, he’d been curious to meet the woman.
As he’d approached her carriage, he’d been impressed by her engaging smile and the ease with which she mingled with the crowd, by her obvious enjoyment of bantering with them and their enthusiastic response to her.
And then he’d caught her eye.
He shook his head, bemused. Some curious sort of energy had flashed between them, literally stopping him short. Despite the press of people, the babble of voices, the stamping of hoofs and rattle of passing carriages, he’d had the ridiculous feeling that nothing existed in the world but the two of them.
He didn’t remember walking closer, but suddenly he was beside her, unable to keep himself from smiling, compelled to touch her—even if all that was permissible was for him to shake her hand.
He hardly recalled what he’d said to her during their interlude at the inn, and could only hope it hadn’t been utter nonsense. He remembered only two salient points from their conversation: her father approved of him and she wasn’t going to marry George.
The relief he felt about the latter was surely excessive.
He couldn’t recall ever feeling such a powerful and immediate connection to a lady—and had no explanation to account for it. She wasn’t a beauty in the traditional sense. Her hair was chestnut, not gold, her figure rather taller than average, her face longer than oval, with a generous mouth and pert nose decorated with freckles. But something in those vivid green eyes had sparked a physical attraction that went straight to his loins and drew him to her like a thirsty man to a cool, clear stream.
Though he was too bitterly conscious of his mother’s fate ever to become a rake, he was hardly inexperienced, having enjoyed his share of discreet liaisons, always careful to take precautions to protect the lady. He wasn’t some green lad just out of university, susceptible to being bowled over by an attractive woman.
In sum, he couldn’t figure out what it was about Lady Margaret that had struck him so profoundly.
He did know he would seek her out again, if only to see if his unprecedented reaction would recur a second time. Or whether upon further acquaintance her attractions would seem no more remarkable than those of any other pretty, intelligent lady.
He paused a moment, frowning. Although Lady Margaret had emphatically disclaimed a relationship, if the newspapers had been puffing off a possible match between her and George, they must have been given some encouragement for the notion—very possibly from his half-brother. Marrying into an important political family would be just the sort of thing George would see as a prudent step towards the career as a government leader he coveted.
The prize pullet he’s bartering to install in his hen house. Giles recalled her words with a chuckle. She certainly deserved better than that.
If associating with a woman George might have marked as his own caused problems with his half-brother, so be it. Pursuing this fascinating lady would depend on his—and her—inclinations alone.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b0bc22ed-be3f-5e3a-803b-4333720b94f0)
A week later, the butler ushered Lady Margaret into the front parlour of the Grosvenor Square town house of her great-aunt, the Dowager Countess of Sayleford. ‘I’ve ordered a full pot of tea and a plate of biscuits to sustain us,’ her great-aunt declared after receiving her kiss on the cheek. ‘Make yourself comfortable, and tell me all about the campaign in Chellingham.’
As her great-aunt knew well, her preferred topic of conversation would normally be the elections. Though Maggie was fairly bursting with curiosity about Giles Hadley, she didn’t want to open herself to the questions—to which she didn’t have answers—Aunt Lilly would certainly fire at her if she delayed discussing politics to make enquiries about a gentleman.
So, though she had shockingly little interest in conveying the results in Chellingham, she dutifully gave a brief recitation of what had happened in the campaign.
‘Glad to hear Armsburn held the seat,’ her great-aunt said. ‘My sources with an ear to Parliament tell me that one of the Grey’s government’s primary aims will be to eliminate boroughs like Chellingham that are controlled by the local landowner.’
‘Yes, and I’m afraid it’s virtually certain a bill to that effect will pass. I found the county full of inflammatory rhetoric! Even in normally placid Chellingham, there was alarming…disruption.’
‘Disruption?’ her great-aunt repeated, frowning. ‘What do you mean? Surely you weren’t endangered!’
‘No, not really. Oh, there was a scuffle in the street next to my carriage between two rival parties, some of whom had imbibed more ale than was good for them,’ she admitted. ‘In any event, I was quickly rescued by a most charming gentleman.’
Her great-aunt’s frown deepened. ‘Where were Michael and Proctor? I would have expected them to rescue you, if rescuing were needful.’
‘They were at another gathering place when the incident happened.’
‘Your father will not be happy to hear that.’
‘No, but there was no harm done, so you mustn’t tell him.’
Her great-aunt eyed her for a long moment before finally nodding. ‘Very well, it that’s what you wish. So, who was this “charming gentleman” who protected you when your kin failed in their duty?’
‘Another Member of Parliament—from the opposition, actually.’ Trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible, she said, ‘Mr Giles Hadley.’
Her great-aunt’s eyes widened. ‘Giles Hadley—you mean Viscount Lyndlington?’
At her nod of assent, her great-aunt continued, ‘Oh, my! Charming, you say? To hear some of the rabid Tories tell it, he’s the devil incarnate!’
‘His half-brother often paints him in that light. But Papa admires him, and I give far more credit to his opinion. It did make me curious, though—the difference between Papa’s view of him and his brother’s, and I do wonder what happened to create such a breach in the family. I’m sure Papa knows, but I didn’t think he would tell me much.’ She grinned at her great-aunt. ‘Whereas, I knew you would tell me everything!’
‘What did you think of Hadley?’ came the unexpected response.
Caught off guard, to her irritation, she found herself flushing. ‘I suppose it’s obvious I found him attractive.’
Her great-aunt raised her eyebrows, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘Since I cannot remember you ever enquiring about any other gentleman, I’d already assumed as much. Excellent! It has been six years since you lost Robbie. More than time enough for you to be moving on.’
‘Don’t be thinking that, Aunt Lilly!’ she protested, raising a hand. ‘I’m not angling for another husband!’
‘Why not? You’re still young, and attractive, and it’s more than time enough for you to be over your disappointment about Sir Francis. And your grief.’
Once, she’d hoped Sir Francis might help her bury the grief—and look how disastrously that had ended. Both episodes being still too painful for her to discuss, she ignored the question, saying instead, ‘I found Giles Hadley…fascinating, that’s all. Those compelling blue eyes seem to look deep within you. There’s a restless energy about him, a sense of anger lurking beneath the surface, to say nothing of what I understand are quite radical political views. He’s certainly different from any other gentleman I’ve known! And yes, he does…attract me. But I’m not about to do anything foolish.’
Her great-aunt looked at her speculatively. ‘You are a widow now. I don’t advocate foolishness, but with discretion, you can do what you want—marriage, or not.’
‘All I want right now is to know more about his circumstances. It’s rather obvious that his half-brother hates him. Not that I’ve discussed him with George, but whenever the opposition is brought up, he never loses the opportunity to get in a dig about his half-sibling. I suspect much of his spleen stems from knowing the viscount will inherit, even though George is the brother favoured by their father. But why, Aunt Lilly? What happened to fracture the family?’
‘It’s an old and quite interesting scandal.’
‘About which, I am sure, you know all the details.’
‘Naturally.’ Her great-aunt smiled. ‘What other benefit is there in having lived so long in the midst of society?’
‘So—what happened?’
‘It began many years ago, just after the current earl inherited. He and his best friend courted the same woman—Giles Hadley’s mother. She loved the friend, not the young earl, but the friend was a younger son with no title or income, and Randall Hadley, already Lord Telbridge, would have both. The friend intended to go to India and make his fortune, but the girl’s family, which was in dire financial straits, wouldn’t let her wait on the possibility that he might one day return a nabob. Understandable, really; he might just as well die of a fever, or be killed in one of the native wars. They pressured her into agreeing to marry Telbridge, which she did ten days after the friend left for India.’
‘Poor lady,’ Maggie said, thinking of how awful it would have been if family duty had forced her to marry someone other than Robbie. ‘And then?’
‘All was well until several years after the wedding, when Telbridge somehow learned that his wife and the friend had stayed alone together at a hunting cottage the night before he left for India. Pressed by the earl, his wife would not deny that they had been lovers—and that she could not therefore assure the earl with perfect certitude that the son she bore him nine months after the wedding was in fact his. Wild with jealousy and anger, he sent them both away. Deaf to any pleas of reason, he divorced her and cut off all support—funds, lodging, even schooling for the boy. He remarried soon after the divorce bill was passed by the Lords, and has since devoted all his wealth and affection to the son of his second wife. As far as I know, Telbridge has not set eyes on the viscount in years. But all the rancour in the world will not alter the fact that since Giles Hadley was born after Telbridge married his mother, and was acknowledged for several years as the earl’s son, under law, he will inherit, for all that Telbridge now shuns him.’
Maggie shook her head. ‘Poor boy! No wonder he refuses to use his courtesy title. But from what you say, he grew up with no resources at all. I would expect him to be a simpleton or a savage, but he seems quite cultured. Did his mother’s family step in to help?’
The dowager smiled thinly. ‘Though admittedly, the scandal of the divorce placed them in an awkward position, I’ve always held that blood should care for blood. The girl’s parents, however—doubtless with a glance over their shoulder at the financial boon the earl had provided them upon the marriage—disowned her. The boy might have grown up a savage, but for the intervention some years later by his aunt who, once she married, persuaded her husband to sponsor the boy and raise him as befitted his station.’
‘Lord Newville?’ she asked. ‘Papa told me he had taken Mr Hadley under his wing.’
‘Quite. The Newvilles took care of mother and son, financed Hadley’s schooling, and sponsored his candidacy into Parliament. After what he suffered at his father’s hands, it’s not surprising he turned into a Radical, committed to limiting the power of the aristocracy.’
‘What happened to the lady?’
‘By all accounts, she was content, living in rural isolation with her son. I expect she hoped that one day the man she loved would return for her. But as it turned out, her family was right about that, if little else. He died in India several years after her divorce, and she did not long outlive him.’
‘Now that his eldest son has made such a name for himself, and knowing he will one day inherit, isn’t it time for Telbridge to make peace with his heir?’
The dowager shook her head. ‘Randall Hadley was always a proud, unyielding man. I think it was more the satisfaction of winning the woman away from his friend, rather than affection for the lady, that led the earl to wed her in the first place, and he couldn’t tolerate the idea that his wife had been touched by another. It’s only thanks to the good sense of Hadley’s aunt that the successor to the earldom won’t be a complete Hottentot.’
‘So there isn’t much chance of father and son reconciling?’
‘I wouldn’t wager on it,’ the dowager said. ‘The earl is too stubborn; his second son, from what I hear, is so jealous and resentful of the heir he takes every opportunity to speak ill of him to his father. As for the viscount, he will inherit whether they reconcile or not. I would expect he has little desire to approach a man who left him and his mother destitute. Certainly, Telbridge has done nothing in the years since to prompt his son—if the viscount is his son—to seek a reconciliation.’
‘Perhaps,’ Maggie said with a sigh. ‘But it is still sad.’
‘Family squabbles are as old as time. Read your Bible,’ the dowager advised.
‘That doesn’t make them less regrettable.’
‘Indeed. However, if you do intend to…pursue an acquaintance with Giles Hadley, I would do so cautiously.’
‘Why do you say that? Surely you don’t think he’s “dangerous”, as John Proctor warned! Even if he should subscribe to Godwin’s theories on abolishing marriage, I cannot see him forcibly seducing a woman.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘He wouldn’t need to.’
‘I’ve heard nothing of that—rather the opposite, actually. His amours have been few, and the ladies involved were treated with great courtesy. No, it’s just that I’d not like to see a lovers’ triangle descend to the second generation.’
‘Lovers’ triangle?’ Her puzzlement gave way to irritation as she made the connection. ‘That Morning Post article again! Surely you don’t give any credence to newspaper gossip. I have no interest in wedding George Hadley, no matter how much he sidles up to Papa!’
‘Though the writers do expend an inordinate amount of ink speculating about their betters, there is always some thread of truth in the reports. Perhaps George Hadley thinks he’s “sidled up” to your father successfully enough that he’s in a fair way to winning your hand. It would be an excellent match for him.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be an excellent one for me,’ Maggie retorted with some heat. ‘I don’t like the man, and I’m not so committed to the Tories that I would marry someone for their political advantage. Nor would Papa try to persuade me, no matter how much George Hadley tries to turn him up sweet.’
‘Yes, but that’s not the problem,’ the countess continued patiently. ‘Don’t you see? There is no love lost between the brothers. Isn’t it possible that, having read the newspaper reports as the rest of us have, Giles Hadley might seek you out, just to put a spoke in the wheel of his half-brother’s plans? Now, I’m not saying Hadley turned up in Armsburn’s borough with that in mind. Most likely he was in Chellingham for political reasons of his own, met you by chance, and admires you sincerely—why ever should he not? Given the history between the two, though, I would be cautious.’
For a moment, the thought that Giles Hadley might have approached her with the intent of beguiling her so he could crow to his brother about his conquest made her feel sick. That scenario was too reminiscent of the debacle with Sir Francis.
But an instant later, a deep conviction rose up to refute that scenario. Regardless of his reasons for coming to Chellingham, the attraction between them had been genuine—she was sure of that. Whether or not he would pursue the connection because of his brother’s interest in her, or in spite of it, she didn’t know, but the spark lit between them had not been the product of her imagination.
What she chose to do about it, now that she knew his full background, was still up to her. She was no more interested in becoming the bone of contention snapped over by two pugnacious half-brothers than she was in becoming George Hadley’s prize pullet.
And she definitely didn’t intend to risk falling in love.
‘I will be cautious,’ she promised the dowager as she finished her tea and set the cup back on the tray. ‘That’s why I came to talk to you, Aunt Lilly. You always give such excellent advice.’
‘Advice is about all one has to give at my age,’ her great-aunt said tartly. ‘I’ll let you go with one last bit: don’t let anyone worry you into marrying again, unless you truly wish it. I had several offers after Creighton died, but none could hold a candle to him, and I wouldn’t settle for a lesser man.’
‘That’s how I feel about my Robbie,’ Maggie said, her eyes sheening.
‘Not that I didn’t amuse myself from time to time,’ her great-aunt added.
‘Aunt Lilly!’ Margaret laughed. ‘You’ll make me blush.’
‘As if I could, with all you must overhear, spending so much time around gentlemen! But I worry about you, child. You were inconsolable after losing your husband, and then when it seemed you’d found happiness again, the affair with Sir Francis ended so badly. I would so like to see you passionate about life again.’
‘I enjoy my work with Papa.’
‘I’d have you not just “enjoy” life, but be truly thrilled by it—illumined from within! You know what I mean—I can see it in your eyes. If Giles Hadley offers you the possibility of tasting such joy again, don’t let the dull voice of prudence prevent you from furthering the acquaintance. After all, you cannot find what you won’t risk looking for. Just keep in mind the possible complications.
‘And I intend to end this homily with a recommendation about marriage, and you may as well not protest,’ her great-aunt continued, holding up a hand to forestall any objection. ‘Much as I would oppose you being pushed into marriage, neither would I like you to miss out on the blessing of children. A thought to consider, while you’re still young enough to have them.’
Maggie worked hard not to flinch. That was a fact of which she was too bitterly aware.
Masking her discomfort from her perceptive great-aunt by rising, she said, ‘I must get back. I’ve not been home yet, and Papa has a large party coming for dinner tomorrow night for which I haven’t even begun to prepare. He’ll want a complete account of the Chellingham elections, too. Thank you for tea—and your counsel, Aunt Lilly.’
‘You are always welcome to both.’
As Maggie bent to kiss the dowager’s cheek, her great-aunt reached out to pat hers. ‘I pray for your happiness, child.’
Maggie felt the burn of tears and blinked them away. ‘Thank you, Aunt Lilly. If something exciting should happen, you’ll be the first to know.’
Her great-aunt chuckled. ‘With my contacts, I certainly will—whether you tell me yourself or not!’
During the drive from her great-aunt’s town house back to her father’s in Cavendish Square, Maggie replayed their interview over and over. After hearing Giles Hadley’s story, she was more fascinated by the man than ever. How had he reconciled the rural isolation of his early years with rejoining the world of the ton when his aunt had come to rescue him? Did he remember anything of the days he’d lived at his father’s grand estate in Hampshire?
Despite his education and upbringing, if he knew nothing of that estate or its people, how could he become a good landlord to his tenants and a proper steward of the land entrusted to him, once he inherited? Or would he remain in London, furthering his career in Parliament, content to let some estate agent or secretary manage his acres and tend its people? What a tragedy for them that would be!
She would love to ask him about his plans, but their acquaintance was nowhere close enough for her to broach such personal matters.
Then there was the problem of the possible rivalry between him and his brother over George’s supposed pretensions to her hand. Though she was certain there was a genuine attraction between herself and Giles Hadley, she’d already proven rather miserable at discerning whether a man’s attentions stemmed from her charms, or the charms of her lineage, wealth and connections. Would Mr Hadley indulge her curiosity and encourage her interest because he found her as intriguing as she found him? Or if she followed through on her desires, might she be leading herself into another painful disappointment?
Yet, as even Aunt Lilly had implied, youth wouldn’t last for ever. In the years since Robbie’s death, she’d met many gentlemen, without feeling anything like the strong and immediate attraction she’d felt for Giles Hadley. If she let caution dissuade her from at least discovering where it might lead, she might never have another chance.
After all, she was wiser now, more suspicious of attention and flattery than she’d been before the episode with Sir Francis. As long as she kept her head, the worst that could happen by furthering the relationship would be the disappointment of discovering Giles Hadley was not as fascinating—or as fascinated by her—as she’d thought. She felt certain Giles Hadley would never endanger her, or compel her to go where she didn’t wish to follow.
There’d be no question of ‘compelling’, though. Just thinking of the mesmerising blue gaze and the heated feeling in the pit of her stomach when he smiled at her set her pulses throbbing. But surely she was prudent enough to resist the most dangerous of all temptations, and restrict herself to friendship.
She really did wish to know him better…as a friend and companion, she told herself.
As a lover, if you could imagine a safe way to manage it, the voice of honesty answered back.
But only as long as she could invest herself just so far, without any possibility of committing her heart.
The short drive to the Witlow town house ended before she came to a definite decision. So much for thinking herself level-headed! Exasperated with such dithering, she decided as she descended from the carriage that she would attend some debates after the new Parliament convened. If an opportunity presented itself to speak further with Mr Hadley—or he sought her out—she would take it as a sign to proceed.
Because in the end, in that sphere beyond words or logic, the pull she felt to him was irresistible.
Chapter Three (#ulink_32be7d2b-1026-5cee-baeb-4d725c468f5f)
Two evenings later, Giles arrived back in London and headed for the room at the Quill and Gavel, eager to compare notes with his friends about the election results. He found them all present as he walked in, Davie offering him a mug of ale, Ben Tawney urging him to a seat.
‘What happened in Chellingham?’ Christopher asked. ‘Did Reynolds manage to snatch the seat from Witlow’s man?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he confessed, to the groans of his listeners. ‘Michael Armsburn did so well in the verbal tally, we didn’t bother asking for a formal vote. Riding around with Reynolds, one could tell it was hopeless. Even the unemployed former soldiers one would expect to rally to the Reform cause told us they intended to vote for Witlow’s man. Said his lordship had watched out for their families while they were off fighting in the wars. How did all of you fare?’
‘A win in Sussex!’ Ben announced. ‘We’ll own the county now.’
‘Wins in Merton and Warrenton as well,’ Christopher added. ‘The Whigs should return an overwhelming majority.’
‘That calls for another round, don’t you think?’ David asked. After walking to the door to beckon the innkeeper to bring more ale, he said, ‘Ben and Christopher, why don’t you make a tally of the projected gains, district by district? I expect we’ll be recalled to committee as soon as Parliament reconvenes.’
Once the two friends settled at the table, Davie raised his mug to Giles. ‘So,’ he said in a quiet voice pitched for their ears alone, ‘what did you think of Lady Margaret?’
Surprised, Giles felt his face flush. ‘How did you know I’d met Lady Margaret?’
Davie shrugged. ‘You’d said you’d try to help the Radicals win one of Witlow’s seats—yet you chose to canvass for one that we knew at the outset was very unlikely to be turned. A seat that just happens to be held by a cousin of Lady Margaret’s, for whom she has often campaigned. And that, after hearing your brother might have matrimonial designs upon the lady. So, what did you think of her?’
‘Sure the Home Office shouldn’t employ your talents to keep track of dissidents?’ Giles asked, disgruntled that his motives had been so transparent. ‘Very well, I was quite impressed. She’s a natural campaigner—the crowds love her. She seems passionate about politics and the welfare of the people in her father’s boroughs.’
‘A shame she’s passionate for the wrong party,’ David said, his perceptive friend watching him entirely too closely for Giles’s comfort. ‘Did you talk with her?’
‘Yes. Her person is as appealing as her politics are not. I have to admit, I was quite…strongly attracted. By the way, she denied any interest in marrying George.’
‘Did she? I don’t know that her lack of interest would weigh much with your half-brother, compared to the advantages of the match. One can only hope her father has a care for her preferences, rather than for giving a leg up to a rising member of his party. Do you intend to pursue the connection?’
‘Yes, I do.’ At least long enough to see if the extraordinary attraction he’d felt lasted beyond that first meeting.
‘And what of George?’
Giles shrugged. ‘Having never in my life consulted George’s preferences before doing something, I’m not likely to start now.’
Davie nodded. ‘Very well. Just make sure the lady doesn’t get caught in the crossfire, if there is any.’
Giles grinned. ‘One thing you can count on: I will always protect a lady.’
Before they could join their friends at the table, a liveried messenger appeared at the doorway. ‘A note for Mr Hadley.’
After Giles raised his hand, the man gave him the missive and walked out. Scanning it quickly, Giles frowned. ‘It’s from Lord Grey. He wants me to join a dinner meeting he’s about to begin with some of his committee chiefs.’
Ben whistled, and David raised his eyebrows. ‘Congratulations on having the party leader call for you!’ Christopher said. ‘Maybe there’s a cabinet post in your future?’
‘I doubt that. I’ll have to go, though, unfortunately, it’s at Brooks’s Club—which is probably why Grey didn’t invite all of us. He knows I never grace the halls of Brooks’s unless I’m summoned.’
‘Maybe you should go there more often,’ Davie advised. ‘Many of the senior party leaders are members; let them get to know you better.’
‘I’d rather meet here, with all of you.’ Giles smiled. ‘Planning strategy and dreaming dreams of change, as we have since that grimy little inn at Oxford.’
‘Being a Hellion was all well and good,’ David allowed. ‘But challenging the prevailing view has served its purpose. Now that the goals we dreamed about are going to be realised, shouldn’t we turn our efforts into getting a hand in determining how they are implemented?’
‘Very true,’ Christopher said. ‘Why not take advantage of whatever benefits membership at Brooks’s can offer?’
‘You could even pass them along to us,’ David added with a grin. ‘It’s the only way I’ll ever gain access to them, after all. Their politics might be liberal, but never in this lifetime are high-born Whigs going to allow the orphaned son of farmer into their club, regardless of how highly placed his sponsor might be.’
‘Or the illegitimate son of a governess,’ Ben added.
‘A gently born governess, whose father is now a viscount and acknowledges him,’ Giles reminded Ben. ‘If you asked, your father would likely sponsor you at Brooks’s.’
‘So the members could mutter under their breath about my mother as I walk by, like the boys did at Oxford? I think not.’
‘As for me,’ Christopher said with a grin, ‘being in the unusual position of being considered my legal father’s son even though I’m not, I could be put up for membership. Except that dear legal Papa is a Tory who frequents White’s.’
‘I doubt they would have voted me in, had Lord Newville not been insistent,’ Giles said. ‘I can only imagine how much arm-twisting was involved.’
‘Your nomination did place the members in an awkward position,’ David said. ‘Many of them are friends of your father, and there’s the sticky matter of George. If anything happens to you, George gets the title; like our Oxford classmates, few there would want to befriend you and offend him, in case some day he attains real power.’
‘We’ll just have to see that he doesn’t,’ Giles retorted.
‘Faith and the devil, that reminds me!’ Christopher exclaimed. ‘Wychwood told me that George lost his seat!’
‘In Hampshire, my father’s county?’ Giles asked, astounded.
‘Yes. Despite how strongly the voice vote went in favour of the Reform candidate, Wychwood said George insisted on a formal counted vote. And lost it decisively.’
The other three whistled as the significance of that registered. ‘Pity his poor servants—and any other unfortunate who crosses his path in the next few days,’ Christopher said. ‘He’ll be as quick to lash out as a temperamental stallion with an abscessed hoof.’
‘He’ll surely look for some way to transfer the blame to you,’ David warned.
‘And whine to his father about it,’ Christopher added.
‘I’d avoid him,’ Ben advised.
‘I always do,’ Giles replied. ‘But now, I’d better get to that meeting. With any luck, I’ll be back to drink another mug before midnight.’
‘Take good notes, so you can give us a full report,’ Christopher said as Giles shrugged on his coat and headed for the door.
As he walked out, Davie followed him, then stayed him with a hand on his arm. ‘This might not be the best of times to provoke a quarrel over a lady,’ he said quietly.
‘I don’t intend to quarrel,’ Giles replied. ‘If he tries to start one, I’ll ignore it, as I always do.’ No matter how much I’d like to plant a facer in the middle of that smug face, he added silently.
‘Just…watch your step. I’ve always thought George like a coiled snake, ready to strike if cornered. Don’t give him any more reason.’
‘I shall be the soul of diplomacy.’
‘Giles, the most hot-headed member of our group?’ David retorted. ‘Just remember that resolution, if you encounter George when I’m not there to restrain you. It would be…undignified for a rising Member of Parliament to mill down a former Member in public.’
‘Besides which, George would be sure to haul me up on assault charges. Temper or no, I promise to be on my best behaviour.’
And he would be, Giles promised himself as he walked out to hail a hackney.
Several hours later, dinner and consultation with Lord Grey and two of his ministers complete and a sheaf of notes in hand, Giles had just left the small private dining room when an unwelcome voice assailed his ears.
Hearing his name called again, he turned towards the card room, girding himself for the always unwelcome encounter with his half-brother.
‘It is you, then,’ George said, and walked towards him.
At least he’d won that small satisfaction, Giles thought as he waited for his half-brother to approach: George had finally learned that Giles would not come running to him when his half-brother beckoned, like the lackey George wanted him to be.
As the man proceeded closer with his measured, self-important tread, Giles noted he was splendidly dressed, as usual, in a dark coat featuring the newly popular cinched-in waist, an elaborately tied cravat of fine linen with a large diamond winking out from the knot, and long trousers. A walking advertisement for his tailor, and for being a man who spared no expense on his person.
George stopped beside him, looking him in the eyes for a moment without speaking. His half-brother was of a height, but had the fairer hair and hazel eyes of their father and a pleasant face that, when it wore a congenial look Giles seldom saw, was accounted handsome, or so numerous society ladies seemed to think.
Apparently Lady Margaret wasn’t of their number. That recollection pleased him more than it should.
When Giles refused to rise to the bait of asking his brother to tell him what he wanted, at length George broke the silence. ‘Didn’t believe at first you’d actually entered a gentleman’s club, instead of hobnobbing with the lowborn sorts you usually associate with. Devil’s teeth, to think how much blunt Lord Newville must have dropped, bribing the members to get you accepted here! But in this instance, I suppose I should thank him for sparing me having to track you down in that dive you frequent.’
Drawing in a deep breath through his gritted teeth to stem the rising anger, Giles made no immediate response. He’d long ago figured out the best way to deal with his half-brother’s demeaning remarks was to ignore them, no matter how infuriating—thereby depriving George of the satisfaction of provoking him.
‘Do you having anything of substance to say, or did you just want to tender the usual insults?’ he said in a tone as bored as he could manage. ‘If the latter, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ With a nod of dismissal, he turned to go.
‘Wait! I do have something else to say.’ George stayed him.
Much as Giles would love to snub him and walk out, if his half-brother truly wanted to speak with him, leaving now would only delay the confrontation. Tenacious as a bulldog, George would simply run him down somewhere else.
Wondering what his brother could possibly wish to discuss with him—unless he’d already figured out a way to blame Giles for his electoral defeat—he raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you might wish to do so somewhere more private than Brooks’s entry hall?’ With a gesture, he indicated a small anteroom.
After George followed him in, Giles said, ‘I’ve still got work to do tonight, so I’d appreciate your keeping this short.’ With what he considered true nobility, he refrained from adding that it involved important business for the new Parliament—the one in which George would not be serving. After closing the door, he said, ‘Shall we dispense with the charade of exchanging pleasantries? Just say what you must.’
‘I will be brief. I’m warning you to leave Lady Margaret Roberts alone. She’s a gentlewoman from a distinguished family, her father a nobleman highly regarded by his peers. Neither need be embarrassed by it becoming known that she associated with you. And at a common inn, no less.’
Baffled, Giles stared at George—until his mind made the connection. ‘You mean, in Chellingham?’
‘As far as I know, that’s the only time she’s displayed such a lapse of judgement. Although I understand there was some disturbance that necessitated her removal, and that at the time she let you make off with her, she was not aware of who you were.’
‘It being more acceptable for the lady to leave with a stranger than to leave with me?’ Giles inserted.
‘Well, of course she shouldn’t be leaving with a stranger! Armsburn and Proctor were highly negligent in leaving her alone to begin with. Although it would have been better still if she’d not put herself forward, campaigning for her cousin.’
Although admittedly Giles was not conversant with who belonged to which circle of friendship among the Tory membership, he was not aware that Lady Margaret’s cousin and his half-brother were close. And if they were not…
‘How did you know what happened to Lady Margaret in Chellingham?’ When his half-brother stuttered for an answer, Giles voiced the unbelievable, but only logical, conclusion. ‘You weren’t having someone spy on her, were you, George?’
‘Someone should keep tabs on her, since it’s obvious neither her cousin nor his aide were doing such a good job of it,’ his half-brother replied defensively.
There could be but one reason for George to go to the trouble of having the lady watched: he must be set on marrying her. Even so, the behaviour was unsettling, and definitely raised his hackles on Lady Margaret’s behalf.
‘Is Lord Witlow aware of your…protective oversight?’ He knew Lady Margaret couldn’t be—and was reasonably sure what that lady’s response would be if she found out.
‘Lord Witlow would be gratified that I concern myself with the welfare of his dearest daughter,’ George replied loftily.
So her father wasn’t aware of the scrutiny either. Which made the behaviour even more disturbing. ‘He might also not appreciate having someone wholly unrelated keeping his daughter under observation.’
George gave an impatient wave. ‘My motives are of the purest. Besides, I cherish hopes that we will not long remain “unrelated”.’
So George did intend to press his suit. ‘You’ve spoken with his lordship on this matter?’
‘He’s doubtless aware of my regard,’ George evaded.
‘And the lady?’
‘I haven’t as yet formally declared myself,’ George admitted. ‘But on a matter as important as family alliances, she will follow her father’s guidance, and he will certainly approve. Now that I have revealed my honourable intentions, I expect even someone like you to respect them, and not sully the lady with associations that could only be to her detriment.’
Keeping a tight hold on the simmering anger he didn’t seem able to completely suppress, Giles said evenly, ‘I would do the lady the honour of allowing her to choose with whom she wishes to associate.’
George stared at him a moment. ‘Meaning, you do intend to pester her with your attentions?’
‘I have never “pestered” a woman,’ Giles retorted. ‘If a lady indicates she is uninterested in my company, I am not so boorish as to inflict it upon her.’ That shot flying entirely over his brother’s head, he added, ‘As I said, it is the lady’s choice.’
‘Excellent!’ George said, a self-satisfied look replacing the hostility of his expression. ‘I may be easy, then. Her father would never allow an association so detrimental to her good name and the regard in which she is universally held. That being all I wished to ascertain, I will bid you goodnight.’
Avoiding, as he always did, using either Giles’s last name or honorary title, George nodded and walked back towards the card room.
Leaving Giles staring after him incredulously.
He should be happy, he told himself as he gathered up his papers again, that his half-brother’s incredible arrogance spared him the necessity of wrangling with George over his intention to seek out Lady Margaret. Apparently, his half-brother thought the lady a puppet who moved at her father’s command. And he was certain the marquess would command her to stay away from Giles, and marry George.
Fortunately, Giles already knew the first assumption was unlikely—Lady Margaret had told him plainly that her father respected him.
As for the latter, Lady Margaret seemed sincerely attached to her father, and probably would not willingly displease him. However, Giles doubted the independent lady he’d seen joking with voters on the hustings would let her father compel her into a marriage she did not want.
That conclusion cheered him almost as much as avoiding an ugly confrontation with his half-brother.
Nothing George had told him altered his intention to seek out the lady, at least until George or—he frowned at the thought—his watching minions discovered Giles had seen her again. By then, he should have confirmed whether or not his attraction to her—and hers to him—was strong enough for him to justify navigating the tricky course around his half-brother’s presumptions.
He had no clear idea what sort of relationship he envisioned. Not marriage, certainly—his tenuous position and his past were too chequered to inflict that association on any woman. But the lady was a widow, and perfectly able to indulge in a discreet dalliance, if their respective desires led that way…
Tantalised by the thought, Giles set off for the hackney stand, eager to report back to his friends at the Quill and Gavel. As he climbed into the vehicle, it suddenly occurred to him that he had another pressing reason to seek out Lady Margaret, whether or not the powerful connection between them recurred.
Giles felt the lady ought to know that his half-brother was keeping her under surveillance.
At Lady Margaret’s probable reaction to that news, he had to smile.
Chapter Four (#ulink_4bf38cae-c896-5766-a2aa-a9c902585827)
Shortly after the opening of Parliament two weeks later, Lady Margaret climbed the stairs to the Ladies’ Gallery in the upper storey of St Stephen’s Chapel. The odd arrangement in that chamber—a round bench surrounding a wooden lantern at the centre of the room, whose eight small openings allowed a limited view down into the House of Commons below—would make watching the debates difficult, though she would be able to hear all the speeches.
And she’d heard that Giles Hadley was to give an address on behalf of the Reform Bill today.
She claimed a place, thinking with longing of the unobstructed view that, seated right on a bench beside the members, she enjoyed when she attended the Lords to listen to her father. The best she could hope for in this room, if she were lucky and the gentleman stood in the right place, was to catch a glimpse of Mr Hadley’s head. Remembering that gentleman’s magnificent eyes and commanding figure, seeing no more than the top of his head was going to be a great loss.
Would his voice alone affect her? Her stomach fluttered and a shiver prickled her nerves, just as it had each time she’d thought of the man since their meeting several weeks ago. And she’d thought of him often.
Doubtless far too often, for a man she’d met only once, who did not appear at any of the ton’s balls or parties—where she’d looked for him in vain—and who did not frequent the same political gatherings she attended.
But oh, how even the thought of him still stirred her!
She would certainly try to meet him today. After spending the last several weeks finding herself continually distracted by recalling their encounter, sorting through possible explanations for the magic of it, and wondering whether it might happen again, she was tired of acting like a silly schoolgirl suffering her first infatuation. She wanted her calm, reasonable self back. For even if he did seem as compelling upon second meeting as he had upon the first, at her age, she should be wise enough not to lose her head over him.
Besides, seeing him again in the prosaic light of a Parliamentary anteroom, it was far more likely that he would cease being the stuff of dreams and turn into just another normal, attractive man.
Soon the session was called to order and a succession of speakers rose to address the group, met by silence or shouted comments from the opposing bench, depending on how controversial the subject being addressed. After several hours, stiff from sitting on the hard bench, Maggie was about to concede defeat and make her way out when the voice that had whispered through her dreams tickled her ears.
Shock vibrating through her, she craned her head towards the nearest opening, hoping for a glimpse of him.
The light dancing on the wavy, blue-black curls sent another little shock through her. Nerves tingling and breathing quickened, she bent down, positioning herself to catch even the smallest glimpse as he paced below her.
His voice held her rapt—oh, what a voice! Her father was right—Giles Hadley was a born orator, his full, rich tones resonating through the chamber. As he continued to press his points, even the disdainful comments of the opposition grew fewer, and finally died away altogether.
When the rising volume and increasingly urgent tone indicated the approaching climax of the speech, Maggie found herself leaning even further forward, anxious to take in every word.
‘For too long,’ he exhorted, ‘we have allowed the excesses of Revolutionary France to stifle the very discussion of altering the way our representatives are chosen. But this is England, not France. Are we a nation of cowards?’
After pausing to accommodate the chorus of ‘no’s he continued, ‘Then let nothing prevent us in this session from doing what all rational men know should be done: eliminate these pocket boroughs that give undue influence to a few voters or the wealthy neighbour who can sway them, and restore to our government a more balanced system of representation, a fair system, a just system, one that works in the harmony our noble forebears intended!’
As his voice died away, he came to a stop right below her, his head bowed as he acknowledged the cheers and clapping from the Whigs, the mutter of dissent from the Tories. Then, as if some invisible force had telegraphed her presence, he looked up through the opening, and their eyes met.
The energy that pulsed between them in that instant raised the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Then an arm appeared in her narrow view, pulling him away, and he was lost to her sight.
Straightening, Maggie found herself trembling. Thrilled by the power of his oratory, she remained seated, too shaken to move.
Papa had said everyone expected great things of him, and she now understood why. How could Lord Grey resist adding so compelling a Reformer to his staff? Even the Tories had fallen silent under the power of his rhetoric.
When he spoke with such passionate conviction, she suspected that he’d be able to persuade her to almost anything.
An alarming thought, and one that ought to make her rethink her intention to meet him again.
She was debating the wisdom of going downstairs and seeking him out, when suddenly the air around her seemed charged with energy. Startled, she looked up—into the blue, blue eyes of Giles Hadley.
Her mouth went dry and her stomach did a little flip.
‘Lady Margaret!’ he said, bowing. ‘What an unexpected pleasure to see you again.’
She rose to make him a curtsy. ‘And to see you, Mr Hadley. That was a very fine speech.’
He waved a hand. ‘The plain truth, merely.’
‘Perhaps, but the plain truth elegantly arranged and convincingly presented. It’s no wonder the full chamber attended to hear you speak.’
He smiled, his eyes roaming her face with an ardency that made her pulse kick up a notch. ‘I’d rather flatter myself that you came to hear me speak.’
‘Then you may certainly do so. I did indeed come with the hope of hearing you, and was richly rewarded.’
His eyes brightened further, sending another flutter of sensation through her. ‘Considering the many excellent speakers you’ve doubtless heard in both chambers, it’s very kind of you to say so. Surely I ought to offer you some tea in gratitude? Normally, we could take it in the committee room, but with the session just begun, everything is rather disordered. Might I persuade you to accompany me to Gunter’s?’
‘I would like that very much.’
He offered his arm. After a slight hesitation, she gave him her hand, savouring the shock of connection that rippled up her arm.
She did have the answer to one of the questions that had bedevilled her since their last meeting, she thought as he walked her down the stairs. The effect he had on her was definitely not a product of election excitement or the danger of that skirmish in Chellingham. Leaving caution behind in this chamber of debate, she intended to enjoy every second of it.
‘So,’ he said after they’d settled into a hackney on the way to Gunter’s. ‘Did my speech convince you that the time is right for reform?’
‘Your arguments are very persuasive,’ she admitted.
‘I hope your father and the Tories in the Lords agree. With so many Whigs returning to the Commons, passage of the bill in the lower house is certain. Though many in the Lords resist change, even the most hidebound cannot defend the ridiculousness of a pocket borough with a handful of voters having two representatives, when the great cities of the north have none.’
‘True. But Members are not elected to represent only their particular district, but the interests of the nation as a whole,’ she pointed out.
‘Another excuse to oppose change that the Tories have trotted out for years!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Let’s be rational. When a borough contains only a handful of voters who must cast their vote in public, they usually elect the candidate favoured by the greatest landholder in the area.’
‘Who, since he does own the property, should look out for its best interests and those of the people who work it and make it profitable,’ she countered. ‘Which is why giving every man a vote, as I’ve heard you approve, could be dangerous. A man who owns nothing may have no interest at all in the common good. With nothing to lose, he can be swayed by whatever popular wind is blowing.’
‘Just because a man owns property doesn’t mean he tends it well, or cares for those who work it. Oh, I know, the best of them, like your father, do. But wealth and power can beguile a man into believing he can do whatever he wishes, regardless of the well-being of anyone else.’
As his father had? Maggie wondered. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘But what about boroughs where the voters sold their support to the highest bidder? Virtue isn’t a product of birth. Noble or commoner, a man’s character will determine his actions.’
‘With that, I certainly agree.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘You’re a persuasive speaker yourself, Lady Margaret. A shame that women do not stand for Parliament. Though since you favour the Tories, I expect I should be grateful they do not!’
At that point, the hackney arrived at Gunter’s, and for the next few moments, conversation ceased while Hadley helped her from the carriage and they were seated within the establishment. As Hadley ordered the tea she requested in lieu of the famed ices, Maggie simply watched him.
She’d been intensely aware of him, seated beside her in the hackney during the transit. But she’d been almost equally stirred by his conversation.
Most gentlemen felt ladies were either uninterested in, or incapable of understanding, the intricacies of politics. Only her father had ever done her the courtesy of discussing them with her. Even her cousin Michael Armsburn, and the several other candidates for whom she had canvassed, valued her just as a pretty face to charm the voters.
None of the men she’d supported had ever invited her to discuss their policy or its philosophical roots. Giles Hadley excited her mind as much as he stirred her senses.
Or almost as much, she amended. He mesmerised her when he talked, not just the thrilling words, but watching those mobile lips, wondering how they’d feel, pressed against hers. She exulted in the tantalising magic of sitting beside him, the energy and passion he exuded arousing a flood of sensation in her, the heat and scent of him and the wondrous words he uttered a sea she could drown in.
Oh, to be with a man who burned with ardent purpose, who inspired one with a desire to be with him, not just in bed, but out of it as well!
Tea arrived shortly thereafter. Maggie forced herself to cease covertly studying the excellence of Giles Hadley’s physique, the breadth of his shoulders and the tapered elegance of his fingers, and concentrate on filling his cup.
After they had each sipped the steaming brew, Hadley set down his cup with an apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid I must confess to not being completely truthful about my reasons for inviting you here.’
Her great-aunt’s warning returned in a rush, dousing her heated euphoria with the ice water of wariness. ‘Not truthful? In what way?’
‘Much as I am enjoying our excursion to Gunter’s, we could have taken tea in the committee room. Except there is a matter I feel I must discuss with you that demanded a greater degree of privacy than would have been afforded in a Parliamentary chamber.’
Foreboding souring her gut, she said, ‘Then by all means, let us discuss it.’
‘I spoke with my brother not long ago. As you know, we…are not close, and he generally does not seek me out unless he wishes to dispute with me about something. The matter he wished to dispute about this time…was you.’
So she was to be a bone of contention? Not if she could help it! But perhaps she should hear him out before rushing to conclusions. ‘What was the nature of that dispute?’
Hadley shrugged. ‘You’ve read the journal reports—and so has George. Apparently my half-brother thinks you favour him—or he believes your father approves of him, and would favour his suit. He warned me to stay away from you.’
Some of the anger, hurt and despair of the episode with Sir Francis rose up, nearly choking her. ‘And so you sought my company to spite him?’ she spit out at last. ‘Do you think to beguile me, and then boast to him about it?’
He straightened, frowning. ‘Not at all! How could you imagine such a thing? Besides, if I were trying to charm you and boast of my conquest, would I have told you about our disagreement?’
‘Do you think you could charm me?’
His irritated expression smoothed, a roguish smile replaced it, and he smiled at her, that smile that made her knees weak. ‘Do you think I could?’
‘If you did, and we were compromised, we might be forced to wed. Then you’d be stuck with me for life—a fate which ought to give you pause,’ she said tartly, mollified.
His smile faded. ‘I would never do you the harm of marrying you.’
Before she could figure out that odd comment, he continued, his expression serious, ‘But that’s not what I meant to talk about. Did you speak with my half-brother about our meeting in Chellingham?’
It was her turn to be puzzled. ‘No, I’ve not seen him since I returned to London. Why do you ask?’
‘As far as you know, George is not a friend of your cousin Mr Armsburn?’
‘They are acquainted, certainly, but not close.’
‘The only place we’ve met, before today, was Chellingham. My brother specifically mentioned how detrimental to your reputation it would be if others discovered you’d been alone with me at the inn there. If you did not relate our encounter to George, and your cousin or his aide, Mr Proctor, didn’t inform him, how could he have known about it?’
Maggie paused a moment, thinking. She’d spoken with Aunt Lilly, but that lady would never divulge, even to her friends, confidential information about her niece, particularly if it involved a gentleman and would therefore make her the subject of gossip and conjecture. She was quite certain she’d not mentioned their meeting to anyone else.
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed.
‘Then it seems my suspicions were justified. Outlandish as it sounds, in order for my half-brother to have known that you’d accompanied me to that inn in Chellingham, he must have been keeping you under surveillance.’
She shook her head a little, not sure she could have heard him correctly. ‘Are you trying to tell me that your brother has someone…spying on me?’
‘You weren’t aware of it?’
‘Absolutely not!’
He nodded, looking grim again. ‘Your father wouldn’t have asked him to do such a thing, would he?’
‘Why would he? I had my cousin and Proctor to watch over me. If Papa had thought I needed additional protection, he would have chosen someone I know better than your brother to provide it. And I am sure he would not have done so without informing me and explaining the need for it. No, I don’t think Papa authorised this. Shall I ask him?’
‘Perhaps you should. I wouldn’t want to accuse my half-brother unjustly.’
The enormity of what he’d just told her registered. ‘Why in the world would your half-brother want to have me watched?’
‘He told me he intends to ask for your hand. Perhaps, with the turmoil over the Reform Bill and rumours flying of possible electoral violence, he wanted to make sure the woman he wants to marry didn’t come to any harm.’
‘Or he wished to make sure the woman he plans to marry did not behave in a manner of which he doesn’t approve!’ she retorted, more and more indignant as the implications registered. ‘The effrontery! How dare he have someone tail me as if I were a…a petty thief he was trying to prove guilty of larceny!’
Giles’s lips twitched. ‘I didn’t think you’d find the idea very appealing. May I assume from this that you are now even less likely to consider an offer from my half-brother?’
‘If he has indeed so grievously imposed on my privacy, you may assume the chances of my accepting an offer from him to be non-existent!’
He smiled at that. ‘Then I am almost glad of his arrogance. But…there is one thing more I feel I must say, before we drop the unpleasant matter of my brother.’ He paused, his smile fading. ‘I do hope you won’t feel I’m telling you this just because the two of us do not get along.’
‘I think I can count on your honesty.’ She hesitated, unsure how much she could or should say, given how brief their acquaintance was. ‘Even though I understand that you have not been…kindly treated, either by your father or your half-brother.’
He grimaced. ‘We are estranged, that is certain.’
She respected his reticence, and admired his restraint in not pouring out the complaints her comment invited—complaints, according to what Aunt Lilly had told her, he would be well justified in making. ‘So, what else did you wish to tell me?’
‘Would your father compel you to wed a man of his choice, even if you had no particular desire to do so?’
‘I cannot imagine he would. Besides, should he try to, I am of age, and have property and assets of my own over which he has no control. There would be no way he could force me to marry against my wishes.’
Giles nodded. ‘So I thought. However, George has been…much indulged by his father.’ Maggie noted he did not say ‘our’ father. ‘He is quite used to getting whatever he wants. And it seems he wants to marry you. He believes your father would favour his suit, and that you would follow your father’s guidance in the matter of the choice of a husband.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘No wonder he seems so little interested in charming me, and so much more interested in beguiling Papa.’
‘George can be quite…unpleasant, when he is prevented from obtaining what he desires. If he does in fact make you an offer, and you refuse him, just…be careful.’
She’d been about to take another sip of her tea, but at that, she looked up to stare at him. ‘You don’t mean he would try to…force me! Or harm me, for refusing him!’
‘No, no, probably not that. He would be more likely to start some malicious gossip in an attempt to blacken your name. So if you do refuse him, you might wish to be on your best behaviour.’ He winked at her. ‘No trysts at secluded inns in small market towns.’
She laughed. ‘I will keep that in mind, Mr Hadley.’
‘Very well. Now, much as I hate to bring this tryst at a very public place in the huge metropolis to an end, I fear I am due at a meeting in half an hour. Can I escort you home first?’
‘No, I have some errands to complete.’ Even more reluctant than he to have their time together come to an end, she added on impulse, ‘Father is hosting a dinner tomorrow night for some friends, not a policy meeting, but a wide-ranging discussion of political ideas. The guests will be quite varied in background and opinion. Would you like to attend?’
‘Are you sure your father would want me?’
‘Papa enjoys a free exchange of opinions. I know he would be interested in hearing more of yours. And let me assure you in advance, your half-brother will not be invited.’
‘Will you be acting as hostess?’
‘For the dinner. I shall probably leave the gentlemen to their discussions afterward.’
‘Then I should be delighted…’ He paused, frowning. ‘I should be delighted, but I was not exaggerating George’s malevolence. I didn’t note anyone tailing us to Gunter’s, so he may not discover that you accompanied me here, but my presence at your father’s dinner will surely excite enough comment to reach his ears. Probably, the knowledge will merely increase his enmity towards me, which is a matter of no import—the fact that I breathe daily increases his enmity. He might, however, seek you out for an explanation. I would not have you harassed.’
His concern that she not be drawn into a squabble between brothers dissipated the last of the caution generated by Aunt Lilly’s warning. ‘I refuse to allow your half-brother to dictate whom I may or may not invite to my home. If he tries to take me to task for it, I assure you, I am quite capable of putting him in his place.’
‘That I would like to see!’ Hadley declared, then paused, still looking troubled. ‘You are sure? The last thing I want is to introduce any unpleasantness into your life.’ His frown dissipating, he gave her an intimate smile, his voice lowering to a seductive murmur. ‘I would rather introduce you to pleasure.’
She looked up at him, her gaze caught and held by the power of his. Feeling a little breathless, she had to force herself to look away.
That comment made his amorous intent plain enough, she thought, thrown back into uncertainty by the realisation. She could put any potential affair to a stop right now…if she wanted. But did she want to?
Just because she was certain he would be amenable to dalliance, didn’t mean she had to make a decision about it right now. Besides, there could be pleasure in less: conversing, flirting—even a simple kiss.
‘My father and I would be honoured if you would come to dinner tomorrow night,’ she found herself replying.
His smile broadened and his eyes lit, as if she’d just given him a treasured gift. ‘Then I will certainly be there.’
‘Until tomorrow night,’ she said, a little giddy. What was she getting herself into?
He escorted her out and summoned a hackney. ‘You are sure you’ll be all right? You don’t even have a maid or a footman to carry parcels.’
‘I never bring my maid if I’m visiting Parliament—she’d be bored to death, poor thing, and it would unnecessarily delay her work. Since I’m ordering supplies for dinner, they will be delivered later anyway, so no need of a footman to carry parcels.’
‘What, no gowns or slippers or feminine fripperies?’
She laughed. ‘At the risk of having you find me totally unwomanly, I confess I don’t spend much time on gowns and slippers and fripperies.’
‘I could never find you anything but delightful.’
At that, she looked back up at him, into eyes that once again seemed to see deep within her. Enchanted, mesmerised, she didn’t want to look away. Every nerve quivering with awareness, had they not been standing on a public street, she might have gone into Hadley’s arms.
A pedlar with his handcart pushed past them, breaking the spell, and Maggie stepped away. ‘You’d better summon a hackney yourself, else you’ll be late to your meeting.’
‘Thank you again for accompanying me for tea.’
‘And to you, for tea…and your warning.’
He turned as if to go, then paused, looking back at her over his shoulder. ‘Do you really think I could beguile you?’
‘All too easily,’ she answered, before realising it would have been more prudent to turn that question aside.
He reached over to take her hand. Little eddies of delight swirled through her as he raised it and brushed his mouth against the thin kidskin sheathing her fingers. ‘Then I’m very encouraged. Send me the invitation. I’ll definitely come…exchange views with your father.’
With a bow, he handed her up into the carriage, waved his cane in farewell, and walked away.
Hand tingling, even more enchanted than she’d been after their interlude in Chellingham, Maggie watched him until the departing carriage set off, robbing her of the sight.
Chapter Five (#ulink_16bf83ce-de7c-52c4-b01d-d28c21d414d4)
That evening, Maggie waited up for her father, who had attended a dinner with some of his political cronies at Brooks’s. Although she was certain the marquess would not object to including Giles Hadley in their gathering—the purpose of the entertainment being, as she’d told that gentleman, to explore a wide range of ideas—she also knew he would be surprised by her invitation, and curious.
Best to meet that curiosity head-on. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure she could do a very good job of explaining it to her father when she didn’t fully understand it herself. She just knew she wanted to see more of Giles Hadley, and since he didn’t attend society functions and was unlikely to turn up at Tory gatherings, luring him to her father’s home was probably the only way she was going to manage it.
She really didn’t want to tell her father that.
But since the invitation had been tendered, the gentleman had accepted, and she had no intention of revoking it—the need to see him again being greater than her reluctance to discuss the reasons for it with her sire—she’d have to tell Papa—something.
She was dozing over her book in the library when at last she heard her father’s distinctive step in the hallway.
‘Papa, could I have a word with you?’ she called out as he passed the library door.
At the sound of her voice, he stopped short and peered into the room. ‘Is that you, Puss? What are you doing still up?’
‘There’s something I wanted to inform you about. Nothing of importance, but I know you will be tied up in committee meetings all morning, and was afraid I might miss you. It will only take a moment.’
Her father came over to place a kiss on her forehead. ‘I always have time for you, sweeting. Shall I pour you some wine?’
‘No, this really won’t take very long.’
‘I think I will rest these old bones while we talk,’ he said with a smile as he seated himself. ‘So, what’s amiss?’
‘Nothing! It’s just that I invited someone else to join us for dinner tomorrow night, and wanted to let you know beforehand.’
‘I thought we’d included everyone we thought could contribute to the conversation. Who did we forget?’
‘Well, it’s not someone we normally include, but he does have quite interesting views. You’ve even told me you admire him, though you disagree on almost every particular. It’s Mr Hadley—Mr Giles Hadley.’
He looked perplexed for a moment before the name registered. ‘Viscount Lyndlington, you mean! Unusual that he insists on spurning the title, but I suppose, given the situation between him and Telbridge, understandable. Of course he’s welcome, Puss—but how did you come to invite him? I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted.’
‘Oh, yes! I met him in Chellingham—you remember, I was canvassing for Michael, and he was there to rally support for Mr Reynolds. We spoke briefly, and I found him quite interesting. Then today, we spoke again when he came up to the Ladies’ Gallery after he’d given a speech at the Commons.’
‘An eloquent plea for passage of the Reform Bill, I understand.’
‘Yes, he’s quite an excellent speaker. If it is inevitable that the bill will pass the Commons, and he is certain it will, then it might be useful to have a thorough discussion before it comes before you in the Lords.’
‘You must have found him persuasive.’
‘I did. Not that I agree with all his views, of course. It’s true, though, that there was quite a lot of reform talk even in Chellingham, and that borough is as conservative as conservative comes.’
‘I will look forward to debating his views.’
‘Very good, Papa. That’s all, so I’ll bid you goodnight.’
When she came over to give him a kiss, he caught her hand, staying her. ‘Had I forgotten you telling me you’d met Mr Hadley in Chellingham?’
Maggie felt her face redden, and hoped in the dim candlelight, it wouldn’t be apparent. ‘I don’t believe I mentioned it, specifically. Since at the time, I wasn’t sure whether or not I would ever see him again, I didn’t think it important.’
‘Nor can I remember you visiting the Ladies’ Gallery any time recently to hear the speeches.’
‘I’d been remiss in not visiting sooner.’
‘This young man must have made quite an impression on you.’
So much for thinking she’d got through their little chat without having to explain her interest in Giles Hadley. ‘Yes, Papa, he did,’ she admitted.
‘I thought your favour might lie with a different Mr Hadley.’
‘George?’ She shuddered, and for a moment, debated telling her father it was almost certain that Mr Hadley had been spying on her. But asking Papa whether he’d authorised such a thing, especially when she was nearly certain he had not, might force her to disclose she’d seen a bit more of Giles Hadley than she’d thus far admitted. Deciding to say nothing, she continued, ‘He may be a good Tory, but I cannot like him, Papa. He’s too…calculating. And completely self-absorbed.’
Her father nodded. ‘With the wealth and affection Telbridge lavished on the boy, small wonder he thinks of little beyond his own interests. It’s probably just as well he lost his seat. In my estimation, his ambitions rather exceed his abilities.’
‘That was my impression,’ Maggie said drily. ‘Unless the measure of a man is the inventiveness of his tailor.’
‘Should I be asking Giles Hadley what his intentions are?’
‘Good heavens no, Papa!’ she protested, embarrassed by the very idea. ‘Promise me you will do nothing of the sort. Yes, I find Mr Giles Hadley…attractive. An excellent and persuasive orator with unique ideas I would like to hear more about. But that’s all!’
Her father retained her hand, rubbing the fingers. ‘Would it be so bad a thing if you were interested in…more? I know losing Robbie broke your heart, and whatever happened with Sir Francis hurt you deeply. But it hurts my heart that you are wearing out your youth playing hostess for an old man, instead of enjoying a husband and setting up your nursery.’
Tears stung her eyes at the mention of those old wounds. ‘I like being your hostess!’ she protested. ‘If you’re tired of having me preside over your table, I can always retreat back to my house in Upper Brook Street, or visit Mama at Huntsford.’
‘You know I love having you here! Though your mama would, of course, appreciate a visit.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I do feel…selfish, however, for not doing more to urge you to go on with your life.’
‘I have gone on with my life.’
‘Have you, Puss? Or are you just treading water, holding your place against the current, refusing to allow yourself to be swept into something new?’
‘Papa, how poetic!’ And unfortunately, how true. But how could she allow herself to be swept away when she no longer trusted any man to tell her the truth? And even if she could, when she no longer believed a mere marriage of convenience would wash away the lingering ache of loneliness and loss?
The possibility of opening herself to more—to anything that might cause the sort of devastation she’d experienced after Robbie’s death—was unthinkable.
A flirtation with Giles Hadley might make you forget it for a while, a little voice in her head whispered.
Ignoring it, she said, ‘For now, enlivening conversation at dinner by adding an articulate, dissenting voice is as “swept away” as I care to be. Will that suffice?’
‘It’s a start,’ he said, patting her cheek. ‘But don’t keep holding your place in that stream for too long. I still have aspirations of bouncing your children on my knee before I’m too decrepit to lift them.’
Her children. She swallowed hard. ‘I’ll try not to disappoint you. But please, let’s not be tasking Mr Hadley to help me provide you with them just yet.’
He laughed. ‘Very well, Puss. We’ll have him to dine a few times first. An excellent young man, by the way. Many an individual who suffered the setbacks he endured in his youth would have railed at his fate and become a bitter or frivolous wastrel, marking time until he inherited. Giles Hadley confronted his situation with courage, and with quiet determination and considerable effort, earned himself a place in the governing of this nation. I admire him for that.’
‘So do I, Papa. And now I will bid you goodnight.’
After exchanging a kiss, they both walked upstairs to their bedchambers. But after blowing out her candle and settling back on her pillow, Maggie found she was no longer sleepy.
What had she really intended to accomplish with her impulsive invitation? To see if Giles Hadley could fit into her world—or she into his?
Did she want him to ‘sweep her away’? She wanted him. That was certain. Every feminine part of her came to aching, needy life when he was near. The strength of that physical attraction made her only too acutely aware of how much she missed ‘enjoying a husband’.
But it was a great leap from that to a more serious relationship, one she was nowhere close to being ready to take. Although, she suddenly realised, unlike every other man of her acquaintance, she probably didn’t need to fear that this Mr Hadley would feed her sweet lies to win her favour—or her hand.
She had no idea what his current income was, but when he inherited the earldom, he would be a very rich man, with no need of her wealth. Though his half-brother George might prize her for her political ties, her Tory associations would be of no assistance whatsoever to the Reformist Giles; indeed, they would be a detriment.
Wedding her would offer him no real advantage, her only usable attributes—her lineage and breeding—being possessed by numerous other single females. Perhaps she could, cautiously, trust Mr Hadley when he told her how he felt about her.
And then she had to laugh. Had he not just told her quite plainly he had no interest in marriage? In fact, he’d made that odd comment about not ‘harming’ her by marrying her. As if she were a Tory candidate who would suffer for allying herself with a Reformer.
She considered the remark for a few minutes before dismissing it, unable to puzzle out the enigma. With neither of them interested in anything serious, perhaps she could let down her guard, feel free to be herself and simply enjoy his stimulating conversation and electrifying presence.
As for the physical attraction… He had all but invited her to a discreet affair, amicably conducted, no strings attached.
The very thought of it sent a spiral of warmth and longing through her. Even Aunt Lilly had admitted to ‘amusing herself’ after she’d been widowed. Oh, if only there were a truly safe way to do so!
But it was way too early in their acquaintance to worry about that. Before one directed a horse towards the highest fence, one must first saddle and bridle him, and get to know his paces. So for now, as she’d told her father, she would stick to the simple enjoyment of listening to his views…and the exquisite, tantalising pleasure of having him near.
In the late afternoon of the following day, Giles poured a glass of wine for Davie in the sitting room of their suite at Albany. ‘You don’t intend to accompany Ben and Christopher to dine with the committee members?’ Davie asked.
Not wishing to reveal any more information than he had to, Giles simply shook his head as he handed Davie his glass.
‘I promised Lady Greaves I’d come to Moulton Street tonight. It’s their son Dickon’s birthday. You’d certainly be welcome, if you’d like to join me.’
‘I don’t want to intrude on a family dinner.’
‘You wouldn’t be intruding. Sir Edward and Lady Greaves would love to see you.’ Davie raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You can’t avoid polite society for ever, you know. Eventually, you will be an earl.’
Giles took a sip of wine, delaying the need to respond. How could he explain to Davie his continuing ambivalence about his eventual inheritance? As Davie knew all too well, he’d been angry and resentful as a young man, once he’d grown old enough to fully understand what his father had done to him and his mother. From the time his aunt pulled him from poverty and sent him to school, he’d been driven to prove he could become successful without any assistance from the earl. He’d thought, as time went on and he built his reputation, his achievements towards that goal would make it easier for him to reconcile himself to the future that must be his.
So far, it had not, nor had he been able to make himself act on any of Davie’s increasingly frequent reminders that he ought to begin easing himself into his father’s world.
‘The current earl is, I understand, quite vigorous,’ he said at last. ‘Who knows, we may have abolished the aristocracy before he cocks up his toes. And since by then, you will most likely be Prime Minister, you will outrank me.’
‘The farmer’s whelp lording it over the lord?’ David chuckled. ‘Unlikely. Seriously, you really should become at least a little involved in the Season. Sir Edward and Lord Englemere would be delighted to have you come to any of their entertainments, and once the ton discovered you would actually accept invitations, you’d have a flood of them.’
‘What, subject myself to evenings of boring balls or tedious musicales with some dreadful soprano screeching away, or some equally dreadful young miss trying to display her limited prowess at the keyboard? If I want to waste time, I can take a nap.’
‘What are you doing this evening? Not staying here napping, I hope.’
Tread cautiously, Giles told himself. ‘Actually, I have a prior commitment. With, I should point out, a well-respected member of society. I’m invited to dine at the Marquess of Witlow’s.’
Davie’s hand froze with his glass halfway to his lips. ‘At the Marquess of Witlow’s?’ he echoed, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘With Lady Margaret as your hostess?’
‘I expect so, since I understand she usually plays hostess for her father.’
‘Did Lord Grey ask you to talk with Witlow? Try to negotiate to find some common ground before the bill comes to the floor that might persuade the Lords to pass it?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Then how—?’
Giles had hoped Davie, the most discreet of his friends, wouldn’t press him, but it appeared that wish was not going to be fulfilled. ‘I happened upon Lady Margaret after my speech at the Commons yesterday,’ he reluctantly explained.
He had no intention of adding that he’d hoped she might come, had castigated himself as an idiot for thinking he sensed her presence while he was speaking, and then had been thrilled to glance up into the Ladies’ Gallery and discover she was in fact in attendance. He’d found himself trotting up the stairs to the Gallery before he realised what he was doing.
And, ah, the strength of the desire that pulsed through him as she raised those lovely green eyes to meet his gaze… He’d felt an overwhelming compulsion to persuade her to remain with him—and the need to warn her about George had not, at first, even crossed his mind.
‘I spoke with her afterwards…’ At Davie’s lifted eyebrow, he admitted, ‘Very well, we took tea together. Before I sent her on her way, she invited me to dinner. Since I haven’t heard from her today, I assume the marquess didn’t tell her to rescind the invitation.’
Davie let out a low whistle. ‘The lady must have cast quite a spell for you to voluntarily venture into the enemy’s lair.’
Giles grinned. ‘I don’t expect they’ll have me for dessert. And, yes, I find Lady Margaret intriguing; we had quite an interesting chat about politics during tea. But don’t go picking out names for my firstborn.’
‘None of us is ready for that!’ Davie said with a laugh. ‘But I admit, I am surprised. Though perhaps I shouldn’t be. You’ve been alone for some time now, and you’ve never been interested in Beauties with more hair than wit.’
‘Lady Margaret is certainly not that.’ Now that he’d been forced to open up about the lady, Giles found it was…a relief, to be able to talk about the object of his inexplicable attraction with a perceptive friend. Davie would give advice if he thought it fitting, and unlike Ben and Christopher, do so without roasting Giles mercilessly about the connection.
‘I was attracted to her from the outset, even more so after talking with her after the session. She delivered a rather eloquent philosophical defence of conservatism, but at the same time, was willing to admit there are valid reasons for reform, as well as significant public support for it. I suppose I expected that, as a Tory, she’d be dogmatic and dismissive in her views, and was surprised to find her so open-minded. And so well spoken about politics.’
‘She has been her father’s hostess for years. One would have expected her to pick up some information about the process.’
‘Perhaps, but you’ve observed many of the political hostesses. They create a congenial atmosphere to encourage dinner conversation, support their husband or relative’s position ardently and campaign with enthusiasm. But most have neither interest in nor understanding of the intricacies of policy. I can’t recall any who could articulate a position with as much eloquence as Lady Margaret. It was…energising to debate what I love with so knowledgeable and passionate a lady.’
‘And she’s so much more pleasing to the eye than most of your Reformist orators,’ David agreed with a laugh. ‘But—what of George? If you dine with the marquess, he’s sure to hear of it. One can well imagine his reaction—especially now that he’s lost his seat. Even though you said when you met him at Brooks’s the other night, he didn’t seem disturbed about it.’
Possibly because he was more disturbed about Lady Margaret—a concern Giles hadn’t divulged to Davie. ‘Perhaps he thinks the earl can countermand the election, as he has fixed every other setback George has experienced. In any event, I broached the problem to Lady Margaret. She was quite adamant that she wasn’t going to allow George to dictate whom she entertained.’
‘All very well, but she doesn’t know him as you do. Can you feel easy, setting her up for his possible enmity?’
Giles shifted uncomfortably. He’d had second thoughts about attending for that very reason, despite his strong desire to further his relationship with the lady. ‘I considered bowing out,’ he admitted. ‘But dammit, I don’t want to allow George to once again try to dictate my life! In any event, he’s more likely to direct his ire at me, rather than at the lady, and I’m used to dealing with it. If he should be unpleasant to Lady Margaret…he’ll answer to me. Nor do I think the marquess would take very well to having his daughter harassed, and he has more power even than the earl. I’m confident I can proceed without causing difficulties for her.’
‘If you are satisfied, that’s good enough for me. Enjoy your dinner, then! I’ll be most interested to hear what topics are discussed.’
‘I intend to enjoy it—and hope to escape that Tory den with most of my hide intact.’
‘I shall be back later to commiserate, if you need to return and lick your wounds.’
‘I shall hold you to it.’
While Davie put down his glass and went off to change for dinner, Giles remained in the sitting room, sipping his wine. He was relieved to find his faith in his friend justified; after ascertaining the basic facts about Giles’s relationship with Lady Margaret, Davie had neither pried for more nor quizzed him about it.
So, what did he hope to accomplish tonight?
There was the political aspect, of course. Lord Grey might not have sent him to the dinner, but the invitation did provide a sterling opportunity to sound out one of the leaders of the Lords about his position on the upcoming reform legislation. If he could discover from Lord Witlow what areas of compromise there might be, the bill could be tailored to accommodate that before it left committee. Anything which improved the chances for getting the bill approved as quickly as possible in this session would be a great advantage.
He would need to be on his guard, though. He didn’t know who the other guests might be, but it was reasonable to expect some would be hidebound conservatives. He’d better prepare himself to be attacked.
Still, if he’d managed to survive the verbal and physical assaults mounted against him at Eton, before Christopher and then Ben had arrived to befriend him, he wasn’t too worried about the venom of politicians. Especially as he came as an invited dinner guest. He doubted his host would allow anyone present to hurl at him the sort of vicious epithets about his mother that had resulted in so many bloody-knuckled exchanges during his schoolboy years.
The larger looming question was, of course, the lady: what did he intend to do about Lady Margaret?
As impressed with her—and attracted to her—as he was, he was not at all interested in marriage. As Davie noted, he and the other Hellions were still junior enough not to need a wife’s connections to advance their political careers. And for reasons he’d never bothered to fully analyse, the very idea of marriage aroused some deep, nameless aversion.
Perhaps it was the disastrous aftermath of his parents’ union, or the lingering guilt he couldn’t shake at having inadvertently been the cause of that failure. Given his political aims and affiliations, as he’d informed her today, a union with him could do Lady Margaret no good whatsoever. And if anything happened to him before the current earl’s demise, his unfortunate wife would inherit only the enmity of a half-brother more than ready to step into his shoes.
Fortunately, one of the few benefits of being estranged from the earl was it allowed him to avoid the society in which Telbridge and his half-brother moved. If there were any scheming, marriage-minded females who took the long view, figuring that enticing into marriage a man of modest means now would pay off later when said husband inherited a wealthy earldom, they could hardly weave any webs to trap him when he never appeared at any of their social events.
He intended to enjoy his ambivalent position in his single, solitary state for a good deal longer. Although, he did chuckle to imagine the consternation it might create in Reform circles were he to turn up with a wife who had as strong a Tory pedigree as Lady Margaret.
He was powerfully attracted to the lady, and was reasonably certain she returned the compliment. A widow with her own property who was not dependent upon some relative for her support—and therefore not under their control—was exactly the sort of female he’d looked to in the past for the few affairs in which he’d indulged.
And Davie was right—it had been a long time since his last liaison, which had ended amicably when the lady in question decided she wanted to pursue remarriage. He’d kept busy with work since, and when the need for intimacy could no longer be denied, had a friendly arrangement with a discreet lady of the trade, who accommodated his desires with expertise and enthusiasm.
Might Lady Margaret be amenable to an affair?
Desire dried his mouth and tightened his body.
How he’d love to bury his fingers in her thicket of auburn hair, pulling the pins free until the heavy mass billowed down around her shoulders! Watch those green eyes darken with passion as he slowly disrobed her, fanning her desire higher and higher as he kissed and caressed the flesh as he bared it. He could imagine the feel of her breasts, heavy in his hands, the nipples tightening under his tongue. Then to proceed lower, over the silk of her belly, into the valley between her thighs, to the hidden centre of her desires…
He was throbbingly erect, just contemplating it. But he’d better douse those amorous thoughts before dinner. He’d hardly be able to hold his own against the enquiries that were likely to be fired at him by the Conservative diners with the velocity of volleys from a British square, if he spent the meal in a glassy-eyed haze of lust.
Besides, though he had no doubt Lady Margaret was attracted to him as well, being attracted and inviting him to an affair were rather large steps apart. For the time being—or until she sent him unmistakable verbal or non-verbal cues indicating such a leap interested her—he had better just focus on enjoying the lady’s conversation.
Taking a deep breath, he told himself to banish dreams of trysting and concentrate on politics.
To his surprise, it required an unusually strong application of will to do so, as his normally all-consuming passion suddenly seemed not so all-consuming.
But even with lust banished to simmer beneath the surface, his whole body still tingled with anticipation at meeting Lady Margaret again soon.
Chapter Six (#ulink_d1d775e5-2972-5a65-bb55-9c72d8260fb6)
Several hours later, Giles entered Lord Witlow’s town house in Russell Square. So this was where Lady Margaret had been raised, he thought, noting the Adamesque decor in muted tones, augmented here and there with Greek statuary and Oriental vases. Tasteful, classic and understated, like the lady.
He took the stairs with alacrity, telling himself the excitement coursing through him stemmed partly from anticipation of the spirited political debate he expected at dinner—and not just because of his strong desire to see his hostess again.
He found the anteroom occupied by a dozen or so guests, gathered in clusters, and already so absorbed in their discussions that they scarcely looked up as the butler intoned his name. He did not at first see Lady Margaret, though the simmering undercurrent of energy heightening his senses indicated that she must be present.
And then he spied her, walking over with her father to greet him, beautifully dressed in a gown of deep green that set off her eyes. Though he lamented the demise of the fashion for very low-cut dinner gowns, Giles noted, running an appreciative gaze over her figure, that the new lower-waisted style emphasised her slender form and accentuated the swell of that far-too-well-concealed bosom. As he raised his eyes to her face, she extended her hand.
He bowed over it, feeling a tremor vibrate through her fingers as he raised them to his lips. He had to fight to keep himself from letting his lips linger over the soft kidskin, while his nostrils filled with scent of violets. Concentrate on politics, he warned the senses that urged him to cut her from the group and whisk her away somewhere they might be private.
‘Father, I’m sure you remember Viscount Lyndlington—or Mr Hadley, as he prefers to be addressed. I was so impressed by his speech to the Commons, I took the liberty of adding him to our gathering.’
‘I heard from several sources about the eloquence of that address,’ the marquess said. ‘Let’s see if you can be equally eloquent in persuading some of my colleagues to your views tonight.’
‘I hope in turn to become better acquainted with your objections to it,’ Giles replied. ‘Knowledge and openness to altering opinions will be the only way compromise can happen.’
‘I shall look forward to the exchange,’ the marquess replied. ‘I believe you know most of the gentlemen?’ He waved a hand towards the rest of the room.
Giles forced himself to take his eyes from Lady Margaret, who was shyly smiling at him, and gaze around him. He’d been expecting a gathering of Tory lords, but the group was in fact much more varied. Beside several of the marquess’s associates from the Lords stood his good friend Lord Bathhurst and the irascible Baron Coopley, one of the most rigid Tories. But also present were the railroad man and inventor George Stephenson, several Tory MPs, and one of the Committee of Four whom Lord Grey had charged with drafting the Reform Bill, Sir James Graham.
This grouping should indeed provide for some interesting discussion, he thought, hopeful that prospect would make it easier to concentrate on politics—and ignore the allure of Lady Margaret, to whom his gaze kept returning, like a child’s toy pulled by a string.
Another guest was announced, and host and hostess moved on to welcome him. Giles watched Lady Margaret’s graceful sway of a walk as long as he thought he could get away with it without the raptness of his attention becoming notable, then made his way to the group which included Sir James.
‘Hadley!’ the Whig leader said in surprise as Giles joined them. ‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with the marquess. I’ll look forward to having a friend in my corner during the debate tonight. Though you’ll hear the variety of views Lord Witlow enjoys, I fear we shall still be outnumbered.’
Avoiding any comment about his connection to the marquess, Giles said, ‘How does Lord Grey think the lines will be drawn, once the bill comes out of committee?’
As he expected, it required only that question to launch Sir James and the two MPs standing with him into a spirited debate about how the legislation would progress, a discussion Giles would normally have followed avidly. Tonight, he listened with half an ear, surreptitiously trying to keep Lady Margaret in sight.
She was a good hostess, greeting each newcomer, sometimes allowing her father to direct the conversation, sometimes, with gentlemen who were obviously old family friends, giving the newcomer a hug or a kiss on the cheek.
Giles never thought he’d be jealous of venerable gentlemen from the older generation. At least, he told the impatient little voice within that clamoured to be near her, she wasn’t gifting her kisses to any man who looked virile enough to be his rival as a lover.
Startled to realise his interest in Lady Margaret had somehow progressed from admiration to evaluating other men as competition, he followed Sir James’s group in as the butler called them to table.
To his disappointment, he wasn’t seated near his hostess—the elderly Marquess of Berkley and Lord Coopley had that honour, as was proper for the two highest-ranking guests. He was surprised that he’d been seated adjacent to his host, a place that would normally have been reserved for a gentleman of higher status. Unless, he realised with a rueful grimace, one took into account his position as a courtesy viscount.
At first, conversation was general, with comments on the food and wine and an exchange of pleasantries and social news among the gentleman. Having nothing of interest to contribute, Giles listened politely, his glance straying to Lady Margaret at the other end of the table.
She was smiling at Lord Coopley—and what a lovely smile it was, he thought, those generous lips upturned and her eyes brightening. He liked what she’d done with her hair tonight, thick coils of auburn fire pinned atop her head, with little tendrils curling down to kiss her brow and earlobes—as he would love to. That luscious mouth, too.
‘…do you not think so, Hadley?’
Startled by the sound of his name, he jerked his head back to find the marquess regarding him, a slight smile on his face. Realising he’d not only been rudely inattentive to the host who’d done him the honour of seating him beside him, he’d also been caught staring at the man’s daughter, he gave himself a sharp mental rebuke, feeling his face heat.
If he were a parent worth the name, Lady Margaret’s father must already be curious about the link between them. The last thing he needed was to give the marquess a distaste of him by exhibiting the sort of ill-bred behaviour his half-brother always accused him of—or worse still, have Witlow suspect the strength of his amorous interest in Lady Margaret.
That subject concerned the two of them alone.
‘I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t quite hear. Could you repeat the question?’
‘Certainly.’ A little twitch to his lips, as if he didn’t believe Giles’s excuse for an instant, but didn’t mean to call him on it, Witlow complied. This time, Giles listened closely, telling himself sternly for the remainder of the dinner to concentrate on his host.
Once the diners ventured into political matters, the conversation became stimulating enough to hold Giles’s attention, despite the ever-beckoning temptation of Lady Margaret seated at the other end of the table. Giles deferred to Sir James, letting the senior Member shoulder the burden of defending the Reform cause, adding a comment only when called upon. Not that he was afraid of speaking out, but it would be presumptuous for a junior member to put himself forward when Grey’s aide was present, an experienced man better known to this group than he.
Some time later, he heard Lord Coopley call his name. ‘So, Hadley,’ the baronet said in his gravelly voice, ‘your half-brother tells me you carry a torch for the Friends of the People?’
‘In a way,’ Giles replied. ‘Since Lord Grey himself formed the group, all of us who call ourselves Reformers are happy to carry on his ideals. Who could disagree with the notion that talent and virtue should be the chief requirements for a Member of Parliament?’
Apparently able to disagree, Lord Coopley sniffed. ‘Every male eighteen and older to have a vote? Parliaments to be elected annually? One member of Parliament for each twenty thousand citizens? Bah! How could the nation’s business be done, with Parliament forming and breaking up every season, and any Tom, Dick and Harry who could stagger to the polls after drinking a quart of election gin able to cast a vote? In private, no less, so one would never know where he stood! I suppose you sympathise with the Spencean Philanthropists, too, who would confiscate all our land and parcel it out, a few acres to every man, woman and child in the land?’
‘Did my half-brother tell you that, as well?’ Giles asked, irritated. Trust George to make him sound like the most rabid radical imaginable.
‘He did. You’re not going to call the Earl of Telbridge’s son a liar, are you?’
Much as he would like to, he knew it wouldn’t be prudent. ‘Certainly not. Though it’s true we agree on very little,’ he replied, trying to walk a cautious line between dismissing the charge as nonsense and agreeing he supported a position he didn’t.
Coopley uttered a bark of a laugh. ‘Distributing land to everyone! I’d like to see what a tailor or a baker or a bricklayer would do with ten acres of prime farmland!’
‘Or a Parliamentarian or lawyer?’ Giles replied with a smile. ‘I think we are all better off staying within our spheres of expertise. I’m sure Mr Stephenson would not like to have me conducting experiments on steam power, lest I blow him sky-high.’
As he’d hoped, the gentlemen laughed, easing the tension.
‘Lord Coopley, could I beg your assistance?’ Lady Margaret interposed, touching that gentleman’s arm. ‘Was it the Warrington Exetors who returned a Tory candidate for the last Parliament, or the Covington Exetors? Your memory for names is keen as a huntsman’s knife, and you know everyone who is anybody.’
‘Covington, my dear, Covington,’ Coopley said, patting her hand. ‘The family have been Tories since Peel’s administration.’ Either forgetting Giles or losing interest in baiting him, the older man launched into a detailed description of each administration in which an Exetor had served.
Giles risked catching Lady Margaret’s eye to give her a quick nod of thanks, to which she replied with a slight smile and a lift of her brows before turning back to her dinner partner.
A short time later, the footmen cleared the table, and Lady Margaret stood up. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to begin your more…lively debates. Thank you all for coming, and I’ll bid you goodnight. Papa, I’ll be reading in the library; come see me later, if the vigorous discourse you’re sure to enjoy after my departure doesn’t totally exhaust you.’
Giles watched her walk out with appreciative eyes. Initially disappointed that she did not even glance in his direction before she left the room, he brightened when he recalled her parting comment about repairing to the library.
Had that been aimed solely at her father…or could he flatter himself that she’d meant it partly for him, too?
At the idea of having her to himself for a few moments, excitement flared, and he immediately began scheming how he might politely get away without exciting comment.
Sir James was watching her, too. ‘She certainly rescued you deftly!’ the baronet murmured to Giles after she disappeared from view. ‘What a consummate hostess! I wish I had the like!’
‘Lady Graham is a very gracious hostess,’ Giles replied.
‘My Fanny does her best, but she doesn’t truly enjoy it,’ Sir James replied. ‘You need only look at Lady Margaret to see she thrives on discussion and debate. An excellent campaigner, too, which my Fanny most decidedly is not! The travelling, the dust, the crowds all exhaust her. There was talk a while back that Sir Francis Mowbrey might lure Lady Margaret away from her father to work her magic on his behalf, but in the end, it came to nothing.’
‘Sir Francis Mowbrey, the Tory MP from Suffolk?’ Giles asked, hoping he sounded like a politely interested guest—rather than like a man completely obsessed by the lady.
‘Yes, he wooed her some years ago, not long after she came out of mourning. Sir Francis was making a name for himself in Tory circles and had all the right qualifications: old landed family, educated at Eton and Cambridge, related to many of the peers in the Lords, not to mention the ladies found him charming. They were engaged, but just before they were to wed, Lady Margaret cried off. Sir Francis was quite public about his displeasure over the break; understandable, I suppose—it was a better match for him than for the lady, as he would gain access to her considerable fortune, as well as her Tory contacts and political expertise.’
Surprised, Giles said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected Lady Margaret to be a jilt. Or capriciously change her mind at the last minute.’
‘Well, let’s just say Sir Francis was better at wooing than he was at fidelity. He liked the ladies as much as they liked him, and though he was discreet about it, apparently continued his little amours even after the engagement. The on dit was that Lady Margaret got wind of it, and decided she didn’t want to become a wife who had to look the other way. Fair enough, I suppose.’
The man sounded like an arrogant jackass, Giles thought, though he made himself utter something appropriately banal. Better not to express his disgust, and risk alerting the baronet to the intensity of his interest in the lady.
But if Sir Francis had been foolish enough to lose the esteem of a woman of Lady Margaret’s stature by trysting with other females, he didn’t deserve her.
And if he’d led her on with declarations of love that turned out to be hollow, that might explain, Giles suddenly realised, why an eminently eligible female like Lady Margaret had chosen not to remarry.
Their attention was recalled by the marquess, who invited each guest to give his opinion on what would be the most important matter to be brought before Parliament in the current session. Mentally filing away what he’d just learned from Sir James, Giles returned his attention to matters political, biding his time until he could take his departure.
Finally, after an hour of intense debate came the lull that enabled him to make his escape. Pleading an early day working on committee reports, he expressed his appreciation to his host and took his leave. After enquiring of a footman where he might find the library, so he could bid his hostess goodnight, Giles walked in the direction indicated and towards the encounter he’d been anticipating all night.
The door to the library stood ajar. Intending to announce himself, he paused on the threshold, taking in the scene within.
Lady Margaret sat on a sofa near the fire, a full brace of candles on the table beside her, a slight smile on her face as she gazed down at the book she held. Light from the blazing hearth played in a teasing dance on her auburn hair, setting the burnished locks aglow and illumining her pale face with a blush of amber.
The sight of her, looking so solitary and yet so serene, struck his chest like a blow. In a rush of memory, he recalled how, after being put to bed, he’d sneak back to the small parlour in the little cottage he’d occupied with his mother, wanting another story or a goodnight kiss. He’d slip in to find her alone and reading, and think how beautiful she was. Long before he’d learned that they were poor, that they’d been cast off by his father, that she was living in exiled disgrace, he’d felt such a deep sense of peace and safety when she welcomed him with a hug before carrying him off to bed again.
Lady Margaret cast so similar an aura, for a moment he had the ridiculous feeling that he was coming home.
Before he could shake it off, as if that special energy that sizzled between them had alerted her to his presence, she looked up. ‘Mr Hadley!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is the group breaking up so soon?’
‘No, the rest of the gentlemen are still avidly engaged. I believe they’ll be there until the brandy gives out.’
She laughed softly, a musical sound that made him want to smile. ‘Since the supply is virtually inexhaustible, they should be there until dawn. But you need to leave?’
‘Well…’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘To be honest, I must admit I made my excuses early…hoping to have a private word with you.’
Her smile widened. ‘And I was hoping you might slip away. Won’t you come in?’
A body blow from a skilled pugilist couldn’t have kept him from advancing towards her. ‘With pleasure.’
Chapter Seven (#ulink_b5f8381d-c2a9-5106-b4a9-883f54bce5e2)
Looking up to find Mr Hadley standing on threshold, so discretion-meltingly handsome with his broad-shouldered form outlined by the darkness beyond and his face illumined by candlelight, she at first thought she’d longed for him so fiercely, she was only imagining his presence. Then he smiled, confirming he was no illusion, and her foolish heart leapt in gladness.
‘I’m so pleased you took my hint that I’d be in the library,’ she said, trying to slow her pulse as she waved him to a seat on the sofa beside her.
‘I’m so pleased you gave me the hint.’
Now that she’d got what she’d hoped for, she felt unaccountably shy. ‘Did you enjoy the discussions?’ she asked, feeling even more foolish for falling back on the prosaic, when she really wanted to ask him all about himself—his youth, his schooling, how he’d developed an interest in politics, what he wanted to achieve…whether he would reconcile with his father. Oh, she wanted to know everything about him!
He laughed. ‘The exchange did indeed become more “lively” after your departure! With Sir James to buttress my position, I flatter myself that I gave as good as I got, and managed to rattle a few firmly held opinions. Enough that I thought it prudent to depart and leave them to enjoy their brandy in peace.’
‘I thought you held your own admirably during dinner—and with great diplomacy. Especially with Lord Coopley.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid he can be quite dogmatic, but he’s been Papa’s mentor since he entered the Lords. He’d be so hurt if he learned Papa had hosted one of his “discussion evenings” and we had not invited him.’
‘I did rather feel like a Christian in the arena after the tigers were released. Thank you again for the rescue, by the way. Browbeating aside, I found it useful to hear all the arguments the Tories may summon; it will help my committee prepare the best responses to counter them. Because the Lords must pass the bill this session.’
‘Must?’ she echoed, puzzled. ‘Why “must” this time, when they’ve already failed several times before?’
‘Surely you observed the mood of the country when you went out to Chellingham! There’s even more agitation in the counties, especially in the northern industrial districts around Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds. Memories of the St Peter’s Field Massacre are still vivid. By failing to vote for reasonable change, the Lords could foment the very rioting and civil discord they think to avoid.’
Alarmed, she was going to ask him to elaborate when he held up a hand. ‘But enough politics for one evening! First, let me compliment you on a delicious dinner. After the bachelor fare I usually settle for, it was quite sumptuous! You really are, as Sir James asserted, the perfect hostess, providing for the needs of your guests, making sure everyone is included in the conversation, inserting a soothing comment here and there if the discussion gets heated—without the overheated gentleman ever noticing he’d been deflected. Quite masterful!’
‘Thank you,’ she said, flushing with pleasure at his praise. ‘I do enjoy it, especially “discussion evenings” such as this one, where there are a range of views exchanged. Alas, despite the best pamphleteering efforts of Anna Wheeler and William Thompson, I fear women will not get the vote soon. This gives me some way to contribute.’
‘Your lady mother does not enjoy playing hostess?’
‘Mama’s health is…delicate. She lost two babes in London in the early days when Papa first sat in the Lords; the experience left her with a permanent distaste for the city and, I’m afraid, for politics. Much as she and Papa dislike being apart, she now remains year-round in the country, while Papa resides here when Parliament is in session.’
‘But your brother does not? As active in politics as your father is, I would have thought he would urge his son to stand for one of the seats in his county—or in one of the boroughs he controls.’
‘I’m afraid Julian has no interest at all in politics—much to Papa’s disappointment.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I was the child who inherited that passion. After Mama took us into the country, it was always me, not Julian, who pestered Papa to tell us all about what had happened during the session after he came home to Huntsford. When I spent my Season with my great-aunt Lilly, I persuaded Papa to let me play hostess for a few of his political dinners—and loved it! And so, after…after I was w-widowed,’ she said, not able even after all this time to speak of losing Robbie without a tremor in her voice, ‘I took it up again.’
‘Your brother stays in the country, as well? I don’t recall ever hearing of him in town.’
‘Yes, he watches out for Mama, to whom he is devoted, and manages the estate. After all, he will inherit it, and such a vast enterprise requires careful supervision. Papa began to train him for it when he was quite young, and Julian loves working the land.’
‘While you prefer the city?’
‘Oh, no, I love being at Huntsford! My husband’s estate is in the same county, and had things…not worked out otherwise, I would have been content to live out my life there. Afterward, I…needed to get away. Fortunately, Papa was willing to take me on again as his hostess.’ She gestured around her. ‘So here I am, back in the bosom of my family, though I do return almost daily to my own house in Upper Brook Street. Father, Mama, Julian were everything to me when…when I lost my husband. I really don’t know how I would have survived without them. Excuse me, I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but that is what I find so tragic about your situation—that you are estranged from your own father, and from the land and people it will one day be your responsibility to manage and look after.’
He seemed to recoil, and worried she’d trespassed on to forbidden ground, she said, ‘It’s none of my business, I know. I hope I haven’t offended you.’
He’d clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he relaxed it. ‘You’re quite brave. Most of my acquaintance don’t dare mention the earl.’
She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Foolhardy, rather than brave. It just…makes my heart ache to hear about a family estranged from one another. After losing two siblings and…and my best friend and dearest love, those few I have left are so precious to me. One never knows how much time one will have with them. Another reason I enjoy playing hostess to Papa.’
He nodded. ‘That’s true enough. With the thoughtlessness of youth, I never imagined I would lose my mother so early.’
‘She must have been wonderfully brave. To endure being isolated, with even her own family abandoning her.’
He laughed shortly. ‘A child accepts what he knows as “normal”. It never occurred to me while I was growing up in that little cottage on the wilds of the Hampshire downs that we were isolated or alone. Of course, like most boys, I wished I had brothers to play with, but Mama made the humble place we occupied a haven, full of joy and comfort. By the time I’d been away long enough to understand what had happened, why we lived as we did, it was too late. Too late to tell her how much I appreciated the love and care she gave, and the tremendous strength and courage she displayed in creating a happy home for her child, despite her own sorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘When my aunt came to take me away to school, I pleaded not to have to leave. I was certain I would be content to spend my whole life there, in that little cottage.’
Emboldened by having him answer her other questions, knowing she was pushing the bounds of the permissible, but unable to stop herself she said, ‘So you don’t think you would ever be able to forgive your father—the earl?’
His face shuttered. Alarmed, she feared he’d either say nothing at all, or give her the set-down she deserved for asking so personal a question. But after a moment, he said, ‘Mama could have lied, you know. Denied that she and Richard had been lovers. My aunt told me that the earl had assured her he’d always known she loved Richard, and only wanted the truth. And then he punished her for giving it to him, in the most humiliating fashion possible. Disgraced. Divorced. Repudiated by her own family. How can I forgive him that?’
The anguish in his tone broke her heart, and she wanted to reach out to him—the isolated child whose adored mother had been mistreated and scorned.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But I do know that anger eats away at the soul, creating a wound that festers. One cannot heal until one lets it go.’ Advice she would do well to heed herself, she thought ruefully.
‘Would that I could follow such wise counsel,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some day, I will.’
‘It was presumptuous of me to offer it,’ she admitted.
‘Caring,’ he corrected. ‘You do offer it out of…compassion, don’t you?’
Oh, it wasn’t wise for her heart to ache for his pain—but it did. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
With a sigh, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss on it. At his touch, their discussions of politics, her family, his past—all the words in her brain disintegrated, leaving her conscious only of sensation, as the simmering connection between them flamed up, powerful and resurgent. She caught her breath, her fingers trembling in his, fighting the urge to lean closer and caress his cheek.
Then he was bending towards her, his grip on her hand tightening as he drew her against him. She closed her eyes and angled her face up, offering her lips, filled with urgency for his kiss.
He brushed her mouth gently, as if seeking permission. She gave it with a moan and a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Groaning, he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her, pressing her against his chest while he deepened the kiss.
At his urging, she opened her mouth to him. He sought her tongue and tangled his with it, sending ripples of pleasure radiating throughout her body. She rubbed her aching breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer, impatient with the layers of cloth that kept them from feeling flesh upon flesh.
Time, place, everything fell away. She was consumed by him, devouring him, afire with ravening need that raged stronger with every stroke of his tongue.
Lost in mindless abandon, she wasn’t sure how much further she would have gone, had he not suddenly broken the kiss, pushed her away, and jumped up to stumble to the hearth.
‘Voices!’ he rasped, his tone breathless and uneven. ‘Coming this way.’
She heard them then, the shock of cold air against her heated cheeks as he abandoned her slamming her back to the present even as she recognised her father’s tones and Lord Coopley’s growling bass.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered, raising shaking hands to straighten her bodice and smooth her disordered curls.
Seconds later, the two men entered the library, stopping short when they saw she wasn’t alone. ‘Hello, Papa, my lord. Is the group breaking up?’ she managed.
‘Yes, the others have gone,’ her father said, looking curiously between her and Hadley. ‘Coopley and I were going to have one last brandy.’
‘As you can see, Mr Hadley lingered to thank me for dinner, and I’m afraid I waylaid him with some further conversation, even though he’d informed me he needed to get away to prepare for a meeting tomorrow. But I shall let him go now.’
Whatever her father might be thinking about finding the two of them alone together, he made no comment. ‘We will wish you goodnight, then, Mr Hadley. Thank you for attending our little gathering, and I hope we will have the pleasure of your company again soon.’
‘The pleasure was certainly mine,’ Hadley replied. ‘Lady Margaret, Lord Witlow, Lord Coopley.’ He bowed, and before she could more than nod, he strode from the room.
‘Will you join us, Puss?’ her father asked.
The last thing she needed now, with her body in an uproar and her mind in disarray, was to face her father’s all-too-perceptive scrutiny. ‘No, you’ll wish to finish whatever discussion was ongoing, and I don’t want to prevent you. I am rather sleepy, so I’ll take myself to bed.’
She rose and walked over to give each man a kiss, hoping her father wouldn’t notice her breathing was still uneven and her hands were trembling.
At a pace she hoped looked decorous rather than panicked, she exited the library.
The following morning, after tossing and turning for hours, Maggie got up at first light. Too restless, and irritated by her restlessness, to attempt to return to sleep, she decided to go for an early morning gallop. The rush of cold air and exhilaration of a hard ride would settle her, clear her muddled mind, and help her decide what she must do.
She rang for her maid, donned her habit, and as the first grey light broke over city, gathered her horse and a sleepy groom and set out for Hyde Park.
She knew what frustrated desire felt like—she’d experienced it often enough, after friendship with Robbie turned to passion, and before they could be wed. Tiring her body with a strenuous ride would dissipate it. If only it might also dissipate the confusion in her brain, and resolve the tug and pull between the compulsion to pursue a relationship with Hadley, and the caution that warned she had far too little self-control where he was concerned, and ought to avoid him.
Sending her groom home after she made it safely to the park, since the sun would be well up by the time she was ready to return, she urged her mare to gallop. For the next hour, she alternated between riding hard and resting her mount, until her hands ached and her legs were trembling.
But the clamour of her body for more of Hadley’s touch had not abated. Not was her mind any clearer than when she’d set out.
Irritated at herself for this unusual inability to make up her mind, she was walking her lathered mare along the path when, rounding a corner, she came upon the cause of her dilemma, trotting on a high-stepping chestnut gelding.
His horse, obviously fresh, reared up, giving Maggie a few seconds to calm the sudden racing of her heart at seeing Giles Hadley again.
He dismounted and walked towards her, his face alight in a smile. ‘Lady Margaret! How delightful to see you. Though it is rather early for a ride.’
Oh, how she could lose herself in that smile! It took all her increasingly feeble strength of will to keep herself from running to him and throwing herself in his arms. ‘I don’t like to waste the morning in bed. At least, not alone.’
Horrified she’d actually said that aloud, her cheeks flamed as, after a shocked moment, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now, that’s a sentiment with which I can heartily concur.’
He fell in step beside her—just a hand’s breadth away. The air between them fairly sparkled with sensual tension. Oh, she wanted…how she wanted.
She hadn’t felt this powerful an attraction, this irresistible a need, since the early days of her marriage with Robbie. Love might be out of the question…but it was only the matter of the ever-ticking clock before the possibility of passion was lost, too. Could she pass up this chance to feel again its heat and power and fulfilment?
A pied piper to lead her wherever he wished, he looked down at her as he took her hand and kissed it. ‘My very dear Lady Margaret.’
Her world narrowed to the wonder of his blue-eyed gaze, the force of the need flowing from her to him, from him to her, in that simple clasp of fingers.
Before prudence had a chance to try to wrestle will back under control, she blurted, ‘I’m about to be very unladylike. But as I discovered some years ago, one cannot depend on the future; if one sees something one wants, one should seize it while one can.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘And you see something you want?’ he asked softly.
‘You,’ she whispered. And then sucked in a panicked breath, terrified, once the word had been spoken and couldn’t be taken back, that her brazenness would shock or offend him, that he would utter some blighting word and walk away. Would he be gentleman enough not to make her a laughingstock at his clubs? she wondered, light-headed at the risk she’d just taken.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he shook his head a little. ‘Excuse me, Lady Margaret. Did you just suggest what I think you did?’
‘Yes,’ she said tartly, her face burning now with heat of another sort, ‘and I do wish you would answer, instead of staring at me in that confounding way. If you intend to refuse, please do so, and let me bid you good day and quit the park before I expire of mortification.’
‘You must know I’m not about to refuse!’ With a laugh, he lifted the hand she’d almost forgotten he still held and brought it to his lips. ‘You must excuse my shock; I’ve never been offered carte blanche by a lady before. But now that I’ve recovered, I have only two questions: Where? When?’
She better do this immediately, before she lost her nerve. ‘My house—Upper Brook Street, Number Four. Now. The elderly cousin who lives with me for form’s sake is very deaf, and never rises before noon. Come by way of the mews. I’ll tell the grooms to admit you.’
He nodded, and without waiting for anything more—she was now so agitated, she couldn’t have stood still a moment longer in any event—Maggie tugged on the reins and led her horse away.
Giles stared after the retreating form of Lady Margaret, still not sure he’d heard her correctly. Rapidly he replayed the conversation in his mind: yes, it had not been just wishful imagining. She really had invited him to become her lover.
Now.
Hell and damnation, what was he doing just standing here?
With a joyful laugh, he tugged on the reins to bring his horse close, then threw himself into the saddle. After one reckless, whooping delight of a gallop around the deserted Rotten Row, startling milkmaids and scattering cows, he pulled up, laughing.
He still couldn’t believe it. After the suspicion in the eyes of her father when he caught them in library last night—after kissing her with wanton abandon on the sofa in her father’s library, the door open, a roomful of guests only a few doors away, any one of whom could have walked in and discovered them, he’d thought he’d be lucky if she even spoke to him again.
He’d come to the park to ride before his meetings this morning, to clear from his mind the fog of last night’s brandy and to work out how best to apologise. He couldn’t explain it to himself—how he couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her, couldn’t touch her without wanting the feel of her body pressed against his, his mouth on hers…
Instead of being forced to grovel for forgiveness for his effrontery, after three short meetings, she was inviting him into her arms. He shook his head, marvelling. The progression towards that invitation was like no path of seduction he’d ever trod before. There’d been virtually no flirting, no exchange of remarks laden with suggestive double entendres, no meaningful glances, no surreptitious touches in public, heightening desire by inciting it when it could not be sated.
Just a great deal of conversation centred on politics, sensual tension ever humming between them, and one sanity-robbing, blazing inferno of a kiss.
Lord bless a lady who knew her own mind! The connection must be as powerful for her as was for him.
He took another circuit around the park, letting the gelding walk off the heat of the gallop, until he judged the lady would have had enough time to return home and prepare herself. The thought of her removing her habit, brushing out her hair, waiting for him, naked under her dressing gown, tightened his chest and hardened other things until, almost dizzy with desire, he could scarcely breathe.
His mouth dry, his member throbbing, he imagined that first touch. He’d worship her with hands and mouth before the first possession. Giddy with delight, on fire with need.
As for the committee meeting to begin soon, he dismissed it without a second thought. The Whigs had been trying to pummel through a Reform Bill for almost ten years; this one could wait a few hours for his attention.
He—and Lady Margaret—could not.
Grinning, he turned his mount towards Upper Brook Street.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_018250d9-ab0e-530d-a7a4-074322507cff)
By the time Maggie reached her town house, the heat of the ride had evaporated, leaving second thoughts to ambush her with the ferocity of a Reform zealot decrying a rotten borough. As she turned her horse over to the groom, she opened her mouth to tell him a gentleman would be coming for whom he must unlock the gate…but the words died on her lips.
She took the stairs to her bedchamber, directing a passing housemaid to go for hot water and another to help her out of habit and into a morning gown. Although she did keep clothing in both locations, since she was to spend several days at her father’s town house, her lady’s maid would be awaiting her there. Polly would think her mad when she turned up later, saying she’d inexplicably changed her mind and decided to go to her own home after her ride to bathe and change.
Not as mad as Mr Hadley would think her, when he arrived shortly to discover she’d changed her mind about an affair.
Oh, why could she not have reined in her raging desire before she blurted out that ill-judged invitation? She’d rather walk through the House of Lords in her shift than suffer through the interview she was about to have with her erstwhile lover.
He was almost certain to be angry, and with good cause. At best, he would think her a featherhead who didn’t know her own mind; at worst, he’d accuse her of being a tease—or a wanton. It made her sick to think of forfeiting his respect and friendship.
She took a deep breath to settle the nausea. There were worse things. She could weather this loss.
Yet another loss.
Steeling herself for the uncomfortable interview to come, she walked down to the parlour to await Giles Hadley.
She was pacing restlessly when he arrived, some fifteen minutes later. After a knock at the door, a puzzled footman showed him in, and he came over to take her hand and kiss it. ‘I’m afraid the groom forgot to leave the gate unlocked,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘I had to bang and shout before I attracted attention, and he let me in and took my horse. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.’
He looked down at her face as he said that, and his smile faded. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing in concern. ‘What happened?’
She pulled her hand free, the nausea returning with her nervousness. ‘Nothing—except I’m an idiot. I’m very sorry, Mr Hadley—’
‘Giles. I think it’s past time for you to call me Giles, don’t you?’
Ignoring that, she began again. ‘I’m very sorry, and I know I’m acting like a perfect ninny, but…but I’m going to have to rescind my offer. I…I can’t do this.’
‘I see.’ He took a step back, studying her face. ‘You…no longer want me?’
‘No, that’s not it at all! Surely you know how much I want you—I promise you, I’ve never before in my life propositioned a gentleman! It was entirely the unprecedented strength of the attraction between us that drove me to it. That, and the bitter knowledge that the intimacy that brings such joy is precious, and often fleeting, meant to be seized and appreciated while we can. But I can’t risk it.’
Too agitated to remain still, she took to pacing the room, looking back at him as she spoke. ‘I’ll be indelicately blunt. Unlike most matrons who indulge in a tryst, I don’t have a husband who could cover up any…unfortunate consequences. I couldn’t bear to shame my father, and it would kill me to bear a child that I had to give up and could never acknowledge. And before you say anything, neither would I want to drag you into “doing the honourable thing”—forcing us into a marriage neither of us is prepared for.’
Sighing, she came back to stand beside him and looked up to meet his sombre gaze. ‘Yes, I still want—more than you can imagine. But for so many compelling reasons, I cannot have. I am so sorry.’ She swallowed hard, fighting back the humiliation of tears. ‘I…hope you will not think too badly of me.’
She tried to look away, but he took her chin and tilted it back to face him. To her surprise, his expression seemed…tender, rather than aggrieved. ‘I don’t think badly of you at all. Rather the opposite! After what my mother suffered, I understand only too well the penalty imposed upon a woman for a dalliance that a man enjoys with no risk of retribution. To deny what one so strongly desires, in order to not shame family or harm innocents, is an honourable act. But a carte blanche doesn’t have to be completely blank. One can write a few rules upon it.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you not?’ At her puzzled look, he laughed softly. ‘As I’m sure you know, there are many delightful ways to pleasure other than the…consummation that could put you at risk.’
She thought of how, after a long time apart, Robbie had been able to bring her to her peak with just a kiss, while he stroked and fondled. How at any time, his mouth and fingers could tease her closer and closer to that summit, close enough that she might have reached completion, even had he not claimed her.
But what of his pleasure? ‘Do you mean you could be satisfied with…less than full possession?’
In answer, he bent down and captured her mouth. Her lips acutely sensitive after her hasty journey from arousal to frustration to excitement to disappointment, Maggie moaned, his lips coaxing her immediately to response.
‘You see,’ he murmured, breaking the kiss. ‘So many delightful roads to pleasure. If a sensible caution is all that holds you back, you need resist no longer.’
‘But what if I…want more?’ she asked, by no means sure that, under the mind-numbing drug of passion, she’d have the will to restrain herself.
He chuckled again. ‘I’ll just have to refuse you. For protection’s sake, I shall retain the most essential part of my clothing. But do not worry, my sweet. I shall very much enjoy removing all of yours.’
It was a dangerous, outrageous suggestion—but she so wanted to believe it possible. The consequences for failure, however, would be dire.
Her conflict must have been written on her face, for he said, ‘Shall we try?’ Dropping her hand, he went to the hearth and plucked a poker from the fireplace. ‘If I should forget my resolve, use this.’
‘What if I forget?’
‘When you are satisfied, there will be nothing to forget.’
A tremor went through her at the thought. ‘And what of your…satisfaction?’
His eyes lit, the smouldering blue light irresistible. ‘I can show you the ways. Shall I? Now?’
He bent and kissed her again, unabashedly seductive, his tongue insinuating itself into her mouth, stroking, teasing, advancing and withdrawing. Dizzy, she clung to him, pressing against him, taking the kiss deeper, until they were both panting for breath.
She would burn to a cinder if she didn’t have this. ‘Now,’ she said. Knocking the poker aside, she took his hand and led him to her bedchamber.
Once inside the room, she pulled him to her. Angling her head up, she wrapped her his arms around neck and brought her lips to his for another sweet, drugging kiss meant to banish every possibility of misgivings or regret. But as they stumbled towards the bed, she realised muzzily that she wasn’t sure what should happen next, if the usual progression from kissing to completion was to be avoided.
Uncertain, she halted, and broke the kiss. His breathing ragged, he looked down at her, ran a finger gently over her cheek. ‘What is it? More doubts?’
‘Just…I’m not sure what to do…now.’ She waved towards the bed. ‘Perhaps better not to go there?’
‘How about here?’ He urged her to the end of the bed, sat her down and took a step back. ‘Now, you tell me what you want.’
‘What I want?’ she repeated stupidly.
‘Yes. How do I pleasure you best, my sweet lady?’
At the idea of boldly stating aloud how she wanted him to make love to her, she flushed scarlet. ‘I d-don’t know if I can,’ she stuttered, need warring with embarrassment. ‘I’ve…never done this before.’
He must have sensed she was on the brink of another panicked retreat, for he said quickly, ‘Let me imagine, then. If I do something you don’t want, just stop me.’
Before she could stutter out a reply, he sat beside her, wrapped his arms around her and leaned her back against him. Acutely sensitive to his touch, she jumped with surprise when, instead of the more intimate caress she anticipated, he began to massage her shoulders.
It felt heavenly, though, so good it quieted, for the moment, the shrill voice of passion that wanted more. After a moment, with a sigh, she relaxed against him, leaning back into the soothing ministration of his hands.
‘Yes, relax, my sweet,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘This is for you, only for you. At your pace, according to your desires. Only yours.’
Like water dripping off a roof after rain, she felt doubt and tension slide away, one small drip at a time, until at last she was emptied of all worry. As those turbulent emotions exited, need moved in to fill the space, until her whole body was smouldering in slow, sweet arousal.
As if sensing she was ready for more, he bent down to nuzzle her neck, then sucked and nipped his way towards her ear. She shuddered as he reached the sensitive spot below the lobe, then licked and suckled the edge. ‘Do you like that?’ his whisper rasped in her ear.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, squirming to turn so she might meet his lips.
But gently, holding her in place, he massaged from her shoulder down her arms and under, stroking along her ribs. With a whimper, she arched her back, straining to bring his caressing fingers up to her breasts.
Seeming to understand, he halted, lifting his hands up to cup her breasts. A long shuddering sigh escaped her as he rubbed his thumbs over each peaked nipple.
‘Do you want this?’ he whispered.
‘Yes!’
‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘I want you to…to caress my breasts,’ she got out, finding it easier this time to voice the need.
She felt his hardness surge against her, and she realised, in a little flash of awe and gratification, that it aroused him to hear her say the words aloud. Emboldened by the knowledge, she said, ‘I want to feel your hands on my naked breasts.’
Ah, once again she felt that delicious hardness press more firmly against her as he bent to place a long, nibbling kiss on the nape of her neck. ‘Gladly.’
The drum of her heart accelerated as he moved away a bit, and she felt his hands unfastening the tapes at the back of her gown. ‘Hurry!’ she urged, increasingly impatient, now that she’d envisioned it, to feel that intimate touch.
He worked the bodice free, and she helped him shrug it off, but the skirt still held shift and stays in place. ‘Females,’ he said, kissing the bit more of her back bared by the removal of the bodice, ‘wear entirely too many garments.’
Murmuring agreement, she wriggled on the bed, expecting him to unlace and remove the restricting skirt. Instead, he reached up to grab a pillow, dragged it down and leaned her back against it.
As she lay back, the stays beneath her breasts pulled the fine linen of her shift tight across her nipples. Before she could think what he was doing, Giles took nipple, fabric and all into his mouth and suckled.
The heat and wetness of his mouth, the friction of the fabric created a sensation both similar, and entirely different, from anything she’d experienced before, when loving had begun only after she’d been completely undressed. The friction sparked a tremor that seemed to go straight to her core, sparking there a similar reaction of warmth, wetness, and tightening the spiral of desire.
His mouth moved to her other breast, bringing the magic of moisture and friction to that nipple while his thumb circled over and rubbed the wet fabric. Tension coiled tighter as the fire within built and built, until she was straining towards the peak.
Her skin flushed with heat, she tossed her head restlessly, tilting her hips, instinctively trying to move in the familiar, rhythmic pattern. As she writhed beside him, he moved his mouth to claim hers, his lips demanding entry, his tongue sweeping in to lave and dominate. At the same time, he swept an arm down under her skirts.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, seeking out his tongue, darting with hers to explore and lave each corner of his mouth. Then gasped, as his hand beneath her skirts caressed and squeezed in a slow ascent…his whole hand surrounding her ankle…two fingers tracing the delicate skin behind her knee…a single finger tracing the top edge of her stocking, sliding under and out, under and out. And finally, finally, while she whimpered her need, he moved the hand up and cupped her.
She wiggled beneath it, wanting him to go further, but for a maddening few moments, he simply rubbed that mound with his whole hand. Finally, when she thought she would shatter if he delayed any longer, he slid two fingers down to caress the tiny bud at her centre.
After so many years of abstinence, it took only this single touch to send her spiralling into the abyss. Crying out, she tensed as pleasure ignited, sending sweet fulfilment rushing outward in waves from her centre through her body to the very tips of her fingers, her toes, her earlobes.
A few mindless moments later, as the tremors faded, she sagged back, replete. In the vastness of the ocean of contentment, one small worry floated forth as, finally conscious of his rapid breaths and the still-hard member pressed against her, she realised he had not yet had his satisfaction.
Before she had recovered enough for speech, he bent to kiss her again, this time light and tender. Murmuring, she opened her mouth to him. But after a minute of gentle caresses, his tongue grew bolder, laving hers, teasing the tip. A spark of arousal flamed up out of the ashes of fulfilment.
Within a few moments, her heartbeat accelerated and she felt the pulse begin to pound in her ears again. And then, he moved his fingers from her little nub and nudged them at the entrance to her passage.
She gasped, arousal building in one giant leap, and pushed against him, wanting the exquisite caress of those fingers to slide deeper, to the very core of her.
But he took his time, progressing deeper ever so slowly, each minute a new bit of flesh igniting as he touched it. When at least he’d penetrated to the depths of her and began a slow advance and withdrawal, advance and withdrawal, she was sobbing with arousal.
But he would not be hurried. Only gradually did he increase the rhythm, and when his thrusting fingers finally reached a rapid tempo, she shattered in a climax so intense, she lost all sense of who and where she was.
When the earth had settled, the stars realigned, and the ability to breathe and speak returned, Maggie gazed up to see Giles watching her, a slight smile on his lips.
She smiled back, tried to lift a finger to trace his lips, and couldn’t quite manage it. He caught her hand and kissed it.
‘That was—glorious,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’
His smile widened and he made her a little bow. ‘Your humble servant is pleased to serve.’
She shook her head at him. ‘But it’s not right.’
His smile vanished. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That was the most erotic experience of my life—and you are still completely clothed.’
He grinned again. ‘What would you have me remove?’
‘Nothing! Not yet. But if you will pour me some restorative wine—there should be a decanter on the table over there—I will endeavour to do the removing.’
‘I like the sound of that. But remember—the breeches stay on.’
She gave him a long, slow smile. ‘So did my shift.’
She saw him catch her meaning in the widening of his eyes and sharp intake of breath. Bounding up, he soon located decanter and glass, poured a generous amount, and offered it to her.
She sat up and took a long swallow, then handed him the glass. She could see the erection straining against his trouser flap as he carried the glass back to the table, and another spiral of anticipation and delight whirled through her.
She stood, unhooking her skirt, stepping out of it and tossing it away; she didn’t want its clinging length to get in the way of what she planned. When he came back to the bed, she motioned to the place she’d been seated and said, ‘Sit, please.’
He promptly complied, then looked up at her. She could see the rapid pulse beating at his temples and smiled, pleased at this evidence of his heightened desire.
She stood before him and began untying his cravat, slowly unwinding and removing the broad band of linen, then folding it neatly. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to heighten anticipation with delay. After flicking back the edges of his shirt, she moved her hands to massage his shoulders and bent to kiss his bared throat.
He sighed when her lips contacted the rough skin, then groaned as she licked her way to the hollow where the pulse beat strongly. Massaging still, she kissed up his throat to nibble his jaw, evading his mouth when he tried to meet her lips, and continuing to lick and nip from the jawline up to his ears, his cheekbones, across his closed eyes, to his brow and into the hairline.
Reaching down, she lifted his arms and pulled the shirt over his head. She stepped back a moment to admire him, all muscled shoulder and strong arms and broad chest, where the flat nipples puckered.
He hissed between his teeth as she slowly ran a fingernail over each one.
Lifting her skirts, she bared herself to the waist, watching his face as he watched her. He opened his lips, an inarticulate mumble, and she placed a finger over his mouth to forestall any protest. Then she sat down on his lap and straddled him, her naked torso pressed against his trousers.
She felt his member leap as she wound her legs around his back and rocked her hot, moist, naked centre against his fettered erection. With a gasp, he cupped her bare bottom and pulled her closer. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him hard, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest while he picked up the rhythm, thrusting against her.
He must have been as ready as she had been, for after half-a-dozen such thrusts, he turned rigid in her arms, gasping into her mouth as his completion swept over him. Kissing him still, she followed him down as he collapsed back on to the bed, his chest drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged.
Rolling over to cuddle beside him, she pushed the moist hair off his brow and stroked it, waiting for his breathing to steady and slow, aglow with more peace and contentment than she’d felt since… She pushed her mind back from the thought. This moment was for enjoying now, without tarnishing it with sadness from the past.
At length, with a groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘Thank you, my sweet. Although if we hadn’t made this…unusual bargain, I should have to apologise for…reaching the finish line so quickly.’
‘No matter. Shall we rub down the horse and prepare him to race again?’
His eyes lit. ‘Absolutely. Although for safety’s sake, I should do the “rubbing”.’
‘Absolutely not. When I serve, my service is complete.’
She walked over to the dressing table, poured water in the washbasin and returned with it and a soft rag. He stayed her hands when she attempted to unbutton the trouser flat.
‘It will be all right,’ she told him, going down before him. ‘I promise, my knees shall not leave the floor.’
‘If you’re certain.’
‘I am.’ Pushing his hands aside, she plucked open the buttons and pulled the flap free, exposing his spent member. Gently and carefully she washed it with the rag, then the upper part of his legs and his belly. Once he’d been cleansed, she began pulling the rag slowly over the exposed skin. She bent down and blew a breath over the dampness, watching as he shivered, the little hairs on his stomach standing on end.
Pleased, she moved the damp cloth back to his now-stirring member. Up and down she stroked, alternating the soft caress of the rag with a long exhale over the tightening skin, bending closer each time, until her lips were almost but not quite touching him.
She looked up, into blue eyes locked upon her. ‘Does this please you?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me. Tell me what you like.’
He smiled slightly, picking up the game. ‘I like having you stroke me. I like feeling your warm breath on my cock.’
At the words, she felt her own nipples tighten and the moist heat build between her legs. She bent and licked the hard velvet tip, which jerked under her ministrations. He gasped, his hands clutching the bedclothes, his arms rigid.
‘Do you like that?’
‘Yes. I love having your tongue on my cock.’
‘Good.’ She bent forward again and grasped him with one hand, holding him steady as she took him in her mouth, slid him in and back out.
‘Do you like that?’
‘Devil’s breath, yes! I could live for ever inside your mouth.’
She leaned forward to suckle him again. Oh, what a wonder he was, all hardness and sinew, silky tip and satin shaft. She loved the taste and feel of him, loved the groans she elicited as she licked and suckled, laved and stroked. After a few moments, he dropped the bedclothes and clutched her shoulders, thrusting with her as she took him to completion.
As he fell back on to the bed, limp, she returned the basin and refreshed the wine glass. She was sitting beside him, sipping from it, marvelling at the power and beauty of sensual pleasure, when he stirred and opened those incredible blue eyes.
And smiled at her.
Her foolish heart expanded and she smiled back, a smile of pure joy and contentment. Oh, how easily she could become accustomed to this loving—and this man!
‘That was beyond words glorious,’ he told her, sitting up to accept the wine glass and take a long sip. ‘But it wasn’t right.’
‘No?’ she said with a chuckle. ‘You didn’t seem to complain at the time.’
‘Ah, but that’s because I knew I would insist on having my turn.’
Her simmering senses sparked as the meaning of those words penetrated. Before she could respond, though, he continued. ‘I believe a little more undressing is called for, once we finish this wine.’
‘If you wish.’
He gave her a long, slow, heated scrutiny. Her skin prickled as his gaze passed over it, as if she could literally feel his touch as his eyes inspected her. ‘Oh, I wish—to touch everything.’
They shared the glass, then Hadley returned it to the table and came back to the bed. She looked up at him, little eddies of excitement swirling in her stomach, and all her nerves once again primed for his touch.
‘First, this.’ he said, and began raking the pins from her hair, until the heavy mass fell to her shoulders and down her back.
‘If you only knew how often I dreamed of doing this,’ he murmured as he continued to comb his fingers through her hair until he’d winnowed out all the pins. Then he arranged the waves over her shoulders, down her back, and around her breasts. Hands on her shoulders, he took a step back, once again studying her.
‘Glorious,’ he pronounced, and kissed her.
She murmured in protest when he broke the kiss, and he chuckled. ‘Do not fret, my sweet. There will be more of that, soon enough.’ Urging her to stand, he unlaced her underskirt, pulled it down, and helped her step out of it. He stood up and drew her close, kissing her again, light and gentle, then deeper and penetrating. While he drugged her with his mouth, he slowly raised the hem of her shift, until he could reach her garters. After unhooking her stocking, he urged her to sit.
He knelt before her, slowly rolling down the stocking, and kissing the skin of her leg as he bared it: inner thigh, knee and the soft skin behind it, along the shin, around the fullness of calf, across the smooth arch of the foot, until he pulled it free from her foot and suckled each toe in turn.
Glad she was seated, for she would have been too dizzy to stand, she braced herself on the bed as he started on the remaining garter and leg. Once he had her bare-legged, he stood her up, unlaced and tossed away her stays, then pulled the shift over her head.
She stood before him completely naked now, but so sensitised by his touch that she felt no embarrassment. Only an exuberant confidence, from seeing the need blazing in his gaze, that he found her desirable, and anticipation for what he would do next.
In answer, he eased her on to the bed and against the pillows. ‘Close your eyes, my sweet, and just feel,’ he murmured.
And so she did. He began at her temples, kissing and stroking lightly, over her cheeks and lips, her ears and chin. He fisted his hands in her hair, then brushed the silky strands against her shoulders, her arms before he nibbled and kissed them. Slowly he progressed lower, teasing with the satin brush of her hair, tantalising with the soft pressure of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue.
She was breathing hard again, feeling the climax building, by the time he reached her waist, her hipbones, the round of belly. But to her dismay, he bypassed her aching centre, instead moving down her legs, her knees, her ankles and toes.
She pulled at his hands, trying to urge him higher, but he would not be hurried. Gently detaching himself, he returned to his slow transit up and around her legs, setting off delicious vibrations in nerves she didn’t know she possessed.
And then, finally, his mouth moved to the tender skin of her inner thighs. At his urging, she let her legs fall open, giving him full access to the most intimate part of her. When she thought she could stand the wait no longer, he at last moved his mouth to her.
He parted the nether lips and licked delicately at the little bud within. Frantic, she twisted her head from side to side, lifting her hips to bring him closer. Then, with tongue and fingers, he traced the path into her slick passage.
So near to the precipice was she that only a few strokes would have been enough to send her spinning into the free fall of climax. But this time, she wanted them to reach that pinnacle together. Rolling away from him, she sat up, then pulled him to lie down beside her, his head towards the bottom of the bed, then lay back down with her own head on the pillow.
Understanding her intent, he eagerly returned to tasting her, while she slid her hand under the waistband of his breeches to clasp the erection now within her reach. Stroking him while he laved her, the two of them mingled their cries as they reached the summit together.
For a long, sweet time, they lay panting, spent. Recovering more quickly than Maggie, Giles crawled up to lay on the pillow, then repositioned her with her head resting on his shoulder, her arm across his bare chest, and her leg wrapped around his. After tossing the rumpled blanket over her nakedness, he kissed the tip of her nose and promptly fell asleep.
Lying in his arms watching him, content, replete, Maggie realised she was feeling…happy. Something she hadn’t experienced in so long, she’d almost forgotten what it was like.
That realisation should have terrified her, and maybe it would, later. But for this glorious moment, in the wondrous present, she would simply enjoy it as a gift.
All too soon, Giles stirred. She held her breath as his sleepy eyes opened—would he shatter this magic by tossing back the covers, throwing on his clothes and bidding her a cheery goodbye as he hustled out to his meetings?
She saw that moment recognition of time, place—and his companion—register in those bright blue eyes. Which then widened, as a smile warmed a face alight with what she didn’t dare call tenderness.
‘My sweet lady,’ he murmured. ‘My very dear Lady Margaret.’
Despite her efforts to restrain it, her own heart swelled with an answering emotion. ‘After this morning, I think it should be “Maggie”, don’t you?’
‘My very dear Maggie,’ he repeated, and pulled her head down for a kiss—gentle, caressing almost—cherishing. As he released her, he said, ‘I wish we’d awakened in the Outer Hebrides.’
Puzzled, she angled her head at him. ‘You have a fondness for cold Scottish islands?’
He chuckled. ‘No, my love! But if we were in the Hebrides, I could resume the delightful business that has occupied us this morning. Since we are unfortunately in London, I suppose I must finally bow to my responsibilities and get back to work. I can only hope Davie hasn’t already sent out a search party, certain he’s going to discover my cold, dead body in some dark alley somewhere.’
‘You seldom miss meetings?’ she guessed.
‘I’m normally the first to arrive and the last to leave. But this morning I had a more pressing engagement. Although, to make up, I probably will be the last to leave.’
Reluctantly, she slid away and off the bed. Now that the loving was over, she should feel awkward, standing completely naked before a man she knew so slightly.
But he had loved her so well and so tenderly, all she felt was warmth and gratitude.
Tracking down his shirt, she brought it over to the bed, while he moved to sit up and lifted his arms for her to slip it back over his head. ‘The cravat is probably hopeless,’ he advised as she brought that over. ‘I’ll have to stop by my rooms to change out of riding gear anyway, before I go to Parliament. Though I heartily approve of my valet’s current uniform,’ he said, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on each bare nipple. ‘Can I help you, or would you rather call your maid?’
‘I’d appreciate the help. I’m sure the staff already has an accurate notion of how we spent the morning, but I’d rather be dressed when I face them. My lady’s maid, who’s been with me for years, would probably freeze any gossip, were she here, but unfortunately she’s at my father’s house. And incidentally, since I left to ride at dawn, she’s probably wondering if she should send out a search party to look for my cold, dead body.’
As she talked, she tossed on her shift, gathered up stays and stockings, and went to the clothes press to extract her habit, and Giles stepped closer to help her into them. He made an excellent lady’s maid; Maggie refused to let herself speculate how he’d become so skilled.
Once she was dressed, he took one hand and kissed it. ‘Will the servants gossip?’
‘I don’t think so. They’ve all of them been with me a long time, and I like to think they are fond of me. Besides, if it comes to it, I’m a woman of age with my own household. I’m not accountable to anyone for my conduct.’
‘I’d prefer there weren’t any salacious talk, though.’
‘No, I wouldn’t imagine that titterings about a tryst with a woman from the wrong party would help the image of—’
‘I don’t care about me!’ he interrupted. ‘But I should definitely take exception if anyone were to malign your reputation.’
‘Thank you, that is kind.’ The euphoria was slipping away, and much as she didn’t want it to end, she had to ask. ‘Will I…be seeing you again?’
His expression turned incredulous. ‘Did you truly think one time would be enough?’
His reassurance delighted her much more than it should. ‘I didn’t know. As I told you, I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know whether, once the…novelty was over, you would want to…continue.’
He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘I cannot wait to touch you again. When can I return?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule, as I imagine you will need to consult yours. Truly, I didn’t plan for this to happen today.’
‘I heartily approve of your spontaneous idea.’
‘Not totally spontaneous. Following through on the desire was, perhaps. But I’d been thinking about it for a long time—probably from the first moment I met you. I tried to talk myself into being prudent and responsible, but every time I see you, prudence and responsibility seem to fly out the window—and in flies this great, fierce bird of need that grips me in its claws and won’t let go.’
He leaned over to kiss her again. ‘Here’s to great, fierce birds. I hope you keep a whole flock of them.’
She shook her head. ‘You must think me absurd.’
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I think you delightful. Whimsical. Fascinating. The most glorious lover who has ever touched me. But now I must go. Do check your schedule and send me a note. Number Six, Albany. And make it soon.’
‘Number Six, Albany,’ she repeated.
He pulled her to him and gave her one last kiss, deep, cherishing, possessive, powerful. ‘Oh, yes—soon!’ she said, and let him go.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_04d94b8e-5ee2-5751-a09d-a80cf05cbee8)
Maggie stood in the doorframe, watching Giles as he descended the stairs, then walked back into the bedchamber to pour herself another glass of wine.
Goodness, two glasses of wine before luncheon! But then, the occasion deserved it. She’d just propositioned a man she knew very little, had him come to her house in broad daylight, and spent the morning making love to him while the staff went about their duties and her cousin snored, blissfully unaware, in a nearby bedchamber.
What had come over her?
She’d known Robbie all her life, the transition from best friends to lovers as natural and gradual as growing older. She’d known Sir Francis for several years, been engaged for several months, and even then, only succumbed to his urgings when the protection of a wedding ring loomed. Now, she’d just taken to her bed, if not to ultimate surrender, a man she’d met…three times?
Maggie shuddered. By the world’s measure, she’d be judged a woman of easy virtue, even a harlot. And yet…and yet.
It was more than just the powerful physical connection. Something about him, his passionate support of the causes he found important, and his willingness to devote his life to them, seemed to mesh so well with her ideals of sacrifice and service, making him seem like a friend of long acquaintance, rather than a man she’d barely met. It felt right and natural to sit across the table from him and debate politics; to lie in his arms and thrill to his caresses; to pleasure him and bring him to bliss.
She wanted to do all those things again and again.
A little chill of foreboding cooled the euphoria of satiation. This could end very badly. There was no question Giles Hadley saw this as a pleasant but temporary, short-term liaison. It would be all too easy for her to want much more.
She didn’t dare let herself want more.
What was it that sailors had once said about voyaging towards the edge of the known world—‘beyond here be dragons’? Having dared to venture into something she’d never experienced, behaving in a way she wouldn’t previously have considered possible, she might well learn the bitter truth of that maxim.
But having had just one taste of Giles Hadley, she was not about to stop now.
An hour later, properly garbed in her habit, Maggie rode back to her father’s town house, trying out, during the transit, various explanations for her very tardy return.
A wasted effort, as it turned out. Her maid sat in her bedchamber, bent over some needlework, but before she could utter a syllable, Polly looked up and exclaimed, ‘Lord and stars, missy, what do you think you’re doing?’
Damning the guilty flush heating her face, Maggie gazed at the maid who’d been with her since she was a child at Huntsford and Polly a junior nursemaid. No point trying to deny what the maid already knew, not that she had intended to waste any effort trying to conceal an affair that was probably already the focus of speculation below stairs at Upper Brook Street. ‘I didn’t imagine I could hide anything from you,’ she said with a rueful laugh. ‘But I didn’t expect you’d find out this soon. Who told you?’
The maid raised her eyebrows. ‘You leave at dawn for a ride that normally takes you an hour, and are gone four. Don’t you think I sent that worthless groom back to look for you, and with a flea in his ear for leaving you alone? When he didn’t find you, he stopped by Upper Brook Street—doubtless to delay having to return and report you missing! They told him you were…entertaining a gentleman. Now, you needn’t be worrying the news will get out anywhere but this room and Number Four! We’ve all of us seen you go through more heartache than one body should have to bear, and we’d none of us add to it by tarnishing your name. But gracious, child, what are you thinking?’
‘I suppose you want me to tell you I wasn’t thinking, but that’s not exactly true.’
With her own mother ill for much of Maggie’s life, confiding in Polly had become a childhood habit she’d never outgrown; the wise but sharp-tongued woman had been her supporter and comforter from the days of scraped knees to times of devastating loss. As Maggie trusted she would be now, whether or not she approved of her rash actions.
‘Oh, Polly, I’ve missed Robbie for so long and so keenly. In some ways, Mr Hadley couldn’t be more different than the quiet country gentleman I meant to spend my life with. But he does make me…feel again! The same sort of excitement and delight in life that Robbie did. And the passion. I don’t expect to find again a love like ours, but can’t I enjoy myself a little, before I dwindle into an old widow?’
‘I’ve no objection to you finding pleasure—who deserves it more? But there’s no reason you couldn’t “enjoy yourself” by choosing another fine gentleman to marry—’ She held up a hand, forestalling Maggie’s protest. ‘I know, I know. But even if the husband wasn’t the equal of your Robbie, he could provide you with the passion you seek—safely. How can you even think of risking—?’
‘I’m not! I’m hardly likely to forget what the consequences would be for conceiving a child out of wedlock, and I have no more desire to disappoint Papa and tarnish my name than you would have to see it. I was intimate with Mr Hadley, but in a…controlled way. We’ll not do anything that will risk my becoming with child.’
The maid shook her head. ‘I’ve heard of them “French letters”, or whatever it is the apothecaries call what decent people ought not to use, but nothing will truly stop a babe. I don’t doubt this Mr Hadley is as charming as the devil himself, but it’s still not worth the risk, child.’
‘We’re not using a “French letter”. We are…limiting our intimacy to include only what will avoid any chance of conception,’ Maggie explained, her face flaming, unable to describe it any more plainly even to a woman who knew every mishap she’d ever suffered and every mistake she’d ever made.
It took a minute for Polly to puzzle it out. ‘You mean you’re not letting him—’
‘No. As long as I avoid the ultimate act, why shouldn’t I take some pleasure, when, after so long alone, I’ve discovered a man who intrigues me, whom I intrigue in turn?’
‘I don’t like it, Miss Maggie,’ Polly said, shaking her head. ‘He might be a fine gentleman, and if you like him this much, I’m sure he must be. And he might tell you now that what-all you’re doing is enough for him. But a man’s a man, and sooner or later, he’ll want more, you take my word on it. And then what?’
‘Actually, I think it’s more likely I will want more,’ Maggie admitted. ‘But knowing the consequences, I think I can manage to be at least that prudent—although you would say,’ she continued, watching the expression on Polly’s face, ‘that I am not being prudent at all.’
‘Ah, child, you know I only want what’s best for you. To see you happy and well loved and settled in your own home again, as you were with your Robbie. But you’ll not be finding that if you’re giving away your favours to “intriguing” gentlemen, without benefit of your wedding lines.’
That cut a bit too close to the bone, even coming from Polly. ‘I don’t want any wedding lines!’ she snapped back. ‘Much better to enjoy passion and part when passion cools, than to be yoked for life to a man who no longer interests me.’ Or love again and risk a loss that might drive me to madness.
Though she didn’t imagine the fire of attraction she felt for Giles Hadley would be banked for a long time. Nor, unfortunately, could she honestly claim that she believed she would find life with him tedious, once satiation had honed the sharp edge off appetite.
It was far more likely she’d find living with him very much to her taste.
But it was too late to back away now, nor did she want to. Like a troublesome filly who’d got the bit between her teeth, she would run as far and fast as she could—probably until Giles Hadley tired of the arrangement. She’d just have to restrain her enthusiasm by remembering Hadley expected a short, idyllic interlude, remind herself that was what she wanted, too, and be prepared to send him away at the first sign that he was ready to end it.
If she had any regrets afterward, she would deal with them.
She would certainly never regret the passion.
She came back to herself to discover Polly shaking her head, her expression concerned. ‘Lost as a maid gazing at the moon, dreaming of her lover. Don’t look to me like you’re about to lose interest in this gentleman.’
Probably true. But she wasn’t going to spoil the days ahead worrying about that. ‘What I’m interested in at the moment is changing my gown. I’ve got the household accounts to review, and I’m afraid today is an at-home afternoon.’
And while she was reviewing accounts, she could also review her calendar…and figure out how soon she could see Giles Hadley again.
A short drive away, Giles strode into the entrance to Parliament, a spring in his step. Whistling a merry tune, he headed towards the committee rooms, absently nodding a greeting to the men he passed.
A dawn gallop in the fresh air—and then one of the most sensual experiences of his life. Had any man ever had a more glorious morning?
He’d known from his first glimpse of her that Lady Margaret attracted him. From the first discussion at the inn in Chellingham, her understanding of Parliament and political theory had intrigued him. But never in his fondest imaginings had he anticipated what a skilled, sensual and inventive lover she would be.
Though she was a paradox, he thought with a chuckle. Initially tentative and uncertain, shy as a fawn in a meadow and as ready to bolt. Unable at first to voice what she wanted without blushing…then later, when he put himself literally into her hands, pleasuring him with boldness and skill.
He couldn’t remember being this relaxed, refreshed and…happy for a long time—if ever. If this was bewitchment, he wanted more of it!
It had all happened too fast; his senses and mind were still too stunned in the brilliant, lingering afterglow for him to understand yet the full significance of what they’d done. Or how they would navigate the tricky waters of an intimate relationship and avoid compromising her reputation.
Somehow, they would. Where exactly they might be going, he wasn’t sure. All he did know was he had to have her, and they must go forward.
Secure in that conclusion, he entered the committee room, still humming. Looking up from a stack of papers, Davie exclaimed, ‘Giles, at last! I was beginning to think you’d been abducted.’
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Julia Justiss
Power, privilege and the daring pursuit of passion! Lady Margaret Roberts has sworn off passion…that is, until she meets Giles Hadley. Reluctant viscount Giles is prepared to indulge in an illicit affair. But he must beware, for spirited Maggie awakens in him something even more forbidden – the desire to claim her as his wife! • Faith, Duchess of Ashedon, is saved from attack by an unlikely figure from her past. But David Tanner Smith is no longer the penniless orphan Faith once knew, and with one spine-tingling kiss, their old friendship is transformed to an explosive mix of illicit encounters and forbidden desire…
Regency Rogues
August 2019
Outrageous Scandal
September 2019
Rakes’ Redemption
October 2019
Wicked Seduction
November 2019
A Winter’s Night
December 2019
Unlacing the Forbidden
January 2020
Stolen Sins
February 2020
Candlelight Confessions
March 2020
Rescued by Temptation
April 2020
Wives Wanted
May 2020
Disgraceful Secrets
June 2020
Talk of the Ton
July 2020
Exotic Affairs
About the Author (#ulink_830d8ebe-263e-5e9c-80c0-c7123b0d0185)
Long before embarking on romantic adventures of her own, JULIA JUSTISS read about them, transporting herself to such favourite venues as ancient Egypt, World War II submarine patrols, the Old South and, of course, Regency England. Soon she was keeping notebooks for jotting down story ideas. When not writing or travelling, she enjoys watching movies, reading and puttering about in the garden trying to kill off more weeds than flowers.
Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess
Julia Justiss
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90607-8
REGENCY ROGUES: STOLEN SINS
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount © 2016 Janet Justiss Stolen Encounters with the Duchess © 2016 Janet Justiss
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#ulink_48a65432-01f7-5bf0-bb04-313de9dc0a2b)
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Table of Contents
Cover (#u9f07e4d2-6170-52bd-ac09-014c8290ede8)
About the Author (#u749f19a0-00a5-5846-a645-972af59c65b2)
Title Page (#u2ab32786-0bc9-573b-b61b-12dd5cb836c7)
Copyright (#u005e2b33-f116-5b03-83e6-eb1b9b9524b9)
Note to Readers (#uf18458c7-de7b-557b-bb7c-b91ba04a794b)
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (#u938ddbf7-a3a2-5099-b364-fb19a71eefcf)
Dedication (#u8efc6fca-a14d-523d-a81c-2852aa3dc021)
Prologue (#udffc6c64-c514-5c4b-ad1d-13502bfea944)
Chapter One (#u7f9123f1-2b76-5d27-b8f9-392e65524396)
Chapter Two (#u518225c4-8da3-5acd-a34e-fd74c56eb4be)
Chapter Three (#u7eb6b702-682a-5286-b935-4a70cf16fe2a)
Chapter Four (#uea1b6fe3-ccfd-589e-93e0-618fe113a75e)
Chapter Five (#u295a1239-dfab-549a-ba5f-046b4359c386)
Chapter Six (#u967eb140-0d1e-5568-b368-3ddff79dcf0f)
Chapter Seven (#uc41e7e5f-1716-5ab5-8cda-15331d39fd34)
Chapter Eight (#u898552d5-3ccf-5c92-bc8a-e8833a94a087)
Chapter Nine (#ue8711704-2117-5555-81d4-21a5617f972e)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (#ulink_536f065a-efec-5492-a7a0-32cc47dd09d2)
Julia Justiss
To the Beau Monde group of RWA,
without whose historical expertise and
graciousness in sharing it, this book could
not have been written.
Prologue (#ulink_dcb81b58-77a8-5ea4-8e59-53ac3651afad)
London—late April, 1831
‘So your half-brother is getting married.’
At his best friend’s comment, Giles Hadley, ostensible Viscount Lyndlington and Member of Parliament for Danford, looked up from the reports he was studying in the small private room of the Quill and Gavel, a public house near the Houses of Parliament. ‘George?’ Giles asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.
David Tanner Smith, Member from the Borough of Hazelwick, gave Giles a patient smile. ‘Yes, George. Have you another half-brother?’
Stifling his first sharp reply—that he didn’t care who or whether his irritating half-brother married—he said instead, ‘What makes you think George is getting leg-shackled?’
‘It all but says so in the Morning Post. “Lady M., daughter of the Marquess of W.,” David read, “has been seen frequently of late in the company of the Earl of T.’s younger son, the Honourable G.H. The lady has wealth and impeccable connections, the gentleman aspirations to high office, even if he is not to inherit. Might this be a match made in political heaven?”’
‘Lady Margaret, daughter of the Marquess of Witlow—if I’m correctly filling in the newspaper’s discreet blanks—certainly possesses the credentials to make an ideal wife for any man wanting to dominate Tory circles,’ Giles admitted. ‘No wonder George is interested.’
‘Indeed. With the marquess’s wife in delicate health, Lady Margaret has played hostess for her father for years, ever since she lost her husband—Lord Roberts. Died in a carriage accident, tragically soon after their marriage.’
‘Five or six years ago, wasn’t it?’ Giles asked, scanning through memory.
‘Yes. Besides that, her brother doesn’t care for politics. Which means the man who marries Lady Margaret will not only gain a wife with extensive political expertise, but also inherit all the power and influence the marquess would otherwise have expended on behalf of his son.’
‘A shame she supports the wrong party,’ Giles said. ‘Not that I’ve any interest in marriage, of course.’
‘A greater shame, if reports I’ve heard about the lady’s charm and wit are true, to waste even someone from the wrong party on George.’
Just then, the door slammed open and two men hurried in. With a wave of his hand towards the stacks of paper on the table, the first, Christopher Lattimar, MP for Derbyshire, cried, ‘Forget the committee reports, Giles! The session’s going to be dissolved!’
‘Truly, Christopher?’ David interposed. Looking up at the last arrival, Benedict Tawny, MP for Launton, he asked, ‘Is it certain, Ben?’
‘For once, Christopher isn’t joking,’ Ben replied, his handsome face lit with excitement. ‘Grey’s tired of the Tories making endless delays. He’s going to take the issue to the people. Which means a new election!’
‘That’s great news!’ Giles cried. ‘Sweep the Tories out, and the Reform Bill will be sure to pass! Equal representation for every district, a vote for every freeholder, an end to domination by the landed class—everything we’ve dreamed of since Oxford!’
‘An end to rotten boroughs, for sure,’ David said. ‘I doubt we’ll get the rest—yet. Though I’m not sure why, as a future earl, the rest is so important to you, Giles. To any of you, really. I’m the only one here not of the “landed class”.’
‘You’re the son of a farmer—which makes you “landed” by occupation,’ Christopher said with a grin.
‘My late father’s occupation, not mine,’ David replied. ‘I’d be lucky to tell a beet seed from a turnip.’
‘Whether we get the reforms all at once or by stages, it’s still a landmark day—which calls for a toast!’ Ben said. Stepping to the door, he called out, ‘Mr Ransen, a round of ale for the group, if you please.’
‘Did you truly believe, when we sat around in that dingy little tavern in Oxford recasting the future, that we would ever see this day?’ David asked, shaking his head with the wonder of it. ‘Our views certainly weren’t very popular then.’
‘Neither were we, except with the inn’s doxies. What a mismatched set!’ Christopher laughed. ‘Me, ostensibly the son of a baron, but really the offspring of one of Mother’s lovers, as the snide were ever fond of remarking. Giles, ostensibly heir to an earldom, but estranged from his father, with the favoured half-brother dogging his heels, practically panting with eagerness to step into his shoes.’
‘And making it clear to our classmates that, should he attain that earldom, he’d not forgive or forget anyone who befriended me,’ Giles added, suppressing the bitterness that always simmered beneath the surface.
‘Then there was me, illegitimate son of a lowly governess,’ Ben chimed in. ‘The snide never tired of recalling that fact, either.’
‘But all still gentry born,’ Davie said. ‘Unlike this true commoner. It’s selfish, I know, but I’m glad you three never quite fit in with your peers. I can’t imagine how lonely Oxford would have been otherwise.’
‘You wouldn’t have been lonely,’ Christopher replied. ‘You’re too clever. You always knew the answers, no matter the subject or the don. Who else could have coached us so well?’
Before his friend could reply, the innkeeper walked in with their ale. Claiming glasses, the four friends raised their mugs.
‘To Giles, our impatient leader; to Davie, our philosophical guide; to our rabble-rouser, Ben; and to the final accomplishment of our dreams,’ Christopher said. ‘To the Hellions!’
‘To the Hellions!’ the others repeated, and clinked their mugs.
While the others drank, Davie turned to Giles. ‘A new election means new strategy. Will you campaign?’
‘I’ll make a run through the district,’ Giles said, ‘but my seat’s secure. I’ll probably go canvass in some of the boroughs we’re still contesting. Maybe we can pry more of them out of the hands of the local landowners.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe we can even steal some away from the father of the oh-so-accomplished Lady Margaret.’
Davie laughed. ‘I hear his seats are pretty secure. But by all means, give it a try.’
Giles downed the last of his ale. ‘I just might.’
Chapter One (#ulink_7840605e-a603-567f-8875-40593935305d)
A month later, from her seat in the open carriage in front of the hustings in the market town of Chellingham, Lady Margaret Roberts smiled out at the crowd. ‘You will all turn out for the election tomorrow, won’t you? I’d be most grateful if you’d vote for my cousin, Mr Armsburn! I assure you, he will do his very best to serve your interests in Parliament.’
‘If he promises to send you back every time he needs a vote, it’s his!’ one of the men next to the carriage declared.
‘Aye, and mine, too, for such a pretty smile,’ the man beside him shouted.
‘Thank you, gentleman,’ she replied, blowing each of them a kiss. The crowd’s roar of approval made her laugh and blow another.
Ah, how she loved this! The excitement of the milling crowds, the rising anticipation on election day as the votes were given, knowing that the winner would take his place in Parliament and help forge the destiny of the nation. The thought that she might in some small way have a part in the making of history was a thrill that never faded.
Since the bitter pain of losing her husband Robbie, resuming the role of her father’s hostess and political assistant had been her chief pleasure in life, the only pursuit that distracted her from grief.
The love of her life might be gone, but there was still important work to do. Or at least, she told herself so in the loneliness of her solitary bed.
Pulling herself from her reverie, she looked up—and met a gaze so arresting she instinctively sucked in a breath. Deep-blue eyes—like lapis sparkling in moonlight, she thought disjointedly—held her mesmerised, the pull so strong she felt as if she were being drawn physically closer to him.
And then she realised they were closer. The owner of those magnificent eyes was making his way through the crowd towards her carriage. At the realisation, her heartbeat accelerated and a shock of anticipation sizzled along her nerves.
Those fascinating eyes, she noted as he slowly approached, were set in a strong, lean face with a purposeful nose, sharp chin and wide brow over which curled a luxuriant thatch of blue-black hair. The gentleman was tall enough that his broad shoulders, clad in a jacket of Melton green, remained visible as he forced his way through the crowd.
Just as he drew near enough for her to note the sensual fullness of his lips, he gave her a knowing smile, sending a shiver of sensation over her skin.
How could he make her feel so naked while she was still fully clothed?
And then he was before her, smiling still as he extended his hand.
‘How could I not wish to shake the hand of so lovely a lady?’ he asked, his deep voice vibrating in her ears like a caress. And though she normally drew back from physical contact when there were so many pressing close, she found herself offering her hand.
His grip was as strong and assured as she’d known it would be. Waves of sensation danced up her arm as he clasped her fingers, and for a moment, she could hardly breathe. If she were given to melodrama, she might have swooned.
Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, trying to recover her equilibrium. ‘I hope you will be equally amicable about according your vote to Mr Armsburn?’ she asked, pleased her voice held a calm she was far from feeling.
His smile faded. ‘I hate to disoblige a lady, but I’m afraid I’m here to support Mr Reynolds.’
‘The radical Mr Reynolds? Oh, dear!’ she exclaimed, her disappointment greater than it should have been. ‘I fear our politics will not be in agreement, then, Mr—’
Before the gentleman could answer, a tide of men washed out of the tavern across the street. ‘Free beer, free men, free vote!’ they chanted, pushing into the square. From the corner, a group of men wearing the green armbands of her cousin’s supporters surged forward. ‘Tories for justice!’ they cried, shoving against the free-vote supporters. Several of the tussling men fell back against her horse, causing the gelding to rear up and fight the traces. Alarmed, she tugged on the reins, but the panicked animal fought the bit.
The gentleman jumped forward to seize the bridle, settling the nervous horse back on his feet. ‘You should get away in case this turns ugly,’ he advised. Making liberal use of his cane to clear a path, he led the horse and carriage through the throng and on to a side street.
‘There’s a quiet inn down Farmer’s Lane,’ he told her when they’d turned the corner. ‘I’ll see you safely there, then locate your cousin.’
She opened her lips to assure him she’d be fine on her own, but in truth, the sudden rancour of the crowd, the shouts and sounds of scuffling still reaching them from the square, disturbed her more than she wished to admit. ‘I would appreciate that,’ she said instead.
Within a few moments, they reached the inn, the gentlemen sent the horse and carriage off with an ostler and offered her his arm into the establishment. ‘A private parlour for Lady Margaret, and some cheese and ale,’ he told the innkeeper who hurried to greet them.
‘At once, sir, my lady!’ the proprietor said, ushering them to a small room off the busy taproom.
Once she was inside, shielded from the view of the curious, the gentleman bowed. ‘It is Lady Margaret, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But I don’t believe we have been introduced, have we? I’m sure I would have remembered you.’ No woman under ninety with eyes in her head and any sense of appreciation for the male of the species could have met this man and forgotten him.
‘We’ve not been formally presented—a lapse I am delighted to rectify. But the Borough of Chellingham has long been in the pocket of the Marquess of Witlow, so what other lovely lady could be canvassing for his candidate than his daughter, the celebrated Lady Margaret?’
‘Oh, dear! That makes me sound rather…notorious.’
He shook his head. ‘Admired and respected—even by your opponents. I don’t believe the squabbles outside will escalate into actual violence, but with “free beer” and elections, one can’t be sure. Promise me you’ll remain here until your cousin can fetch you. Though I cannot help but feel a man lucky to have so lovely a canvasser working on his behalf should take better care of her.’
‘How can I thank you for your kindness—and to a supporter of your opponent?’ she asked. ‘Won’t you at least allow me to offer you a glass of ale? I hate to admit it, but I would feel easier if I had some company while I…calm my nerves.’
That might have been overstating the case—but for once, Maggie didn’t mind imposing on the gentleman’s obvious sense of chivalry, if it meant she could command his company for a bit longer.
And discover more about the most arresting man she’d met in a very long time.
He smiled then—setting those sapphire eyes sparkling, and once again sending shivers over her skin. ‘I wouldn’t want to leave you…unsettled.’
Oh, the rogue! She bit back a laugh, halfway tempted to rebuke him. Those knowing eyes said he knew exactly how he ‘unsettled her’ and didn’t regret it a bit.
With that handsome figure, fascinating eyes and seductive smile, he’d probably unsettled quite a few ladies, her sense of self-preservation argued. It would be prudent to send him on his way before he tempted her to join their number.
After all, she’d had a lengthy page from that book, and wanted never to pen another.
But despite the voice of reason, she didn’t want to let him go.
The landlord hurried in with her victuals on a tray, offering her a perfect excuse to delay. ‘You will allow the innkeeper to bring you a tankard of his excellent home brewed? Mr Carlson, isn’t it?’ she asked, turning to the proprietor. ‘My cousin, Mr Armsburn, told me you have the best ale in Chellingford. I know he’s drunk many a pint when coming through to campaign.’
‘That he has, Lady Margaret, and bought rounds for the taproom, too,’ Carlson replied. ‘I’m happy to stand a mug to any of his supporters.’ After giving them a quick bow, he hurried back out.
‘Now, that is largesse you cannot refuse,’ she told her rescuer.
‘Even if I’m accepting it under false pretences?’
‘We needn’t upset Mr Carlson by telling him that. He’s been a Tory voter for many years.’
‘No wonder you charm the electorate—if you know even the names of the local innkeepers.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course I know them. One cannot represent the best interests of the district unless one knows the people who live there, and their needs. But you have the advantage; you know who I am, but have not yet given me your name. All I know is that you’re misguided enough to support a Radical.’
He laughed, as she’d meant he should, and made her an exaggerated bow. ‘Giles Hadley, ma’am, at your service.’
The note of challenge in his tone puzzled her for the few seconds it took for the name to register. ‘Giles Hadley!’ she repeated with a gasp. ‘The leader of the Hellions, the infamous Viscount Lyndlington—although you do not use the title, do you? Should I be expecting a whiff of fire and brimstone?’
He laughed again. ‘Rumours of our exploits have been highly exaggerated! I doubt we were any more given to frequenting taverns and consorting with the, um, gentle ladies who worked there than most undergraduates. We just patronised a humbler class of establishment, and consulted, rather than patronised, the patrons.’
‘So what was this about being hell-bound?’
He shrugged. ‘One of the dons who was a clergyman heard that, if we ever had the power, we would eliminate churchmen’s seats in the Lords. The sacrilege of wanting to upset the established order, along with our “dissolute” activities, led him to denounce us all as the Devil’s minions. As for my title as a viscount, it’s only a courtesy accorded to the son of an earl. I prefer to be known for what I’ve accomplished.’
‘Which is quite a bit, I understand! I’ve heard so much about you!’
‘If you heard it from my half-brother George, no wonder you’ve been imagining me with wings and a forked tail,’ he said drily.
She shook her head. ‘Most of what I know comes from my father and his associates—who see you as a rising star in the Whigs. My father, who does not praise lightly, has several times lamented that Lord Newville managed to snag you for the Reform cause before he could persuade you to join the Tories. I am honoured to make the acquaintance of a man so esteemed by my father!’
And she was—awed enough at meeting the man even his opponents spoke of as likely one day to become Prime Minister that for an instant, she forgot his physical allure.
But only for an instant. With her next breath, the shock of learning his identity was once again subsumed in awareness of the powerful attraction he generated.
What a combination! she thought dazedly. That intense masculine appeal embodied in a man pursuing a career she admired above all others. And despite what he’d said, there was something of the wicked about him.
Rather than preening a bit at her obvious admiration, though, as most men world, he seemed somewhat discomforted—an unexpected display of modesty that only enhanced his charm.
She barely suppressed a sigh, immobilised by eyes that seemed to look deep into her soul.
‘Thank you for the compliments, though I’m sure I do not deserve them,’ he said after a moment, as if only then realising that they’d spent the last several minutes just gazing at each other. ‘And forgive me for speaking slightingly of George. From the article I read recently in the Morning Post, it appears I should wish you happy?’
‘Wish me happy?’ she echoed. As his meaning grew clear, irritation flashed through her. ‘Certainly not! As a member of my father’s Tory caucus, I see Mr Hadley quite often, but there’s no understanding between us. Newspapers!’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘The gossips have been pairing me off ever since I came out of mourning.’
‘So you are not about to bestow your hand on my half-brother?’ At her negative shake of the head, he smiled again—that brilliant smile that made her stomach do little flips and curled her toes in her half-boots. ‘I have to admit, I am glad to hear it.’
No female he smiled at like that would ever look at his half-brother. Dazzled, she said without thinking, ‘George Hadley isn’t looking for a wife, but someone to reflect his glory, and I make a very poor mirror.’
Not until those honest but appallingly indiscreet words exited her lips did she realise how much Giles Hadley had unsettled her. She seldom voiced unflattering assessments of her acquaintances, and never to a stranger.
Flushing with mortification, she said, ‘Pray, excuse me! That was most unkind, and I should never have said it.’
‘Even if you know it to be true?’
‘Whether or not it is true is irrelevant,’ she shot back, flustered. ‘I am not generally so critical. Or at least, I seldom utter such criticisms aloud,’ she amended more truthfully.
‘Then I am all the more honoured by your honesty. And relieved, I must say. Women usually find George charming.’
‘Truly?’ She frowned, replaying in her mind’s eye a typical exchange with the man. ‘Perhaps with ladies he wishes to charm. When we converse, he always seems to be looking towards my father, as if he’s much more interested in Papa’s approval than in mine.’ She made a wry grimace. ‘Makes me feel rather like a prize pullet he’s bartering to install in his hen house. And I should not have said that, either.’
Hadley laughed. ‘If that’s true, he’s even more a fool than I thought—and I should not have said that! But there’s bad blood between us, as I imagine you know.
‘So I understand. I always find it sad when there is a dissension within a family.’
A bit more than dissension—there’d been a scandal of rather large proportions, she knew, although she’d heard none of the particulars. Hardly to her surprise, he did not attempt to enlighten her.
Before she could introduce some safer topic, her cousin’s aide, John Proctor, rushed into the room. ‘Lady Margaret, are you all right?’ he cried. ‘Armsburn and I have been looking everywhere for you! When I heard about the ruckus on the square, and then couldn’t find you…’ He exhaled a shuddering breath. ‘I knew Michael would have my head for leaving you on your own, had you been harmed or even frightened! Please, forgive me!’
‘Nothing to forgive,’ she replied. Except his arrival, which would doubtless mean an end to her interlude with this fascinating gentleman. ‘Mr Hadley took good care of me.’
The two men exchanged bows. ‘Hadley, we are much in your debt for safeguarding Lady Margaret,’ Proctor said.
‘It was my pleasure,’ Hadley replied. ‘I’d advise you to take better care of your lovely canvasser in future, though. If I find her wandering unattended again, I might just keep her.’
His words, and the beguiling smile he directed at her as he said them, sent a little zing of pleasure through her. Empty gallantry, she told herself, trying to fight the effect.
Before she could try to determine how genuine the compliment might be, Proctor took her arm and all but tugged her out of her chair. ‘Can I escort you back now, Lady Margaret? Your cousin is most anxious.’
‘I wouldn’t wish to worry Michael, of course.’ With regret, she turned to her rescuer. ‘I very much enjoyed our conversation, Mr Hadley. Despite holding opposing views, I hope we may continue it at some time in future.’
‘You could not desire it more fervently than I! Good day, Lady Margaret,’ Hadley said, and bowed over her hand.
As his fingers clasped hers, her heart fluttered and a flush of heat went through her. It took her a moment to remember to pull free from his grasp.
‘Good day to you, Mr Hadley,’ she said faintly, acutely conscious of his gaze on her as she walked out.
She would like to meet him again, she thought as her cousin’s aide escorted her through the taproom. Though it would be better if she did not. She cringed inwardly as she recalled the unguarded words she’d let slip about his half-brother. A man mesmerising enough to cause her to suspend all of her breeding and most of her common sense was best avoided.
But oh, how he stirred her mind and excited her senses!
‘I hope you weren’t too friendly with Hadley,’ Proctor said after he’d helped her into the carriage.
‘Since when do I become “friendly” with men I hardly know, John?’ she replied sharply.
Proctor held up a restraining hand. ‘Please don’t be offended, Lady Margaret! I know it’s not my place to question your behaviour. But Michael—and your father—trust me to watch out for you. I’d have you steer clear of Hadley. He’s a dangerous man.’
‘Dangerous—how? Surely you don’t believe all that nonsense about the Hellions! My father told me he admires him.’
‘His own half-brother refuses to associate with him, and he’s completely estranged from his father. His views are extreme, even for a Radical: he’d give the vote to every man in England, from the highest lord down to a common stew from the London slums. I’ve heard he even favours abolishing the House of Lords entirely!’
‘Shocking, certainly,’ she allowed, unsettled to have the radical nature of his positions confirmed—if what Proctor said was true. ‘But Papa has always favoured an open exchange of views, even if the two parties cannot ultimately agree. I doubt I could be endangered just by talking with him.’
‘Perhaps. But a man with such extreme political views might have equally radical social ideas—advocating Free Love and the abolishment of marriage, perhaps. I wouldn’t trust a lady in his company, certainly not alone in a private room.’
Did Hadley believe in Free Love? No wonder he seemed wicked! The naughty idea sent a spark through her still-simmering senses. Oh, she could readily imagine making free with him!
She shook her head to rid her mind of the lusty—and pointless—thought. She had nothing more erotic in mind for her future than directing Papa’s dinners—and perhaps throwing a kiss to a voter.
Turning back to Proctor, she said, ‘At a busy inn, with the door to the taproom standing open? Hardly a convenient site to lure someone into impropriety. Although I wouldn’t mind debating Free Love and the abolishment of marriage with him,’ she added, watching Proctor’s face.
At his look of horror, she laughed. ‘Relax, John, I’m teasing! Though it serves you right, trying to lecture a woman of my age about her behaviour. How did the canvassing go? Does Michael think he’ll hold against Reynolds?’
It took only that bit of encouragement to launch Proctor into a detailed explanation of how the campaign had fared in the rest of the town.
Normally, Maggie would have listened with rapt attention. Today, however, her mind kept drifting back to a certain gentleman with vivid blue eyes and a seductive smile that had made her feel more like a desirable woman than she had since…since the debacle with Sir Francis.
That memory ought to apply a fast brake to this runaway carriage of attraction. Recalling Hadley’s flowery last words, she frowned.
Of course it had been gallantry. What else could it have been? They’d barely met, after all. And handsome as he was, he surely was accomplished in the fine art of flattery, and of persuading women who should know better that he found them more desirable than he did.
She sighed. It seemed she was a slow learner.
And yet… She had not imagined the spark that flared before them. She might have little experience, but she could still remember that enchanted time, when love for her childhood companion Robbie had transformed into something more, a layer of desire enveloping the friendship and tenderness. Ah, the mesmerising beauty of touch, the thrill of surrendering to passion, the ecstasy of possession.
How she ached for its loss!
No, she was not imagining the physical response she’d felt. But did Hadley truly find her desirable? Since an affair was too dangerous to contemplate, was there any point in pursuing this further?
Common sense warned to avoid a man who might prove such a temptation. But surely life was meant to be experienced, not hemmed in by caution. Such pleasures as it presented should be grasped greedily, before they were snatched away—losing Robbie had taught her that, too.
She was seven-and-twenty, a widow unwilling to risk her heart by marrying again, and she might not have many more opportunities to be tempted.
His seductive person aside, Hadley was a fascinating man, with views and values she would be interested to debate. From the not-so-flattering words his half-brother had dropped about him, she’d expected he might be something of a wild man, and he did have an untamed essence about him. An aura of purpose, too, with a trace of impatience, as if he were in a great hurry to do important things. And there was more than a trace of anger smouldering under the surface, particularly when he mentioned his half-brother.
Or was that just the passion that seemed to simmer in him? Recalling it sent a response swirling through her, and suddenly the carriage seemed too hot.
Yes, she would see more of him, she decided. He addressed the Commons frequently, her father said. Popular as he was, there was no question that he would be re-elected to the next Parliament. If she visited the Ladies’ Gallery after the sessions began again in June, she would surely hear him speak.
Before she heard more of his politics, though, she ought to learn more about the man. If he truly were dangerous, it would be best to know beforehand just how much of a risk he might pose.
But who to ask? Papa, who abhorred gossip, would be unlikely to tell her more than the bare minimum about Hadley’s background.
Then she recalled just the person who would happily spill every detail she might want to know. As soon as she returned to London, she decided, she would pay a call on her great-aunt Lilly.
Lounging in his chair, Giles took his time finishing the home brew, which was as excellent as advertised. So he’d met the renowned Lady Margaret—and found her as witty and even more attractive than Davie had pronounced her.
He had to admit, he’d hoped to see her. When the four friends had drawn up that list of the boroughs to canvass, he’d chosen this one because it was known to be controlled by her father—and she was known to often canvass on behalf of his candidates. After the discussion of the possibility that she might marry George, and Davie’s description of her, he’d been curious to meet the woman.
As he’d approached her carriage, he’d been impressed by her engaging smile and the ease with which she mingled with the crowd, by her obvious enjoyment of bantering with them and their enthusiastic response to her.
And then he’d caught her eye.
He shook his head, bemused. Some curious sort of energy had flashed between them, literally stopping him short. Despite the press of people, the babble of voices, the stamping of hoofs and rattle of passing carriages, he’d had the ridiculous feeling that nothing existed in the world but the two of them.
He didn’t remember walking closer, but suddenly he was beside her, unable to keep himself from smiling, compelled to touch her—even if all that was permissible was for him to shake her hand.
He hardly recalled what he’d said to her during their interlude at the inn, and could only hope it hadn’t been utter nonsense. He remembered only two salient points from their conversation: her father approved of him and she wasn’t going to marry George.
The relief he felt about the latter was surely excessive.
He couldn’t recall ever feeling such a powerful and immediate connection to a lady—and had no explanation to account for it. She wasn’t a beauty in the traditional sense. Her hair was chestnut, not gold, her figure rather taller than average, her face longer than oval, with a generous mouth and pert nose decorated with freckles. But something in those vivid green eyes had sparked a physical attraction that went straight to his loins and drew him to her like a thirsty man to a cool, clear stream.
Though he was too bitterly conscious of his mother’s fate ever to become a rake, he was hardly inexperienced, having enjoyed his share of discreet liaisons, always careful to take precautions to protect the lady. He wasn’t some green lad just out of university, susceptible to being bowled over by an attractive woman.
In sum, he couldn’t figure out what it was about Lady Margaret that had struck him so profoundly.
He did know he would seek her out again, if only to see if his unprecedented reaction would recur a second time. Or whether upon further acquaintance her attractions would seem no more remarkable than those of any other pretty, intelligent lady.
He paused a moment, frowning. Although Lady Margaret had emphatically disclaimed a relationship, if the newspapers had been puffing off a possible match between her and George, they must have been given some encouragement for the notion—very possibly from his half-brother. Marrying into an important political family would be just the sort of thing George would see as a prudent step towards the career as a government leader he coveted.
The prize pullet he’s bartering to install in his hen house. Giles recalled her words with a chuckle. She certainly deserved better than that.
If associating with a woman George might have marked as his own caused problems with his half-brother, so be it. Pursuing this fascinating lady would depend on his—and her—inclinations alone.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b0bc22ed-be3f-5e3a-803b-4333720b94f0)
A week later, the butler ushered Lady Margaret into the front parlour of the Grosvenor Square town house of her great-aunt, the Dowager Countess of Sayleford. ‘I’ve ordered a full pot of tea and a plate of biscuits to sustain us,’ her great-aunt declared after receiving her kiss on the cheek. ‘Make yourself comfortable, and tell me all about the campaign in Chellingham.’
As her great-aunt knew well, her preferred topic of conversation would normally be the elections. Though Maggie was fairly bursting with curiosity about Giles Hadley, she didn’t want to open herself to the questions—to which she didn’t have answers—Aunt Lilly would certainly fire at her if she delayed discussing politics to make enquiries about a gentleman.
So, though she had shockingly little interest in conveying the results in Chellingham, she dutifully gave a brief recitation of what had happened in the campaign.
‘Glad to hear Armsburn held the seat,’ her great-aunt said. ‘My sources with an ear to Parliament tell me that one of the Grey’s government’s primary aims will be to eliminate boroughs like Chellingham that are controlled by the local landowner.’
‘Yes, and I’m afraid it’s virtually certain a bill to that effect will pass. I found the county full of inflammatory rhetoric! Even in normally placid Chellingham, there was alarming…disruption.’
‘Disruption?’ her great-aunt repeated, frowning. ‘What do you mean? Surely you weren’t endangered!’
‘No, not really. Oh, there was a scuffle in the street next to my carriage between two rival parties, some of whom had imbibed more ale than was good for them,’ she admitted. ‘In any event, I was quickly rescued by a most charming gentleman.’
Her great-aunt’s frown deepened. ‘Where were Michael and Proctor? I would have expected them to rescue you, if rescuing were needful.’
‘They were at another gathering place when the incident happened.’
‘Your father will not be happy to hear that.’
‘No, but there was no harm done, so you mustn’t tell him.’
Her great-aunt eyed her for a long moment before finally nodding. ‘Very well, it that’s what you wish. So, who was this “charming gentleman” who protected you when your kin failed in their duty?’
‘Another Member of Parliament—from the opposition, actually.’ Trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible, she said, ‘Mr Giles Hadley.’
Her great-aunt’s eyes widened. ‘Giles Hadley—you mean Viscount Lyndlington?’
At her nod of assent, her great-aunt continued, ‘Oh, my! Charming, you say? To hear some of the rabid Tories tell it, he’s the devil incarnate!’
‘His half-brother often paints him in that light. But Papa admires him, and I give far more credit to his opinion. It did make me curious, though—the difference between Papa’s view of him and his brother’s, and I do wonder what happened to create such a breach in the family. I’m sure Papa knows, but I didn’t think he would tell me much.’ She grinned at her great-aunt. ‘Whereas, I knew you would tell me everything!’
‘What did you think of Hadley?’ came the unexpected response.
Caught off guard, to her irritation, she found herself flushing. ‘I suppose it’s obvious I found him attractive.’
Her great-aunt raised her eyebrows, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘Since I cannot remember you ever enquiring about any other gentleman, I’d already assumed as much. Excellent! It has been six years since you lost Robbie. More than time enough for you to be moving on.’
‘Don’t be thinking that, Aunt Lilly!’ she protested, raising a hand. ‘I’m not angling for another husband!’
‘Why not? You’re still young, and attractive, and it’s more than time enough for you to be over your disappointment about Sir Francis. And your grief.’
Once, she’d hoped Sir Francis might help her bury the grief—and look how disastrously that had ended. Both episodes being still too painful for her to discuss, she ignored the question, saying instead, ‘I found Giles Hadley…fascinating, that’s all. Those compelling blue eyes seem to look deep within you. There’s a restless energy about him, a sense of anger lurking beneath the surface, to say nothing of what I understand are quite radical political views. He’s certainly different from any other gentleman I’ve known! And yes, he does…attract me. But I’m not about to do anything foolish.’
Her great-aunt looked at her speculatively. ‘You are a widow now. I don’t advocate foolishness, but with discretion, you can do what you want—marriage, or not.’
‘All I want right now is to know more about his circumstances. It’s rather obvious that his half-brother hates him. Not that I’ve discussed him with George, but whenever the opposition is brought up, he never loses the opportunity to get in a dig about his half-sibling. I suspect much of his spleen stems from knowing the viscount will inherit, even though George is the brother favoured by their father. But why, Aunt Lilly? What happened to fracture the family?’
‘It’s an old and quite interesting scandal.’
‘About which, I am sure, you know all the details.’
‘Naturally.’ Her great-aunt smiled. ‘What other benefit is there in having lived so long in the midst of society?’
‘So—what happened?’
‘It began many years ago, just after the current earl inherited. He and his best friend courted the same woman—Giles Hadley’s mother. She loved the friend, not the young earl, but the friend was a younger son with no title or income, and Randall Hadley, already Lord Telbridge, would have both. The friend intended to go to India and make his fortune, but the girl’s family, which was in dire financial straits, wouldn’t let her wait on the possibility that he might one day return a nabob. Understandable, really; he might just as well die of a fever, or be killed in one of the native wars. They pressured her into agreeing to marry Telbridge, which she did ten days after the friend left for India.’
‘Poor lady,’ Maggie said, thinking of how awful it would have been if family duty had forced her to marry someone other than Robbie. ‘And then?’
‘All was well until several years after the wedding, when Telbridge somehow learned that his wife and the friend had stayed alone together at a hunting cottage the night before he left for India. Pressed by the earl, his wife would not deny that they had been lovers—and that she could not therefore assure the earl with perfect certitude that the son she bore him nine months after the wedding was in fact his. Wild with jealousy and anger, he sent them both away. Deaf to any pleas of reason, he divorced her and cut off all support—funds, lodging, even schooling for the boy. He remarried soon after the divorce bill was passed by the Lords, and has since devoted all his wealth and affection to the son of his second wife. As far as I know, Telbridge has not set eyes on the viscount in years. But all the rancour in the world will not alter the fact that since Giles Hadley was born after Telbridge married his mother, and was acknowledged for several years as the earl’s son, under law, he will inherit, for all that Telbridge now shuns him.’
Maggie shook her head. ‘Poor boy! No wonder he refuses to use his courtesy title. But from what you say, he grew up with no resources at all. I would expect him to be a simpleton or a savage, but he seems quite cultured. Did his mother’s family step in to help?’
The dowager smiled thinly. ‘Though admittedly, the scandal of the divorce placed them in an awkward position, I’ve always held that blood should care for blood. The girl’s parents, however—doubtless with a glance over their shoulder at the financial boon the earl had provided them upon the marriage—disowned her. The boy might have grown up a savage, but for the intervention some years later by his aunt who, once she married, persuaded her husband to sponsor the boy and raise him as befitted his station.’
‘Lord Newville?’ she asked. ‘Papa told me he had taken Mr Hadley under his wing.’
‘Quite. The Newvilles took care of mother and son, financed Hadley’s schooling, and sponsored his candidacy into Parliament. After what he suffered at his father’s hands, it’s not surprising he turned into a Radical, committed to limiting the power of the aristocracy.’
‘What happened to the lady?’
‘By all accounts, she was content, living in rural isolation with her son. I expect she hoped that one day the man she loved would return for her. But as it turned out, her family was right about that, if little else. He died in India several years after her divorce, and she did not long outlive him.’
‘Now that his eldest son has made such a name for himself, and knowing he will one day inherit, isn’t it time for Telbridge to make peace with his heir?’
The dowager shook her head. ‘Randall Hadley was always a proud, unyielding man. I think it was more the satisfaction of winning the woman away from his friend, rather than affection for the lady, that led the earl to wed her in the first place, and he couldn’t tolerate the idea that his wife had been touched by another. It’s only thanks to the good sense of Hadley’s aunt that the successor to the earldom won’t be a complete Hottentot.’
‘So there isn’t much chance of father and son reconciling?’
‘I wouldn’t wager on it,’ the dowager said. ‘The earl is too stubborn; his second son, from what I hear, is so jealous and resentful of the heir he takes every opportunity to speak ill of him to his father. As for the viscount, he will inherit whether they reconcile or not. I would expect he has little desire to approach a man who left him and his mother destitute. Certainly, Telbridge has done nothing in the years since to prompt his son—if the viscount is his son—to seek a reconciliation.’
‘Perhaps,’ Maggie said with a sigh. ‘But it is still sad.’
‘Family squabbles are as old as time. Read your Bible,’ the dowager advised.
‘That doesn’t make them less regrettable.’
‘Indeed. However, if you do intend to…pursue an acquaintance with Giles Hadley, I would do so cautiously.’
‘Why do you say that? Surely you don’t think he’s “dangerous”, as John Proctor warned! Even if he should subscribe to Godwin’s theories on abolishing marriage, I cannot see him forcibly seducing a woman.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘He wouldn’t need to.’
‘I’ve heard nothing of that—rather the opposite, actually. His amours have been few, and the ladies involved were treated with great courtesy. No, it’s just that I’d not like to see a lovers’ triangle descend to the second generation.’
‘Lovers’ triangle?’ Her puzzlement gave way to irritation as she made the connection. ‘That Morning Post article again! Surely you don’t give any credence to newspaper gossip. I have no interest in wedding George Hadley, no matter how much he sidles up to Papa!’
‘Though the writers do expend an inordinate amount of ink speculating about their betters, there is always some thread of truth in the reports. Perhaps George Hadley thinks he’s “sidled up” to your father successfully enough that he’s in a fair way to winning your hand. It would be an excellent match for him.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be an excellent one for me,’ Maggie retorted with some heat. ‘I don’t like the man, and I’m not so committed to the Tories that I would marry someone for their political advantage. Nor would Papa try to persuade me, no matter how much George Hadley tries to turn him up sweet.’
‘Yes, but that’s not the problem,’ the countess continued patiently. ‘Don’t you see? There is no love lost between the brothers. Isn’t it possible that, having read the newspaper reports as the rest of us have, Giles Hadley might seek you out, just to put a spoke in the wheel of his half-brother’s plans? Now, I’m not saying Hadley turned up in Armsburn’s borough with that in mind. Most likely he was in Chellingham for political reasons of his own, met you by chance, and admires you sincerely—why ever should he not? Given the history between the two, though, I would be cautious.’
For a moment, the thought that Giles Hadley might have approached her with the intent of beguiling her so he could crow to his brother about his conquest made her feel sick. That scenario was too reminiscent of the debacle with Sir Francis.
But an instant later, a deep conviction rose up to refute that scenario. Regardless of his reasons for coming to Chellingham, the attraction between them had been genuine—she was sure of that. Whether or not he would pursue the connection because of his brother’s interest in her, or in spite of it, she didn’t know, but the spark lit between them had not been the product of her imagination.
What she chose to do about it, now that she knew his full background, was still up to her. She was no more interested in becoming the bone of contention snapped over by two pugnacious half-brothers than she was in becoming George Hadley’s prize pullet.
And she definitely didn’t intend to risk falling in love.
‘I will be cautious,’ she promised the dowager as she finished her tea and set the cup back on the tray. ‘That’s why I came to talk to you, Aunt Lilly. You always give such excellent advice.’
‘Advice is about all one has to give at my age,’ her great-aunt said tartly. ‘I’ll let you go with one last bit: don’t let anyone worry you into marrying again, unless you truly wish it. I had several offers after Creighton died, but none could hold a candle to him, and I wouldn’t settle for a lesser man.’
‘That’s how I feel about my Robbie,’ Maggie said, her eyes sheening.
‘Not that I didn’t amuse myself from time to time,’ her great-aunt added.
‘Aunt Lilly!’ Margaret laughed. ‘You’ll make me blush.’
‘As if I could, with all you must overhear, spending so much time around gentlemen! But I worry about you, child. You were inconsolable after losing your husband, and then when it seemed you’d found happiness again, the affair with Sir Francis ended so badly. I would so like to see you passionate about life again.’
‘I enjoy my work with Papa.’
‘I’d have you not just “enjoy” life, but be truly thrilled by it—illumined from within! You know what I mean—I can see it in your eyes. If Giles Hadley offers you the possibility of tasting such joy again, don’t let the dull voice of prudence prevent you from furthering the acquaintance. After all, you cannot find what you won’t risk looking for. Just keep in mind the possible complications.
‘And I intend to end this homily with a recommendation about marriage, and you may as well not protest,’ her great-aunt continued, holding up a hand to forestall any objection. ‘Much as I would oppose you being pushed into marriage, neither would I like you to miss out on the blessing of children. A thought to consider, while you’re still young enough to have them.’
Maggie worked hard not to flinch. That was a fact of which she was too bitterly aware.
Masking her discomfort from her perceptive great-aunt by rising, she said, ‘I must get back. I’ve not been home yet, and Papa has a large party coming for dinner tomorrow night for which I haven’t even begun to prepare. He’ll want a complete account of the Chellingham elections, too. Thank you for tea—and your counsel, Aunt Lilly.’
‘You are always welcome to both.’
As Maggie bent to kiss the dowager’s cheek, her great-aunt reached out to pat hers. ‘I pray for your happiness, child.’
Maggie felt the burn of tears and blinked them away. ‘Thank you, Aunt Lilly. If something exciting should happen, you’ll be the first to know.’
Her great-aunt chuckled. ‘With my contacts, I certainly will—whether you tell me yourself or not!’
During the drive from her great-aunt’s town house back to her father’s in Cavendish Square, Maggie replayed their interview over and over. After hearing Giles Hadley’s story, she was more fascinated by the man than ever. How had he reconciled the rural isolation of his early years with rejoining the world of the ton when his aunt had come to rescue him? Did he remember anything of the days he’d lived at his father’s grand estate in Hampshire?
Despite his education and upbringing, if he knew nothing of that estate or its people, how could he become a good landlord to his tenants and a proper steward of the land entrusted to him, once he inherited? Or would he remain in London, furthering his career in Parliament, content to let some estate agent or secretary manage his acres and tend its people? What a tragedy for them that would be!
She would love to ask him about his plans, but their acquaintance was nowhere close enough for her to broach such personal matters.
Then there was the problem of the possible rivalry between him and his brother over George’s supposed pretensions to her hand. Though she was certain there was a genuine attraction between herself and Giles Hadley, she’d already proven rather miserable at discerning whether a man’s attentions stemmed from her charms, or the charms of her lineage, wealth and connections. Would Mr Hadley indulge her curiosity and encourage her interest because he found her as intriguing as she found him? Or if she followed through on her desires, might she be leading herself into another painful disappointment?
Yet, as even Aunt Lilly had implied, youth wouldn’t last for ever. In the years since Robbie’s death, she’d met many gentlemen, without feeling anything like the strong and immediate attraction she’d felt for Giles Hadley. If she let caution dissuade her from at least discovering where it might lead, she might never have another chance.
After all, she was wiser now, more suspicious of attention and flattery than she’d been before the episode with Sir Francis. As long as she kept her head, the worst that could happen by furthering the relationship would be the disappointment of discovering Giles Hadley was not as fascinating—or as fascinated by her—as she’d thought. She felt certain Giles Hadley would never endanger her, or compel her to go where she didn’t wish to follow.
There’d be no question of ‘compelling’, though. Just thinking of the mesmerising blue gaze and the heated feeling in the pit of her stomach when he smiled at her set her pulses throbbing. But surely she was prudent enough to resist the most dangerous of all temptations, and restrict herself to friendship.
She really did wish to know him better…as a friend and companion, she told herself.
As a lover, if you could imagine a safe way to manage it, the voice of honesty answered back.
But only as long as she could invest herself just so far, without any possibility of committing her heart.
The short drive to the Witlow town house ended before she came to a definite decision. So much for thinking herself level-headed! Exasperated with such dithering, she decided as she descended from the carriage that she would attend some debates after the new Parliament convened. If an opportunity presented itself to speak further with Mr Hadley—or he sought her out—she would take it as a sign to proceed.
Because in the end, in that sphere beyond words or logic, the pull she felt to him was irresistible.
Chapter Three (#ulink_32be7d2b-1026-5cee-baeb-4d725c468f5f)
Two evenings later, Giles arrived back in London and headed for the room at the Quill and Gavel, eager to compare notes with his friends about the election results. He found them all present as he walked in, Davie offering him a mug of ale, Ben Tawney urging him to a seat.
‘What happened in Chellingham?’ Christopher asked. ‘Did Reynolds manage to snatch the seat from Witlow’s man?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he confessed, to the groans of his listeners. ‘Michael Armsburn did so well in the verbal tally, we didn’t bother asking for a formal vote. Riding around with Reynolds, one could tell it was hopeless. Even the unemployed former soldiers one would expect to rally to the Reform cause told us they intended to vote for Witlow’s man. Said his lordship had watched out for their families while they were off fighting in the wars. How did all of you fare?’
‘A win in Sussex!’ Ben announced. ‘We’ll own the county now.’
‘Wins in Merton and Warrenton as well,’ Christopher added. ‘The Whigs should return an overwhelming majority.’
‘That calls for another round, don’t you think?’ David asked. After walking to the door to beckon the innkeeper to bring more ale, he said, ‘Ben and Christopher, why don’t you make a tally of the projected gains, district by district? I expect we’ll be recalled to committee as soon as Parliament reconvenes.’
Once the two friends settled at the table, Davie raised his mug to Giles. ‘So,’ he said in a quiet voice pitched for their ears alone, ‘what did you think of Lady Margaret?’
Surprised, Giles felt his face flush. ‘How did you know I’d met Lady Margaret?’
Davie shrugged. ‘You’d said you’d try to help the Radicals win one of Witlow’s seats—yet you chose to canvass for one that we knew at the outset was very unlikely to be turned. A seat that just happens to be held by a cousin of Lady Margaret’s, for whom she has often campaigned. And that, after hearing your brother might have matrimonial designs upon the lady. So, what did you think of her?’
‘Sure the Home Office shouldn’t employ your talents to keep track of dissidents?’ Giles asked, disgruntled that his motives had been so transparent. ‘Very well, I was quite impressed. She’s a natural campaigner—the crowds love her. She seems passionate about politics and the welfare of the people in her father’s boroughs.’
‘A shame she’s passionate for the wrong party,’ David said, his perceptive friend watching him entirely too closely for Giles’s comfort. ‘Did you talk with her?’
‘Yes. Her person is as appealing as her politics are not. I have to admit, I was quite…strongly attracted. By the way, she denied any interest in marrying George.’
‘Did she? I don’t know that her lack of interest would weigh much with your half-brother, compared to the advantages of the match. One can only hope her father has a care for her preferences, rather than for giving a leg up to a rising member of his party. Do you intend to pursue the connection?’
‘Yes, I do.’ At least long enough to see if the extraordinary attraction he’d felt lasted beyond that first meeting.
‘And what of George?’
Giles shrugged. ‘Having never in my life consulted George’s preferences before doing something, I’m not likely to start now.’
Davie nodded. ‘Very well. Just make sure the lady doesn’t get caught in the crossfire, if there is any.’
Giles grinned. ‘One thing you can count on: I will always protect a lady.’
Before they could join their friends at the table, a liveried messenger appeared at the doorway. ‘A note for Mr Hadley.’
After Giles raised his hand, the man gave him the missive and walked out. Scanning it quickly, Giles frowned. ‘It’s from Lord Grey. He wants me to join a dinner meeting he’s about to begin with some of his committee chiefs.’
Ben whistled, and David raised his eyebrows. ‘Congratulations on having the party leader call for you!’ Christopher said. ‘Maybe there’s a cabinet post in your future?’
‘I doubt that. I’ll have to go, though, unfortunately, it’s at Brooks’s Club—which is probably why Grey didn’t invite all of us. He knows I never grace the halls of Brooks’s unless I’m summoned.’
‘Maybe you should go there more often,’ Davie advised. ‘Many of the senior party leaders are members; let them get to know you better.’
‘I’d rather meet here, with all of you.’ Giles smiled. ‘Planning strategy and dreaming dreams of change, as we have since that grimy little inn at Oxford.’
‘Being a Hellion was all well and good,’ David allowed. ‘But challenging the prevailing view has served its purpose. Now that the goals we dreamed about are going to be realised, shouldn’t we turn our efforts into getting a hand in determining how they are implemented?’
‘Very true,’ Christopher said. ‘Why not take advantage of whatever benefits membership at Brooks’s can offer?’
‘You could even pass them along to us,’ David added with a grin. ‘It’s the only way I’ll ever gain access to them, after all. Their politics might be liberal, but never in this lifetime are high-born Whigs going to allow the orphaned son of farmer into their club, regardless of how highly placed his sponsor might be.’
‘Or the illegitimate son of a governess,’ Ben added.
‘A gently born governess, whose father is now a viscount and acknowledges him,’ Giles reminded Ben. ‘If you asked, your father would likely sponsor you at Brooks’s.’
‘So the members could mutter under their breath about my mother as I walk by, like the boys did at Oxford? I think not.’
‘As for me,’ Christopher said with a grin, ‘being in the unusual position of being considered my legal father’s son even though I’m not, I could be put up for membership. Except that dear legal Papa is a Tory who frequents White’s.’
‘I doubt they would have voted me in, had Lord Newville not been insistent,’ Giles said. ‘I can only imagine how much arm-twisting was involved.’
‘Your nomination did place the members in an awkward position,’ David said. ‘Many of them are friends of your father, and there’s the sticky matter of George. If anything happens to you, George gets the title; like our Oxford classmates, few there would want to befriend you and offend him, in case some day he attains real power.’
‘We’ll just have to see that he doesn’t,’ Giles retorted.
‘Faith and the devil, that reminds me!’ Christopher exclaimed. ‘Wychwood told me that George lost his seat!’
‘In Hampshire, my father’s county?’ Giles asked, astounded.
‘Yes. Despite how strongly the voice vote went in favour of the Reform candidate, Wychwood said George insisted on a formal counted vote. And lost it decisively.’
The other three whistled as the significance of that registered. ‘Pity his poor servants—and any other unfortunate who crosses his path in the next few days,’ Christopher said. ‘He’ll be as quick to lash out as a temperamental stallion with an abscessed hoof.’
‘He’ll surely look for some way to transfer the blame to you,’ David warned.
‘And whine to his father about it,’ Christopher added.
‘I’d avoid him,’ Ben advised.
‘I always do,’ Giles replied. ‘But now, I’d better get to that meeting. With any luck, I’ll be back to drink another mug before midnight.’
‘Take good notes, so you can give us a full report,’ Christopher said as Giles shrugged on his coat and headed for the door.
As he walked out, Davie followed him, then stayed him with a hand on his arm. ‘This might not be the best of times to provoke a quarrel over a lady,’ he said quietly.
‘I don’t intend to quarrel,’ Giles replied. ‘If he tries to start one, I’ll ignore it, as I always do.’ No matter how much I’d like to plant a facer in the middle of that smug face, he added silently.
‘Just…watch your step. I’ve always thought George like a coiled snake, ready to strike if cornered. Don’t give him any more reason.’
‘I shall be the soul of diplomacy.’
‘Giles, the most hot-headed member of our group?’ David retorted. ‘Just remember that resolution, if you encounter George when I’m not there to restrain you. It would be…undignified for a rising Member of Parliament to mill down a former Member in public.’
‘Besides which, George would be sure to haul me up on assault charges. Temper or no, I promise to be on my best behaviour.’
And he would be, Giles promised himself as he walked out to hail a hackney.
Several hours later, dinner and consultation with Lord Grey and two of his ministers complete and a sheaf of notes in hand, Giles had just left the small private dining room when an unwelcome voice assailed his ears.
Hearing his name called again, he turned towards the card room, girding himself for the always unwelcome encounter with his half-brother.
‘It is you, then,’ George said, and walked towards him.
At least he’d won that small satisfaction, Giles thought as he waited for his half-brother to approach: George had finally learned that Giles would not come running to him when his half-brother beckoned, like the lackey George wanted him to be.
As the man proceeded closer with his measured, self-important tread, Giles noted he was splendidly dressed, as usual, in a dark coat featuring the newly popular cinched-in waist, an elaborately tied cravat of fine linen with a large diamond winking out from the knot, and long trousers. A walking advertisement for his tailor, and for being a man who spared no expense on his person.
George stopped beside him, looking him in the eyes for a moment without speaking. His half-brother was of a height, but had the fairer hair and hazel eyes of their father and a pleasant face that, when it wore a congenial look Giles seldom saw, was accounted handsome, or so numerous society ladies seemed to think.
Apparently Lady Margaret wasn’t of their number. That recollection pleased him more than it should.
When Giles refused to rise to the bait of asking his brother to tell him what he wanted, at length George broke the silence. ‘Didn’t believe at first you’d actually entered a gentleman’s club, instead of hobnobbing with the lowborn sorts you usually associate with. Devil’s teeth, to think how much blunt Lord Newville must have dropped, bribing the members to get you accepted here! But in this instance, I suppose I should thank him for sparing me having to track you down in that dive you frequent.’
Drawing in a deep breath through his gritted teeth to stem the rising anger, Giles made no immediate response. He’d long ago figured out the best way to deal with his half-brother’s demeaning remarks was to ignore them, no matter how infuriating—thereby depriving George of the satisfaction of provoking him.
‘Do you having anything of substance to say, or did you just want to tender the usual insults?’ he said in a tone as bored as he could manage. ‘If the latter, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ With a nod of dismissal, he turned to go.
‘Wait! I do have something else to say.’ George stayed him.
Much as Giles would love to snub him and walk out, if his half-brother truly wanted to speak with him, leaving now would only delay the confrontation. Tenacious as a bulldog, George would simply run him down somewhere else.
Wondering what his brother could possibly wish to discuss with him—unless he’d already figured out a way to blame Giles for his electoral defeat—he raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you might wish to do so somewhere more private than Brooks’s entry hall?’ With a gesture, he indicated a small anteroom.
After George followed him in, Giles said, ‘I’ve still got work to do tonight, so I’d appreciate your keeping this short.’ With what he considered true nobility, he refrained from adding that it involved important business for the new Parliament—the one in which George would not be serving. After closing the door, he said, ‘Shall we dispense with the charade of exchanging pleasantries? Just say what you must.’
‘I will be brief. I’m warning you to leave Lady Margaret Roberts alone. She’s a gentlewoman from a distinguished family, her father a nobleman highly regarded by his peers. Neither need be embarrassed by it becoming known that she associated with you. And at a common inn, no less.’
Baffled, Giles stared at George—until his mind made the connection. ‘You mean, in Chellingham?’
‘As far as I know, that’s the only time she’s displayed such a lapse of judgement. Although I understand there was some disturbance that necessitated her removal, and that at the time she let you make off with her, she was not aware of who you were.’
‘It being more acceptable for the lady to leave with a stranger than to leave with me?’ Giles inserted.
‘Well, of course she shouldn’t be leaving with a stranger! Armsburn and Proctor were highly negligent in leaving her alone to begin with. Although it would have been better still if she’d not put herself forward, campaigning for her cousin.’
Although admittedly Giles was not conversant with who belonged to which circle of friendship among the Tory membership, he was not aware that Lady Margaret’s cousin and his half-brother were close. And if they were not…
‘How did you know what happened to Lady Margaret in Chellingham?’ When his half-brother stuttered for an answer, Giles voiced the unbelievable, but only logical, conclusion. ‘You weren’t having someone spy on her, were you, George?’
‘Someone should keep tabs on her, since it’s obvious neither her cousin nor his aide were doing such a good job of it,’ his half-brother replied defensively.
There could be but one reason for George to go to the trouble of having the lady watched: he must be set on marrying her. Even so, the behaviour was unsettling, and definitely raised his hackles on Lady Margaret’s behalf.
‘Is Lord Witlow aware of your…protective oversight?’ He knew Lady Margaret couldn’t be—and was reasonably sure what that lady’s response would be if she found out.
‘Lord Witlow would be gratified that I concern myself with the welfare of his dearest daughter,’ George replied loftily.
So her father wasn’t aware of the scrutiny either. Which made the behaviour even more disturbing. ‘He might also not appreciate having someone wholly unrelated keeping his daughter under observation.’
George gave an impatient wave. ‘My motives are of the purest. Besides, I cherish hopes that we will not long remain “unrelated”.’
So George did intend to press his suit. ‘You’ve spoken with his lordship on this matter?’
‘He’s doubtless aware of my regard,’ George evaded.
‘And the lady?’
‘I haven’t as yet formally declared myself,’ George admitted. ‘But on a matter as important as family alliances, she will follow her father’s guidance, and he will certainly approve. Now that I have revealed my honourable intentions, I expect even someone like you to respect them, and not sully the lady with associations that could only be to her detriment.’
Keeping a tight hold on the simmering anger he didn’t seem able to completely suppress, Giles said evenly, ‘I would do the lady the honour of allowing her to choose with whom she wishes to associate.’
George stared at him a moment. ‘Meaning, you do intend to pester her with your attentions?’
‘I have never “pestered” a woman,’ Giles retorted. ‘If a lady indicates she is uninterested in my company, I am not so boorish as to inflict it upon her.’ That shot flying entirely over his brother’s head, he added, ‘As I said, it is the lady’s choice.’
‘Excellent!’ George said, a self-satisfied look replacing the hostility of his expression. ‘I may be easy, then. Her father would never allow an association so detrimental to her good name and the regard in which she is universally held. That being all I wished to ascertain, I will bid you goodnight.’
Avoiding, as he always did, using either Giles’s last name or honorary title, George nodded and walked back towards the card room.
Leaving Giles staring after him incredulously.
He should be happy, he told himself as he gathered up his papers again, that his half-brother’s incredible arrogance spared him the necessity of wrangling with George over his intention to seek out Lady Margaret. Apparently, his half-brother thought the lady a puppet who moved at her father’s command. And he was certain the marquess would command her to stay away from Giles, and marry George.
Fortunately, Giles already knew the first assumption was unlikely—Lady Margaret had told him plainly that her father respected him.
As for the latter, Lady Margaret seemed sincerely attached to her father, and probably would not willingly displease him. However, Giles doubted the independent lady he’d seen joking with voters on the hustings would let her father compel her into a marriage she did not want.
That conclusion cheered him almost as much as avoiding an ugly confrontation with his half-brother.
Nothing George had told him altered his intention to seek out the lady, at least until George or—he frowned at the thought—his watching minions discovered Giles had seen her again. By then, he should have confirmed whether or not his attraction to her—and hers to him—was strong enough for him to justify navigating the tricky course around his half-brother’s presumptions.
He had no clear idea what sort of relationship he envisioned. Not marriage, certainly—his tenuous position and his past were too chequered to inflict that association on any woman. But the lady was a widow, and perfectly able to indulge in a discreet dalliance, if their respective desires led that way…
Tantalised by the thought, Giles set off for the hackney stand, eager to report back to his friends at the Quill and Gavel. As he climbed into the vehicle, it suddenly occurred to him that he had another pressing reason to seek out Lady Margaret, whether or not the powerful connection between them recurred.
Giles felt the lady ought to know that his half-brother was keeping her under surveillance.
At Lady Margaret’s probable reaction to that news, he had to smile.
Chapter Four (#ulink_4bf38cae-c896-5766-a2aa-a9c902585827)
Shortly after the opening of Parliament two weeks later, Lady Margaret climbed the stairs to the Ladies’ Gallery in the upper storey of St Stephen’s Chapel. The odd arrangement in that chamber—a round bench surrounding a wooden lantern at the centre of the room, whose eight small openings allowed a limited view down into the House of Commons below—would make watching the debates difficult, though she would be able to hear all the speeches.
And she’d heard that Giles Hadley was to give an address on behalf of the Reform Bill today.
She claimed a place, thinking with longing of the unobstructed view that, seated right on a bench beside the members, she enjoyed when she attended the Lords to listen to her father. The best she could hope for in this room, if she were lucky and the gentleman stood in the right place, was to catch a glimpse of Mr Hadley’s head. Remembering that gentleman’s magnificent eyes and commanding figure, seeing no more than the top of his head was going to be a great loss.
Would his voice alone affect her? Her stomach fluttered and a shiver prickled her nerves, just as it had each time she’d thought of the man since their meeting several weeks ago. And she’d thought of him often.
Doubtless far too often, for a man she’d met only once, who did not appear at any of the ton’s balls or parties—where she’d looked for him in vain—and who did not frequent the same political gatherings she attended.
But oh, how even the thought of him still stirred her!
She would certainly try to meet him today. After spending the last several weeks finding herself continually distracted by recalling their encounter, sorting through possible explanations for the magic of it, and wondering whether it might happen again, she was tired of acting like a silly schoolgirl suffering her first infatuation. She wanted her calm, reasonable self back. For even if he did seem as compelling upon second meeting as he had upon the first, at her age, she should be wise enough not to lose her head over him.
Besides, seeing him again in the prosaic light of a Parliamentary anteroom, it was far more likely that he would cease being the stuff of dreams and turn into just another normal, attractive man.
Soon the session was called to order and a succession of speakers rose to address the group, met by silence or shouted comments from the opposing bench, depending on how controversial the subject being addressed. After several hours, stiff from sitting on the hard bench, Maggie was about to concede defeat and make her way out when the voice that had whispered through her dreams tickled her ears.
Shock vibrating through her, she craned her head towards the nearest opening, hoping for a glimpse of him.
The light dancing on the wavy, blue-black curls sent another little shock through her. Nerves tingling and breathing quickened, she bent down, positioning herself to catch even the smallest glimpse as he paced below her.
His voice held her rapt—oh, what a voice! Her father was right—Giles Hadley was a born orator, his full, rich tones resonating through the chamber. As he continued to press his points, even the disdainful comments of the opposition grew fewer, and finally died away altogether.
When the rising volume and increasingly urgent tone indicated the approaching climax of the speech, Maggie found herself leaning even further forward, anxious to take in every word.
‘For too long,’ he exhorted, ‘we have allowed the excesses of Revolutionary France to stifle the very discussion of altering the way our representatives are chosen. But this is England, not France. Are we a nation of cowards?’
After pausing to accommodate the chorus of ‘no’s he continued, ‘Then let nothing prevent us in this session from doing what all rational men know should be done: eliminate these pocket boroughs that give undue influence to a few voters or the wealthy neighbour who can sway them, and restore to our government a more balanced system of representation, a fair system, a just system, one that works in the harmony our noble forebears intended!’
As his voice died away, he came to a stop right below her, his head bowed as he acknowledged the cheers and clapping from the Whigs, the mutter of dissent from the Tories. Then, as if some invisible force had telegraphed her presence, he looked up through the opening, and their eyes met.
The energy that pulsed between them in that instant raised the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Then an arm appeared in her narrow view, pulling him away, and he was lost to her sight.
Straightening, Maggie found herself trembling. Thrilled by the power of his oratory, she remained seated, too shaken to move.
Papa had said everyone expected great things of him, and she now understood why. How could Lord Grey resist adding so compelling a Reformer to his staff? Even the Tories had fallen silent under the power of his rhetoric.
When he spoke with such passionate conviction, she suspected that he’d be able to persuade her to almost anything.
An alarming thought, and one that ought to make her rethink her intention to meet him again.
She was debating the wisdom of going downstairs and seeking him out, when suddenly the air around her seemed charged with energy. Startled, she looked up—into the blue, blue eyes of Giles Hadley.
Her mouth went dry and her stomach did a little flip.
‘Lady Margaret!’ he said, bowing. ‘What an unexpected pleasure to see you again.’
She rose to make him a curtsy. ‘And to see you, Mr Hadley. That was a very fine speech.’
He waved a hand. ‘The plain truth, merely.’
‘Perhaps, but the plain truth elegantly arranged and convincingly presented. It’s no wonder the full chamber attended to hear you speak.’
He smiled, his eyes roaming her face with an ardency that made her pulse kick up a notch. ‘I’d rather flatter myself that you came to hear me speak.’
‘Then you may certainly do so. I did indeed come with the hope of hearing you, and was richly rewarded.’
His eyes brightened further, sending another flutter of sensation through her. ‘Considering the many excellent speakers you’ve doubtless heard in both chambers, it’s very kind of you to say so. Surely I ought to offer you some tea in gratitude? Normally, we could take it in the committee room, but with the session just begun, everything is rather disordered. Might I persuade you to accompany me to Gunter’s?’
‘I would like that very much.’
He offered his arm. After a slight hesitation, she gave him her hand, savouring the shock of connection that rippled up her arm.
She did have the answer to one of the questions that had bedevilled her since their last meeting, she thought as he walked her down the stairs. The effect he had on her was definitely not a product of election excitement or the danger of that skirmish in Chellingham. Leaving caution behind in this chamber of debate, she intended to enjoy every second of it.
‘So,’ he said after they’d settled into a hackney on the way to Gunter’s. ‘Did my speech convince you that the time is right for reform?’
‘Your arguments are very persuasive,’ she admitted.
‘I hope your father and the Tories in the Lords agree. With so many Whigs returning to the Commons, passage of the bill in the lower house is certain. Though many in the Lords resist change, even the most hidebound cannot defend the ridiculousness of a pocket borough with a handful of voters having two representatives, when the great cities of the north have none.’
‘True. But Members are not elected to represent only their particular district, but the interests of the nation as a whole,’ she pointed out.
‘Another excuse to oppose change that the Tories have trotted out for years!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Let’s be rational. When a borough contains only a handful of voters who must cast their vote in public, they usually elect the candidate favoured by the greatest landholder in the area.’
‘Who, since he does own the property, should look out for its best interests and those of the people who work it and make it profitable,’ she countered. ‘Which is why giving every man a vote, as I’ve heard you approve, could be dangerous. A man who owns nothing may have no interest at all in the common good. With nothing to lose, he can be swayed by whatever popular wind is blowing.’
‘Just because a man owns property doesn’t mean he tends it well, or cares for those who work it. Oh, I know, the best of them, like your father, do. But wealth and power can beguile a man into believing he can do whatever he wishes, regardless of the well-being of anyone else.’
As his father had? Maggie wondered. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘But what about boroughs where the voters sold their support to the highest bidder? Virtue isn’t a product of birth. Noble or commoner, a man’s character will determine his actions.’
‘With that, I certainly agree.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘You’re a persuasive speaker yourself, Lady Margaret. A shame that women do not stand for Parliament. Though since you favour the Tories, I expect I should be grateful they do not!’
At that point, the hackney arrived at Gunter’s, and for the next few moments, conversation ceased while Hadley helped her from the carriage and they were seated within the establishment. As Hadley ordered the tea she requested in lieu of the famed ices, Maggie simply watched him.
She’d been intensely aware of him, seated beside her in the hackney during the transit. But she’d been almost equally stirred by his conversation.
Most gentlemen felt ladies were either uninterested in, or incapable of understanding, the intricacies of politics. Only her father had ever done her the courtesy of discussing them with her. Even her cousin Michael Armsburn, and the several other candidates for whom she had canvassed, valued her just as a pretty face to charm the voters.
None of the men she’d supported had ever invited her to discuss their policy or its philosophical roots. Giles Hadley excited her mind as much as he stirred her senses.
Or almost as much, she amended. He mesmerised her when he talked, not just the thrilling words, but watching those mobile lips, wondering how they’d feel, pressed against hers. She exulted in the tantalising magic of sitting beside him, the energy and passion he exuded arousing a flood of sensation in her, the heat and scent of him and the wondrous words he uttered a sea she could drown in.
Oh, to be with a man who burned with ardent purpose, who inspired one with a desire to be with him, not just in bed, but out of it as well!
Tea arrived shortly thereafter. Maggie forced herself to cease covertly studying the excellence of Giles Hadley’s physique, the breadth of his shoulders and the tapered elegance of his fingers, and concentrate on filling his cup.
After they had each sipped the steaming brew, Hadley set down his cup with an apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid I must confess to not being completely truthful about my reasons for inviting you here.’
Her great-aunt’s warning returned in a rush, dousing her heated euphoria with the ice water of wariness. ‘Not truthful? In what way?’
‘Much as I am enjoying our excursion to Gunter’s, we could have taken tea in the committee room. Except there is a matter I feel I must discuss with you that demanded a greater degree of privacy than would have been afforded in a Parliamentary chamber.’
Foreboding souring her gut, she said, ‘Then by all means, let us discuss it.’
‘I spoke with my brother not long ago. As you know, we…are not close, and he generally does not seek me out unless he wishes to dispute with me about something. The matter he wished to dispute about this time…was you.’
So she was to be a bone of contention? Not if she could help it! But perhaps she should hear him out before rushing to conclusions. ‘What was the nature of that dispute?’
Hadley shrugged. ‘You’ve read the journal reports—and so has George. Apparently my half-brother thinks you favour him—or he believes your father approves of him, and would favour his suit. He warned me to stay away from you.’
Some of the anger, hurt and despair of the episode with Sir Francis rose up, nearly choking her. ‘And so you sought my company to spite him?’ she spit out at last. ‘Do you think to beguile me, and then boast to him about it?’
He straightened, frowning. ‘Not at all! How could you imagine such a thing? Besides, if I were trying to charm you and boast of my conquest, would I have told you about our disagreement?’
‘Do you think you could charm me?’
His irritated expression smoothed, a roguish smile replaced it, and he smiled at her, that smile that made her knees weak. ‘Do you think I could?’
‘If you did, and we were compromised, we might be forced to wed. Then you’d be stuck with me for life—a fate which ought to give you pause,’ she said tartly, mollified.
His smile faded. ‘I would never do you the harm of marrying you.’
Before she could figure out that odd comment, he continued, his expression serious, ‘But that’s not what I meant to talk about. Did you speak with my half-brother about our meeting in Chellingham?’
It was her turn to be puzzled. ‘No, I’ve not seen him since I returned to London. Why do you ask?’
‘As far as you know, George is not a friend of your cousin Mr Armsburn?’
‘They are acquainted, certainly, but not close.’
‘The only place we’ve met, before today, was Chellingham. My brother specifically mentioned how detrimental to your reputation it would be if others discovered you’d been alone with me at the inn there. If you did not relate our encounter to George, and your cousin or his aide, Mr Proctor, didn’t inform him, how could he have known about it?’
Maggie paused a moment, thinking. She’d spoken with Aunt Lilly, but that lady would never divulge, even to her friends, confidential information about her niece, particularly if it involved a gentleman and would therefore make her the subject of gossip and conjecture. She was quite certain she’d not mentioned their meeting to anyone else.
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed.
‘Then it seems my suspicions were justified. Outlandish as it sounds, in order for my half-brother to have known that you’d accompanied me to that inn in Chellingham, he must have been keeping you under surveillance.’
She shook her head a little, not sure she could have heard him correctly. ‘Are you trying to tell me that your brother has someone…spying on me?’
‘You weren’t aware of it?’
‘Absolutely not!’
He nodded, looking grim again. ‘Your father wouldn’t have asked him to do such a thing, would he?’
‘Why would he? I had my cousin and Proctor to watch over me. If Papa had thought I needed additional protection, he would have chosen someone I know better than your brother to provide it. And I am sure he would not have done so without informing me and explaining the need for it. No, I don’t think Papa authorised this. Shall I ask him?’
‘Perhaps you should. I wouldn’t want to accuse my half-brother unjustly.’
The enormity of what he’d just told her registered. ‘Why in the world would your half-brother want to have me watched?’
‘He told me he intends to ask for your hand. Perhaps, with the turmoil over the Reform Bill and rumours flying of possible electoral violence, he wanted to make sure the woman he wants to marry didn’t come to any harm.’
‘Or he wished to make sure the woman he plans to marry did not behave in a manner of which he doesn’t approve!’ she retorted, more and more indignant as the implications registered. ‘The effrontery! How dare he have someone tail me as if I were a…a petty thief he was trying to prove guilty of larceny!’
Giles’s lips twitched. ‘I didn’t think you’d find the idea very appealing. May I assume from this that you are now even less likely to consider an offer from my half-brother?’
‘If he has indeed so grievously imposed on my privacy, you may assume the chances of my accepting an offer from him to be non-existent!’
He smiled at that. ‘Then I am almost glad of his arrogance. But…there is one thing more I feel I must say, before we drop the unpleasant matter of my brother.’ He paused, his smile fading. ‘I do hope you won’t feel I’m telling you this just because the two of us do not get along.’
‘I think I can count on your honesty.’ She hesitated, unsure how much she could or should say, given how brief their acquaintance was. ‘Even though I understand that you have not been…kindly treated, either by your father or your half-brother.’
He grimaced. ‘We are estranged, that is certain.’
She respected his reticence, and admired his restraint in not pouring out the complaints her comment invited—complaints, according to what Aunt Lilly had told her, he would be well justified in making. ‘So, what else did you wish to tell me?’
‘Would your father compel you to wed a man of his choice, even if you had no particular desire to do so?’
‘I cannot imagine he would. Besides, should he try to, I am of age, and have property and assets of my own over which he has no control. There would be no way he could force me to marry against my wishes.’
Giles nodded. ‘So I thought. However, George has been…much indulged by his father.’ Maggie noted he did not say ‘our’ father. ‘He is quite used to getting whatever he wants. And it seems he wants to marry you. He believes your father would favour his suit, and that you would follow your father’s guidance in the matter of the choice of a husband.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘No wonder he seems so little interested in charming me, and so much more interested in beguiling Papa.’
‘George can be quite…unpleasant, when he is prevented from obtaining what he desires. If he does in fact make you an offer, and you refuse him, just…be careful.’
She’d been about to take another sip of her tea, but at that, she looked up to stare at him. ‘You don’t mean he would try to…force me! Or harm me, for refusing him!’
‘No, no, probably not that. He would be more likely to start some malicious gossip in an attempt to blacken your name. So if you do refuse him, you might wish to be on your best behaviour.’ He winked at her. ‘No trysts at secluded inns in small market towns.’
She laughed. ‘I will keep that in mind, Mr Hadley.’
‘Very well. Now, much as I hate to bring this tryst at a very public place in the huge metropolis to an end, I fear I am due at a meeting in half an hour. Can I escort you home first?’
‘No, I have some errands to complete.’ Even more reluctant than he to have their time together come to an end, she added on impulse, ‘Father is hosting a dinner tomorrow night for some friends, not a policy meeting, but a wide-ranging discussion of political ideas. The guests will be quite varied in background and opinion. Would you like to attend?’
‘Are you sure your father would want me?’
‘Papa enjoys a free exchange of opinions. I know he would be interested in hearing more of yours. And let me assure you in advance, your half-brother will not be invited.’
‘Will you be acting as hostess?’
‘For the dinner. I shall probably leave the gentlemen to their discussions afterward.’
‘Then I should be delighted…’ He paused, frowning. ‘I should be delighted, but I was not exaggerating George’s malevolence. I didn’t note anyone tailing us to Gunter’s, so he may not discover that you accompanied me here, but my presence at your father’s dinner will surely excite enough comment to reach his ears. Probably, the knowledge will merely increase his enmity towards me, which is a matter of no import—the fact that I breathe daily increases his enmity. He might, however, seek you out for an explanation. I would not have you harassed.’
His concern that she not be drawn into a squabble between brothers dissipated the last of the caution generated by Aunt Lilly’s warning. ‘I refuse to allow your half-brother to dictate whom I may or may not invite to my home. If he tries to take me to task for it, I assure you, I am quite capable of putting him in his place.’
‘That I would like to see!’ Hadley declared, then paused, still looking troubled. ‘You are sure? The last thing I want is to introduce any unpleasantness into your life.’ His frown dissipating, he gave her an intimate smile, his voice lowering to a seductive murmur. ‘I would rather introduce you to pleasure.’
She looked up at him, her gaze caught and held by the power of his. Feeling a little breathless, she had to force herself to look away.
That comment made his amorous intent plain enough, she thought, thrown back into uncertainty by the realisation. She could put any potential affair to a stop right now…if she wanted. But did she want to?
Just because she was certain he would be amenable to dalliance, didn’t mean she had to make a decision about it right now. Besides, there could be pleasure in less: conversing, flirting—even a simple kiss.
‘My father and I would be honoured if you would come to dinner tomorrow night,’ she found herself replying.
His smile broadened and his eyes lit, as if she’d just given him a treasured gift. ‘Then I will certainly be there.’
‘Until tomorrow night,’ she said, a little giddy. What was she getting herself into?
He escorted her out and summoned a hackney. ‘You are sure you’ll be all right? You don’t even have a maid or a footman to carry parcels.’
‘I never bring my maid if I’m visiting Parliament—she’d be bored to death, poor thing, and it would unnecessarily delay her work. Since I’m ordering supplies for dinner, they will be delivered later anyway, so no need of a footman to carry parcels.’
‘What, no gowns or slippers or feminine fripperies?’
She laughed. ‘At the risk of having you find me totally unwomanly, I confess I don’t spend much time on gowns and slippers and fripperies.’
‘I could never find you anything but delightful.’
At that, she looked back up at him, into eyes that once again seemed to see deep within her. Enchanted, mesmerised, she didn’t want to look away. Every nerve quivering with awareness, had they not been standing on a public street, she might have gone into Hadley’s arms.
A pedlar with his handcart pushed past them, breaking the spell, and Maggie stepped away. ‘You’d better summon a hackney yourself, else you’ll be late to your meeting.’
‘Thank you again for accompanying me for tea.’
‘And to you, for tea…and your warning.’
He turned as if to go, then paused, looking back at her over his shoulder. ‘Do you really think I could beguile you?’
‘All too easily,’ she answered, before realising it would have been more prudent to turn that question aside.
He reached over to take her hand. Little eddies of delight swirled through her as he raised it and brushed his mouth against the thin kidskin sheathing her fingers. ‘Then I’m very encouraged. Send me the invitation. I’ll definitely come…exchange views with your father.’
With a bow, he handed her up into the carriage, waved his cane in farewell, and walked away.
Hand tingling, even more enchanted than she’d been after their interlude in Chellingham, Maggie watched him until the departing carriage set off, robbing her of the sight.
Chapter Five (#ulink_16bf83ce-de7c-52c4-b01d-d28c21d414d4)
That evening, Maggie waited up for her father, who had attended a dinner with some of his political cronies at Brooks’s. Although she was certain the marquess would not object to including Giles Hadley in their gathering—the purpose of the entertainment being, as she’d told that gentleman, to explore a wide range of ideas—she also knew he would be surprised by her invitation, and curious.
Best to meet that curiosity head-on. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure she could do a very good job of explaining it to her father when she didn’t fully understand it herself. She just knew she wanted to see more of Giles Hadley, and since he didn’t attend society functions and was unlikely to turn up at Tory gatherings, luring him to her father’s home was probably the only way she was going to manage it.
She really didn’t want to tell her father that.
But since the invitation had been tendered, the gentleman had accepted, and she had no intention of revoking it—the need to see him again being greater than her reluctance to discuss the reasons for it with her sire—she’d have to tell Papa—something.
She was dozing over her book in the library when at last she heard her father’s distinctive step in the hallway.
‘Papa, could I have a word with you?’ she called out as he passed the library door.
At the sound of her voice, he stopped short and peered into the room. ‘Is that you, Puss? What are you doing still up?’
‘There’s something I wanted to inform you about. Nothing of importance, but I know you will be tied up in committee meetings all morning, and was afraid I might miss you. It will only take a moment.’
Her father came over to place a kiss on her forehead. ‘I always have time for you, sweeting. Shall I pour you some wine?’
‘No, this really won’t take very long.’
‘I think I will rest these old bones while we talk,’ he said with a smile as he seated himself. ‘So, what’s amiss?’
‘Nothing! It’s just that I invited someone else to join us for dinner tomorrow night, and wanted to let you know beforehand.’
‘I thought we’d included everyone we thought could contribute to the conversation. Who did we forget?’
‘Well, it’s not someone we normally include, but he does have quite interesting views. You’ve even told me you admire him, though you disagree on almost every particular. It’s Mr Hadley—Mr Giles Hadley.’
He looked perplexed for a moment before the name registered. ‘Viscount Lyndlington, you mean! Unusual that he insists on spurning the title, but I suppose, given the situation between him and Telbridge, understandable. Of course he’s welcome, Puss—but how did you come to invite him? I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted.’
‘Oh, yes! I met him in Chellingham—you remember, I was canvassing for Michael, and he was there to rally support for Mr Reynolds. We spoke briefly, and I found him quite interesting. Then today, we spoke again when he came up to the Ladies’ Gallery after he’d given a speech at the Commons.’
‘An eloquent plea for passage of the Reform Bill, I understand.’
‘Yes, he’s quite an excellent speaker. If it is inevitable that the bill will pass the Commons, and he is certain it will, then it might be useful to have a thorough discussion before it comes before you in the Lords.’
‘You must have found him persuasive.’
‘I did. Not that I agree with all his views, of course. It’s true, though, that there was quite a lot of reform talk even in Chellingham, and that borough is as conservative as conservative comes.’
‘I will look forward to debating his views.’
‘Very good, Papa. That’s all, so I’ll bid you goodnight.’
When she came over to give him a kiss, he caught her hand, staying her. ‘Had I forgotten you telling me you’d met Mr Hadley in Chellingham?’
Maggie felt her face redden, and hoped in the dim candlelight, it wouldn’t be apparent. ‘I don’t believe I mentioned it, specifically. Since at the time, I wasn’t sure whether or not I would ever see him again, I didn’t think it important.’
‘Nor can I remember you visiting the Ladies’ Gallery any time recently to hear the speeches.’
‘I’d been remiss in not visiting sooner.’
‘This young man must have made quite an impression on you.’
So much for thinking she’d got through their little chat without having to explain her interest in Giles Hadley. ‘Yes, Papa, he did,’ she admitted.
‘I thought your favour might lie with a different Mr Hadley.’
‘George?’ She shuddered, and for a moment, debated telling her father it was almost certain that Mr Hadley had been spying on her. But asking Papa whether he’d authorised such a thing, especially when she was nearly certain he had not, might force her to disclose she’d seen a bit more of Giles Hadley than she’d thus far admitted. Deciding to say nothing, she continued, ‘He may be a good Tory, but I cannot like him, Papa. He’s too…calculating. And completely self-absorbed.’
Her father nodded. ‘With the wealth and affection Telbridge lavished on the boy, small wonder he thinks of little beyond his own interests. It’s probably just as well he lost his seat. In my estimation, his ambitions rather exceed his abilities.’
‘That was my impression,’ Maggie said drily. ‘Unless the measure of a man is the inventiveness of his tailor.’
‘Should I be asking Giles Hadley what his intentions are?’
‘Good heavens no, Papa!’ she protested, embarrassed by the very idea. ‘Promise me you will do nothing of the sort. Yes, I find Mr Giles Hadley…attractive. An excellent and persuasive orator with unique ideas I would like to hear more about. But that’s all!’
Her father retained her hand, rubbing the fingers. ‘Would it be so bad a thing if you were interested in…more? I know losing Robbie broke your heart, and whatever happened with Sir Francis hurt you deeply. But it hurts my heart that you are wearing out your youth playing hostess for an old man, instead of enjoying a husband and setting up your nursery.’
Tears stung her eyes at the mention of those old wounds. ‘I like being your hostess!’ she protested. ‘If you’re tired of having me preside over your table, I can always retreat back to my house in Upper Brook Street, or visit Mama at Huntsford.’
‘You know I love having you here! Though your mama would, of course, appreciate a visit.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I do feel…selfish, however, for not doing more to urge you to go on with your life.’
‘I have gone on with my life.’
‘Have you, Puss? Or are you just treading water, holding your place against the current, refusing to allow yourself to be swept into something new?’
‘Papa, how poetic!’ And unfortunately, how true. But how could she allow herself to be swept away when she no longer trusted any man to tell her the truth? And even if she could, when she no longer believed a mere marriage of convenience would wash away the lingering ache of loneliness and loss?
The possibility of opening herself to more—to anything that might cause the sort of devastation she’d experienced after Robbie’s death—was unthinkable.
A flirtation with Giles Hadley might make you forget it for a while, a little voice in her head whispered.
Ignoring it, she said, ‘For now, enlivening conversation at dinner by adding an articulate, dissenting voice is as “swept away” as I care to be. Will that suffice?’
‘It’s a start,’ he said, patting her cheek. ‘But don’t keep holding your place in that stream for too long. I still have aspirations of bouncing your children on my knee before I’m too decrepit to lift them.’
Her children. She swallowed hard. ‘I’ll try not to disappoint you. But please, let’s not be tasking Mr Hadley to help me provide you with them just yet.’
He laughed. ‘Very well, Puss. We’ll have him to dine a few times first. An excellent young man, by the way. Many an individual who suffered the setbacks he endured in his youth would have railed at his fate and become a bitter or frivolous wastrel, marking time until he inherited. Giles Hadley confronted his situation with courage, and with quiet determination and considerable effort, earned himself a place in the governing of this nation. I admire him for that.’
‘So do I, Papa. And now I will bid you goodnight.’
After exchanging a kiss, they both walked upstairs to their bedchambers. But after blowing out her candle and settling back on her pillow, Maggie found she was no longer sleepy.
What had she really intended to accomplish with her impulsive invitation? To see if Giles Hadley could fit into her world—or she into his?
Did she want him to ‘sweep her away’? She wanted him. That was certain. Every feminine part of her came to aching, needy life when he was near. The strength of that physical attraction made her only too acutely aware of how much she missed ‘enjoying a husband’.
But it was a great leap from that to a more serious relationship, one she was nowhere close to being ready to take. Although, she suddenly realised, unlike every other man of her acquaintance, she probably didn’t need to fear that this Mr Hadley would feed her sweet lies to win her favour—or her hand.
She had no idea what his current income was, but when he inherited the earldom, he would be a very rich man, with no need of her wealth. Though his half-brother George might prize her for her political ties, her Tory associations would be of no assistance whatsoever to the Reformist Giles; indeed, they would be a detriment.
Wedding her would offer him no real advantage, her only usable attributes—her lineage and breeding—being possessed by numerous other single females. Perhaps she could, cautiously, trust Mr Hadley when he told her how he felt about her.
And then she had to laugh. Had he not just told her quite plainly he had no interest in marriage? In fact, he’d made that odd comment about not ‘harming’ her by marrying her. As if she were a Tory candidate who would suffer for allying herself with a Reformer.
She considered the remark for a few minutes before dismissing it, unable to puzzle out the enigma. With neither of them interested in anything serious, perhaps she could let down her guard, feel free to be herself and simply enjoy his stimulating conversation and electrifying presence.
As for the physical attraction… He had all but invited her to a discreet affair, amicably conducted, no strings attached.
The very thought of it sent a spiral of warmth and longing through her. Even Aunt Lilly had admitted to ‘amusing herself’ after she’d been widowed. Oh, if only there were a truly safe way to do so!
But it was way too early in their acquaintance to worry about that. Before one directed a horse towards the highest fence, one must first saddle and bridle him, and get to know his paces. So for now, as she’d told her father, she would stick to the simple enjoyment of listening to his views…and the exquisite, tantalising pleasure of having him near.
In the late afternoon of the following day, Giles poured a glass of wine for Davie in the sitting room of their suite at Albany. ‘You don’t intend to accompany Ben and Christopher to dine with the committee members?’ Davie asked.
Not wishing to reveal any more information than he had to, Giles simply shook his head as he handed Davie his glass.
‘I promised Lady Greaves I’d come to Moulton Street tonight. It’s their son Dickon’s birthday. You’d certainly be welcome, if you’d like to join me.’
‘I don’t want to intrude on a family dinner.’
‘You wouldn’t be intruding. Sir Edward and Lady Greaves would love to see you.’ Davie raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You can’t avoid polite society for ever, you know. Eventually, you will be an earl.’
Giles took a sip of wine, delaying the need to respond. How could he explain to Davie his continuing ambivalence about his eventual inheritance? As Davie knew all too well, he’d been angry and resentful as a young man, once he’d grown old enough to fully understand what his father had done to him and his mother. From the time his aunt pulled him from poverty and sent him to school, he’d been driven to prove he could become successful without any assistance from the earl. He’d thought, as time went on and he built his reputation, his achievements towards that goal would make it easier for him to reconcile himself to the future that must be his.
So far, it had not, nor had he been able to make himself act on any of Davie’s increasingly frequent reminders that he ought to begin easing himself into his father’s world.
‘The current earl is, I understand, quite vigorous,’ he said at last. ‘Who knows, we may have abolished the aristocracy before he cocks up his toes. And since by then, you will most likely be Prime Minister, you will outrank me.’
‘The farmer’s whelp lording it over the lord?’ David chuckled. ‘Unlikely. Seriously, you really should become at least a little involved in the Season. Sir Edward and Lord Englemere would be delighted to have you come to any of their entertainments, and once the ton discovered you would actually accept invitations, you’d have a flood of them.’
‘What, subject myself to evenings of boring balls or tedious musicales with some dreadful soprano screeching away, or some equally dreadful young miss trying to display her limited prowess at the keyboard? If I want to waste time, I can take a nap.’
‘What are you doing this evening? Not staying here napping, I hope.’
Tread cautiously, Giles told himself. ‘Actually, I have a prior commitment. With, I should point out, a well-respected member of society. I’m invited to dine at the Marquess of Witlow’s.’
Davie’s hand froze with his glass halfway to his lips. ‘At the Marquess of Witlow’s?’ he echoed, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘With Lady Margaret as your hostess?’
‘I expect so, since I understand she usually plays hostess for her father.’
‘Did Lord Grey ask you to talk with Witlow? Try to negotiate to find some common ground before the bill comes to the floor that might persuade the Lords to pass it?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Then how—?’
Giles had hoped Davie, the most discreet of his friends, wouldn’t press him, but it appeared that wish was not going to be fulfilled. ‘I happened upon Lady Margaret after my speech at the Commons yesterday,’ he reluctantly explained.
He had no intention of adding that he’d hoped she might come, had castigated himself as an idiot for thinking he sensed her presence while he was speaking, and then had been thrilled to glance up into the Ladies’ Gallery and discover she was in fact in attendance. He’d found himself trotting up the stairs to the Gallery before he realised what he was doing.
And, ah, the strength of the desire that pulsed through him as she raised those lovely green eyes to meet his gaze… He’d felt an overwhelming compulsion to persuade her to remain with him—and the need to warn her about George had not, at first, even crossed his mind.
‘I spoke with her afterwards…’ At Davie’s lifted eyebrow, he admitted, ‘Very well, we took tea together. Before I sent her on her way, she invited me to dinner. Since I haven’t heard from her today, I assume the marquess didn’t tell her to rescind the invitation.’
Davie let out a low whistle. ‘The lady must have cast quite a spell for you to voluntarily venture into the enemy’s lair.’
Giles grinned. ‘I don’t expect they’ll have me for dessert. And, yes, I find Lady Margaret intriguing; we had quite an interesting chat about politics during tea. But don’t go picking out names for my firstborn.’
‘None of us is ready for that!’ Davie said with a laugh. ‘But I admit, I am surprised. Though perhaps I shouldn’t be. You’ve been alone for some time now, and you’ve never been interested in Beauties with more hair than wit.’
‘Lady Margaret is certainly not that.’ Now that he’d been forced to open up about the lady, Giles found it was…a relief, to be able to talk about the object of his inexplicable attraction with a perceptive friend. Davie would give advice if he thought it fitting, and unlike Ben and Christopher, do so without roasting Giles mercilessly about the connection.
‘I was attracted to her from the outset, even more so after talking with her after the session. She delivered a rather eloquent philosophical defence of conservatism, but at the same time, was willing to admit there are valid reasons for reform, as well as significant public support for it. I suppose I expected that, as a Tory, she’d be dogmatic and dismissive in her views, and was surprised to find her so open-minded. And so well spoken about politics.’
‘She has been her father’s hostess for years. One would have expected her to pick up some information about the process.’
‘Perhaps, but you’ve observed many of the political hostesses. They create a congenial atmosphere to encourage dinner conversation, support their husband or relative’s position ardently and campaign with enthusiasm. But most have neither interest in nor understanding of the intricacies of policy. I can’t recall any who could articulate a position with as much eloquence as Lady Margaret. It was…energising to debate what I love with so knowledgeable and passionate a lady.’
‘And she’s so much more pleasing to the eye than most of your Reformist orators,’ David agreed with a laugh. ‘But—what of George? If you dine with the marquess, he’s sure to hear of it. One can well imagine his reaction—especially now that he’s lost his seat. Even though you said when you met him at Brooks’s the other night, he didn’t seem disturbed about it.’
Possibly because he was more disturbed about Lady Margaret—a concern Giles hadn’t divulged to Davie. ‘Perhaps he thinks the earl can countermand the election, as he has fixed every other setback George has experienced. In any event, I broached the problem to Lady Margaret. She was quite adamant that she wasn’t going to allow George to dictate whom she entertained.’
‘All very well, but she doesn’t know him as you do. Can you feel easy, setting her up for his possible enmity?’
Giles shifted uncomfortably. He’d had second thoughts about attending for that very reason, despite his strong desire to further his relationship with the lady. ‘I considered bowing out,’ he admitted. ‘But dammit, I don’t want to allow George to once again try to dictate my life! In any event, he’s more likely to direct his ire at me, rather than at the lady, and I’m used to dealing with it. If he should be unpleasant to Lady Margaret…he’ll answer to me. Nor do I think the marquess would take very well to having his daughter harassed, and he has more power even than the earl. I’m confident I can proceed without causing difficulties for her.’
‘If you are satisfied, that’s good enough for me. Enjoy your dinner, then! I’ll be most interested to hear what topics are discussed.’
‘I intend to enjoy it—and hope to escape that Tory den with most of my hide intact.’
‘I shall be back later to commiserate, if you need to return and lick your wounds.’
‘I shall hold you to it.’
While Davie put down his glass and went off to change for dinner, Giles remained in the sitting room, sipping his wine. He was relieved to find his faith in his friend justified; after ascertaining the basic facts about Giles’s relationship with Lady Margaret, Davie had neither pried for more nor quizzed him about it.
So, what did he hope to accomplish tonight?
There was the political aspect, of course. Lord Grey might not have sent him to the dinner, but the invitation did provide a sterling opportunity to sound out one of the leaders of the Lords about his position on the upcoming reform legislation. If he could discover from Lord Witlow what areas of compromise there might be, the bill could be tailored to accommodate that before it left committee. Anything which improved the chances for getting the bill approved as quickly as possible in this session would be a great advantage.
He would need to be on his guard, though. He didn’t know who the other guests might be, but it was reasonable to expect some would be hidebound conservatives. He’d better prepare himself to be attacked.
Still, if he’d managed to survive the verbal and physical assaults mounted against him at Eton, before Christopher and then Ben had arrived to befriend him, he wasn’t too worried about the venom of politicians. Especially as he came as an invited dinner guest. He doubted his host would allow anyone present to hurl at him the sort of vicious epithets about his mother that had resulted in so many bloody-knuckled exchanges during his schoolboy years.
The larger looming question was, of course, the lady: what did he intend to do about Lady Margaret?
As impressed with her—and attracted to her—as he was, he was not at all interested in marriage. As Davie noted, he and the other Hellions were still junior enough not to need a wife’s connections to advance their political careers. And for reasons he’d never bothered to fully analyse, the very idea of marriage aroused some deep, nameless aversion.
Perhaps it was the disastrous aftermath of his parents’ union, or the lingering guilt he couldn’t shake at having inadvertently been the cause of that failure. Given his political aims and affiliations, as he’d informed her today, a union with him could do Lady Margaret no good whatsoever. And if anything happened to him before the current earl’s demise, his unfortunate wife would inherit only the enmity of a half-brother more than ready to step into his shoes.
Fortunately, one of the few benefits of being estranged from the earl was it allowed him to avoid the society in which Telbridge and his half-brother moved. If there were any scheming, marriage-minded females who took the long view, figuring that enticing into marriage a man of modest means now would pay off later when said husband inherited a wealthy earldom, they could hardly weave any webs to trap him when he never appeared at any of their social events.
He intended to enjoy his ambivalent position in his single, solitary state for a good deal longer. Although, he did chuckle to imagine the consternation it might create in Reform circles were he to turn up with a wife who had as strong a Tory pedigree as Lady Margaret.
He was powerfully attracted to the lady, and was reasonably certain she returned the compliment. A widow with her own property who was not dependent upon some relative for her support—and therefore not under their control—was exactly the sort of female he’d looked to in the past for the few affairs in which he’d indulged.
And Davie was right—it had been a long time since his last liaison, which had ended amicably when the lady in question decided she wanted to pursue remarriage. He’d kept busy with work since, and when the need for intimacy could no longer be denied, had a friendly arrangement with a discreet lady of the trade, who accommodated his desires with expertise and enthusiasm.
Might Lady Margaret be amenable to an affair?
Desire dried his mouth and tightened his body.
How he’d love to bury his fingers in her thicket of auburn hair, pulling the pins free until the heavy mass billowed down around her shoulders! Watch those green eyes darken with passion as he slowly disrobed her, fanning her desire higher and higher as he kissed and caressed the flesh as he bared it. He could imagine the feel of her breasts, heavy in his hands, the nipples tightening under his tongue. Then to proceed lower, over the silk of her belly, into the valley between her thighs, to the hidden centre of her desires…
He was throbbingly erect, just contemplating it. But he’d better douse those amorous thoughts before dinner. He’d hardly be able to hold his own against the enquiries that were likely to be fired at him by the Conservative diners with the velocity of volleys from a British square, if he spent the meal in a glassy-eyed haze of lust.
Besides, though he had no doubt Lady Margaret was attracted to him as well, being attracted and inviting him to an affair were rather large steps apart. For the time being—or until she sent him unmistakable verbal or non-verbal cues indicating such a leap interested her—he had better just focus on enjoying the lady’s conversation.
Taking a deep breath, he told himself to banish dreams of trysting and concentrate on politics.
To his surprise, it required an unusually strong application of will to do so, as his normally all-consuming passion suddenly seemed not so all-consuming.
But even with lust banished to simmer beneath the surface, his whole body still tingled with anticipation at meeting Lady Margaret again soon.
Chapter Six (#ulink_d1d775e5-2972-5a65-bb55-9c72d8260fb6)
Several hours later, Giles entered Lord Witlow’s town house in Russell Square. So this was where Lady Margaret had been raised, he thought, noting the Adamesque decor in muted tones, augmented here and there with Greek statuary and Oriental vases. Tasteful, classic and understated, like the lady.
He took the stairs with alacrity, telling himself the excitement coursing through him stemmed partly from anticipation of the spirited political debate he expected at dinner—and not just because of his strong desire to see his hostess again.
He found the anteroom occupied by a dozen or so guests, gathered in clusters, and already so absorbed in their discussions that they scarcely looked up as the butler intoned his name. He did not at first see Lady Margaret, though the simmering undercurrent of energy heightening his senses indicated that she must be present.
And then he spied her, walking over with her father to greet him, beautifully dressed in a gown of deep green that set off her eyes. Though he lamented the demise of the fashion for very low-cut dinner gowns, Giles noted, running an appreciative gaze over her figure, that the new lower-waisted style emphasised her slender form and accentuated the swell of that far-too-well-concealed bosom. As he raised his eyes to her face, she extended her hand.
He bowed over it, feeling a tremor vibrate through her fingers as he raised them to his lips. He had to fight to keep himself from letting his lips linger over the soft kidskin, while his nostrils filled with scent of violets. Concentrate on politics, he warned the senses that urged him to cut her from the group and whisk her away somewhere they might be private.
‘Father, I’m sure you remember Viscount Lyndlington—or Mr Hadley, as he prefers to be addressed. I was so impressed by his speech to the Commons, I took the liberty of adding him to our gathering.’
‘I heard from several sources about the eloquence of that address,’ the marquess said. ‘Let’s see if you can be equally eloquent in persuading some of my colleagues to your views tonight.’
‘I hope in turn to become better acquainted with your objections to it,’ Giles replied. ‘Knowledge and openness to altering opinions will be the only way compromise can happen.’
‘I shall look forward to the exchange,’ the marquess replied. ‘I believe you know most of the gentlemen?’ He waved a hand towards the rest of the room.
Giles forced himself to take his eyes from Lady Margaret, who was shyly smiling at him, and gaze around him. He’d been expecting a gathering of Tory lords, but the group was in fact much more varied. Beside several of the marquess’s associates from the Lords stood his good friend Lord Bathhurst and the irascible Baron Coopley, one of the most rigid Tories. But also present were the railroad man and inventor George Stephenson, several Tory MPs, and one of the Committee of Four whom Lord Grey had charged with drafting the Reform Bill, Sir James Graham.
This grouping should indeed provide for some interesting discussion, he thought, hopeful that prospect would make it easier to concentrate on politics—and ignore the allure of Lady Margaret, to whom his gaze kept returning, like a child’s toy pulled by a string.
Another guest was announced, and host and hostess moved on to welcome him. Giles watched Lady Margaret’s graceful sway of a walk as long as he thought he could get away with it without the raptness of his attention becoming notable, then made his way to the group which included Sir James.
‘Hadley!’ the Whig leader said in surprise as Giles joined them. ‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with the marquess. I’ll look forward to having a friend in my corner during the debate tonight. Though you’ll hear the variety of views Lord Witlow enjoys, I fear we shall still be outnumbered.’
Avoiding any comment about his connection to the marquess, Giles said, ‘How does Lord Grey think the lines will be drawn, once the bill comes out of committee?’
As he expected, it required only that question to launch Sir James and the two MPs standing with him into a spirited debate about how the legislation would progress, a discussion Giles would normally have followed avidly. Tonight, he listened with half an ear, surreptitiously trying to keep Lady Margaret in sight.
She was a good hostess, greeting each newcomer, sometimes allowing her father to direct the conversation, sometimes, with gentlemen who were obviously old family friends, giving the newcomer a hug or a kiss on the cheek.
Giles never thought he’d be jealous of venerable gentlemen from the older generation. At least, he told the impatient little voice within that clamoured to be near her, she wasn’t gifting her kisses to any man who looked virile enough to be his rival as a lover.
Startled to realise his interest in Lady Margaret had somehow progressed from admiration to evaluating other men as competition, he followed Sir James’s group in as the butler called them to table.
To his disappointment, he wasn’t seated near his hostess—the elderly Marquess of Berkley and Lord Coopley had that honour, as was proper for the two highest-ranking guests. He was surprised that he’d been seated adjacent to his host, a place that would normally have been reserved for a gentleman of higher status. Unless, he realised with a rueful grimace, one took into account his position as a courtesy viscount.
At first, conversation was general, with comments on the food and wine and an exchange of pleasantries and social news among the gentleman. Having nothing of interest to contribute, Giles listened politely, his glance straying to Lady Margaret at the other end of the table.
She was smiling at Lord Coopley—and what a lovely smile it was, he thought, those generous lips upturned and her eyes brightening. He liked what she’d done with her hair tonight, thick coils of auburn fire pinned atop her head, with little tendrils curling down to kiss her brow and earlobes—as he would love to. That luscious mouth, too.
‘…do you not think so, Hadley?’
Startled by the sound of his name, he jerked his head back to find the marquess regarding him, a slight smile on his face. Realising he’d not only been rudely inattentive to the host who’d done him the honour of seating him beside him, he’d also been caught staring at the man’s daughter, he gave himself a sharp mental rebuke, feeling his face heat.
If he were a parent worth the name, Lady Margaret’s father must already be curious about the link between them. The last thing he needed was to give the marquess a distaste of him by exhibiting the sort of ill-bred behaviour his half-brother always accused him of—or worse still, have Witlow suspect the strength of his amorous interest in Lady Margaret.
That subject concerned the two of them alone.
‘I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t quite hear. Could you repeat the question?’
‘Certainly.’ A little twitch to his lips, as if he didn’t believe Giles’s excuse for an instant, but didn’t mean to call him on it, Witlow complied. This time, Giles listened closely, telling himself sternly for the remainder of the dinner to concentrate on his host.
Once the diners ventured into political matters, the conversation became stimulating enough to hold Giles’s attention, despite the ever-beckoning temptation of Lady Margaret seated at the other end of the table. Giles deferred to Sir James, letting the senior Member shoulder the burden of defending the Reform cause, adding a comment only when called upon. Not that he was afraid of speaking out, but it would be presumptuous for a junior member to put himself forward when Grey’s aide was present, an experienced man better known to this group than he.
Some time later, he heard Lord Coopley call his name. ‘So, Hadley,’ the baronet said in his gravelly voice, ‘your half-brother tells me you carry a torch for the Friends of the People?’
‘In a way,’ Giles replied. ‘Since Lord Grey himself formed the group, all of us who call ourselves Reformers are happy to carry on his ideals. Who could disagree with the notion that talent and virtue should be the chief requirements for a Member of Parliament?’
Apparently able to disagree, Lord Coopley sniffed. ‘Every male eighteen and older to have a vote? Parliaments to be elected annually? One member of Parliament for each twenty thousand citizens? Bah! How could the nation’s business be done, with Parliament forming and breaking up every season, and any Tom, Dick and Harry who could stagger to the polls after drinking a quart of election gin able to cast a vote? In private, no less, so one would never know where he stood! I suppose you sympathise with the Spencean Philanthropists, too, who would confiscate all our land and parcel it out, a few acres to every man, woman and child in the land?’
‘Did my half-brother tell you that, as well?’ Giles asked, irritated. Trust George to make him sound like the most rabid radical imaginable.
‘He did. You’re not going to call the Earl of Telbridge’s son a liar, are you?’
Much as he would like to, he knew it wouldn’t be prudent. ‘Certainly not. Though it’s true we agree on very little,’ he replied, trying to walk a cautious line between dismissing the charge as nonsense and agreeing he supported a position he didn’t.
Coopley uttered a bark of a laugh. ‘Distributing land to everyone! I’d like to see what a tailor or a baker or a bricklayer would do with ten acres of prime farmland!’
‘Or a Parliamentarian or lawyer?’ Giles replied with a smile. ‘I think we are all better off staying within our spheres of expertise. I’m sure Mr Stephenson would not like to have me conducting experiments on steam power, lest I blow him sky-high.’
As he’d hoped, the gentlemen laughed, easing the tension.
‘Lord Coopley, could I beg your assistance?’ Lady Margaret interposed, touching that gentleman’s arm. ‘Was it the Warrington Exetors who returned a Tory candidate for the last Parliament, or the Covington Exetors? Your memory for names is keen as a huntsman’s knife, and you know everyone who is anybody.’
‘Covington, my dear, Covington,’ Coopley said, patting her hand. ‘The family have been Tories since Peel’s administration.’ Either forgetting Giles or losing interest in baiting him, the older man launched into a detailed description of each administration in which an Exetor had served.
Giles risked catching Lady Margaret’s eye to give her a quick nod of thanks, to which she replied with a slight smile and a lift of her brows before turning back to her dinner partner.
A short time later, the footmen cleared the table, and Lady Margaret stood up. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to begin your more…lively debates. Thank you all for coming, and I’ll bid you goodnight. Papa, I’ll be reading in the library; come see me later, if the vigorous discourse you’re sure to enjoy after my departure doesn’t totally exhaust you.’
Giles watched her walk out with appreciative eyes. Initially disappointed that she did not even glance in his direction before she left the room, he brightened when he recalled her parting comment about repairing to the library.
Had that been aimed solely at her father…or could he flatter himself that she’d meant it partly for him, too?
At the idea of having her to himself for a few moments, excitement flared, and he immediately began scheming how he might politely get away without exciting comment.
Sir James was watching her, too. ‘She certainly rescued you deftly!’ the baronet murmured to Giles after she disappeared from view. ‘What a consummate hostess! I wish I had the like!’
‘Lady Graham is a very gracious hostess,’ Giles replied.
‘My Fanny does her best, but she doesn’t truly enjoy it,’ Sir James replied. ‘You need only look at Lady Margaret to see she thrives on discussion and debate. An excellent campaigner, too, which my Fanny most decidedly is not! The travelling, the dust, the crowds all exhaust her. There was talk a while back that Sir Francis Mowbrey might lure Lady Margaret away from her father to work her magic on his behalf, but in the end, it came to nothing.’
‘Sir Francis Mowbrey, the Tory MP from Suffolk?’ Giles asked, hoping he sounded like a politely interested guest—rather than like a man completely obsessed by the lady.
‘Yes, he wooed her some years ago, not long after she came out of mourning. Sir Francis was making a name for himself in Tory circles and had all the right qualifications: old landed family, educated at Eton and Cambridge, related to many of the peers in the Lords, not to mention the ladies found him charming. They were engaged, but just before they were to wed, Lady Margaret cried off. Sir Francis was quite public about his displeasure over the break; understandable, I suppose—it was a better match for him than for the lady, as he would gain access to her considerable fortune, as well as her Tory contacts and political expertise.’
Surprised, Giles said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected Lady Margaret to be a jilt. Or capriciously change her mind at the last minute.’
‘Well, let’s just say Sir Francis was better at wooing than he was at fidelity. He liked the ladies as much as they liked him, and though he was discreet about it, apparently continued his little amours even after the engagement. The on dit was that Lady Margaret got wind of it, and decided she didn’t want to become a wife who had to look the other way. Fair enough, I suppose.’
The man sounded like an arrogant jackass, Giles thought, though he made himself utter something appropriately banal. Better not to express his disgust, and risk alerting the baronet to the intensity of his interest in the lady.
But if Sir Francis had been foolish enough to lose the esteem of a woman of Lady Margaret’s stature by trysting with other females, he didn’t deserve her.
And if he’d led her on with declarations of love that turned out to be hollow, that might explain, Giles suddenly realised, why an eminently eligible female like Lady Margaret had chosen not to remarry.
Their attention was recalled by the marquess, who invited each guest to give his opinion on what would be the most important matter to be brought before Parliament in the current session. Mentally filing away what he’d just learned from Sir James, Giles returned his attention to matters political, biding his time until he could take his departure.
Finally, after an hour of intense debate came the lull that enabled him to make his escape. Pleading an early day working on committee reports, he expressed his appreciation to his host and took his leave. After enquiring of a footman where he might find the library, so he could bid his hostess goodnight, Giles walked in the direction indicated and towards the encounter he’d been anticipating all night.
The door to the library stood ajar. Intending to announce himself, he paused on the threshold, taking in the scene within.
Lady Margaret sat on a sofa near the fire, a full brace of candles on the table beside her, a slight smile on her face as she gazed down at the book she held. Light from the blazing hearth played in a teasing dance on her auburn hair, setting the burnished locks aglow and illumining her pale face with a blush of amber.
The sight of her, looking so solitary and yet so serene, struck his chest like a blow. In a rush of memory, he recalled how, after being put to bed, he’d sneak back to the small parlour in the little cottage he’d occupied with his mother, wanting another story or a goodnight kiss. He’d slip in to find her alone and reading, and think how beautiful she was. Long before he’d learned that they were poor, that they’d been cast off by his father, that she was living in exiled disgrace, he’d felt such a deep sense of peace and safety when she welcomed him with a hug before carrying him off to bed again.
Lady Margaret cast so similar an aura, for a moment he had the ridiculous feeling that he was coming home.
Before he could shake it off, as if that special energy that sizzled between them had alerted her to his presence, she looked up. ‘Mr Hadley!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is the group breaking up so soon?’
‘No, the rest of the gentlemen are still avidly engaged. I believe they’ll be there until the brandy gives out.’
She laughed softly, a musical sound that made him want to smile. ‘Since the supply is virtually inexhaustible, they should be there until dawn. But you need to leave?’
‘Well…’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘To be honest, I must admit I made my excuses early…hoping to have a private word with you.’
Her smile widened. ‘And I was hoping you might slip away. Won’t you come in?’
A body blow from a skilled pugilist couldn’t have kept him from advancing towards her. ‘With pleasure.’
Chapter Seven (#ulink_b5f8381d-c2a9-5106-b4a9-883f54bce5e2)
Looking up to find Mr Hadley standing on threshold, so discretion-meltingly handsome with his broad-shouldered form outlined by the darkness beyond and his face illumined by candlelight, she at first thought she’d longed for him so fiercely, she was only imagining his presence. Then he smiled, confirming he was no illusion, and her foolish heart leapt in gladness.
‘I’m so pleased you took my hint that I’d be in the library,’ she said, trying to slow her pulse as she waved him to a seat on the sofa beside her.
‘I’m so pleased you gave me the hint.’
Now that she’d got what she’d hoped for, she felt unaccountably shy. ‘Did you enjoy the discussions?’ she asked, feeling even more foolish for falling back on the prosaic, when she really wanted to ask him all about himself—his youth, his schooling, how he’d developed an interest in politics, what he wanted to achieve…whether he would reconcile with his father. Oh, she wanted to know everything about him!
He laughed. ‘The exchange did indeed become more “lively” after your departure! With Sir James to buttress my position, I flatter myself that I gave as good as I got, and managed to rattle a few firmly held opinions. Enough that I thought it prudent to depart and leave them to enjoy their brandy in peace.’
‘I thought you held your own admirably during dinner—and with great diplomacy. Especially with Lord Coopley.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid he can be quite dogmatic, but he’s been Papa’s mentor since he entered the Lords. He’d be so hurt if he learned Papa had hosted one of his “discussion evenings” and we had not invited him.’
‘I did rather feel like a Christian in the arena after the tigers were released. Thank you again for the rescue, by the way. Browbeating aside, I found it useful to hear all the arguments the Tories may summon; it will help my committee prepare the best responses to counter them. Because the Lords must pass the bill this session.’
‘Must?’ she echoed, puzzled. ‘Why “must” this time, when they’ve already failed several times before?’
‘Surely you observed the mood of the country when you went out to Chellingham! There’s even more agitation in the counties, especially in the northern industrial districts around Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds. Memories of the St Peter’s Field Massacre are still vivid. By failing to vote for reasonable change, the Lords could foment the very rioting and civil discord they think to avoid.’
Alarmed, she was going to ask him to elaborate when he held up a hand. ‘But enough politics for one evening! First, let me compliment you on a delicious dinner. After the bachelor fare I usually settle for, it was quite sumptuous! You really are, as Sir James asserted, the perfect hostess, providing for the needs of your guests, making sure everyone is included in the conversation, inserting a soothing comment here and there if the discussion gets heated—without the overheated gentleman ever noticing he’d been deflected. Quite masterful!’
‘Thank you,’ she said, flushing with pleasure at his praise. ‘I do enjoy it, especially “discussion evenings” such as this one, where there are a range of views exchanged. Alas, despite the best pamphleteering efforts of Anna Wheeler and William Thompson, I fear women will not get the vote soon. This gives me some way to contribute.’
‘Your lady mother does not enjoy playing hostess?’
‘Mama’s health is…delicate. She lost two babes in London in the early days when Papa first sat in the Lords; the experience left her with a permanent distaste for the city and, I’m afraid, for politics. Much as she and Papa dislike being apart, she now remains year-round in the country, while Papa resides here when Parliament is in session.’
‘But your brother does not? As active in politics as your father is, I would have thought he would urge his son to stand for one of the seats in his county—or in one of the boroughs he controls.’
‘I’m afraid Julian has no interest at all in politics—much to Papa’s disappointment.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I was the child who inherited that passion. After Mama took us into the country, it was always me, not Julian, who pestered Papa to tell us all about what had happened during the session after he came home to Huntsford. When I spent my Season with my great-aunt Lilly, I persuaded Papa to let me play hostess for a few of his political dinners—and loved it! And so, after…after I was w-widowed,’ she said, not able even after all this time to speak of losing Robbie without a tremor in her voice, ‘I took it up again.’
‘Your brother stays in the country, as well? I don’t recall ever hearing of him in town.’
‘Yes, he watches out for Mama, to whom he is devoted, and manages the estate. After all, he will inherit it, and such a vast enterprise requires careful supervision. Papa began to train him for it when he was quite young, and Julian loves working the land.’
‘While you prefer the city?’
‘Oh, no, I love being at Huntsford! My husband’s estate is in the same county, and had things…not worked out otherwise, I would have been content to live out my life there. Afterward, I…needed to get away. Fortunately, Papa was willing to take me on again as his hostess.’ She gestured around her. ‘So here I am, back in the bosom of my family, though I do return almost daily to my own house in Upper Brook Street. Father, Mama, Julian were everything to me when…when I lost my husband. I really don’t know how I would have survived without them. Excuse me, I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but that is what I find so tragic about your situation—that you are estranged from your own father, and from the land and people it will one day be your responsibility to manage and look after.’
He seemed to recoil, and worried she’d trespassed on to forbidden ground, she said, ‘It’s none of my business, I know. I hope I haven’t offended you.’
He’d clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he relaxed it. ‘You’re quite brave. Most of my acquaintance don’t dare mention the earl.’
She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Foolhardy, rather than brave. It just…makes my heart ache to hear about a family estranged from one another. After losing two siblings and…and my best friend and dearest love, those few I have left are so precious to me. One never knows how much time one will have with them. Another reason I enjoy playing hostess to Papa.’
He nodded. ‘That’s true enough. With the thoughtlessness of youth, I never imagined I would lose my mother so early.’
‘She must have been wonderfully brave. To endure being isolated, with even her own family abandoning her.’
He laughed shortly. ‘A child accepts what he knows as “normal”. It never occurred to me while I was growing up in that little cottage on the wilds of the Hampshire downs that we were isolated or alone. Of course, like most boys, I wished I had brothers to play with, but Mama made the humble place we occupied a haven, full of joy and comfort. By the time I’d been away long enough to understand what had happened, why we lived as we did, it was too late. Too late to tell her how much I appreciated the love and care she gave, and the tremendous strength and courage she displayed in creating a happy home for her child, despite her own sorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘When my aunt came to take me away to school, I pleaded not to have to leave. I was certain I would be content to spend my whole life there, in that little cottage.’
Emboldened by having him answer her other questions, knowing she was pushing the bounds of the permissible, but unable to stop herself she said, ‘So you don’t think you would ever be able to forgive your father—the earl?’
His face shuttered. Alarmed, she feared he’d either say nothing at all, or give her the set-down she deserved for asking so personal a question. But after a moment, he said, ‘Mama could have lied, you know. Denied that she and Richard had been lovers. My aunt told me that the earl had assured her he’d always known she loved Richard, and only wanted the truth. And then he punished her for giving it to him, in the most humiliating fashion possible. Disgraced. Divorced. Repudiated by her own family. How can I forgive him that?’
The anguish in his tone broke her heart, and she wanted to reach out to him—the isolated child whose adored mother had been mistreated and scorned.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But I do know that anger eats away at the soul, creating a wound that festers. One cannot heal until one lets it go.’ Advice she would do well to heed herself, she thought ruefully.
‘Would that I could follow such wise counsel,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some day, I will.’
‘It was presumptuous of me to offer it,’ she admitted.
‘Caring,’ he corrected. ‘You do offer it out of…compassion, don’t you?’
Oh, it wasn’t wise for her heart to ache for his pain—but it did. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
With a sigh, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss on it. At his touch, their discussions of politics, her family, his past—all the words in her brain disintegrated, leaving her conscious only of sensation, as the simmering connection between them flamed up, powerful and resurgent. She caught her breath, her fingers trembling in his, fighting the urge to lean closer and caress his cheek.
Then he was bending towards her, his grip on her hand tightening as he drew her against him. She closed her eyes and angled her face up, offering her lips, filled with urgency for his kiss.
He brushed her mouth gently, as if seeking permission. She gave it with a moan and a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Groaning, he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her, pressing her against his chest while he deepened the kiss.
At his urging, she opened her mouth to him. He sought her tongue and tangled his with it, sending ripples of pleasure radiating throughout her body. She rubbed her aching breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer, impatient with the layers of cloth that kept them from feeling flesh upon flesh.
Time, place, everything fell away. She was consumed by him, devouring him, afire with ravening need that raged stronger with every stroke of his tongue.
Lost in mindless abandon, she wasn’t sure how much further she would have gone, had he not suddenly broken the kiss, pushed her away, and jumped up to stumble to the hearth.
‘Voices!’ he rasped, his tone breathless and uneven. ‘Coming this way.’
She heard them then, the shock of cold air against her heated cheeks as he abandoned her slamming her back to the present even as she recognised her father’s tones and Lord Coopley’s growling bass.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered, raising shaking hands to straighten her bodice and smooth her disordered curls.
Seconds later, the two men entered the library, stopping short when they saw she wasn’t alone. ‘Hello, Papa, my lord. Is the group breaking up?’ she managed.
‘Yes, the others have gone,’ her father said, looking curiously between her and Hadley. ‘Coopley and I were going to have one last brandy.’
‘As you can see, Mr Hadley lingered to thank me for dinner, and I’m afraid I waylaid him with some further conversation, even though he’d informed me he needed to get away to prepare for a meeting tomorrow. But I shall let him go now.’
Whatever her father might be thinking about finding the two of them alone together, he made no comment. ‘We will wish you goodnight, then, Mr Hadley. Thank you for attending our little gathering, and I hope we will have the pleasure of your company again soon.’
‘The pleasure was certainly mine,’ Hadley replied. ‘Lady Margaret, Lord Witlow, Lord Coopley.’ He bowed, and before she could more than nod, he strode from the room.
‘Will you join us, Puss?’ her father asked.
The last thing she needed now, with her body in an uproar and her mind in disarray, was to face her father’s all-too-perceptive scrutiny. ‘No, you’ll wish to finish whatever discussion was ongoing, and I don’t want to prevent you. I am rather sleepy, so I’ll take myself to bed.’
She rose and walked over to give each man a kiss, hoping her father wouldn’t notice her breathing was still uneven and her hands were trembling.
At a pace she hoped looked decorous rather than panicked, she exited the library.
The following morning, after tossing and turning for hours, Maggie got up at first light. Too restless, and irritated by her restlessness, to attempt to return to sleep, she decided to go for an early morning gallop. The rush of cold air and exhilaration of a hard ride would settle her, clear her muddled mind, and help her decide what she must do.
She rang for her maid, donned her habit, and as the first grey light broke over city, gathered her horse and a sleepy groom and set out for Hyde Park.
She knew what frustrated desire felt like—she’d experienced it often enough, after friendship with Robbie turned to passion, and before they could be wed. Tiring her body with a strenuous ride would dissipate it. If only it might also dissipate the confusion in her brain, and resolve the tug and pull between the compulsion to pursue a relationship with Hadley, and the caution that warned she had far too little self-control where he was concerned, and ought to avoid him.
Sending her groom home after she made it safely to the park, since the sun would be well up by the time she was ready to return, she urged her mare to gallop. For the next hour, she alternated between riding hard and resting her mount, until her hands ached and her legs were trembling.
But the clamour of her body for more of Hadley’s touch had not abated. Not was her mind any clearer than when she’d set out.
Irritated at herself for this unusual inability to make up her mind, she was walking her lathered mare along the path when, rounding a corner, she came upon the cause of her dilemma, trotting on a high-stepping chestnut gelding.
His horse, obviously fresh, reared up, giving Maggie a few seconds to calm the sudden racing of her heart at seeing Giles Hadley again.
He dismounted and walked towards her, his face alight in a smile. ‘Lady Margaret! How delightful to see you. Though it is rather early for a ride.’
Oh, how she could lose herself in that smile! It took all her increasingly feeble strength of will to keep herself from running to him and throwing herself in his arms. ‘I don’t like to waste the morning in bed. At least, not alone.’
Horrified she’d actually said that aloud, her cheeks flamed as, after a shocked moment, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now, that’s a sentiment with which I can heartily concur.’
He fell in step beside her—just a hand’s breadth away. The air between them fairly sparkled with sensual tension. Oh, she wanted…how she wanted.
She hadn’t felt this powerful an attraction, this irresistible a need, since the early days of her marriage with Robbie. Love might be out of the question…but it was only the matter of the ever-ticking clock before the possibility of passion was lost, too. Could she pass up this chance to feel again its heat and power and fulfilment?
A pied piper to lead her wherever he wished, he looked down at her as he took her hand and kissed it. ‘My very dear Lady Margaret.’
Her world narrowed to the wonder of his blue-eyed gaze, the force of the need flowing from her to him, from him to her, in that simple clasp of fingers.
Before prudence had a chance to try to wrestle will back under control, she blurted, ‘I’m about to be very unladylike. But as I discovered some years ago, one cannot depend on the future; if one sees something one wants, one should seize it while one can.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘And you see something you want?’ he asked softly.
‘You,’ she whispered. And then sucked in a panicked breath, terrified, once the word had been spoken and couldn’t be taken back, that her brazenness would shock or offend him, that he would utter some blighting word and walk away. Would he be gentleman enough not to make her a laughingstock at his clubs? she wondered, light-headed at the risk she’d just taken.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he shook his head a little. ‘Excuse me, Lady Margaret. Did you just suggest what I think you did?’
‘Yes,’ she said tartly, her face burning now with heat of another sort, ‘and I do wish you would answer, instead of staring at me in that confounding way. If you intend to refuse, please do so, and let me bid you good day and quit the park before I expire of mortification.’
‘You must know I’m not about to refuse!’ With a laugh, he lifted the hand she’d almost forgotten he still held and brought it to his lips. ‘You must excuse my shock; I’ve never been offered carte blanche by a lady before. But now that I’ve recovered, I have only two questions: Where? When?’
She better do this immediately, before she lost her nerve. ‘My house—Upper Brook Street, Number Four. Now. The elderly cousin who lives with me for form’s sake is very deaf, and never rises before noon. Come by way of the mews. I’ll tell the grooms to admit you.’
He nodded, and without waiting for anything more—she was now so agitated, she couldn’t have stood still a moment longer in any event—Maggie tugged on the reins and led her horse away.
Giles stared after the retreating form of Lady Margaret, still not sure he’d heard her correctly. Rapidly he replayed the conversation in his mind: yes, it had not been just wishful imagining. She really had invited him to become her lover.
Now.
Hell and damnation, what was he doing just standing here?
With a joyful laugh, he tugged on the reins to bring his horse close, then threw himself into the saddle. After one reckless, whooping delight of a gallop around the deserted Rotten Row, startling milkmaids and scattering cows, he pulled up, laughing.
He still couldn’t believe it. After the suspicion in the eyes of her father when he caught them in library last night—after kissing her with wanton abandon on the sofa in her father’s library, the door open, a roomful of guests only a few doors away, any one of whom could have walked in and discovered them, he’d thought he’d be lucky if she even spoke to him again.
He’d come to the park to ride before his meetings this morning, to clear from his mind the fog of last night’s brandy and to work out how best to apologise. He couldn’t explain it to himself—how he couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her, couldn’t touch her without wanting the feel of her body pressed against his, his mouth on hers…
Instead of being forced to grovel for forgiveness for his effrontery, after three short meetings, she was inviting him into her arms. He shook his head, marvelling. The progression towards that invitation was like no path of seduction he’d ever trod before. There’d been virtually no flirting, no exchange of remarks laden with suggestive double entendres, no meaningful glances, no surreptitious touches in public, heightening desire by inciting it when it could not be sated.
Just a great deal of conversation centred on politics, sensual tension ever humming between them, and one sanity-robbing, blazing inferno of a kiss.
Lord bless a lady who knew her own mind! The connection must be as powerful for her as was for him.
He took another circuit around the park, letting the gelding walk off the heat of the gallop, until he judged the lady would have had enough time to return home and prepare herself. The thought of her removing her habit, brushing out her hair, waiting for him, naked under her dressing gown, tightened his chest and hardened other things until, almost dizzy with desire, he could scarcely breathe.
His mouth dry, his member throbbing, he imagined that first touch. He’d worship her with hands and mouth before the first possession. Giddy with delight, on fire with need.
As for the committee meeting to begin soon, he dismissed it without a second thought. The Whigs had been trying to pummel through a Reform Bill for almost ten years; this one could wait a few hours for his attention.
He—and Lady Margaret—could not.
Grinning, he turned his mount towards Upper Brook Street.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_018250d9-ab0e-530d-a7a4-074322507cff)
By the time Maggie reached her town house, the heat of the ride had evaporated, leaving second thoughts to ambush her with the ferocity of a Reform zealot decrying a rotten borough. As she turned her horse over to the groom, she opened her mouth to tell him a gentleman would be coming for whom he must unlock the gate…but the words died on her lips.
She took the stairs to her bedchamber, directing a passing housemaid to go for hot water and another to help her out of habit and into a morning gown. Although she did keep clothing in both locations, since she was to spend several days at her father’s town house, her lady’s maid would be awaiting her there. Polly would think her mad when she turned up later, saying she’d inexplicably changed her mind and decided to go to her own home after her ride to bathe and change.
Not as mad as Mr Hadley would think her, when he arrived shortly to discover she’d changed her mind about an affair.
Oh, why could she not have reined in her raging desire before she blurted out that ill-judged invitation? She’d rather walk through the House of Lords in her shift than suffer through the interview she was about to have with her erstwhile lover.
He was almost certain to be angry, and with good cause. At best, he would think her a featherhead who didn’t know her own mind; at worst, he’d accuse her of being a tease—or a wanton. It made her sick to think of forfeiting his respect and friendship.
She took a deep breath to settle the nausea. There were worse things. She could weather this loss.
Yet another loss.
Steeling herself for the uncomfortable interview to come, she walked down to the parlour to await Giles Hadley.
She was pacing restlessly when he arrived, some fifteen minutes later. After a knock at the door, a puzzled footman showed him in, and he came over to take her hand and kiss it. ‘I’m afraid the groom forgot to leave the gate unlocked,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘I had to bang and shout before I attracted attention, and he let me in and took my horse. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.’
He looked down at her face as he said that, and his smile faded. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing in concern. ‘What happened?’
She pulled her hand free, the nausea returning with her nervousness. ‘Nothing—except I’m an idiot. I’m very sorry, Mr Hadley—’
‘Giles. I think it’s past time for you to call me Giles, don’t you?’
Ignoring that, she began again. ‘I’m very sorry, and I know I’m acting like a perfect ninny, but…but I’m going to have to rescind my offer. I…I can’t do this.’
‘I see.’ He took a step back, studying her face. ‘You…no longer want me?’
‘No, that’s not it at all! Surely you know how much I want you—I promise you, I’ve never before in my life propositioned a gentleman! It was entirely the unprecedented strength of the attraction between us that drove me to it. That, and the bitter knowledge that the intimacy that brings such joy is precious, and often fleeting, meant to be seized and appreciated while we can. But I can’t risk it.’
Too agitated to remain still, she took to pacing the room, looking back at him as she spoke. ‘I’ll be indelicately blunt. Unlike most matrons who indulge in a tryst, I don’t have a husband who could cover up any…unfortunate consequences. I couldn’t bear to shame my father, and it would kill me to bear a child that I had to give up and could never acknowledge. And before you say anything, neither would I want to drag you into “doing the honourable thing”—forcing us into a marriage neither of us is prepared for.’
Sighing, she came back to stand beside him and looked up to meet his sombre gaze. ‘Yes, I still want—more than you can imagine. But for so many compelling reasons, I cannot have. I am so sorry.’ She swallowed hard, fighting back the humiliation of tears. ‘I…hope you will not think too badly of me.’
She tried to look away, but he took her chin and tilted it back to face him. To her surprise, his expression seemed…tender, rather than aggrieved. ‘I don’t think badly of you at all. Rather the opposite! After what my mother suffered, I understand only too well the penalty imposed upon a woman for a dalliance that a man enjoys with no risk of retribution. To deny what one so strongly desires, in order to not shame family or harm innocents, is an honourable act. But a carte blanche doesn’t have to be completely blank. One can write a few rules upon it.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you not?’ At her puzzled look, he laughed softly. ‘As I’m sure you know, there are many delightful ways to pleasure other than the…consummation that could put you at risk.’
She thought of how, after a long time apart, Robbie had been able to bring her to her peak with just a kiss, while he stroked and fondled. How at any time, his mouth and fingers could tease her closer and closer to that summit, close enough that she might have reached completion, even had he not claimed her.
But what of his pleasure? ‘Do you mean you could be satisfied with…less than full possession?’
In answer, he bent down and captured her mouth. Her lips acutely sensitive after her hasty journey from arousal to frustration to excitement to disappointment, Maggie moaned, his lips coaxing her immediately to response.
‘You see,’ he murmured, breaking the kiss. ‘So many delightful roads to pleasure. If a sensible caution is all that holds you back, you need resist no longer.’
‘But what if I…want more?’ she asked, by no means sure that, under the mind-numbing drug of passion, she’d have the will to restrain herself.
He chuckled again. ‘I’ll just have to refuse you. For protection’s sake, I shall retain the most essential part of my clothing. But do not worry, my sweet. I shall very much enjoy removing all of yours.’
It was a dangerous, outrageous suggestion—but she so wanted to believe it possible. The consequences for failure, however, would be dire.
Her conflict must have been written on her face, for he said, ‘Shall we try?’ Dropping her hand, he went to the hearth and plucked a poker from the fireplace. ‘If I should forget my resolve, use this.’
‘What if I forget?’
‘When you are satisfied, there will be nothing to forget.’
A tremor went through her at the thought. ‘And what of your…satisfaction?’
His eyes lit, the smouldering blue light irresistible. ‘I can show you the ways. Shall I? Now?’
He bent and kissed her again, unabashedly seductive, his tongue insinuating itself into her mouth, stroking, teasing, advancing and withdrawing. Dizzy, she clung to him, pressing against him, taking the kiss deeper, until they were both panting for breath.
She would burn to a cinder if she didn’t have this. ‘Now,’ she said. Knocking the poker aside, she took his hand and led him to her bedchamber.
Once inside the room, she pulled him to her. Angling her head up, she wrapped her his arms around neck and brought her lips to his for another sweet, drugging kiss meant to banish every possibility of misgivings or regret. But as they stumbled towards the bed, she realised muzzily that she wasn’t sure what should happen next, if the usual progression from kissing to completion was to be avoided.
Uncertain, she halted, and broke the kiss. His breathing ragged, he looked down at her, ran a finger gently over her cheek. ‘What is it? More doubts?’
‘Just…I’m not sure what to do…now.’ She waved towards the bed. ‘Perhaps better not to go there?’
‘How about here?’ He urged her to the end of the bed, sat her down and took a step back. ‘Now, you tell me what you want.’
‘What I want?’ she repeated stupidly.
‘Yes. How do I pleasure you best, my sweet lady?’
At the idea of boldly stating aloud how she wanted him to make love to her, she flushed scarlet. ‘I d-don’t know if I can,’ she stuttered, need warring with embarrassment. ‘I’ve…never done this before.’
He must have sensed she was on the brink of another panicked retreat, for he said quickly, ‘Let me imagine, then. If I do something you don’t want, just stop me.’
Before she could stutter out a reply, he sat beside her, wrapped his arms around her and leaned her back against him. Acutely sensitive to his touch, she jumped with surprise when, instead of the more intimate caress she anticipated, he began to massage her shoulders.
It felt heavenly, though, so good it quieted, for the moment, the shrill voice of passion that wanted more. After a moment, with a sigh, she relaxed against him, leaning back into the soothing ministration of his hands.
‘Yes, relax, my sweet,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘This is for you, only for you. At your pace, according to your desires. Only yours.’
Like water dripping off a roof after rain, she felt doubt and tension slide away, one small drip at a time, until at last she was emptied of all worry. As those turbulent emotions exited, need moved in to fill the space, until her whole body was smouldering in slow, sweet arousal.
As if sensing she was ready for more, he bent down to nuzzle her neck, then sucked and nipped his way towards her ear. She shuddered as he reached the sensitive spot below the lobe, then licked and suckled the edge. ‘Do you like that?’ his whisper rasped in her ear.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, squirming to turn so she might meet his lips.
But gently, holding her in place, he massaged from her shoulder down her arms and under, stroking along her ribs. With a whimper, she arched her back, straining to bring his caressing fingers up to her breasts.
Seeming to understand, he halted, lifting his hands up to cup her breasts. A long shuddering sigh escaped her as he rubbed his thumbs over each peaked nipple.
‘Do you want this?’ he whispered.
‘Yes!’
‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘I want you to…to caress my breasts,’ she got out, finding it easier this time to voice the need.
She felt his hardness surge against her, and she realised, in a little flash of awe and gratification, that it aroused him to hear her say the words aloud. Emboldened by the knowledge, she said, ‘I want to feel your hands on my naked breasts.’
Ah, once again she felt that delicious hardness press more firmly against her as he bent to place a long, nibbling kiss on the nape of her neck. ‘Gladly.’
The drum of her heart accelerated as he moved away a bit, and she felt his hands unfastening the tapes at the back of her gown. ‘Hurry!’ she urged, increasingly impatient, now that she’d envisioned it, to feel that intimate touch.
He worked the bodice free, and she helped him shrug it off, but the skirt still held shift and stays in place. ‘Females,’ he said, kissing the bit more of her back bared by the removal of the bodice, ‘wear entirely too many garments.’
Murmuring agreement, she wriggled on the bed, expecting him to unlace and remove the restricting skirt. Instead, he reached up to grab a pillow, dragged it down and leaned her back against it.
As she lay back, the stays beneath her breasts pulled the fine linen of her shift tight across her nipples. Before she could think what he was doing, Giles took nipple, fabric and all into his mouth and suckled.
The heat and wetness of his mouth, the friction of the fabric created a sensation both similar, and entirely different, from anything she’d experienced before, when loving had begun only after she’d been completely undressed. The friction sparked a tremor that seemed to go straight to her core, sparking there a similar reaction of warmth, wetness, and tightening the spiral of desire.
His mouth moved to her other breast, bringing the magic of moisture and friction to that nipple while his thumb circled over and rubbed the wet fabric. Tension coiled tighter as the fire within built and built, until she was straining towards the peak.
Her skin flushed with heat, she tossed her head restlessly, tilting her hips, instinctively trying to move in the familiar, rhythmic pattern. As she writhed beside him, he moved his mouth to claim hers, his lips demanding entry, his tongue sweeping in to lave and dominate. At the same time, he swept an arm down under her skirts.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, seeking out his tongue, darting with hers to explore and lave each corner of his mouth. Then gasped, as his hand beneath her skirts caressed and squeezed in a slow ascent…his whole hand surrounding her ankle…two fingers tracing the delicate skin behind her knee…a single finger tracing the top edge of her stocking, sliding under and out, under and out. And finally, finally, while she whimpered her need, he moved the hand up and cupped her.
She wiggled beneath it, wanting him to go further, but for a maddening few moments, he simply rubbed that mound with his whole hand. Finally, when she thought she would shatter if he delayed any longer, he slid two fingers down to caress the tiny bud at her centre.
After so many years of abstinence, it took only this single touch to send her spiralling into the abyss. Crying out, she tensed as pleasure ignited, sending sweet fulfilment rushing outward in waves from her centre through her body to the very tips of her fingers, her toes, her earlobes.
A few mindless moments later, as the tremors faded, she sagged back, replete. In the vastness of the ocean of contentment, one small worry floated forth as, finally conscious of his rapid breaths and the still-hard member pressed against her, she realised he had not yet had his satisfaction.
Before she had recovered enough for speech, he bent to kiss her again, this time light and tender. Murmuring, she opened her mouth to him. But after a minute of gentle caresses, his tongue grew bolder, laving hers, teasing the tip. A spark of arousal flamed up out of the ashes of fulfilment.
Within a few moments, her heartbeat accelerated and she felt the pulse begin to pound in her ears again. And then, he moved his fingers from her little nub and nudged them at the entrance to her passage.
She gasped, arousal building in one giant leap, and pushed against him, wanting the exquisite caress of those fingers to slide deeper, to the very core of her.
But he took his time, progressing deeper ever so slowly, each minute a new bit of flesh igniting as he touched it. When at least he’d penetrated to the depths of her and began a slow advance and withdrawal, advance and withdrawal, she was sobbing with arousal.
But he would not be hurried. Only gradually did he increase the rhythm, and when his thrusting fingers finally reached a rapid tempo, she shattered in a climax so intense, she lost all sense of who and where she was.
When the earth had settled, the stars realigned, and the ability to breathe and speak returned, Maggie gazed up to see Giles watching her, a slight smile on his lips.
She smiled back, tried to lift a finger to trace his lips, and couldn’t quite manage it. He caught her hand and kissed it.
‘That was—glorious,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’
His smile widened and he made her a little bow. ‘Your humble servant is pleased to serve.’
She shook her head at him. ‘But it’s not right.’
His smile vanished. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That was the most erotic experience of my life—and you are still completely clothed.’
He grinned again. ‘What would you have me remove?’
‘Nothing! Not yet. But if you will pour me some restorative wine—there should be a decanter on the table over there—I will endeavour to do the removing.’
‘I like the sound of that. But remember—the breeches stay on.’
She gave him a long, slow smile. ‘So did my shift.’
She saw him catch her meaning in the widening of his eyes and sharp intake of breath. Bounding up, he soon located decanter and glass, poured a generous amount, and offered it to her.
She sat up and took a long swallow, then handed him the glass. She could see the erection straining against his trouser flap as he carried the glass back to the table, and another spiral of anticipation and delight whirled through her.
She stood, unhooking her skirt, stepping out of it and tossing it away; she didn’t want its clinging length to get in the way of what she planned. When he came back to the bed, she motioned to the place she’d been seated and said, ‘Sit, please.’
He promptly complied, then looked up at her. She could see the rapid pulse beating at his temples and smiled, pleased at this evidence of his heightened desire.
She stood before him and began untying his cravat, slowly unwinding and removing the broad band of linen, then folding it neatly. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to heighten anticipation with delay. After flicking back the edges of his shirt, she moved her hands to massage his shoulders and bent to kiss his bared throat.
He sighed when her lips contacted the rough skin, then groaned as she licked her way to the hollow where the pulse beat strongly. Massaging still, she kissed up his throat to nibble his jaw, evading his mouth when he tried to meet her lips, and continuing to lick and nip from the jawline up to his ears, his cheekbones, across his closed eyes, to his brow and into the hairline.
Reaching down, she lifted his arms and pulled the shirt over his head. She stepped back a moment to admire him, all muscled shoulder and strong arms and broad chest, where the flat nipples puckered.
He hissed between his teeth as she slowly ran a fingernail over each one.
Lifting her skirts, she bared herself to the waist, watching his face as he watched her. He opened his lips, an inarticulate mumble, and she placed a finger over his mouth to forestall any protest. Then she sat down on his lap and straddled him, her naked torso pressed against his trousers.
She felt his member leap as she wound her legs around his back and rocked her hot, moist, naked centre against his fettered erection. With a gasp, he cupped her bare bottom and pulled her closer. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him hard, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest while he picked up the rhythm, thrusting against her.
He must have been as ready as she had been, for after half-a-dozen such thrusts, he turned rigid in her arms, gasping into her mouth as his completion swept over him. Kissing him still, she followed him down as he collapsed back on to the bed, his chest drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged.
Rolling over to cuddle beside him, she pushed the moist hair off his brow and stroked it, waiting for his breathing to steady and slow, aglow with more peace and contentment than she’d felt since… She pushed her mind back from the thought. This moment was for enjoying now, without tarnishing it with sadness from the past.
At length, with a groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘Thank you, my sweet. Although if we hadn’t made this…unusual bargain, I should have to apologise for…reaching the finish line so quickly.’
‘No matter. Shall we rub down the horse and prepare him to race again?’
His eyes lit. ‘Absolutely. Although for safety’s sake, I should do the “rubbing”.’
‘Absolutely not. When I serve, my service is complete.’
She walked over to the dressing table, poured water in the washbasin and returned with it and a soft rag. He stayed her hands when she attempted to unbutton the trouser flat.
‘It will be all right,’ she told him, going down before him. ‘I promise, my knees shall not leave the floor.’
‘If you’re certain.’
‘I am.’ Pushing his hands aside, she plucked open the buttons and pulled the flap free, exposing his spent member. Gently and carefully she washed it with the rag, then the upper part of his legs and his belly. Once he’d been cleansed, she began pulling the rag slowly over the exposed skin. She bent down and blew a breath over the dampness, watching as he shivered, the little hairs on his stomach standing on end.
Pleased, she moved the damp cloth back to his now-stirring member. Up and down she stroked, alternating the soft caress of the rag with a long exhale over the tightening skin, bending closer each time, until her lips were almost but not quite touching him.
She looked up, into blue eyes locked upon her. ‘Does this please you?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me. Tell me what you like.’
He smiled slightly, picking up the game. ‘I like having you stroke me. I like feeling your warm breath on my cock.’
At the words, she felt her own nipples tighten and the moist heat build between her legs. She bent and licked the hard velvet tip, which jerked under her ministrations. He gasped, his hands clutching the bedclothes, his arms rigid.
‘Do you like that?’
‘Yes. I love having your tongue on my cock.’
‘Good.’ She bent forward again and grasped him with one hand, holding him steady as she took him in her mouth, slid him in and back out.
‘Do you like that?’
‘Devil’s breath, yes! I could live for ever inside your mouth.’
She leaned forward to suckle him again. Oh, what a wonder he was, all hardness and sinew, silky tip and satin shaft. She loved the taste and feel of him, loved the groans she elicited as she licked and suckled, laved and stroked. After a few moments, he dropped the bedclothes and clutched her shoulders, thrusting with her as she took him to completion.
As he fell back on to the bed, limp, she returned the basin and refreshed the wine glass. She was sitting beside him, sipping from it, marvelling at the power and beauty of sensual pleasure, when he stirred and opened those incredible blue eyes.
And smiled at her.
Her foolish heart expanded and she smiled back, a smile of pure joy and contentment. Oh, how easily she could become accustomed to this loving—and this man!
‘That was beyond words glorious,’ he told her, sitting up to accept the wine glass and take a long sip. ‘But it wasn’t right.’
‘No?’ she said with a chuckle. ‘You didn’t seem to complain at the time.’
‘Ah, but that’s because I knew I would insist on having my turn.’
Her simmering senses sparked as the meaning of those words penetrated. Before she could respond, though, he continued. ‘I believe a little more undressing is called for, once we finish this wine.’
‘If you wish.’
He gave her a long, slow, heated scrutiny. Her skin prickled as his gaze passed over it, as if she could literally feel his touch as his eyes inspected her. ‘Oh, I wish—to touch everything.’
They shared the glass, then Hadley returned it to the table and came back to the bed. She looked up at him, little eddies of excitement swirling in her stomach, and all her nerves once again primed for his touch.
‘First, this.’ he said, and began raking the pins from her hair, until the heavy mass fell to her shoulders and down her back.
‘If you only knew how often I dreamed of doing this,’ he murmured as he continued to comb his fingers through her hair until he’d winnowed out all the pins. Then he arranged the waves over her shoulders, down her back, and around her breasts. Hands on her shoulders, he took a step back, once again studying her.
‘Glorious,’ he pronounced, and kissed her.
She murmured in protest when he broke the kiss, and he chuckled. ‘Do not fret, my sweet. There will be more of that, soon enough.’ Urging her to stand, he unlaced her underskirt, pulled it down, and helped her step out of it. He stood up and drew her close, kissing her again, light and gentle, then deeper and penetrating. While he drugged her with his mouth, he slowly raised the hem of her shift, until he could reach her garters. After unhooking her stocking, he urged her to sit.
He knelt before her, slowly rolling down the stocking, and kissing the skin of her leg as he bared it: inner thigh, knee and the soft skin behind it, along the shin, around the fullness of calf, across the smooth arch of the foot, until he pulled it free from her foot and suckled each toe in turn.
Glad she was seated, for she would have been too dizzy to stand, she braced herself on the bed as he started on the remaining garter and leg. Once he had her bare-legged, he stood her up, unlaced and tossed away her stays, then pulled the shift over her head.
She stood before him completely naked now, but so sensitised by his touch that she felt no embarrassment. Only an exuberant confidence, from seeing the need blazing in his gaze, that he found her desirable, and anticipation for what he would do next.
In answer, he eased her on to the bed and against the pillows. ‘Close your eyes, my sweet, and just feel,’ he murmured.
And so she did. He began at her temples, kissing and stroking lightly, over her cheeks and lips, her ears and chin. He fisted his hands in her hair, then brushed the silky strands against her shoulders, her arms before he nibbled and kissed them. Slowly he progressed lower, teasing with the satin brush of her hair, tantalising with the soft pressure of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue.
She was breathing hard again, feeling the climax building, by the time he reached her waist, her hipbones, the round of belly. But to her dismay, he bypassed her aching centre, instead moving down her legs, her knees, her ankles and toes.
She pulled at his hands, trying to urge him higher, but he would not be hurried. Gently detaching himself, he returned to his slow transit up and around her legs, setting off delicious vibrations in nerves she didn’t know she possessed.
And then, finally, his mouth moved to the tender skin of her inner thighs. At his urging, she let her legs fall open, giving him full access to the most intimate part of her. When she thought she could stand the wait no longer, he at last moved his mouth to her.
He parted the nether lips and licked delicately at the little bud within. Frantic, she twisted her head from side to side, lifting her hips to bring him closer. Then, with tongue and fingers, he traced the path into her slick passage.
So near to the precipice was she that only a few strokes would have been enough to send her spinning into the free fall of climax. But this time, she wanted them to reach that pinnacle together. Rolling away from him, she sat up, then pulled him to lie down beside her, his head towards the bottom of the bed, then lay back down with her own head on the pillow.
Understanding her intent, he eagerly returned to tasting her, while she slid her hand under the waistband of his breeches to clasp the erection now within her reach. Stroking him while he laved her, the two of them mingled their cries as they reached the summit together.
For a long, sweet time, they lay panting, spent. Recovering more quickly than Maggie, Giles crawled up to lay on the pillow, then repositioned her with her head resting on his shoulder, her arm across his bare chest, and her leg wrapped around his. After tossing the rumpled blanket over her nakedness, he kissed the tip of her nose and promptly fell asleep.
Lying in his arms watching him, content, replete, Maggie realised she was feeling…happy. Something she hadn’t experienced in so long, she’d almost forgotten what it was like.
That realisation should have terrified her, and maybe it would, later. But for this glorious moment, in the wondrous present, she would simply enjoy it as a gift.
All too soon, Giles stirred. She held her breath as his sleepy eyes opened—would he shatter this magic by tossing back the covers, throwing on his clothes and bidding her a cheery goodbye as he hustled out to his meetings?
She saw that moment recognition of time, place—and his companion—register in those bright blue eyes. Which then widened, as a smile warmed a face alight with what she didn’t dare call tenderness.
‘My sweet lady,’ he murmured. ‘My very dear Lady Margaret.’
Despite her efforts to restrain it, her own heart swelled with an answering emotion. ‘After this morning, I think it should be “Maggie”, don’t you?’
‘My very dear Maggie,’ he repeated, and pulled her head down for a kiss—gentle, caressing almost—cherishing. As he released her, he said, ‘I wish we’d awakened in the Outer Hebrides.’
Puzzled, she angled her head at him. ‘You have a fondness for cold Scottish islands?’
He chuckled. ‘No, my love! But if we were in the Hebrides, I could resume the delightful business that has occupied us this morning. Since we are unfortunately in London, I suppose I must finally bow to my responsibilities and get back to work. I can only hope Davie hasn’t already sent out a search party, certain he’s going to discover my cold, dead body in some dark alley somewhere.’
‘You seldom miss meetings?’ she guessed.
‘I’m normally the first to arrive and the last to leave. But this morning I had a more pressing engagement. Although, to make up, I probably will be the last to leave.’
Reluctantly, she slid away and off the bed. Now that the loving was over, she should feel awkward, standing completely naked before a man she knew so slightly.
But he had loved her so well and so tenderly, all she felt was warmth and gratitude.
Tracking down his shirt, she brought it over to the bed, while he moved to sit up and lifted his arms for her to slip it back over his head. ‘The cravat is probably hopeless,’ he advised as she brought that over. ‘I’ll have to stop by my rooms to change out of riding gear anyway, before I go to Parliament. Though I heartily approve of my valet’s current uniform,’ he said, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on each bare nipple. ‘Can I help you, or would you rather call your maid?’
‘I’d appreciate the help. I’m sure the staff already has an accurate notion of how we spent the morning, but I’d rather be dressed when I face them. My lady’s maid, who’s been with me for years, would probably freeze any gossip, were she here, but unfortunately she’s at my father’s house. And incidentally, since I left to ride at dawn, she’s probably wondering if she should send out a search party to look for my cold, dead body.’
As she talked, she tossed on her shift, gathered up stays and stockings, and went to the clothes press to extract her habit, and Giles stepped closer to help her into them. He made an excellent lady’s maid; Maggie refused to let herself speculate how he’d become so skilled.
Once she was dressed, he took one hand and kissed it. ‘Will the servants gossip?’
‘I don’t think so. They’ve all of them been with me a long time, and I like to think they are fond of me. Besides, if it comes to it, I’m a woman of age with my own household. I’m not accountable to anyone for my conduct.’
‘I’d prefer there weren’t any salacious talk, though.’
‘No, I wouldn’t imagine that titterings about a tryst with a woman from the wrong party would help the image of—’
‘I don’t care about me!’ he interrupted. ‘But I should definitely take exception if anyone were to malign your reputation.’
‘Thank you, that is kind.’ The euphoria was slipping away, and much as she didn’t want it to end, she had to ask. ‘Will I…be seeing you again?’
His expression turned incredulous. ‘Did you truly think one time would be enough?’
His reassurance delighted her much more than it should. ‘I didn’t know. As I told you, I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know whether, once the…novelty was over, you would want to…continue.’
He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘I cannot wait to touch you again. When can I return?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule, as I imagine you will need to consult yours. Truly, I didn’t plan for this to happen today.’
‘I heartily approve of your spontaneous idea.’
‘Not totally spontaneous. Following through on the desire was, perhaps. But I’d been thinking about it for a long time—probably from the first moment I met you. I tried to talk myself into being prudent and responsible, but every time I see you, prudence and responsibility seem to fly out the window—and in flies this great, fierce bird of need that grips me in its claws and won’t let go.’
He leaned over to kiss her again. ‘Here’s to great, fierce birds. I hope you keep a whole flock of them.’
She shook her head. ‘You must think me absurd.’
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I think you delightful. Whimsical. Fascinating. The most glorious lover who has ever touched me. But now I must go. Do check your schedule and send me a note. Number Six, Albany. And make it soon.’
‘Number Six, Albany,’ she repeated.
He pulled her to him and gave her one last kiss, deep, cherishing, possessive, powerful. ‘Oh, yes—soon!’ she said, and let him go.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_04d94b8e-5ee2-5751-a09d-a80cf05cbee8)
Maggie stood in the doorframe, watching Giles as he descended the stairs, then walked back into the bedchamber to pour herself another glass of wine.
Goodness, two glasses of wine before luncheon! But then, the occasion deserved it. She’d just propositioned a man she knew very little, had him come to her house in broad daylight, and spent the morning making love to him while the staff went about their duties and her cousin snored, blissfully unaware, in a nearby bedchamber.
What had come over her?
She’d known Robbie all her life, the transition from best friends to lovers as natural and gradual as growing older. She’d known Sir Francis for several years, been engaged for several months, and even then, only succumbed to his urgings when the protection of a wedding ring loomed. Now, she’d just taken to her bed, if not to ultimate surrender, a man she’d met…three times?
Maggie shuddered. By the world’s measure, she’d be judged a woman of easy virtue, even a harlot. And yet…and yet.
It was more than just the powerful physical connection. Something about him, his passionate support of the causes he found important, and his willingness to devote his life to them, seemed to mesh so well with her ideals of sacrifice and service, making him seem like a friend of long acquaintance, rather than a man she’d barely met. It felt right and natural to sit across the table from him and debate politics; to lie in his arms and thrill to his caresses; to pleasure him and bring him to bliss.
She wanted to do all those things again and again.
A little chill of foreboding cooled the euphoria of satiation. This could end very badly. There was no question Giles Hadley saw this as a pleasant but temporary, short-term liaison. It would be all too easy for her to want much more.
She didn’t dare let herself want more.
What was it that sailors had once said about voyaging towards the edge of the known world—‘beyond here be dragons’? Having dared to venture into something she’d never experienced, behaving in a way she wouldn’t previously have considered possible, she might well learn the bitter truth of that maxim.
But having had just one taste of Giles Hadley, she was not about to stop now.
An hour later, properly garbed in her habit, Maggie rode back to her father’s town house, trying out, during the transit, various explanations for her very tardy return.
A wasted effort, as it turned out. Her maid sat in her bedchamber, bent over some needlework, but before she could utter a syllable, Polly looked up and exclaimed, ‘Lord and stars, missy, what do you think you’re doing?’
Damning the guilty flush heating her face, Maggie gazed at the maid who’d been with her since she was a child at Huntsford and Polly a junior nursemaid. No point trying to deny what the maid already knew, not that she had intended to waste any effort trying to conceal an affair that was probably already the focus of speculation below stairs at Upper Brook Street. ‘I didn’t imagine I could hide anything from you,’ she said with a rueful laugh. ‘But I didn’t expect you’d find out this soon. Who told you?’
The maid raised her eyebrows. ‘You leave at dawn for a ride that normally takes you an hour, and are gone four. Don’t you think I sent that worthless groom back to look for you, and with a flea in his ear for leaving you alone? When he didn’t find you, he stopped by Upper Brook Street—doubtless to delay having to return and report you missing! They told him you were…entertaining a gentleman. Now, you needn’t be worrying the news will get out anywhere but this room and Number Four! We’ve all of us seen you go through more heartache than one body should have to bear, and we’d none of us add to it by tarnishing your name. But gracious, child, what are you thinking?’
‘I suppose you want me to tell you I wasn’t thinking, but that’s not exactly true.’
With her own mother ill for much of Maggie’s life, confiding in Polly had become a childhood habit she’d never outgrown; the wise but sharp-tongued woman had been her supporter and comforter from the days of scraped knees to times of devastating loss. As Maggie trusted she would be now, whether or not she approved of her rash actions.
‘Oh, Polly, I’ve missed Robbie for so long and so keenly. In some ways, Mr Hadley couldn’t be more different than the quiet country gentleman I meant to spend my life with. But he does make me…feel again! The same sort of excitement and delight in life that Robbie did. And the passion. I don’t expect to find again a love like ours, but can’t I enjoy myself a little, before I dwindle into an old widow?’
‘I’ve no objection to you finding pleasure—who deserves it more? But there’s no reason you couldn’t “enjoy yourself” by choosing another fine gentleman to marry—’ She held up a hand, forestalling Maggie’s protest. ‘I know, I know. But even if the husband wasn’t the equal of your Robbie, he could provide you with the passion you seek—safely. How can you even think of risking—?’
‘I’m not! I’m hardly likely to forget what the consequences would be for conceiving a child out of wedlock, and I have no more desire to disappoint Papa and tarnish my name than you would have to see it. I was intimate with Mr Hadley, but in a…controlled way. We’ll not do anything that will risk my becoming with child.’
The maid shook her head. ‘I’ve heard of them “French letters”, or whatever it is the apothecaries call what decent people ought not to use, but nothing will truly stop a babe. I don’t doubt this Mr Hadley is as charming as the devil himself, but it’s still not worth the risk, child.’
‘We’re not using a “French letter”. We are…limiting our intimacy to include only what will avoid any chance of conception,’ Maggie explained, her face flaming, unable to describe it any more plainly even to a woman who knew every mishap she’d ever suffered and every mistake she’d ever made.
It took a minute for Polly to puzzle it out. ‘You mean you’re not letting him—’
‘No. As long as I avoid the ultimate act, why shouldn’t I take some pleasure, when, after so long alone, I’ve discovered a man who intrigues me, whom I intrigue in turn?’
‘I don’t like it, Miss Maggie,’ Polly said, shaking her head. ‘He might be a fine gentleman, and if you like him this much, I’m sure he must be. And he might tell you now that what-all you’re doing is enough for him. But a man’s a man, and sooner or later, he’ll want more, you take my word on it. And then what?’
‘Actually, I think it’s more likely I will want more,’ Maggie admitted. ‘But knowing the consequences, I think I can manage to be at least that prudent—although you would say,’ she continued, watching the expression on Polly’s face, ‘that I am not being prudent at all.’
‘Ah, child, you know I only want what’s best for you. To see you happy and well loved and settled in your own home again, as you were with your Robbie. But you’ll not be finding that if you’re giving away your favours to “intriguing” gentlemen, without benefit of your wedding lines.’
That cut a bit too close to the bone, even coming from Polly. ‘I don’t want any wedding lines!’ she snapped back. ‘Much better to enjoy passion and part when passion cools, than to be yoked for life to a man who no longer interests me.’ Or love again and risk a loss that might drive me to madness.
Though she didn’t imagine the fire of attraction she felt for Giles Hadley would be banked for a long time. Nor, unfortunately, could she honestly claim that she believed she would find life with him tedious, once satiation had honed the sharp edge off appetite.
It was far more likely she’d find living with him very much to her taste.
But it was too late to back away now, nor did she want to. Like a troublesome filly who’d got the bit between her teeth, she would run as far and fast as she could—probably until Giles Hadley tired of the arrangement. She’d just have to restrain her enthusiasm by remembering Hadley expected a short, idyllic interlude, remind herself that was what she wanted, too, and be prepared to send him away at the first sign that he was ready to end it.
If she had any regrets afterward, she would deal with them.
She would certainly never regret the passion.
She came back to herself to discover Polly shaking her head, her expression concerned. ‘Lost as a maid gazing at the moon, dreaming of her lover. Don’t look to me like you’re about to lose interest in this gentleman.’
Probably true. But she wasn’t going to spoil the days ahead worrying about that. ‘What I’m interested in at the moment is changing my gown. I’ve got the household accounts to review, and I’m afraid today is an at-home afternoon.’
And while she was reviewing accounts, she could also review her calendar…and figure out how soon she could see Giles Hadley again.
A short drive away, Giles strode into the entrance to Parliament, a spring in his step. Whistling a merry tune, he headed towards the committee rooms, absently nodding a greeting to the men he passed.
A dawn gallop in the fresh air—and then one of the most sensual experiences of his life. Had any man ever had a more glorious morning?
He’d known from his first glimpse of her that Lady Margaret attracted him. From the first discussion at the inn in Chellingham, her understanding of Parliament and political theory had intrigued him. But never in his fondest imaginings had he anticipated what a skilled, sensual and inventive lover she would be.
Though she was a paradox, he thought with a chuckle. Initially tentative and uncertain, shy as a fawn in a meadow and as ready to bolt. Unable at first to voice what she wanted without blushing…then later, when he put himself literally into her hands, pleasuring him with boldness and skill.
He couldn’t remember being this relaxed, refreshed and…happy for a long time—if ever. If this was bewitchment, he wanted more of it!
It had all happened too fast; his senses and mind were still too stunned in the brilliant, lingering afterglow for him to understand yet the full significance of what they’d done. Or how they would navigate the tricky waters of an intimate relationship and avoid compromising her reputation.
Somehow, they would. Where exactly they might be going, he wasn’t sure. All he did know was he had to have her, and they must go forward.
Secure in that conclusion, he entered the committee room, still humming. Looking up from a stack of papers, Davie exclaimed, ‘Giles, at last! I was beginning to think you’d been abducted.’
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Julia Justiss
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Power, privilege and the daring pursuit of passion! Lady Margaret Roberts has sworn off passion…that is, until she meets Giles Hadley. Reluctant viscount Giles is prepared to indulge in an illicit affair. But he must beware, for spirited Maggie awakens in him something even more forbidden – the desire to claim her as his wife! • Faith, Duchess of Ashedon, is saved from attack by an unlikely figure from her past. But David Tanner Smith is no longer the penniless orphan Faith once knew, and with one spine-tingling kiss, their old friendship is transformed to an explosive mix of illicit encounters and forbidden desire…