‘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.’
So she was to be a bone of contention? Not if she could help it! But perhaps she should hear him out before rushing to conclusions. ‘What was the nature of that dispute?’
Hadley shrugged. ‘You’ve read the journal reports—and so has George. Apparently my half-brother thinks you favour him—or he believes your father approves of him, and would favour his suit. He warned me to stay away from you.’
Some of the anger, hurt and despair of the episode with Sir Francis rose up, nearly choking her. ‘And so you sought my company to spite him?’ she spit out at last. ‘Do you think to beguile me, and then boast to him about it?’
He straightened, frowning. ‘Not at all! How could you imagine such a thing? Besides, if I were trying to charm you and boast of my conquest, would I have told you about our disagreement?’
‘Do you think you could charm me?’
His irritated expression smoothed, a roguish smile replaced it, and he smiled at her, that smile that made her knees weak. ‘Do you think I could?’
‘If you did, and we were compromised, we might be forced to wed. Then you’d be stuck with me for life—a fate which ought to give you pause,’ she said tartly, mollified.
His smile faded. ‘I would never do you the harm of marrying you.’
Before she could figure out that odd comment, he continued, his expression serious, ‘But that’s not what I meant to talk about. Did you speak with my half-brother about our meeting in Chellingham?’
It was her turn to be puzzled. ‘No, I’ve not seen him since I returned to London. Why do you ask?’
‘As far as you know, George is not a friend of your cousin Mr Armsburn?’
‘They are acquainted, certainly, but not close.’
‘The only place we’ve met, before today, was Chellingham. My brother specifically mentioned how detrimental to your reputation it would be if others discovered you’d been alone with me at the inn there. If you did not relate our encounter to George, and your cousin or his aide, Mr Proctor, didn’t inform him, how could he have known about it?’
Maggie paused a moment, thinking. She’d spoken with Aunt Lilly, but that lady would never divulge, even to her friends, confidential information about her niece, particularly if it involved a gentleman and would therefore make her the subject of gossip and conjecture. She was quite certain she’d not mentioned their meeting to anyone else.
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed.
‘Then it seems my suspicions were justified. Outlandish as it sounds, in order for my half-brother to have known that you’d accompanied me to that inn in Chellingham, he must have been keeping you under surveillance.’
She shook her head a little, not sure she could have heard him correctly. ‘Are you trying to tell me that your brother has someone...spying on me?’
‘You weren’t aware of it?’
‘Absolutely not!’
He nodded, looking grim again. ‘Your father wouldn’t have asked him to do such a thing, would he?’
‘Why would he? I had my cousin and Proctor to watch over me. If Papa had thought I needed additional protection, he would have chosen someone I know better than your brother to provide it. And I am sure he would not have done so without informing me and explaining the need for it. No, I don’t think Papa authorised this. Shall I ask him?’
‘Perhaps you should. I wouldn’t want to accuse my half-brother unjustly.’
The enormity of what he’d just told her registered. ‘Why in the world would your half-brother want to have me watched?’
‘He told me he intends to ask for your hand. Perhaps, with the turmoil over the Reform Bill and rumours flying of possible electoral violence, he wanted to make sure the woman he wants to marry didn’t come to any harm.’
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount Page 5
