He rose too and grasped her chin, forcing her to face him. “Is that what you think? That I take perverse pleasure in randomly debauching virgins? Need I remind you that I desisted?”
“I don’t understand you at all!” she cried. “But if it is my fortune you seek, there was never any need to waste your time and considerable talents when you simply could have applied to my guardian for my hand…and all that goes with it.”
“My dear, my time has not been wasted, and you have yet no clue of my considerable talents.”
She turned away, her lips quivering. “Regardless, the subterfuge of seduction was hardly necessary when I already know I will only be sought out for my wealth.”
“On the contrary, fair Mary. I can’t deny my original object in bringing you here, but it’s strangely complicated now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You intrigue me, Mary. You. Immensely. In this very moment I find myself consumed with the conflicting and contradictory desires to shelter and protect you, to lose myself in those guileless eyes of yours while I pound my cock into you.”
“I won’t have you,” she whispered.
“Oh, yes you will, for I intend to make you mine in every possible way.” Even as he spoke, he realized he meant every word.
“No,” she repeated. “I will never have you. I don’t know who you really are and I don’t trust you. I wish to return to Hanover Square now. Please call the coach.”
“Trust?” he laughed. “So you would rather place your trust in a guardian who plans to give you to the highest bidder like a horse at auction?”
“It’s not like that!” she protested. “Sir Richard at least has my best interests at heart.”
“My dear girl, if you really believe that, you are gravely mistaken in his character. He will see you wed only to one who will exchange political favors in return— to one of his corpulent and corrupt cronies.”
She bit her lip. “Why should I believe you? You don’t care about me! You only look to your own interests.”
“Perhaps that was true at the start, but it’s more than that now.” Although he had certainly set out on false pretenses, now he desired her as well as her fortune, and actually wanted to deserve her faith, wanted her to believe in him.
“My father trusted Sir Richard and chose him as my guardian. What would you know of him?”
Hadley’s gaze narrowed. “I know him for a ruthless scoundrel.”
“Sir Richard would surely pay you a similar compliment, my lord,” she retorted. “You’ve already confessed your nefarious design in bringing me here. And have you not spent the past decade gallivanting around the Continent in feckless self-indulgence? What kind of man does that make you?”
His eyes narrowed, his mouth formed a grim line. “Is that your assessment of my character, Mary? That I am nothing more than a wastrel?”
“The boot appears to fit very well, my lord.”
“You make all manner of presumptions about me, but you know naught of what you speak!” He replied through clenched teeth.
“If that is so, who is to blame?” she bit back. “You share nothing of yourself!”
“I brought you here, didn’t I? To the fondest place of my boyhood.”
“Yet you refuse to talk about your family…or anything else of a personal nature. Why did you go abroad for seven years? Or were you sent away? And why does Sir Richard despise you so?”
“Why must you pry?” he growled. “These are private matters that I don’t wish to talk about!”
“You swathe yourself in secrets, and yet you expect me to wed you?” She laughed wildly. “I may be simple and unsophisticated but I’m not daft! I can think of no good reason at all to accept you.”
He grasped both of her shoulders and lowered his face to inches from hers. “On the contrary,” His voice softened. “I think you have two very good reasons. Firstly, you don’t wish to marry anyone of your guardian’s choosing. Secondly, you are in love with me.”
Her eyes grew wide and her lips quivered. “How-how dare you presume to know my feelings!”
“Do you deny it?”
Her pupils flared. She spun out of his hold and made a brisk and deliberate retreat across the green. Hadley followed her. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To find the coach. The hour is advanced and I promised the countess I would not be late.”
“Oh, no you don’t. I am far from finished with you.” He grabbed her arm and swung her back around.
Her eyes flashed as she jerked out of his grasp. “How very disappointing for you then, my lord, for I am most certainly finished with you!”
Chapter Thirteen
Hadley knew he’d bloody well sabotaged himself, but Mary was no fool. He consoled himself that all was not yet lost. He had just given her too much to process at one time, and had made her question her faith in those she thought she could trust. Now he just needed to back off and let her discover the truth for herself. Sir Richard would soon show his true colors. Hadley’s presence had made him over-anxious to see his scheme fulfilled. This would make him play his hand too quickly…and Hadley would be prepared to act when he did.
Bringing Mary to Bushy Park had been a pleasure, but it had also served to screen another purpose, for he had private business to conduct—business that was better managed outside the environs of a metropolis teeming with curious eyes and ears. So, instead of returning with Mary, he exchanged outer garments with his valet, and ordered James into the coach in his stead to protect the two women on the drive back to Hanover Square.
Although he was reasonably certain he hadn’t been followed to Richmond, Hadley was equally sure that Sir Richard was tracking his movements. As a precaution, Hadley donned a dark and shabby cloak over his plain clothes and rode into town on the saddled mount his coachman had left for him at Bushy House. He supped at the Green Lion, where he consumed almost two bottles of cheap wine while exchanging suggestive banter with the saucy serving wench; all while ruminating his next move with Mary…and closely watching the door.
It was growing late before his contact finally arrived. He’d not known precisely who he was meeting, had no name, no description, the correspondence all having been conducted in cipher, but the gentleman who entered the tavern showed all the nervous energy and conspicuity of a rank amateur. Had he been followed, they’d both soon be dead.
Hadley cast a last guarded gaze over the few remaining occupants of the tavern who hovered over their tankards with muffled murmurs and an occasional drunken guffaw. Noting nothing awry, and satisfied that he’d taken all due precaution, he hailed the stranger in the local dialect he’d almost feared lost from disuse. “Ah! You must be Jemmy’s lad at last! I been waitin’ half the night for ye.”
Upon his approach, Hadley discovered to his amazement a lad of no more than twenty summers who looked him up and down with caution. “And you are?”
“Damn me, lad!” Hadley rose and clapped the young man on the back boy. “Don’t ye recognize your dear Uncle Charlie?
“Are you besotted?” came a stiff reply. Although garbed in plain clothes, the youth’s voice and demeanor readily betrayed his aristocratic origins.
“Just sit your arse in the chair,” Hadley hissed. Adopting a drunken leer, he signaled the barmaid to bring another bottle. “Bloody hell,” Hadley cursed through his teeth. “Do you know nothing of the game?”
“This is far from a game. I assure you! There are men willing to risk—”
God save me from incompetent zealots! Hadley shot him an ominous look. “Not here. Not now. Don’t utter another bloody word in this tavern. You’ll have a drink, force a laugh at my lewd jokes, and then you’ll drag your thoroughly foxed ‘Uncle Charlie’ home.”
An hour later, bawling a bawdy drunken tune, with a half empty bottle in one hand and an arm slung around the young man’s shoulders, Hadley staggered from the tavern. Once they’d progressed into the darkness well beyond the stable yard, he suddenly spun
on his surprised escort who found himself in a strangle hold with a dagger at his throat.
“Now, my lad. Suppose you tell dear ‘Uncle Charlie’ who the devil you are.”
Hadley’s temporary hostage voiced his choked reply in Italian. “Pray release me sir! I am Henry Hyde, Viscount Cornbury. If you don’t believe me, you need only examine the crest on my ring.”
Hadley responded in the same tongue. “I saw the ring the moment you sat at my table. You should have removed the bloody thing before you ever entered the tavern, you damned fool! You have no idea what danger you court, Cornbury. Are you quite aware of the penalty if either of us is identified?”
“Yes. I am well aware of the risk I take in even making myself known to you, but if you already knew who I am, why do you accost me?”
Hadley loosed his grip about the young man’s throat. “Perhaps to teach a lesson to an over-zealous whelp. Who sent you to meet me?”
“I am come under my own volition,” Cornbury snapped. “But you have not yet told me who you are.”
Hadley easily stared him down. “You need not know my name. That alone could get you dead.”
“Yet there is a certain element of mutual faith required for this meeting, is there not?”
Hadley replied with a half-smile, “You must satisfy yourself with the knowledge that I was sent by a mutual friend to meet with you. Now I ask, what is your purpose?”
Cornbury hesitated for a long beat, as if deliberating how much to reveal. In the end he exhaled the breath he’d been holding to reply, “I have letters. Very important letters. They are assurances of support that must be conveyed to Paris with all dispatch.”
“Might I know precisely to whom these letters are to be delivered?”
“They are intended for Monsieur le Marquis de Grosbois. Can I entrust them to you?»
«To the French foreign secretary?» Hadley gave a bark of laughter. «Treasonous letters indeed. Documents that will see me hanged…or worse…if they are found on my person. Why should I undertake such a risk for you?»
«It is not for me but for Britain! Do you not see what is happening in this country? The government is rife with corruption and the popular discontent has risen to levels unknown since the South Sea scandal. You need only visit the coffee houses or attend the theatre to see it.»
«There is always political discord amongst the English,» Hadley scoffed. «We are well-famed for it. The right to riot is a matter of English pride…and it means nothing.”
“You are wrong, sir! The time is growing ripe for a rising and only needs men of principle to come forth and muster the masses. Men like William Pulteney at The Craftsman who are working to expose the corruption and vice that plague our government like maggots on a rotting carcass. Those of us fortunate enough to hold positions of rank and privilege must stand up.”
Hadley regarded the younger man with disdain. “And you appoint yourself to such a role?”
“Indeed I do, sir.” Lord Cornbury jutted his jaw. “I come from a long line of staunch Tories who have never forgotten to whom the British throne rightfully belongs.”
“And why do you think you will succeed when so many others have failed? A French-backed invasion headed by James himself failed in ‘08. The Scots rose in ‘15 and were decimated. The Spanish Armada sunk in the attempt of ‘19. And only five years ago when Bishop Atterbury—”
“Atterbury was betrayed! The rising did not fail for lack of support, sir, but because there was a damned Judas within the midst!”
A fact that Hadley knew only too well, for he in fact, was the Judas who had copied the Bishop’s correspondence with the Pretender. This very meeting was equally duplicitous, for though he was sent from Rome as James’ emissary, Sir Richard had demanded the identities of those who plotted an insurrection. Indeed, this was one of the conditions to be met for Hadley to regain his title, but now in confronting the very man, barely more than a youth, who would commit treason, to risk his life for his ideals, Hadley felt an intense stab of guilt, and an unsettling awareness of his own unworthiness.
Had he ever stood up for anyone or anything without some personal gain? Not that he could recall. Bloody hell! First Mary, and now this?
“I’ll carry your letters, Cornbury,” he said after his disturbing moment of introspection, “but only after I have confirmed your claims with my own eyes and ears. I will do nothing on hearsay.”
Meeting Cornbury’s steady gaze, Hadley accepted the letters.
The viscount repeated, “Trust is indeed a mutual bargain.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mary’s entire day was filled with painstaking preparations for the opera. Lady Blanchard had summoned the mantua maker and her assistants to do the final fittings and finish the three formal gowns she had ordered for Mary, mantuas in silk damasks of buttercup yellow, soft ivory, and sea green, with fine laces such as she had never dreamt of wearing.
“Which one shall I wear this evening, my lady?” Mary asked the countess, unable to choose between the three loveliest gowns she had ever seen.
“The ivory,” the countess answered. “It evokes a certain virginal quality, does it not?”
“Oui, Madame,” answered the mantua-maker. “It is parfait for the young maid to make her debut. Since it is the Royal Opera, we shall add the seed pearl stomacher. Oui? It will be charmante.”
“It will do,” the countess replied. “Show yourself to me when you are dressed, Mary.” The countess departed to attend to her own preparations.
For the next three exhaustive hours, Mary was forced to stand and pose until every muscle ached while the sempstresses prodded and pricked her with pins, as they worked furiously to complete the gown.
Another excruciating hour was spent on her hair, but when finished, Mary gazed at her reflection with incredulity. Dressed in the damask sacque of ivory silk with a matching ribbon woven through loose curls, she could hardly recognize herself. It was as if Jenny and the dressmaker had worked some kind of magic. Although she would never presume to call herself beautiful, Mary was nevertheless amazed at the transformation.
“Is it really me, Jenny?” she asked.
“Aye, miss. It only took the right finery and colors to bring out yer natural beauty. Lord Hadley is sure to take notice,” she added with a cheeky grin.
“I don’t care what he thinks,” Mary retorted.
Jenny gave her a dubious look. “Is that so, miss? When only yesterday afternoon—
“Yesterday was a grave mistake, Jenny. I never should have gone with him.”
Jenny’s brow wrinkled. “But I thought you were quite taken with his lordship.”
“Taken in would be a more apt description. I was deluded by his handsome face and fine manners when he’s naught but a scoundrel.” Mary picked up her fan and waved it in front of her heated face.
“Is that the way o’ it?” Jenny grinned. “But aren’t they all rogues? At least the ones any girl would really want.”
“Jenny!” Mary reproached.
“But it’s true! Why do you think all the town ladies are flocking to see the Beggar’s Opera if not for the likes of the highwayman MacHeath?”
“But that’s just romantic nonsense, not real life,” Mary argued.
“Mayhap, miss, but I’d as lief give my heart to a so-called scoundrel like Lord Hadley, than enter a marriage bed with any of Sir Richard’s kind!” The maid’s shudder echoed Mary’s own feelings.
“But I won’t wed a man I can’t trust, Jenny. Lord Hadley would probably squander every penny of my inheritance, and he would never be true to a wife.”
“But Miss Molly how can you know any man would?” Jenny asked. “Men be different from women that way.”
“Do you really accept that, Jenny? That all men are faithless? That they have a lesser capacity for love and fidelity?”
“Mayhap there be some,” Jenny answered. “But it’s not the general way of it, especially amongst the quality.”
Mary wonde
red if that was true. Lady Blanchard had told her that all men take mistresses. Perhaps her expectations were unrealistic.
“Still, miss,” Jenny added, “my lord doesn’t seem the type what would mistreat a wife.”
Mary’s throat tightened. “I need more than that, Jenny. While I don’t expect love, I still desire respect and fidelity.”
“Then you’ll just settle for whatever gent Sir Richard chooses for ye?”
Mary despised the notion of the mercenary marriage Sir Richard would arrange, one in which her husband would reap all the benefits, but she was far more afraid of one that would only cause her heartache.
“I think it would be far wiser for me to wed a respectable gentleman I cared nothing about, than one whom I might fall in love with only to prove himself a philandering scoundrel,” Mary replied. “Regardless of what he would have me believe, Lord Hadley doesn’t really care a whit for me!”
“Nay, miss. I think you misapprehend. A man like him would ne’er confess tender feelings, but I seen the hungry way he looks at you…and the way you look back at him.”
While he had made professions of desire for her, desire was not love. As soon as he had his fill of her, he would only seek out another lover. No, Mary knew her heart could not bear it, but as much as she wanted to despise him, she knew she was still hopelessly infatuated.
“That only proves what a great fool I am,” Mary sighed with despair. “Don’t you see, Jenny? He’d only break my heart. Lord Hadley does not reciprocate my feelings. He only seeks my fortune and my person. He even confessed as much.”
“Did he now? And why would he do that if he was a rogue who wished only to deceive ye?”
“I don’t know!” Mary cried. “He’s baffling. And in all the time we’ve spent together I still feel I know nothing about him.”
“Mayhap he’s skittish,” Jenny said.
Treacherous Temptations Page 11