Read the book: «Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins: Forbidden Nights with the Viscount (Hadley's Hellions) / Stolen Encounters with the Duchess (Hadley's Hellions)»

Chapter One

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

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

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

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.’