her a perfect excuse to delay. ‘You will allow the innkeeper to bring you a tankard of his excellent home brewed? Mr Carlson, isn’t it?’ she asked, turning to the proprietor. ‘My cousin, Mr Armsburn, told me you have the best ale in Chellingford. I know he’s drunk many a pint when coming through to campaign.’
‘That he has, Lady Margaret, and bought rounds for the taproom, too,’ Carlson replied. ‘I’m happy to stand a mug to any of his supporters.’ After giving them a quick bow, he hurried back out.
‘Now, that is largesse you cannot refuse,’ she told her rescuer.
‘Even if I’m accepting it under false pretences?’
‘We needn’t upset Mr Carlson by telling him that. He’s been a Tory voter for many years.’
‘No wonder you charm the electorate—if you know even the names of the local innkeepers.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course I know them. One cannot represent the best interests of the district unless one knows the people who live there, and their needs. But you have the advantage; you know who I am, but have not yet given me your name. All I know is that you’re misguided enough to support a Radical.’
He laughed, as she’d meant he should, and made her an exaggerated bow. ‘Giles Hadley, ma’am, at your service.’
The note of challenge in his tone puzzled her for the few seconds it took for the name to register. ‘Giles Hadley!’ she repeated with a gasp. ‘The leader of the Hellions, the infamous Viscount Lyndlington—although you do not use the title, do you? Should I be expecting a whiff of fire and brimstone?’
He laughed again. ‘Rumours of our exploits have been highly exaggerated! I doubt we were any more given to frequenting taverns and consorting with the, um, gentle ladies who worked there than most undergraduates. We just patronised a humbler class of establishment, and consulted, rather than patronised, the patrons.’
‘So what was this about being hell-bound?’
He shrugged. ‘One of the dons who was a clergyman heard that, if we ever had the power, we would eliminate churchmen’s seats in the Lords. The sacrilege of wanting to upset the established order, along with our “dissolute” activities, led him to denounce us all as the Devil’s minions. As for my title as a viscount, it’s only a courtesy accorded to the son of an earl. I prefer to be known for what I’ve accomplished.’
‘Which is quite a bit, I understand! I’ve heard so much about you!’
‘If you heard it from my half-brother George, no wonder you’ve been imagining me with wings and a forked tail,’ he said drily.
She shook her head. ‘Most of what I know comes from my father and his associates—who see you as a rising star in the Whigs. My father, who does not praise lightly, has several times lamented that Lord Newville managed to snag you for the Reform cause before he could persuade you to join the Tories. I am honoured to make the acquaintance of a man so esteemed by my father!’
And she was—awed enough at meeting the man even his opponents spoke of as likely one day to become Prime Minister that for an instant, she forgot his physical allure.
But only for an instant. With her next breath, the shock of learning his identity was once again subsumed in awareness of the powerful attraction he generated.
What a combination! she thought dazedly. That intense masculine appeal embodied in a man pursuing a career she admired above all others. And despite what he’d said, there was something of the wicked about him.
Rather than preening a bit at her obvious admiration, though, as most men world, he seemed somewhat discomforted—an unexpected display of modesty that only enhanced his charm.
She barely suppressed a sigh, immobilised by eyes that seemed to look deep into her soul.
‘Thank you for the compliments, though I’m sure I do not deserve them,’ he said after a moment, as if only then realising that they’d spent the last several minutes just gazing at each other. ‘And forgive me for speaking slightingly of George. From the article I read recently in the Morning Post, it appears I should wish you happy?’
‘Wish me happy?’ she echoed. As his meaning grew clear, irritation flashed through her. ‘Certainly not! As a member of my father’s Tory caucus, I see Mr Hadley quite often, but there’s no understanding between us. Newspapers!’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘The gossips have been pairing me off ever since I came out of mourning.’
‘So you are not about to bestow your hand on my half-brother?’ At her negative shake of the head, he smiled again—that brilliant smile that made her stomach do little flips and curled her toes in her half-boots. ‘I have to admit, I am glad to hear it.’
No female he smiled at like that would ever look at his half-brother. Dazzled, she said without thinking, ‘George Hadley isn’t looking for a wife, but someone to reflect his glory, and I make a very poor mirror.’
Not until those honest but appallingly indiscreet words exited her lips did she realise how much Giles Hadley had unsettled her. She seldom voiced unflattering assessments of her acquaintances, and never to a stranger.
Flushing with mortification, she said, ‘Pray, excuse me! That was most unkind, and I should never have said it.’
‘Even if you know it to be true?’
‘Whether or not it is true is irrelevant,’ she shot back, flustered. ‘I am not generally so critical. Or at least, I seldom utter such criticisms aloud,’ she amended more truthfully.
‘Then I am all the more honoured by your honesty. And relieved, I must say. Women usually find George charming.’
‘Truly?’ She frowned, replaying in her mind’s eye a typical exchange with the man. ‘Perhaps with ladies he wishes to charm. When we converse, he always seems to be looking towards my father, as if he’s much more interested in Papa’s approval than in mine.’ She made a wry grimace. ‘Makes me feel rather like a prize pullet he’s bartering to install in his hen house. And I should not have said that, either.’
Hadley laughed. ‘If that’s true, he’s even more a fool than I thought—and I should not have said that! But there’s bad blood between us, as I imagine you know.
‘So I understand. I always find it sad when there is a dissension within a family.’
A bit more than dissension—there’d been a scandal of rather large proportions, she knew, although she’d heard none of the particulars. Hardly to her surprise, he did not attempt to enlighten her.
Before she could introduce some safer topic, her cousin’s aide, John Proctor, rushed into the room. ‘Lady Margaret, are you all right?’ he cried. ‘Armsburn and I have been looking everywhere for you! When I heard about the ruckus on the square, and then couldn’t find you…’ He exhaled a shuddering breath. ‘I knew Michael would have my head for leaving you on your own, had you been harmed or even frightened! Please, forgive me!’
‘Nothing to forgive,’ she replied. Except his arrival, which would doubtless mean an end to her interlude with this fascinating gentleman. ‘Mr Hadley took good care of me.’
The two men exchanged bows. ‘Hadley, we are much in your debt for safeguarding
