Читать книгу Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins - Julia Justiss - Страница 18

Looking up to find Mr Hadley standing on threshold, so discretion-meltingly handsome with his broad-shouldered form outlined by the darkness beyond and his face illumined by candlelight, she at first thought she’d longed for him so fiercely, she was only imagining his presence. Then he smiled, confirming he was no illusion, and her foolish heart leapt in gladness.

‘I’m so pleased you took my hint that I’d be in the library,’ she said, trying to slow her pulse as she waved him to a seat on the sofa beside her.

‘I’m so pleased you gave me the hint.’

Now that she’d got what she’d hoped for, she felt unaccountably shy. ‘Did you enjoy the discussions?’ she asked, feeling even more foolish for falling back on the prosaic, when she really wanted to ask him all about himself—his youth, his schooling, how he’d developed an interest in politics, what he wanted to achieve…whether he would reconcile with his father. Oh, she wanted to know everything about him!

He laughed. ‘The exchange did indeed become more “lively” after your departure! With Sir James to buttress my position, I flatter myself that I gave as good as I got, and managed to rattle a few firmly held opinions. Enough that I thought it prudent to depart and leave them to enjoy their brandy in peace.’

‘I thought you held your own admirably during dinner—and with great diplomacy. Especially with Lord Coopley.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid he can be quite dogmatic, but he’s been Papa’s mentor since he entered the Lords. He’d be so hurt if he learned Papa had hosted one of his “discussion evenings” and we had not invited him.’

‘I did rather feel like a Christian in the arena after the tigers were released. Thank you again for the rescue, by the way. Browbeating aside, I found it useful to hear all the arguments the Tories may summon; it will help my committee prepare the best responses to counter them. Because the Lords must pass the bill this session.’

‘Must?’ she echoed, puzzled. ‘Why “must” this time, when they’ve already failed several times before?’

‘Surely you observed the mood of the country when you went out to Chellingham! There’s even more agitation in the counties, especially in the northern industrial districts around Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds. Memories of the St Peter’s Field Massacre are still vivid. By failing to vote for reasonable change, the Lords could foment the very rioting and civil discord they think to avoid.’

Alarmed, she was going to ask him to elaborate when he held up a hand. ‘But enough politics for one evening! First, let me compliment you on a delicious dinner. After the bachelor fare I usually settle for, it was quite sumptuous! You really are, as Sir James asserted, the perfect hostess, providing for the needs of your guests, making sure everyone is included in the conversation, inserting a soothing comment here and there if the discussion gets heated—without the overheated gentleman ever noticing he’d been deflected. Quite masterful!’

‘Thank you,’ she said, flushing with pleasure at his praise. ‘I do enjoy it, especially “discussion evenings” such as this one, where there are a range of views exchanged. Alas, despite the best pamphleteering efforts of Anna Wheeler and William Thompson, I fear women will not get the vote soon. This gives me some way to contribute.’

‘Your lady mother does not enjoy playing hostess?’

‘Mama’s health is…delicate. She lost two babes in London in the early days when Papa first sat in the Lords; the experience left her with a permanent distaste for the city and, I’m afraid, for politics. Much as she and Papa dislike being apart, she now remains year-round in the country, while Papa resides here when Parliament is in session.’

‘But your brother does not? As active in politics as your father is, I would have thought he would urge his son to stand for one of the seats in his county—or in one of the boroughs he controls.’

‘I’m afraid Julian has no interest at all in politics—much to Papa’s disappointment.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I was the child who inherited that passion. After Mama took us into the country, it was always me, not Julian, who pestered Papa to tell us all about what had happened during the session after he came home to Huntsford. When I spent my Season with my great-aunt Lilly, I persuaded Papa to let me play hostess for a few of his political dinners—and loved it! And so, after…after I was w-widowed,’ she said, not able even after all this time to speak of losing Robbie without a tremor in her voice, ‘I took it up again.’

‘Your brother stays in the country, as well? I don’t recall ever hearing of him in town.’

‘Yes, he watches out for Mama, to whom he is devoted, and manages the estate. After all, he will inherit it, and such a vast enterprise requires careful supervision. Papa began to train him for it when he was quite young, and Julian loves working the land.’

‘While you prefer the city?’

‘Oh, no, I love being at Huntsford! My husband’s estate is in the same county, and had things…not worked out otherwise, I would have been content to live out my life there. Afterward, I…needed to get away. Fortunately, Papa was willing to take me on again as his hostess.’ She gestured around her. ‘So here I am, back in the bosom of my family, though I do return almost daily to my own house in Upper Brook Street. Father, Mama, Julian were everything to me when…when I lost my husband. I really don’t know how I would have survived without them. Excuse me, I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but that is what I find so tragic about your situation—that you are estranged from your own father, and from the land and people it will one day be your responsibility to manage and look after.’

He seemed to recoil, and worried she’d trespassed on to forbidden ground, she said, ‘It’s none of my business, I know. I hope I haven’t offended you.’

He’d clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he relaxed it. ‘You’re quite brave. Most of my acquaintance don’t dare mention the earl.’

She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Foolhardy, rather than brave. It just…makes my heart ache to hear about a family estranged from one another. After losing two siblings and…and my best friend and dearest love, those few I have left are so precious to me. One never knows how much time one will have with them. Another reason I enjoy playing hostess to Papa.’

He nodded. ‘That’s true enough. With the thoughtlessness of youth, I never imagined I would lose my mother so early.’

‘She must have been wonderfully brave. To endure being isolated, with even her own family abandoning her.’

He laughed shortly. ‘A child accepts what he knows as “normal”. It never occurred to me while I was growing up in that little cottage on the wilds of the Hampshire downs that we were isolated or alone. Of course, like most boys, I wished I had brothers to play with, but Mama made the humble place we occupied a haven, full of joy and comfort. By the time I’d been away long enough to understand what had happened, why we lived as we did, it was too late. Too late to tell her how much I appreciated the love and care she gave, and the tremendous strength and courage she displayed in creating a happy home for her child, despite her own sorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘When my aunt came to take me away to school, I pleaded not to have to leave. I was certain I would be content to spend my whole life there, in that little cottage.’

Emboldened by having him answer her other questions, knowing she was pushing the bounds of the permissible, but unable to stop herself she said, ‘So you don’t think you would ever be able to forgive your father—the earl?’

His face shuttered. Alarmed, she feared he’d either say nothing at all, or give her the set-down she deserved for asking so personal a question. But after a moment, he said, ‘Mama could have lied, you know. Denied that she and Richard had been lovers. My aunt told me that the earl had assured her he’d always known she loved Richard, and only wanted the truth. And then he punished her for giving it to him, in the most humiliating fashion possible. Disgraced. Divorced. Repudiated by her own family. How can I forgive him that?’

The anguish in his tone broke her heart, and she wanted to reach out to him—the isolated child whose adored mother had been mistreated and scorned.

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But I do know that anger eats away at the soul, creating a wound that festers. One cannot heal until one lets it go.’ Advice she would do well to heed herself, she thought ruefully.

‘Would that I could follow such wise counsel,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some day, I will.’

‘It was presumptuous of me to offer it,’ she admitted.

‘Caring,’ he corrected. ‘You do offer it out of…compassion, don’t you?’

Oh, it wasn’t wise for her heart to ache for his pain—but it did. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

With a sigh, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss on it. At his touch, their discussions of politics, her family, his past—all the words in her brain disintegrated, leaving her conscious only of sensation, as the simmering connection between them flamed up, powerful and resurgent. She caught her breath, her fingers trembling in his, fighting the urge to lean closer and caress his cheek.

Then he was bending towards her, his grip on her hand tightening as he drew her against him. She closed her eyes and angled her face up, offering her lips, filled with urgency for his kiss.

He brushed her mouth gently, as if seeking permission. She gave it with a moan and a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Groaning, he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her, pressing her against his chest while he deepened the kiss.

At his urging, she opened her mouth to him. He sought her tongue and tangled his with it, sending ripples of pleasure radiating throughout her body. She rubbed her aching breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer, impatient with the layers of cloth that kept them from feeling flesh upon flesh.

Time, place, everything fell away. She was consumed by him, devouring him, afire with ravening need that raged stronger with every stroke of his tongue.

Lost in mindless abandon, she wasn’t sure how much further she would have gone, had he not suddenly broken the kiss, pushed her away, and jumped up to stumble to the hearth.

‘Voices!’ he rasped, his tone breathless and uneven. ‘Coming this way.’

She heard them then, the shock of cold air against her heated cheeks as he abandoned her slamming her back to the present even as she recognised her father’s tones and Lord Coopley’s growling bass.

‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered, raising shaking hands to straighten her bodice and smooth her disordered curls.

Seconds later, the two men entered the library, stopping short when they saw she wasn’t alone. ‘Hello, Papa, my lord. Is the group breaking up?’ she managed.

‘Yes, the others have gone,’ her father said, looking curiously between her and Hadley. ‘Coopley and I were going to have one last brandy.’

‘As you can see, Mr Hadley lingered to thank me for dinner, and I’m afraid I waylaid him with some further conversation, even though he’d informed me he needed to get away to prepare for a meeting tomorrow. But I shall let him go now.’

Whatever her father might be thinking about finding the two of them alone together, he made no comment. ‘We will wish you goodnight, then, Mr Hadley. Thank you for attending our little gathering, and I hope we will have the pleasure of your company again soon.’

‘The pleasure was certainly mine,’ Hadley replied. ‘Lady Margaret, Lord Witlow, Lord Coopley.’ He bowed, and before she could more than nod, he strode from the room.

‘Will you join us, Puss?’ her father asked.

The last thing she needed now, with her body in an uproar and her mind in disarray, was to face her father’s all-too-perceptive scrutiny. ‘No, you’ll wish to finish whatever discussion was ongoing, and I don’t want to prevent you. I am rather sleepy, so I’ll take myself to bed.’

She rose and walked over to give each man a kiss, hoping her father wouldn’t notice her breathing was still uneven and her hands were trembling.

At a pace she hoped looked decorous rather than panicked, she exited the library.

The following morning, after tossing and turning for hours, Maggie got up at first light. Too restless, and irritated by her restlessness, to attempt to return to sleep, she decided to go for an early morning gallop. The rush of cold air and exhilaration of a hard ride would settle her, clear her muddled mind, and help her decide what she must do.

She rang for her maid, donned her habit, and as the first grey light broke over city, gathered her horse and a sleepy groom and set out for Hyde Park.

She knew what frustrated desire felt like—she’d experienced it often enough, after friendship with Robbie turned to passion, and before they could be wed. Tiring her body with a strenuous ride would dissipate it. If only it might also dissipate the confusion in her brain, and resolve the tug and pull between the compulsion to pursue a relationship with Hadley, and the caution that warned she had far too little self-control where he was concerned, and ought to avoid him.

Sending her groom home after she made it safely to the park, since the sun would be well up by the time she was ready to return, she urged her mare to gallop. For the next hour, she alternated between riding hard and resting her mount, until her hands ached and her legs were trembling.

But the clamour of her body for more of Hadley’s touch had not abated. Not was her mind any clearer than when she’d set out.

Irritated at herself for this unusual inability to make up her mind, she was walking her lathered mare along the path when, rounding a corner, she came upon the cause of her dilemma, trotting on a high-stepping chestnut gelding.

His horse, obviously fresh, reared up, giving Maggie a few seconds to calm the sudden racing of her heart at seeing Giles Hadley again.

He dismounted and walked towards her, his face alight in a smile. ‘Lady Margaret! How delightful to see you. Though it is rather early for a ride.’

Oh, how she could lose herself in that smile! It took all her increasingly feeble strength of will to keep herself from running to him and throwing herself in his arms. ‘I don’t like to waste the morning in bed. At least, not alone.’

Horrified she’d actually said that aloud, her cheeks flamed as, after a shocked moment, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now, that’s a sentiment with which I can heartily concur.’

He fell in step beside her—just a hand’s breadth away. The air between them fairly sparkled with sensual tension. Oh, she wanted…how she wanted.

She hadn’t felt this powerful an attraction, this irresistible a need, since the early days of her marriage with Robbie. Love might be out of the question…but it was only the matter of the ever-ticking clock before the possibility of passion was lost, too. Could she pass up this chance to feel again its heat and power and fulfilment?

A pied piper to lead her wherever he wished, he looked down at her as he took her hand and kissed it. ‘My very dear Lady Margaret.’

Her world narrowed to the wonder of his blue-eyed gaze, the force of the need flowing from her to him, from him to her, in that simple clasp of fingers.

Before prudence had a chance to try to wrestle will back under control, she blurted, ‘I’m about to be very unladylike. But as I discovered some years ago, one cannot depend on the future; if one sees something one wants, one should seize it while one can.’

His eyes searched her face. ‘And you see something you want?’ he asked softly.

‘You,’ she whispered. And then sucked in a panicked breath, terrified, once the word had been spoken and couldn’t be taken back, that her brazenness would shock or offend him, that he would utter some blighting word and walk away. Would he be gentleman enough not to make her a laughingstock at his clubs? she wondered, light-headed at the risk she’d just taken.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he shook his head a little. ‘Excuse me, Lady Margaret. Did you just suggest what I think you did?’

‘Yes,’ she said tartly, her face burning now with heat of another sort, ‘and I do wish you would answer, instead of staring at me in that confounding way. If you intend to refuse, please do so, and let me bid you good day and quit the park before I expire of mortification.’

‘You must know I’m not about to refuse!’ With a laugh, he lifted the hand she’d almost forgotten he still held and brought it to his lips. ‘You must excuse my shock; I’ve never been offered carte blanche by a lady before. But now that I’ve recovered, I have only two questions: Where? When?’

She better do this immediately, before she lost her nerve. ‘My house—Upper Brook Street, Number Four. Now. The elderly cousin who lives with me for form’s sake is very deaf, and never rises before noon. Come by way of the mews. I’ll tell the grooms to admit you.’

He nodded, and without waiting for anything more—she was now so agitated, she couldn’t have stood still a moment longer in any event—Maggie tugged on the reins and led her horse away.

Giles stared after the retreating form of Lady Margaret, still not sure he’d heard her correctly. Rapidly he replayed the conversation in his mind: yes, it had not been just wishful imagining. She really had invited him to become her lover.

Now.

Hell and damnation, what was he doing just standing here?

With a joyful laugh, he tugged on the reins to bring his horse close, then threw himself into the saddle. After one reckless, whooping delight of a gallop around the deserted Rotten Row, startling milkmaids and scattering cows, he pulled up, laughing.

He still couldn’t believe it. After the suspicion in the eyes of her father when he caught them in library last night—after kissing her with wanton abandon on the sofa in her father’s library, the door open, a roomful of guests only a few doors away, any one of whom could have walked in and discovered them, he’d thought he’d be lucky if she even spoke to him again.

He’d come to the park to ride before his meetings this morning, to clear from his mind the fog of last night’s brandy and to work out how best to apologise. He couldn’t explain it to himself—how he couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her, couldn’t touch her without wanting the feel of her body pressed against his, his mouth on hers…

Instead of being forced to grovel for forgiveness for his effrontery, after three short meetings, she was inviting him into her arms. He shook his head, marvelling. The progression towards that invitation was like no path of seduction he’d ever trod before. There’d been virtually no flirting, no exchange of remarks laden with suggestive double entendres, no meaningful glances, no surreptitious touches in public, heightening desire by inciting it when it could not be sated.

Just a great deal of conversation centred on politics, sensual tension ever humming between them, and one sanity-robbing, blazing inferno of a kiss.

Lord bless a lady who knew her own mind! The connection must be as powerful for her as was for him.

He took another circuit around the park, letting the gelding walk off the heat of the gallop, until he judged the lady would have had enough time to return home and prepare herself. The thought of her removing her habit, brushing out her hair, waiting for him, naked under her dressing gown, tightened his chest and hardened other things until, almost dizzy with desire, he could scarcely breathe.

His mouth dry, his member throbbing, he imagined that first touch. He’d worship her with hands and mouth before the first possession. Giddy with delight, on fire with need.

As for the committee meeting to begin soon, he dismissed it without a second thought. The Whigs had been trying to pummel through a Reform Bill for almost ten years; this one could wait a few hours for his attention.

He—and Lady Margaret—could not.

Grinning, he turned his mount towards Upper Brook Street.