Forbidden Nights with the Viscount

by Julia Justiss

  He was on his feet in an instant, drawing him to her, all his frustration and roiling guilt and worry over her safety intensifying the passion of his kiss. She replied in kind, apparently as voracious and driven as he was.

  The dogs milling curiously about their feet, Giles kissed her until they were both panting for breath. ‘Curse those hounds!’ he gasped.

  She chuckled unevenly. ‘Bringing them was a good idea at the outset. Now, however... If I tried to do what I’d like to do, they’d be all over me.’

  ‘Or me, I if went down on my knees.’

  She turned him so his back was against the trunk of an ancient oak. ‘Oh, I wish,’ she whispered, looking like temptation itself with her lips red from his kiss, her gaze passionate and her face hot under his caressing fingers.

  ‘What?’ he whispered.

  ‘It would be so easy... Unbutton your trouser flap. Pull up my skirts. Have you lean back and pick me up, so I could wrap my legs around your waist and rock into you. Rock you into me.’

  Listening to her naughty scenario made his member surge. The idea of taking her, finally tasting full possession, was so intoxicating, it required every bit of self-control he could muster not to urge her to act out what she’d just described.

  While he wavered, fighting temptation, he felt her fingers stroking him, tugging at his trouser buttons. Control unravelling, of their own volition his hands reached for her skirts, began shimmying them up her legs.

  Then one of the hounds jumped up, knocking her away from him. He steadied her before she fell, both of them gazing at each other, their panting breaths the only sound in the wilderness.

  ‘Faithful, indeed,’ she murmured, stepping back to shake out her skirts. ‘It’s his name,’ she explained, rubbing the hound behind his ears. ‘Thank heavens he was there to keep me from catastrophe! Now that we are both thoroughly frustrated, we’d better return. It’s a feeling we—or at least I—will have to get accustomed to.’

  Not sure whether he wanted to toss the hound a bone or shoot him, Giles walked Maggie back to the horses and helped her remount.

  ‘Goodbye, my lover,’ she said. ‘Please, may it not be long before I can say “hello” again.’ With that, she kicked her mare to a trot.

  ‘Amen to that,’ Giles muttered, and followed after her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the early evening three days later, after seeing Maggie safely to the door of her great-aunt’s town house, Giles returned to his rooms at Albany. Before he bathed and changed, he sent their man-of-all-work to the Quill and Gavel in search of Davie with a note requesting that his friend join him as soon as possible.

  * * *

  By the time he’d washed and dressed, Phillips returned with the welcome news that Mr Smith would follow him directly.

  Giles poured himself a brandy and sipped it, pacing impatiently until at last he heard Davie’s step in the hallway.

  ‘Welcome back to London,’ his friend said, holding out his hand to shake. ‘I hope you had an instructive visit to Huntsford. Was this summons designed to avoid, for the present, the ribbing sure to be directed at you by Ben and Christopher for having sojourned at the home of the lovely Lady Margaret?’

  Davie’s teasing tone faded as he looked up at Giles’s face. ‘No, I can see it’s more serious.’

  ‘Didn’t you get my note?’ Giles asked.

  ‘No, but frankly, we’ve been so busy the last few days I’ve hardly been back to Albany. Shall I look for it?’

  ‘Never mind,’ Giles replied, shrugging off his annoyance. Fortunately, he had new information that should make up for the delay in Davie’s not having read his earlier missive.

  ‘I’m sorry, Giles. Pour me some of that brandy, and tell me all about it.’

  Just the presence of his quiet, meticulous, competent friend lightened Giles’s anxiety. If anyone could help him clear the muddy waters of this mystery, it was Davie.

  When they were both seated with glasses in hand, Giles said, ‘It would have been merely an instructive visit to Huntsford. Except that, while we were out riding, someone took a shot at Lady Margaret—and came within a hair’s breadth of hitting her.’

  ‘Hell and the devil!’ Davie exclaimed. ‘Did you find the man?’

  ‘No,’ Giles said grimly. ‘I found tracks that indicated he’d been shadowing us for some time, under cover of the woods. When we dismounted, he had a clear line of fire—and took it. By the time I found his trail, he’d galloped off. Lady Margaret, her brother, Lord Esterbrook, and I made an exhaustive canvass of the area the following day, and discovered that a stranger who left by the London road had passed through the local village. Esterbrook sent a groom after him with a description. We learned just as we reached the city tonight that the groom had in fact picked up the trail, and tracked the man back to London.’

  ‘Excellent! Does the groom have any idea where he went after he arrived?’

  ‘The innkeeper where he stopped just outside the city said the man told him he’d send the horse back from the Green Dragon in Seven Dials. He’s been using the name “Teddy Godfrey”, by the way. Now we need to find him, and I’m hoping you can direct me to the right people to help me look.’

  Davie shook his head. ‘Why would anyone want to shoot Lady Margaret? Granted, there have been Swing Riots in the countryside around Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds, even some houses of the aristocracy burned, but nothing in her area. Witlow is known as a fair and concerned landlord who looks after his land and his tenants. Although,’ he continued, his voice troubled, ‘she has campaigned for Tories in areas that are far more volatile. Still, I can’t imagine any radical, no matter how extreme, targeting a female.’

  ‘It may be worse than that,’ Giles said, guilt and anger scouring him anew. ‘After the attack, when I jokingly teased her about having refused George’s suit—which, by the way, she did—she told me after she rejected him, he threatened her.’

  Davie waved a hand. ‘Surely that was just George being George, frustrated at being denied something he wanted. You don’t seriously think he would harm her for refusing him?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. I certainly hope not. That would make it worse.’

  Davie, ever perceptive, understood immediately. ‘Yes, I see. Knowing how George can be, you’d feel responsible for not avoiding her after George quarrelled with you over her.’

  ‘It’s too late to change that now. All I can do to redeem myself is figure out as quickly as possible who was behind the attack.’ He grimaced. ‘I would have preferred to incarcerate her in an inner room at Huntsford, but both she and her brother insisted that leaving her there while we deal with the threat would make it impossible to hide the incident from her mother, whom they don’t wish to upset—she’s in delicate health. As a compromise, Lady Margaret has returned to London, but will remain in seclusion at the home of her great-aunt, Lady Sayleford.’

  ‘At least she’ll hear all the latest gossip. How can I help?’

  ‘I remember you told me when you first met your mentor, Sir Edward, in Hazelwick, you helped rescue Lady Greaves—she wasn’t Lady Greaves then—from the radical who kidnapped her, working with a prosecutor and a government agent, as well as some men from Bow Street?’

  ‘You want me to look up Mr Albertson, the Home Office man who presented the evidence to the prosecutor,’ Davie said, immediately making the connection. ‘But that was years ago. He’s probably long retired.’

  ‘A mention of his name should get you referred to someone of equal authority, who can recommend some agents to work undercover. We have a name, or at least an alias, an excellent description, and know the general area to which our suspect returned. With that, I’m hopeful we can turn up something.’

  Davie nodded. ‘There’d be a money trail, too. From what Albertson told me, ag
itators are usually advanced a sum up front, to fund their activities, but receive the bulk of the payoff after they complete their assignment.’

  ‘If the task was to murder Lady Margaret, he didn’t accomplish it. He might not want to meet his employer and admit that.’

  ‘That won’t wash,’ Davie said, frowning. ‘It’s extremely unlikely anyone would be foolish enough to agree to murder the daughter of a marquess, no matter how much he was promised! He’d have to know that a person of wealth and position like Lord Witlow would never give up until he found the perpetrator—which would mean the gallows. It would make more sense if the man was only supposed to fire at her.’

  ‘As a warning? But why—and for what? What good is a warning if you don’t know what you’re being warned about?’

  ‘I didn’t say I had the answers,’ Davie retorted. ‘But you’re right; with an alias, a description and a destination, we may well be able to trace the gunman.’ He tapped his finger on his glass. ‘I believe Albertson’s assistant, a Mr Farnworth, still works in the office; I called on him a few years ago to settle a matter for Sir Edward. I’ll look for him tonight. Maybe we can get this moving forward immediately.’

  Giles clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, Davie. I knew I could count on you.’

  His friend smiled. ‘I like and admire Lady Margaret. I’m honoured to do all I can to find the man who fired on her. Just one more thing before I go.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you having an affair with Lady Margaret?’

  Caught off guard, Giles froze, scrambling for an answer.

  Before he decided whether to confess or deny it, Davie said, ‘You are, aren’t you? Everything pointed to your being involved with a lady—the missed meetings, the late mornings—’ Davie gave him a smile ‘—the air of bliss about you. Christopher and Ben are convinced of it, and you may thank me for keeping them from pestering you about it. But...I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of your paramour being Lady Margaret. She’s always been the very model of propriety, passing up numerous opportunities for dalliance, to say nothing of offers of marriage, since her husband’s death. She just...doesn’t seem the sort of woman for a casual affair.’

  Stung, Giles said, ‘Isn’t that her business?’

  ‘And yours, not mine,’ Davie agreed. ‘It does explain why you feel the threat to her safety more keenly. Especially if George is involved. But don’t worry, I’m not about to whisper my conclusions into the ear of anyone, even the other Hellions.’ He laughed. ‘Besides, it’s much too amusing to listen to their daily changing theories about who your mystery lady must be.’

  ‘Thank you for your discretion, at least,’ Giles said, still irritated.

  Davie nodded. ‘You’re welcome. I’m off to find Farnworth. Are you staying here, or going to the Quill and Gavel?’

  ‘Here, probably. Esterbrook said he’d send word if he heard anything else, and I’m too weary to fend off questions from Ben and Christopher.’

  ‘Probably wise, given that they know you summoned me. At the whiff of mystery, they’d tear into you for answers, like starving hounds with fresh meat.’

  ‘I may involve them, too. Just not tonight.’

  ‘Get some rest. You look exhausted.’ Scooping up his greatcoat, Davie headed out the door.

  Giles took another deep draught of his brandy. He was exhausted—not from the ride, for he’d ridden further, but from the need for constant vigilance that intensified every mile they got closer to London. Scanning each passer-by, rider and coachman, always watching for a hand on a weapon, even though he knew the possibility of encountering danger was slight, had taken its toll physically and mentally.

  He resented the hint of disapproval in Davie’s tone when he spoke of Giles’s relationship with Maggie, even as it smote his conscience. By the stars in Heaven, she wasn’t some innocent he’d lured away and debauched! Initially, she had propositioned him. Though he had coaxed her afterward to go through with it, after she’d panicked and withdrawn her offer, he recalled uncomfortably.

  Davie was right, though: she wasn’t the sort of woman who indulged in casual affairs. Could she be hoping for more? The thought further unsettled him. If so, she’d never even hinted about it.

  If he were to marry, he couldn’t think of a woman who would make a more interesting, intriguing and passionate partner. But he wasn’t thinking of it—no matter how special Maggie was. His mother’s experience of the institution hadn’t inspired in him much enthusiasm or respect for it, or any desire to try it for himself.

  Besides, he’d told her from the outset, with his tenuous position and limited income, a union with him could bring her nothing but harm. What a come-down, from daughter of a marquess to wife of a simple Member of Parliament!

  Suddenly he recalled the disparaging remarks his half-brother had made about Maggie’s age and possibilities when she’d refused his offer. Was their dalliance robbing Maggie of the chance to make an advantageous alliance while she still could, one that would provide her with companionship, passion and protection into a ripe old age?

  He certainly didn’t want to be the means of destroying her chances, as he had destroyed his mother’s.

  Even though the idea of her marrying anyone else sparked an immediate sense of outrage.

  But no need to think that far ahead. All that was required now was to eliminate the threat to Maggie’s safety.

  With that conclusion, telling Phillips to wake him if a message came from either Davie or Esterbrook, Giles sought out his bed.

  * * *

  Two days later, Maggie restlessly paced the back parlour Aunt Lilly had given her for an office. She’d dispatched the notes to Papa’s housekeeper and Cook about the guest list and menus for tonight’s entertainment; supplies had been ordered from their usual providers. The gathering was to be a meeting of her father’s closest Tory advisors, which she probably would not have played hostess for anyway.

  Still, she chafed at her confinement and struggled to concentrate on the book of travels Giles had sent—reading of someone else’s journeys only made her feel more imprisoned. Though she knew it wasn’t prudent to risk going out, as the memory of the incident faded, she had a harder and harder time believing someone wished to harm her, and a greater and greater impatience about hiding away as if she were the criminal. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it, before she rejected all the good advice and returned to Cavendish Square to resume her life.

  Would Giles then resume their liaison? She knew even the possibility that his half-brother might have been responsible for the shot fired at her had deeply shaken him. Deeply enough for him to feel he must distance himself from her? Had this unpleasant incident destroyed the sense of magic that had enveloped their relationship, making him ready to move on?

  Just thinking about the possibility that he might not visit Upper Brook Street again struck her like a kick to the gut. The blow should be a salutary one, she told herself. It would probably be better if they did end this before she became any more attached—not just to the passion, but to the man.

  She’d been woefully naïve in thinking she could become intimate with Giles without also gradually entangling herself deeper into his life and concerns. Wanting to assist and smooth and facilitate, where she had no right and no invitation.

  Very well, she conceded, ending it sooner rather than later might be wise.

  But she didn’t want to end it yet.

  On that stubborn resolve, her great-aunt’s butler bowed himself in. ‘Viscount Lyndlington to see you, Lady Margaret. I’ve shown him to the Great Parlour.’

  Oh, how her heart’s leap of gladness ought to alarm her! But too excited about seeing him to spoil the prospect with worry, she said, ‘Thank you, Harris. Will you tell him I’ll be there directly?’

  Rushing to the mi
rror, she tucked an errant curl back into her coiffure and smoothed her gown. Too impatient to bother with any further primping, she hurried to the parlour.

  ‘Giles, what a wonderful surprise! So you’ve come to check on the inmate?’

  At his smile, her stomach did another happy little flip. ‘Feeling restricted, are you?’

  ‘“Restricted” hardly describes it! It reminds me of when I was ten, and was caught riding a stallion Papa had forbidden me to go near. He incarcerated me in my room on bread and water for three days.’

  ‘Wanting to make sure you never disobeyed such an order again?’

  ‘I was furious, though secretly I knew he was right. The stallion was a beast, and I was lucky to have made it back to the stables without breaking my neck. However, being cooped up for three days, for someone who rode for miles about the countryside every day, was a torture I’ve never forgotten.’

  She gestured him to the sofa, savouring his closeness as she settled beside him. Oh, how she’d missed him, even more keenly than she missed her freedom!

  ‘You’ll be encouraged to learn that we’ve made enough progress that your liberation may be near. My colleague consulted his Home Office sources, who referred us to several Bow Street operatives. One of them has, we believe, tracked down our man. As we suspected, Godfrey’s a former soldier who drifted to London after his family lost their land in the enclosures. He’s been hired out on several questionable projects in the past. Hines, our Bow Street man, is going tonight to a tavern in Seven Dials Godfrey is known to frequent.’ After a pause, he added, ‘I’m going along.’

  ‘You are?’ Maggie said with alarm. ‘Is that wise? You’ve no more expertise in dealing with the type of people who frequent Seven Dials than I do. How could you pass unnoticed?’