about politics.’
‘She has been her father’s hostess for years. One would have expected her to pick up some information about the process.’
‘Perhaps, but you’ve observed many of the political hostesses. They create a congenial atmosphere to encourage dinner conversation, support their husband or relative’s position ardently and campaign with enthusiasm. But most have neither interest in nor understanding of the intricacies of policy. I can’t recall any who could articulate a position with as much eloquence as Lady Margaret. It was…energising to debate what I love with so knowledgeable and passionate a lady.’
‘And she’s so much more pleasing to the eye than most of your Reformist orators,’ David agreed with a laugh. ‘But—what of George? If you dine with the marquess, he’s sure to hear of it. One can well imagine his reaction—especially now that he’s lost his seat. Even though you said when you met him at Brooks’s the other night, he didn’t seem disturbed about it.’
Possibly because he was more disturbed about Lady Margaret—a concern Giles hadn’t divulged to Davie. ‘Perhaps he thinks the earl can countermand the election, as he has fixed every other setback George has experienced. In any event, I broached the problem to Lady Margaret. She was quite adamant that she wasn’t going to allow George to dictate whom she entertained.’
‘All very well, but she doesn’t know him as you do. Can you feel easy, setting her up for his possible enmity?’
Giles shifted uncomfortably. He’d had second thoughts about attending for that very reason, despite his strong desire to further his relationship with the lady. ‘I considered bowing out,’ he admitted. ‘But dammit, I don’t want to allow George to once again try to dictate my life! In any event, he’s more likely to direct his ire at me, rather than at the lady, and I’m used to dealing with it. If he should be unpleasant to Lady Margaret…he’ll answer to me. Nor do I think the marquess would take very well to having his daughter harassed, and he has more power even than the earl. I’m confident I can proceed without causing difficulties for her.’
‘If you are satisfied, that’s good enough for me. Enjoy your dinner, then! I’ll be most interested to hear what topics are discussed.’
‘I intend to enjoy it—and hope to escape that Tory den with most of my hide intact.’
‘I shall be back later to commiserate, if you need to return and lick your wounds.’
‘I shall hold you to it.’
While Davie put down his glass and went off to change for dinner, Giles remained in the sitting room, sipping his wine. He was relieved to find his faith in his friend justified; after ascertaining the basic facts about Giles’s relationship with Lady Margaret, Davie had neither pried for more nor quizzed him about it.
So, what did he hope to accomplish tonight?
There was the political aspect, of course. Lord Grey might not have sent him to the dinner, but the invitation did provide a sterling opportunity to sound out one of the leaders of the Lords about his position on the upcoming reform legislation. If he could discover from Lord Witlow what areas of compromise there might be, the bill could be tailored to accommodate that before it left committee. Anything which improved the chances for getting the bill approved as quickly as possible in this session would be a great advantage.
He would need to be on his guard, though. He didn’t know who the other guests might be, but it was reasonable to expect some would be hidebound conservatives. He’d better prepare himself to be attacked.
Still, if he’d managed to survive the verbal and physical assaults mounted against him at Eton, before Christopher and then Ben had arrived to befriend him, he wasn’t too worried about the venom of politicians. Especially as he came as an invited dinner guest. He doubted his host would allow anyone present to hurl at him the sort of vicious epithets about his mother that had resulted in so many bloody-knuckled exchanges during his schoolboy years.
The larger looming question was, of course, the lady: what did he intend to do about Lady Margaret?
As impressed with her—and attracted to her—as he was, he was not at all interested in marriage. As Davie noted, he and the other Hellions were still junior enough not to need a wife’s connections to advance their political careers. And for reasons he’d never bothered to fully analyse, the very idea of marriage aroused some deep, nameless aversion.
Perhaps it was the disastrous aftermath of his parents’ union, or the lingering guilt he couldn’t shake at having inadvertently been the cause of that failure. Given his political aims and affiliations, as he’d informed her today, a union with him could do Lady Margaret no good whatsoever. And if anything happened to him before the current earl’s demise, his unfortunate wife would inherit only the enmity of a half-brother more than ready to step into his shoes.
Fortunately, one of the few benefits of being estranged from the earl was it allowed him to avoid the society in which Telbridge and his half-brother moved. If there were any scheming, marriage-minded females who took the long view, figuring that enticing into marriage a man of modest means now would pay off later when said husband inherited a wealthy earldom, they could hardly weave any webs to trap him when he never appeared at any of their social events.
He intended to enjoy his ambivalent position in his single, solitary state for a good deal longer. Although, he did chuckle to imagine the consternation it might create in Reform circles were he to turn up with a wife who had as strong a Tory pedigree as Lady Margaret.
He was powerfully attracted to the lady, and was reasonably certain she returned the compliment. A widow with her own property who was not dependent upon some relative for her support—and therefore not under their control—was exactly the sort of female he’d looked to in the past for the few affairs in which he’d indulged.
And Davie was right—it had been a long time since his last liaison, which had ended amicably when the lady in question decided she wanted to pursue remarriage. He’d kept busy with work since, and when the need for intimacy could no longer be denied, had a friendly arrangement with a discreet lady of the trade, who accommodated his desires with expertise and enthusiasm.
Might Lady Margaret be amenable to an affair?
Desire dried his mouth and tightened his body.
How he’d love to bury his fingers in her thicket of auburn hair, pulling the pins free until the heavy mass billowed down around her shoulders! Watch those green eyes darken with passion as he slowly disrobed her, fanning her desire higher and higher as he kissed and caressed the flesh as he bared it. He could imagine the feel of her breasts, heavy in his hands, the nipples tightening under his tongue. Then to proceed lower, over the silk of her belly, into the valley between her thighs, to the hidden centre of her desires…
He was throbbingly erect, just contemplating it. But he’d better douse those amorous thoughts before dinner. He’d hardly be able to hold his own against the enquiries that were likely to be fired at him by the Conservative diners with the velocity of volleys from a British square, if he spent the meal in a glassy-eyed haze of lust.
Besides, though he had no doubt Lady Margaret was attracted to him as well, being attracted and inviting him to an affair were rather large steps apart. For the time being—or until she sent him unmistakable verbal or non-verbal cues indicating such a leap interested her—he had better just focus on enjoying the lady’s conversation.
Taking a deep breath, he told himself to banish dreams of trysting and concentrate
