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‘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.
