‘I don’t like it, Miss Maggie,’ Polly said, shaking her head. ‘He might be a fine gentleman, and if you like him this much, I’m sure he must be. And he might tell you now that what-all you’re doing is enough for him. But a man’s a man, and sooner or later, he’ll want more, you take my word on it. And then what?’
‘Actually, I think it’s more likely I will want more,’ Maggie admitted. ‘But knowing the consequences, I think I can manage to be at least that prudent—although you would say,’ she continued, watching the expression on Polly’s face, ‘that I am not being prudent at all.’
‘Ah, child, you know I only want what’s best for you. To see you happy and well loved and settled in your own home again, as you were with your Robbie. But you’ll not be finding that if you’re giving away your favours to “intriguing” gentlemen, without benefit of your wedding lines.’
That cut a bit too close to the bone, even coming from Polly. ‘I don’t want any wedding lines!’ she snapped back. ‘Much better to enjoy passion and part when passion cools, than to be yoked for life to a man who no longer interests me.’ Or love again and risk a loss that might drive me to madness.
Though she didn’t imagine the fire of attraction she felt for Giles Hadley would be banked for a long time. Nor, unfortunately, could she honestly claim that she believed she would find life with him tedious, once satiation had honed the sharp edge off appetite.
It was far more likely she’d find living with him very much to her taste.
But it was too late to back away now, nor did she want to. Like a troublesome filly who’d got the bit between her teeth, she would run as far and fast as she could—probably until Giles Hadley tired of the arrangement. She’d just have to restrain her enthusiasm by remembering Hadley expected a short, idyllic interlude, remind herself that was what she wanted, too, and be prepared to send him away at the first sign that he was ready to end it.
If she had any regrets afterward, she would deal with them.
She would certainly never regret the passion.
She came back to herself to discover Polly shaking her head, her expression concerned. ‘Lost as a maid gazing at the moon, dreaming of her lover. Don’t look to me like you’re about to lose interest in this gentleman.’
Probably true. But she wasn’t going to spoil the days ahead worrying about that. ‘What I’m interested in at the moment is changing my gown. I’ve got the household accounts to review, and I’m afraid today is an at-home afternoon.’
And while she was reviewing accounts, she could also review her calendar...and figure out how soon she could see Giles Hadley again.
* * *
A short drive away, Giles strode into the entrance to Parliament, a spring in his step. Whistling a merry tune, he headed towards the committee rooms, absently nodding a greeting to the men he passed.
A dawn gallop in the fresh air—and then one of the most sensual experiences of his life. Had any man ever had a more glorious morning?
He’d known from his first glimpse of her that Lady Margaret attracted him. From the first discussion at the inn in Chellingham, her understanding of Parliament and political theory had intrigued him. But never in his fondest imaginings had he anticipated what a skilled, sensual and inventive lover she would be.
Though she was a paradox, he thought with a chuckle. Initially tentative and uncertain, shy as a fawn in a meadow and as ready to bolt. Unable at first to voice what she wanted without blushing...then later, when he put himself literally into her hands, pleasuring him with boldness and skill.
He couldn’t remember being this relaxed, refreshed and...happy for a long time—if ever. If this was bewitchment, he wanted more of it!
It had all happened too fast; his senses and mind were still too stunned in the brilliant, lingering afterglow for him to understand yet the full significance of what they’d done. Or how they would navigate the tricky waters of an intimate relationship and avoid compromising her reputation.
Somehow, they would. Where exactly they might be going, he wasn’t sure. All he did know was he had to have her, and they must go forward.
Secure in that conclusion, he entered the committee room, still humming. Looking up from a stack of papers, Davie exclaimed, ‘Giles, at last! I was beginning to think you’d been abducted.’
‘No, just some...unexpected business I had to take care of.’ Oh, how lustily he had cared for it, he thought with a private smile.
Ben looked him up and down. ‘Business, eh? Humming a tune, smile on his face and a spring in his step? Looks to me like a man who’s been well satisfied. What do you think, Christopher?’
Glancing up from the document he was drafting, Christopher’s eyes widened and he grinned. ‘My, my, my. Madame Seraphene must have been unusually skilled last night! About time! With all the impediments keeping the bill from passage last session, you’ve been as grumpy as a hen who’d lost her last chick.’
‘Have you ever!’ Ben said with a laugh. ‘So, Giles, did she try something new? The intimate details, please!’
‘Find a lady of your own, and make your own details,’ Giles threw back, irritated that the source of his well-being had been so transparent. Though he was confident his friends would cease bantering and be as discreet as nuns were he to reveal the truth, they’d also want to know—since he never trifled with ladies—exactly what his intentions were.
Giles had as yet no answer to that question.
‘Maybe your luscious Madame Seraphene has a recommendation?’ Christopher said.
‘Do your own committee work,’ he shot back. ‘Or ask Ben to advise you. He’s familiar with every bordello in London.’
As Giles had hoped, that was enough to set the two friends off trading good-natured insults over their relative familiarity with the pleasure houses of the capital. Relieved to be free of their scrutiny, he sat down at the table—to face Davie’s curious gaze.
‘You do seem unusually—blithe,’ his friend remarked, studying Giles. ‘Nor do you usually visit Madame when there is another woman in your sights.’
The last thing he needed was a grilling by the most perceptive member of their group. ‘Later,’ he told Davie, and opened the dossier of papers.
* * *
The rest of the day passed in a blur, Giles unable to recall by nightfall either what he’d read of the bill or any of the notes he’d scrawled in the margins. His friends swept him off to dinner, their animated chatter covering his unusual reticence, with only Davie—of course, Davie—occasionally glancing over with a look that said he had noticed it.
He’d have to tell Davie something, eventually. Fortunately, Davie would wait for him to speak in his own time, rather than hound him for immediate answers.
Returning to their rooms after dinner, he’d gone through the correspondence with eagerness—to find no missive from Lady Margaret. Disappointed, he tried to tell himself that she would have been late returning to her father’s, probably had many duties to attend to, and wouldn’t have had time to consult her schedule.
Surely she would bid him visit her again soon.
The book he chose did not engage, nor, when he gave up in disgust and sought his bed, did he find oblivion in sleep. He tossed and turned before giving up to indulge himself, now that he was alone, in reviewing every detail of that wondrous morning.
* * *
After falling asleep late, he awoke in the faint pre-dawn light, impatient and dissatisfied—until it occurred to him to wonder whether Lady Margaret rode every morning. His rueful smile at having fallen into intimacy with a woman about whom he knew so little, not even her usual routine, was lost in excitement as a new possibility occurred.
If he were to go to Hyde Park now, might she turn up?
Once the idea was envisioned, there could be no return to sleep. Despite the few hours of re
st he’d obtained, Giles scrambled up, pulled on his riding gear, and sent for his horse.
* * *
A short time later, he trotted his mount into Hyde Park. A low fog veiled the landscape, obscuring everything at a distance, blurring into hazy outlines the objects nearby. Restless, eager, Giles signalled his horse to a trot, hoping that around this bend or the next, Lady Margaret might materialise out of the mist.
He’d rounded the last curve and was regretfully directing his horse towards the exit gates when he suddenly came upon the slender figure of Lady Margaret mounted on her grey mare, a ray of just-emerging sun burnishing her auburn hair to flame. Excitement and pure gladness swelled his chest.
A moment later, she saw him and pulled up, the groom following her halting as well. Startled to see the servant, Giles was forced to abandon the greeting he’d intended, scrambling instead to come up with a form of address appropriate for a lady who was merely an acquaintance.
‘How nice to see you, Lady Margaret.’ So much for your vaunted eloquence, Hadley, he thought with disgust.
‘And you, Mr Hadley. Peters,’ she said, addressing the groom, ‘I shall stop at Upper Brook Street before I return to the Square. I’m sure I can trust Mr Hadley to escort me there safely, so you may go. Oh—and tell Polly she need not worry, I will be fine.’
Grinning, the groom bowed. ‘I’ll be sure to tell her, your ladyship. Right tore a strip off me yesterday, she did, for coming home without you!’
‘Your hide will be safe today,’ Lady Margaret promised. At her nod of dismissal, the groom trotted off.
Once the man was out of earshot, Giles said, ‘My very dear Lady Margaret, I am enchanted to see you! Though I must say, I hoped to have had a note from you earlier.’
‘Oh, that.’ She coloured a little. ‘It’s just...when I sat down to write one, I didn’t know what to say. And then to have to ask a footman, or my maid, to carry it to Albany for me...’ Her blush deepened. ‘In any event, I wasn’t sure you’d want to...return so soon.’
‘Not return? Last night would have been better—or yesterday afternoon. I was useless at the committee meeting; all I could think about was you, and our morning together.’
‘Then, you’d like to go there with me...now?’
His heart—and other things—leapt. ‘More than anything. Shall I give you a few moments to ride there first?’
She laughed ruefully. ‘Since my whole staff knows what’s going on—indeed, my maid has already taken me to task for it—I suppose we could arrive together and boldly enter the front door! But on the chance that not all of London yet knows about us...yes, give me a few moments.’
Concerned, he rode over to catch at her reins. ‘Your maid has taken you to task! Devil’s teeth, what effrontery! Would you rather I not visit you? I don’t want to make life...uncomfortable for you!’ Though it would kill me to stay away.
‘No, I want you to come! Surely you know how much,’ she replied, looking up at him, the banked passion in her green eyes immediately raising the level of his desire. ‘Polly’s looked after me all my life. She just doesn’t want me to do something foolish that might get me hurt.’
‘I wouldn’t want to do anything that would hurt you, either.’
In the flash of an instant, her troubled expression turned provocative. ‘What you do to me definitely doesn’t hurt. I’ve lain awake most of the night, impatient for you to do it again.’
‘Then let us go now, while we still have most of the morning! How late does your cousin sleep?’
‘Until noon. But don’t worry. Timid little thing, she is so grateful to have food, lodging, and the leisure to pursue her own interests, I could probably ride naked down St James’s, like Lady Godiva, and she’d not reprove my behaviour.’
‘I would. I insist that all naked riding be done with me.’
Her smile heated and she licked her lips. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘Not half so much as I do.’ With that promise, he slapped the mare on her rump and set horse and rider off towards the park gates.
One slow circuit of the park, and he would head after her. He spent that transit in glorious anticipation, recalling the taste of her mouth, the pebbled softness of her nipples under his tongue, the satin of the skin beneath her ears, behind her knees, the responses he drew from her as he laved her passage and the tight bud hidden above it. And what she did to him...
He recalled Ben’s comment about inventiveness, and his chest tightened, until it was difficult to breathe.
Would she have some new clever technique to pleasure him? He couldn’t wait to find out.
Chapter Ten
Maggie returned from Upper Brook Street to her father’s house the following morning in a glow of satiated satisfaction. Having the previous day agreed with Giles that they would meet every morning, unless one or the other had a commitment that precluded it, she could look forward to each new day with an anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.
Ah, what a new day! Her well-pleasured body tingled at the memory.
She felt reasonably sure she was proceeding with sufficient discretion. Papa was used to her coming and going between their two dwellings, and would be unlikely to question her; most of the ton was abed until afternoon, so the chance of anyone discovering their crack-of-dawn assignations was slim, and she felt secure about the discretion of servants who had watched over her since childhood. In addition to which, she had no doubt that Polly had warned all the staff that if the merest whisper escaped either dwelling, the offender would be turned off without a character.
The only concern that might trouble her happiness—and she refused to spoil the idyll of the present with worry—was the possibility of Giles Hadley deciding he was ready to end the arrangement.
If that happened, so be it. In the interim, she intended to suck from the liaison every possible morsel of joy—an emotion she’d had experienced too seldom these last few years.
As she walked in, the butler came over to meet her. ‘Lady Margaret, I thought you’d wish to know that Mr Hadley—Mr George Hadley,’ he clarified, not looking her in the eye, ‘has called upon your papa. They are in his study.’
That announcement was enough to dissipate her cloud of euphoria. Remembering what Giles had told her about how vindictive his half-brother could be when denied what he wished, Maggie felt a niggle of foreboding.
‘Thank you, Rains. After I change, I’ll be in the morning room, if Papa wants me to join them.’
Had George come to ask her father for her hand, as Giles had told her he intended? Maggie wondered as she went up to her bedchamber. If he were rushing his fences with a proposal, she was going to have to reject him—and deal with what might be unpleasant consequences.
If she must, she would, she told herself philosophically. Were a proposal in the offing, she’d just as soon get it—and any unpleasant consequences—over with, so that possibility wouldn’t cloud a future now brilliant with the promised pleasures of her association with George’s much more compelling brother.
She walked in to find Polly with needle in hand and her morning gown draped across the bed.
The older woman looked up to study her face. Maggie tried, unsuccessfully, not to blush. ‘What lovely needlework,’ she observed, gesturing towards the tambour frame the maid had set aside.
Predictably ignoring Maggie’s attempt to divert her, Polly said, ‘You don’t look so over the moon this morning. Having second thoughts already?’
‘No,’ Maggie snapped, irritated at having another bucket of cold water dumped on the lingering warmth of her morning tryst. ‘I shall probably ride and then stop at Upper Brook Street every morning for the foreseeable future. I will notify you when that changes.’
Rather than being chastened by the rebuke, Polly merely chuckled as she helped Maggie out of her habit
. ‘You should know by now that toplofty tone won’t discourage me from speaking my mind, if it’s something I think you need to hear.’
‘Please, do not let me hear anything! Rains already told me Mr George Hadley has called on Papa, which is dispiriting enough for one morning. Help me into that gown, please, in case Papa needs me to join them.’
‘At least that’s a gentleman who might do the proper thing, and ask for your hand,’ Polly observed as she settled the garment around Maggie.
Maggie repressed a shudder. ‘If you knew the gentleman better, you’d find the idea of a proposal from him more appalling than appealing. George Hadley is interested only in George Hadley, and what a wife can do for him. Specifically, a wife with the correct political connections and a handsome portion.’
‘Isn’t that what all gentlemen want?’
‘Which is why I haven’t married again,’ Maggie retorted. Turning so the maid could finish the ties at the back, she said, ‘If you want to do me a good turn, pray that this Mr Hadley did not come to ask Papa for my hand.’
* * *
A short time later, Maggie descended to the small back parlour. In truth, she was curious why George Hadley was closeted with her father. Since he would not be serving in the next Parliament—unless his father had found him another pocket borough to represent—he wouldn’t be part of Papa’s caucus. Perhaps he intended to get himself returned for the following session, and wanted to tap her father’s expertise in planning his strategy.
She only hoped his reasons were political. In any event, if she were not summoned to join them, Papa would doubtless tell her later what they had discussed.
Her thoughts had drifted back to the delightful interlude with Giles when a current of cool air alerted her that the parlour door had been opened. But instead of her father, the man striding into the room with the familiarity of a family member was George Hadley.
Before she could wonder what had happened to the servant who should have announced the guest, Hadley swept her a bow. ‘My dear Lady Margaret! I’m so pleased to find you alone.’
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