“You must be starving, poor man,” she said, leading the way. “We’ll dine immediately, and you can tell us all about your experiences in the Blackhaven dungeons.”
“Dungeons?” Helen exclaimed, skipping along beside them. “Really?”
“No, merely three cells beneath the town hall,” Michael replied. “They are hardly luxurious, but neither are they dirty, and I’m afraid I saw no signs of any rats.”
“Oh,” Helen said, apparently disappointed. “But I expect the jailers were ferocious.”
Michael glanced at her, his lips curving in amusement. “I’m sure if they’d known you wanted ne beaten, they would have tried harder.”
“Of course I did not!” Helen said, grinning back. “But we would like to have rescued you.”
“Well, I believe Maria did that,” Eleanor said. “Indirectly.”
He didn’t turn to look at her, but there was a pause before he said, “My deepest gratitude.”
Over dinner, which was informal since only the family was present, they discussed the strange conspiracy and Mr. Betts, and the embarrassment of Lord Underwood at his brother-in-law’s treachery.
“What will happen to them?” Frances asked.
Gervaise shrugged. “I don’t know. I suspect the government will not want anything approaching a mutiny to become known, so it may well be swept under the carpet. If I was to guess, neither Heath nor Gayle will hang. They’ll be incarcerated until the crisis is over, and then quietly released. No one will mention it, but their careers will be over. And they’ll be watched.”
“But Mr. Hanson is no longer implicated in any way?” Serena asked.
“No, that mistake is acknowledged all around,” Gervaise replied.
There was one more thing Maria needed to know, and she could not rely on anyone else to ask it for her. “And the author of the pamphlets?” she asked, not looking at Michael.
“Gayle seems to have been at least partly responsible,” Gervaise said. He glanced at Michael. “According to Fredericks, they’re a bit of a hotchpotch slung together from various sources. I don’t believe they’re looking for anyone else.”
Michael inclined his head but did not reply. Discreetly, no one asked him why he had taken the blame for something he hadn’t done.
*
Michael, already astonished by the warmth of his reception when he returned from his brief incarceration, was surprised to find how easy he felt in the family’s company. When the ladies departed the dining room and the port was passed around, an easy camaraderie prevailed. Tamar, the happy-go-lucky artist, and Torridon, the stern one-time soldier, were both humorous companions in their own ways, and appeared to accept Michael as their equal.
For the first time, he didn’t immediately squash the voice whispering temptation in his ear. If Maria accepted you, they would come around. It is possible. You could have her as your wife…
It helped, of course, that Judith had summarily dismissed him. She had wasted no time in cutting the ties after his arrest, for her letter had actually reached him in prison. His relief had told him more than anything else about the state of his relationship with Judith. It was like a huge weight lifted from his shoulders, from his very spirit. And that was even before he thought about his ever-growing feelings for Maria.
“So,” Lord Braithwaite said, pushing the port in Michael’s direction. “Have you thought any more about standing for election here? Or have you been too preoccupied by the loss of your freedom? To say nothing of rescuing my sister from her many and varied scrapes?”
“I believe it is she who has done the rescuing recently,” Michael said lightly, refilling his glass and passing the port on to Lord Torridon. “But, yes, surprisingly, I do have things clearer in my mind, and I will be glad to accept your support to stand for parliament. So long,” he added quickly, as Braithwaite grinned and raised his glass, “as it is clear I may not always support you. We agree on many matters, but the degree of change we seek is occasionally an issue. I will always speak and vote with my conscience. But my hope is that we’ll agree more often than not.”
“Mine, also,” Braithwaite said. “And I can live with your caveats.”
“Excellent,” Lord Tamar said, reaching to take the port from Torridon. “You’ll shake us all up, and for the better, too.” He raised his glass. “To Hanson’s success as the future member for Whalen and North-west Cumberland!”
It was a good, almost proud feeling to be so accepted. Life was opening up for him suddenly. He hadn’t expected to enter parliament for years, but he had always known that being elected was only the beginning of his journey, of his fight for reform. Nor had he ever expected to enter parliament with the full backing and approval of three peers of the realm. The possibilities were huge, almost overwhelming.
“I am not blind, Hanson,” Braithwaite said quietly, dragging him out of his reverie.
Further along the table, Tamar and Torridon were locked in some argument, oblivious to them.
“Blind to what?” Michael asked, trying to bring his thoughts to order.
“To what I suspect are your feelings for Maria, and hers for you.”
Blood flooded into Michael’s face. “You have no need to fear on that score. I have always been sensible of the difference in our stations. And until this afternoon, I fully intended to marry another woman.”
“I know that.” Oddly, Braithwaite looked as uncomfortable as Michael felt. “Look, I do not have great success interfering in my sisters’ affairs of the heart. I have learned from experience that wealth and station are of far less significance than love. I do not forbid you or disapprove of you, Hanson, far from it. But I do ask you to wait before you speak. My sister is seventeen years old and, as you have already found out, subject to scrapes and sudden changes in affection. You have just come out an engagement. Neither of you, surely, is in a position to make life-changing decisions.”
“I have made none,” Michael said stiffly. “I have not even spoken to Lady Maria on such matters.”
“Good,” Braithwaite said, with clear relief. “For she is headstrong, as they all are. I’m glad we understand each other.”
So much for the joy of acceptance. Not that Michael blamed Braithwaite in the slightest. It was not that which churned him up with anger and despair. It was the knowledge that Braithwaite was right. That given another few months, Maria would be swept off her feet by someone eminently more suitable.
At least, that was what the evidence said to his head. If his heart tried to argue her basic loyalty and the strength of her character and affection, the intense glow in her eyes when she looked at him, he put it down to wishful thinking.
*
Maria’s heart drummed erratically as she waited for the gentlemen to rejoin them in the drawing room. She needed to speak to him, to be sure he did not grieve too much over Judith. She could only imagine his pain, his sense of betrayal. But more than that, the world had begun to seem wrong without his company, even if there was no opportunity for private speech.
“I think we should return to London tomorrow,” her mother said suddenly, sitting beside her on the sofa.
“Tomorrow?” Maria repeated, startled. “But we are not packed or prepared!”
“Oh, it will not take you and I long. And I know Gervaise is anxious to return to Westminster. Is he not, Eleanor?”
“Well, yes,” Eleanor said. “But neither Serena nor Frances plan to leave before the end of the week, and I thought we were all going to travel south together?”
“Well, we may easily meet up again in London,” her ladyship maintained. “Gervaise must be eager to be in the thick of things once more, especially with the bi-election looming and—” She broke off as the gentlemen entered.
At sight of Michael, Maria’s heart gave a happy little lurch. But he didn’t look at her.
“Actually,” Gervaise said to their mother. “The bi-election will keep me here for a couple of days while I introduce our candidate.”
“Mr. Hanson,” Gervaise said, waving toward Michael with a flourish.
Michael bowed ironically and accepted the congratulations of Serena and Frances and Miss Harker. The younger girls jumped up and down in glee until their mother glared at them, and Miss Harker hastily gathered them up and departed.
Maria, delighted he had accepted, smiled at him. But still, he did not seem to see her. In fact, he looked exhausted to the point of illness. Her heart ached for him. Judith must have hurt him very badly, and she suspected there was nothing she could say or do to ease it for him.
“Well, we may leave you and Eleanor to bring the younger girls,” her mother said. “And you may travel with Serena and Tamar as far as London.”
“Where is the rush, Mama?” Frances demanded. “We will be going to Scotland, not south with you, so why deprive of us another two days together?”
“I have remembered an appointment,” her ladyship said grandly. “And a party I particularly wish Maria to attend.”
Frances and Serena exchanged glances. “I see,” Frances murmured.
“I would rather stay, Mama,” Maria managed, for she had a sneaking suspicion what was behind her mother’s sudden impatience to be gone. Somehow, she’d come to suspect the growing closeness between Maria and Michael.
“Then it’s as well I know what is best,” her mother retorted.
She’s taking me away from him, Maria thought in panic. It’s deliberate! Frances and Serena know it, too. So does Gervaise. And from the look of her brother, who was the only one likely to intercede with success, he would not speak for her.
“It is only two days, Maria,” her mother said encouragingly.
Two days, plus a journey in his company, when they could eat together at the halts, stay at the same inns overnight. Forlornly, she looked to Michael, but he was already saying goodnight.
At least he met her gaze now and bowed to her from across the room. “My thanks, Lady Maria, for your kind intercession with Colonel Fredericks.”
She could only incline her head in return, and then he had gone.
*
Inevitably, she could not sleep. Her head and heart were too full, too churning with longing and resentment and anxiety. She even thought of running away, although there was no one in the environs of Blackhaven who would shelter her from her family.
In the end, bored from tossing and turning in bed, going over and over the same impossibilities, she rose and donned her dressing gown and soft slippers in the dark. She lit the bedside candle from the tinder box and left her bedchamber for the library.
It was her last hope. She didn’t really expect him to be there, but it was where she had first met him, and she needed some connection.
The whole castle was in darkness. If she hadn’t known her home so well, the tiny light from her single candle would have barely penetrated enough to show her the way. But she made her way along the passage and down the stairs to the gallery. Not the faintest light shone ahead, and in spite of everything, her heart sank.
She walked through the open library door, making her way to the table she regarded as his. There, she set down her candle and sank into the nearest chair. She rested her elbow on the table, propped her head in her hand, and tried to conjure up his presence, his scent, his feel.
At some point, it came to her that in fact it wasn’t completely dark in the library. The shutters and the curtains were open at one window, letting in what light there was from the rainy night and the waning moon. She shifted position, gazing toward it. A black silhouette stood out against the paler darkness.
It, too, shifted position, and her heart lurched with instinctive fear. “Gervaise?”
“No,” said the quiet, deep voice she had longed to hear. “It’s me.” He moved, walking toward her candle until the light glinted off his spectacles and illuminated his face. She caught a whiff of brandy, although there was no sign of his glass. “What are you doing here?”
Stung by the coldness in his voice, she replied, “I have no idea.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing here in the darkness?”
“It wasn’t always dark.” His words were carefully enunciated, as though to prevent the danger of slurring. “The candle went out. Did you come to say goodbye?”
“No,” she said haughtily. Then, more shakily, “Yes. I don’t want to go.”
“It’s best that you do.”
He was right, of course.
“But I do thank you,” he said in a voice she could barely hear. “For everything.”
She took her courage in both hands. “I wanted to say, I’m so sorry about Judith.”
“I thought I would be, too, but I’m not. I’m relieved. Perhaps I’ve known for a long time she wasn’t who I imagined her to be. But I was so seduced by the idea of a wife who shared my views, who could be a partner in everything, I ignored the signs.”
“I thought you were in a hurry to be married.”
“I was.” His lips twisted and he shifted, leaning his hip against the table beside her. “I wanted…well, it was never enough for marriage, even if she hadn’t dismissed me for her own crime.”
“She was never worthy of you,” Maria said earnestly. “She is all desire for attention, and envy with no real feeling.”
His eyes fixed on her face. “How could you see that in, what, two brief meetings? I have known her a year. Well, perhaps I knew it, too, and couldn’t admit it because I was trapped.”
“You’re not trapped anymore.”
He let out a breath of laughter. “There are many kinds of traps. I will miss you, my lady.”
“We’ll meet again,” she said anxiously. “You will just be Gervaise’s ally instead of his assistant. If and when you are elected, you, too, will be in London. And in Blackhaven at other times.”
“Of course.” Despite his cheerful words, his face looked bleak in the faint candlelight.
In quick sympathy, she touched his hand. “This is a new beginning for you, Michael. And there will be other partners in your life.”
His hand jumped at her touch, then twisted, and his fingers closed around hers almost convulsively. But he did not speak.
Her heart hammered. “For example, I don’t think you and I did so badly in bringing down Gayle and Gideon and their dangerous little plot.”
A smile flickered across his lips. “No, we did well.” He stroked the soft skin between her finger and thumb, causing little thrills to dance up her arm. Then, he seemed to notice what he was doing and dropped her hand as though it burned.
“Michael,” she whispered, seizing it back. “Michael, our friendship can be—”
“More?” he interrupted harshly, “No, Maria, it can’t be more. It never will be.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “What is wrong with me?”
“With you?” He stared at her. “Nothing. Dear God, nothing at all.”
She almost threw his hand away from her. “And yet you… you sit here in the dark getting drunk? It isn’t even for Judith, is it?”
“No,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t even think about it. “It isn’t for Judith. It’s for what I want so badly and cannot have.”
“Have you tried asking?”
His breath caught. He stared at her, some wild light flaring in his eyes. “No. I shall not ask.”
A smile trembled on her lips. “Then, shall I?”
He groaned, wrenching his gaze free and seeming to force himself away from the desk. “No! For God’s sake, no.”
She thought he was about to bolt. He even took another step away from her. Then, abruptly, he swung back, seizing her by the arm and hauling her up against him. “But I will say goodbye.”
With that, he tore off his glasses and hurled them on the table behind her, and his mouth all but crashed down on hers.
She let out a muffled sob of pure joy, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him back. Crushed into
his hard body, it was as if she became one with him. The thrill of his wild, endless kisses swept her along. She clung to his neck, caressing his face, the corners of his hungry mouth.
She had never known such blatant arousal, such untamed passion. She was lost in desire, in him as he devoured her mouth and caressed her with his whole body. His arms, like steel, locked her to him, and in those moments, she would have given him anything, everything. There was little thought, only blind, wonderful instinct.
And then, quite suddenly, she was free. He backed away from her, panting. “That was our goodbye. Now, go!”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. He loved her. She knew he did. It was in his kiss, in the heat and turbulence of his eyes. After what she had all but admitted, after kissing him like that, he dared tell her to go?
“You go,” she uttered like a challenge.
His breath hissed in a surprised laugh. “God, you’re wonderful. Goodbye, my sweet,” And to her astonishment, he snatched up his spectacles, brushed past her, and strode through the darkness without even a candle.
She sat down abruptly on the chair he had pulled her out of. Her lips, her whole being tingled with the desire he had aroused. With love. She wanted to laugh at the bumps and muttered curses from beyond the library as he tried to find his way in the dark. But it was tears that gathered in her throat, in her eyes. She had so nearly won.
Chapter Twenty
More than six weeks later, after a whirlwind of personal and world events, Michael leapt out of his hired London hackney in impatience at the traffic hold-up. He all but threw his payment to the driver and ran the rest of the way to Grosvenor Square. He had promised to tell Braithwaite if he heard any definite news, and this was too important for a mere note.
Since the servants knew him as a frequent and informal visitor, he was admitted to Braithwaite House immediately.
“His lordship is in the blue salon, sir. Shall I announce you?”
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