She didn’t know when fascination had deepened into love, though if she were honest, she’d been tumbling deeper into enchantment from the moment they met.
Perhaps she’d secretly hoped, if she didn’t call what she felt by its name, she might save herself some of the anguish now coursing through her.
She’d been wrong.
She allowed herself to retain only one tiny crumb of hope: if Giles cared as much for her as Robbie had, he would come back. If he did, then and only then would she confess that she loved him.
If he didn’t, it was just as well for them to end it now. Continuing on would only entangle her heart and hopes more completely into his life and make the inevitable parting more difficult.
This was hard enough.
Aunt Lilly had been right to warn her, Maggie thought, struggling to get air in and out of her lungs. Hearts could break twice. And the second time was looking to be no easier than the first.
Chapter Twenty
Giles found himself back at his rooms at Albany without being able to recall precisely how he’d got there. He ached like the very devil, and he wasn’t sure it was his hand that hurt the most.
He still couldn’t believe that Maggie had ended their liaison. He’d been so focused on removing the threat to her so she could resume her—and their—normal routine, his chief worry the possibility that he’d have to shoulder the guilt of learning his brother was responsible for the attack, he’d never remotely considered it ending.
Not that he could be angry with her—not when her reasons were so undeniable and compelling. If he were honest, he had to admit that he had coaxed her into suppressing those very misgivings to win her agreement to begin the affair. She’d honoured him by trusting him enough to reveal the deeper reason behind those misgivings—a personal tragedy of which even her closest family wasn’t aware.
His lip curled with derision when he thought of Sir Francis Mowbrey. How stupid and selfish the man must be to have remained ignorant of what a treasure he’d been offered! Concerned only with availing himself of her wealth, her connections and her body while giving her nothing but honeyed lies. Giles grieved for the innocent girl whose trust and self-confidence had been so callously shaken.
Small wonder she’d held herself at a distance from all subsequent suitors, too disillusioned to trust the love promises of prospective husbands who stood to gain so much by beguiling her into marriage.
Perhaps that was why she’d chosen him, Giles thought wryly. Her Tory connections were no help to him politically, and he wasn’t on the catch for an heiress. As she’d said, he’d signed on only for a mutually pleasurable interlude with an interesting and attractive partner.
So why did he feel like he’d just been gutted?
He’d get over it, he told himself—just like the throbbing in this curst hand would end, eventually. Deciding some medicinal brandy might be good for all that ailed him, he hunted for the decanter and poured himself a glass.
His mind wandering, unable to focus on what he should do next, he automatically began to pick up the glass with his right—injured—hand. He dropped it at once, cursing at the excruciating pain.
Fury far beyond anything merited by that small miscalculation engulfed him. Seizing the glass with his good hand, he threw it into the fireplace, watching as the crystal shattered into pieces.
Like his world.
* * *
A week later, Giles was reading through some papers in the committee room when Ben entered with a stack of law books. His vision obscured, he bumped the table, knocking over an empty tankard that fell against Giles’s injured hand.
After a stream of curses, he snapped. ‘Watch where you’re going, lunkhead!’
Ben set down the books with a thump. ‘Here’s all of Blackstone, as requested,’ he told Davie, who sat at the table beside Giles. ‘As for you, Giles, in future would you make sure you don’t injure yourself while Parliament is in session? You’ve been like a bear with a thorn in its paw for the last week.’
Irritated and out of sorts, but knowing his friend was right, Giles was working up the will to apologise when a knock sounded, followed by the entrance of a runner, who handed Giles a message.
He read through it swiftly, then rose, going over to claim his hat and greatcoat. ‘It’s from Hines,’ he told them. ‘He has the information we’ve been seeking.’
‘Shall I go with you?’ Davie asked.
‘No. One way or the other, I’ll be fine. I’m just happy to end this at last.’
Ending it would mean he’d be able to write to Maggie, he thought as he hailed a hackney, giving the driver Hine’s Bow Street address. He might even chance going to Cavendish Square to deliver the news in person.
His spirits rose at the idea of seeing her. Much as he hated to acknowledge it, missing her had been an ache as painful as his wound. Except, he expected, that pain would prove much more enduring.
* * *
A short time later, he climbed out of the carriage and hurried into Hines’s office, eager to have the mystery cleared up at last. The investigator came straight to the point.
‘Godfrey was hired by a Tom Brown—not his name, almost certainly. Brown hovers about the edges of society, along with the cent-per-centers and dealers in pawned merchandise, specialising in making discreet arrangements for gentlemen down on their luck who need to sell a family bauble that might not be theirs to sell, settle a bastard child obscurely in the country, or otherwise make inconvenient problems disappear. His reputation for doing so came to the attention of a gentleman who had such a problem, who contacted him to take care of it.’
‘And that gentleman was?’
‘As you suspected, your half-brother, George Hadley.’
Even though Giles had never been able to imagine anyone else being responsible, having the news confirmed still shocked him like a slap to the face.
‘Shall I write and inform Lord Esterbrook?’ Hines asked.
‘Yes, he will want a full report. Thank you for your good work, Mr Hines. And for letting me come along for that dust-up we enjoyed the other night. Reminded me of my misspent youth on the Hampshire downs.’
Hines smiled. ‘I imagine speechifying and law-making must sometimes seem a bit dull for an active man.’
He was about to participate in another dust-up—as soon as he ran down his half-brother. ‘Total your bill and present it to my bank, and they will draft you the reimbursement.’
‘Thank you, Mr Hadley. Right sorry about your half-brother.’
After exchanging bows, Giles quit Hines’s office and raced down to the waiting hackney. Now to track down George at Abbotsweal House, and settle this for good and all.
* * *
But to his frustration, Giles arrived at the family town house to find the knocker off the door. Proceeding to the kitchen entrance, he roused a member of the skeleton staff, who informed him that Mr Hadley had been summoned home by his sire two weeks previous.
Thanking the man, Giles walked slowly out. Unfortunately, he’d not have today the reckoning he burned for. Even more unfortunately, he was going to have to make that long-delayed journey to Abbotsweal.
* * *
Three dusty June days of travelling later, Giles arrived at the village of Romesly and engaged a room at the local inn. Later, he would call on Mr Angleton and meet with the committee that had requested his presence. But first, he would visit Abbotsweal Hall and settle the business with his half-brother. And his father.
Following the directions of the innkeeper, Giles chose to ride to Abbotsweal, rather than take a carriage. Before anyone at the manor noticed a visitor approaching and gave the alert, he wanted to get a good look at the land that would eventually be his and the house he’d not seen since he was a small boy, and barely remembered.
To his surprise as he drew nearer to the house, bits and pieces of memories surfaced in his mind—a curve of road that seemed familiar, a sunny, open copse in the woodland where he must have played. Then the Georgian manor itself, vast as he remembered it.
The scent of roses brought back hazy images of a walled garden—which he spotted to the west of the main building. Then he was approaching the entrance, handing his horse over to a footman, being admitted by an elderly butler. ‘Please inform Lord Telbridge that Viscount Lyndlington is here to see him.’
The old man drew in a breath. ‘Master Giles? Is that really you?’
Giles looked over to find, to his surprise, an expression of gladness on the old man’s face. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t—’
‘I’m Wilson, sir, and of course you don’t remember me! You were only a babe when you and...when you left us. I’m so glad you’ve come home, at last! Your father prefers to receive callers in the library—won’t you follow me, sir? I’ll let his lordship know you are here at once!’
‘Is Master George here as well?’
‘I believe he is out riding at present, but due back before dinner.’
Very well, Giles thought, following the old man into a large, long room whose walls were lined with cases filled with leather volumes. He’d deal first with Telbridge, then with his half-brother.
What a handsome room it was, he thought, idly picking up a book at random. It was disorienting to consider that, at some future date, this handsome library would be his, as well as this vast Georgian edifice and all the land he’d ridden through, including the village.
He was still trying to wrap his mind around that notion when the butler returned to announce Lord Telbridge.
Walking in behind him was the father Giles had not seen in over twenty years. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.
Giles could see the resemblance to George: the same square jaw and hazel eyes, the silver hair that must once have been his half-brother’s sandy-brown hue. Whereas he, with his blue-black hair and blue eyes, was entirely a reflection of his mother.
No wonder Telbridge had banished him with her.
‘Telbridge,’ he said, bowing. They could at least begin with courtesy.
The earl paused, apparently unsure what to call him.
‘I’m Lyndlington,’ he said pointedly, though he knew the butler would have passed on the visitor’s name.
‘Lyndlington,’ his father repeated. ‘I suppose we ought to sit down.’ Gesturing Giles to a wing chair, he took the chair behind the large desk.
A sudden memory surfaced—a young boy playing fortress in the wing chair, while a man looked on indulgently from behind that massive desk.
Pushing it away, Giles turned his attention back to the most important matter: the attack on Lady Margaret.
‘I suppose you wonder why I’ve come here uninvited,’ he began. ‘It’s not the obvious reason, although I will get to that in a moment. My primary purpose is to talk with George about an attack on Lady Margaret Dennison Roberts—a lady he courted, but who rejected him.’
‘An attack on Lady Margaret?’ Telbridge echoed. ‘What do you mean? And what has that to do with George?’
‘In brief, George had aspirations to the hand of the Marquess of Witlow’s daughter, and when she refused his advances, he threatened her with retribution. I count myself fortunate to be a friend of that lady and her father. George previously warned me to stay away from her, and the knowledge that she persisted in befriending me after rejecting him certainly would have increased his anger and disappointment. However, no amount of outrage justified his hiring a man to take a shot at her while she was riding at Huntsford.’
‘He hired someone to shoot at her? But that’s madness! I know there is ill feeling between you. Surely that enmity has coloured your interpretation of the facts, for I cannot imagine—’
‘Lord Telbridge, the facts are not in dispute. Lady Margaret’s brother, Lord Esterbrook, had the incident thoroughly investigated by Bow Street. The perpetrator was tracked back to London, where he was apprehended and confessed. He had been hired and paid by an intermediary, who had in turn been hired by George. I am not speculating; if you doubt my word, you may apply to Lord Esterbrook for a copy of the report Mr Hines of Bow Street prepared for him.’
‘But that is...fantastic!’
‘Fantastic, indeed. Ill-judged, certainly, and prosecutable in a criminal court, definitely. Though I myself would favour a trial and punishment, to spare the lady and her family embarrassment, I imagine Lord Witlow will prefer to proceed privately. But George must be dealt with; the marquess will stand for nothing less.’
‘I had some...prior knowledge of a problem between them,’ the earl admitted. ‘I summoned George home after receiving a note from Witlow informing me that George had been harassing Lady Margaret; the marquess wrote that he would consider preferring charges if I didn’t bring George home and exercise more control over his behaviour. But to endanger Lady Margaret...’
At that moment, the butler bowed himself back in. ‘Master George just returned, my lord. Shall I have him join you?’
‘At once,’ Telbridge said curtly.
There being nothing further he needed to say, Giles remained silent as they waited for the earl’s second son to arrive. Davie would caution him to remain calm and curb his temper—so he did not succumb to his strong inclination to stalk over and floor George with a roundhouse punch to the jaw the moment he entered the library.
‘You wanted to see me?’ George said as he walked in. He stopped short, the smile on his face fading when he saw Giles. ‘You!’ he spat out incredulously. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Surely you didn’t think you could get away with this,’ Giles said, fixing his half-brother with a hard look. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.’
Breaking eye contact with Giles, George looked over at his father. ‘I don’t know what sort of rubbishing story he’s told you, but I assure you, it is false and exaggerated! What’s he doing in our library anyway, as if he were a welcome guest? I would have expected you to show him the door!’
‘That’s quite enough, George,’ Telbridge said. ‘Take a seat. I’d meant to discuss this matter ever since you returned home, and now it can be put off no longer.’ He nodded to Giles. ‘Lyndlington, if you would explain?’
‘George needs no explanation, being fully aware of the facts,’ Giles replied. ‘Which are, that at O’Malley’s Gaming Emporium in one of the more...questionable areas of London, he sought out a Mr Tom Brown, who has a reputation for arranging matters of dubious legality for gentlemen who don’t wish to dirty their hands doing them personally. George hired Mr Brown to find someone who would fire on Lady Margaret—or that’s what the shooter, Mr Godfrey, insists. Unless you really intended to have her killed for refusing your suit?’
His expression stony, George remained silent, staring straight ahead.
‘Well, George?’ Telbridge demanded. ‘Please tell me that Lyndlington is mistaken, and that you had nothing to do with this tawdry episode.’
When he still made no answer—trying to come up with an explanation for the unexplainable—Giles felt almost sorry for the man. But not quite.
‘I require an answer,’ Telbridge said, as if George’s silence wasn’t confession enough. Perhaps to accept that his beloved son could be responsible for such shocking events, he needed to have them confirmed by the man himself.
‘Of course, I didn’t intend for Lady Margaret to be harmed,’ George said sulkily. ‘Only to frighten her—maybe enough to realise that keeping company with him was dangerous—for such it proved, didn’t it?’ he added with a laugh. ‘I thought she might come to her senses, and think again about my proposal. Although if the shooter’s aim had been bad, and he struck him instead, I wouldn’t h
ave shed any tears.’
‘If the shooter’s aim had been bad, he might have struck her!’ Giles retorted. ‘He came shockingly close as it was! And if he did kill me, you’d have led a man into committing a hanging offence, just to soothe your injured dignity!’
George turned to Giles, frustration and fury in his gaze. ‘If you had kept out of the matter, the proposal would have been accepted! Why shouldn’t Lady Margaret marry me? I’m of impeccable lineage, belong to the correct party, and could maintain her in a position she prizes, as a leading political hostess! Whereas you only wanted to trifle with her. I tried to warn her!’
Giles sucked in a breath, needing all his willpower not to grab his half-brother and throttle him. Perhaps George’s insidious words, added to the cautious scepticism she’d developed as a shield after her betrayal by Sir Francis Mowbrey, explained why Maggie had not seemed to believe how much he cared for her.
‘So it’s true, what Lyndlington told me,’ Telbridge said, pinning George with his gaze.
‘Well, yes, but there wasn’t any harm—’
‘No harm?’ Giles cried, unable to restrain himself. ‘You put Lady Margaret’s life at risk, alarmed her family, and forced her into hiding! Not to mention, your hirelings could be brought up on offenses that could get them transported, if not hung. All so Lady Margaret might—reconsider your suit?’
‘That’s enough from you, too, Lyndlington,’ the earl said. ‘George, you will go to your chamber and wait for me to decide how I wish to proceed. It will require careful arranging to avoid having our family name tarnished by seeing you brought up on charges!’
‘Very well, Father,’ George said, bowing. ‘I know you will figure a way out of this.’
While Giles shook his head in disbelief, with a great deal more nonchalance than a man in his position should be feeling, his half-brother walked out.
‘You don’t really think you can get him out of this,’ he asked the earl once the door had closed.
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount Page 23