she had intended to waste any effort trying to conceal an affair that was probably already the focus of speculation below stairs at Upper Brook Street. ‘I didn’t imagine I could hide anything from you,’ she said with a rueful laugh. ‘But I didn’t expect you’d find out this soon. Who told you?’
The maid raised her eyebrows. ‘You leave at dawn for a ride that normally takes you an hour, and are gone four. Don’t you think I sent that worthless groom back to look for you, and with a flea in his ear for leaving you alone? When he didn’t find you, he stopped by Upper Brook Street—doubtless to delay having to return and report you missing! They told him you were…entertaining a gentleman. Now, you needn’t be worrying the news will get out anywhere but this room and Number Four! We’ve all of us seen you go through more heartache than one body should have to bear, and we’d none of us add to it by tarnishing your name. But gracious, child, what are you thinking?’
‘I suppose you want me to tell you I wasn’t thinking, but that’s not exactly true.’
With her own mother ill for much of Maggie’s life, confiding in Polly had become a childhood habit she’d never outgrown; the wise but sharp-tongued woman had been her supporter and comforter from the days of scraped knees to times of devastating loss. As Maggie trusted she would be now, whether or not she approved of her rash actions.
‘Oh, Polly, I’ve missed Robbie for so long and so keenly. In some ways, Mr Hadley couldn’t be more different than the quiet country gentleman I meant to spend my life with. But he does make me…feel again! The same sort of excitement and delight in life that Robbie did. And the passion. I don’t expect to find again a love like ours, but can’t I enjoy myself a little, before I dwindle into an old widow?’
‘I’ve no objection to you finding pleasure—who deserves it more? But there’s no reason you couldn’t “enjoy yourself” by choosing another fine gentleman to marry—’ She held up a hand, forestalling Maggie’s protest. ‘I know, I know. But even if the husband wasn’t the equal of your Robbie, he could provide you with the passion you seek—safely. How can you even think of risking—?’
‘I’m not! I’m hardly likely to forget what the consequences would be for conceiving a child out of wedlock, and I have no more desire to disappoint Papa and tarnish my name than you would have to see it. I was intimate with Mr Hadley, but in a…controlled way. We’ll not do anything that will risk my becoming with child.’
The maid shook her head. ‘I’ve heard of them “French letters”, or whatever it is the apothecaries call what decent people ought not to use, but nothing will truly stop a babe. I don’t doubt this Mr Hadley is as charming as the devil himself, but it’s still not worth the risk, child.’
‘We’re not using a “French letter”. We are…limiting our intimacy to include only what will avoid any chance of conception,’ Maggie explained, her face flaming, unable to describe it any more plainly even to a woman who knew every mishap she’d ever suffered and every mistake she’d ever made.
It took a minute for Polly to puzzle it out. ‘You mean you’re not letting him—’
‘No. As long as I avoid the ultimate act, why shouldn’t I take some pleasure, when, after so long alone, I’ve discovered a man who intrigues me, whom I intrigue in turn?’
‘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,
