Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins. Julia Justiss

James was watching her, too. ‘She certainly rescued you deftly!’ the baronet murmured to Giles after she disappeared from view. ‘What a consummate hostess! I wish I had the like!’

      ‘Lady Graham is a very gracious hostess,’ Giles replied.

      ‘My Fanny does her best, but she doesn’t truly enjoy it,’ Sir James replied. ‘You need only look at Lady Margaret to see she thrives on discussion and debate. An excellent campaigner, too, which my Fanny most decidedly is not! The travelling, the dust, the crowds all exhaust her. There was talk a while back that Sir Francis Mowbrey might lure Lady Margaret away from her father to work her magic on his behalf, but in the end, it came to nothing.’

      ‘Sir Francis Mowbrey, the Tory MP from Suffolk?’ Giles asked, hoping he sounded like a politely interested guest—rather than like a man completely obsessed by the lady.

      ‘Yes, he wooed her some years ago, not long after she came out of mourning. Sir Francis was making a name for himself in Tory circles and had all the right qualifications: old landed family, educated at Eton and Cambridge, related to many of the peers in the Lords, not to mention the ladies found him charming. They were engaged, but just before they were to wed, Lady Margaret cried off. Sir Francis was quite public about his displeasure over the break; understandable, I suppose—it was a better match for him than for the lady, as he would gain access to her considerable fortune, as well as her Tory contacts and political expertise.’

      Surprised, Giles said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected Lady Margaret to be a jilt. Or capriciously change her mind at the last minute.’

      ‘Well, let’s just say Sir Francis was better at wooing than he was at fidelity. He liked the ladies as much as they liked him, and though he was discreet about it, apparently continued his little amours even after the engagement. The on dit was that Lady Margaret got wind of it, and decided she didn’t want to become a wife who had to look the other way. Fair enough, I suppose.’

      The man sounded like an arrogant jackass, Giles thought, though he made himself utter something appropriately banal. Better not to express his disgust, and risk alerting the baronet to the intensity of his interest in the lady.

      But if Sir Francis had been foolish enough to lose the esteem of a woman of Lady Margaret’s stature by trysting with other females, he didn’t deserve her.

      And if he’d led her on with declarations of love that turned out to be hollow, that might explain, Giles suddenly realised, why an eminently eligible female like Lady Margaret had chosen not to remarry.

      Their attention was recalled by the marquess, who invited each guest to give his opinion on what would be the most important matter to be brought before Parliament in the current session. Mentally filing away what he’d just learned from Sir James, Giles returned his attention to matters political, biding his time until he could take his departure.

      Finally, after an hour of intense debate came the lull that enabled him to make his escape. Pleading an early day working on committee reports, he expressed his appreciation to his host and took his leave. After enquiring of a footman where he might find the library, so he could bid his hostess goodnight, Giles walked in the direction indicated and towards the encounter he’d been anticipating all night.

      The door to the library stood ajar. Intending to announce himself, he paused on the threshold, taking in the scene within.

      Lady Margaret sat on a sofa near the fire, a full brace of candles on the table beside her, a slight smile on her face as she gazed down at the book she held. Light from the blazing hearth played in a teasing dance on her auburn hair, setting the burnished locks aglow and illumining her pale face with a blush of amber.

      The sight of her, looking so solitary and yet so serene, struck his chest like a blow. In a rush of memory, he recalled how, after being put to bed, he’d sneak back to the small parlour in the little cottage he’d occupied with his mother, wanting another story or a goodnight kiss. He’d slip in to find her alone and reading, and think how beautiful she was. Long before he’d learned that they were poor, that they’d been cast off by his father, that she was living in exiled disgrace, he’d felt such a deep sense of peace and safety when she welcomed him with a hug before carrying him off to bed again.

      Lady Margaret cast so similar an aura, for a moment he had the ridiculous feeling that he was coming home.

      Before he could shake it off, as if that special energy that sizzled between them had alerted her to his presence, she looked up. ‘Mr Hadley!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is the group breaking up so soon?’

      ‘No, the rest of the gentlemen are still avidly engaged. I believe they’ll be there until the brandy gives out.’

      She laughed softly, a musical sound that made him want to smile. ‘Since the supply is virtually inexhaustible, they should be there until dawn. But you need to leave?’

      ‘Well…’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘To be honest, I must admit I made my excuses early…hoping to have a private word with you.’

      Her smile widened. ‘And I was hoping you might slip away. Won’t you come in?’

      A body blow from a skilled pugilist couldn’t have kept him from advancing towards her. ‘With pleasure.’

       Chapter Seven

      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,