‘Thank you,’ she said, flushing with pleasure at his praise. ‘I do enjoy it, especially “discussion evenings” such as this one, where there are a range of views exchanged. Alas, despite the best pamphleteering efforts of Anna Wheeler and William Thompson, I fear women will not get the vote soon. This gives me some way to contribute.’
‘Your lady mother does not enjoy playing hostess?’
‘Mama’s health is…delicate. She lost two babes in London in the early days when Papa first sat in the Lords; the experience left her with a permanent distaste for the city and, I’m afraid, for politics. Much as she and Papa dislike being apart, she now remains year-round in the country, while Papa resides here when Parliament is in session.’
‘But your brother does not? As active in politics as your father is, I would have thought he would urge his son to stand for one of the seats in his county—or in one of the boroughs he controls.’
‘I’m afraid Julian has no interest at all in politics—much to Papa’s disappointment.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I was the child who inherited that passion. After Mama took us into the country, it was always me, not Julian, who pestered Papa to tell us all about what had happened during the session after he came home to Huntsford. When I spent my Season with my great-aunt Lilly, I persuaded Papa to let me play hostess for a few of his political dinners—and loved it! And so, after…after I was w-widowed,’ she said, not able even after all this time to speak of losing Robbie without a tremor in her voice, ‘I took it up again.’
‘Your brother stays in the country, as well? I don’t recall ever hearing of him in town.’
‘Yes, he watches out for Mama, to whom he is devoted, and manages the estate. After all, he will inherit it, and such a vast enterprise requires careful supervision. Papa began to train him for it when he was quite young, and Julian loves working the land.’
‘While you prefer the city?’
‘Oh, no, I love being at Huntsford! My husband’s estate is in the same county, and had things…not worked out otherwise, I would have been content to live out my life there. Afterward, I…needed to get away. Fortunately, Papa was willing to take me on again as his hostess.’ She gestured around her. ‘So here I am, back in the bosom of my family, though I do return almost daily to my own house in Upper Brook Street. Father, Mama, Julian were everything to me when…when I lost my husband. I really don’t know how I would have survived without them. Excuse me, I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but that is what I find so tragic about your situation—that you are estranged from your own father, and from the land and people it will one day be your responsibility to manage and look after.’
He seemed to recoil, and worried she’d trespassed on to forbidden ground, she said, ‘It’s none of my business, I know. I hope I haven’t offended you.’
He’d clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he relaxed it. ‘You’re quite brave. Most of my acquaintance don’t dare mention the earl.’
She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Foolhardy, rather than brave. It just…makes my heart ache to hear about a family estranged from one another. After losing two siblings and…and my best friend and dearest love, those few I have left are so precious to me. One never knows how much time one will have with them. Another reason I enjoy playing hostess to Papa.’
He nodded. ‘That’s true enough. With the thoughtlessness of youth, I never imagined I would lose my mother so early.’
‘She must have been wonderfully brave. To endure being isolated, with even her own family abandoning her.’
He laughed shortly. ‘A child accepts what he knows as “normal”. It never occurred to me while I was growing up in that little cottage on the wilds of the Hampshire downs that we were isolated or alone. Of course, like most boys, I wished I had brothers to play with, but Mama made the humble place we occupied a haven, full of joy and comfort. By the time I’d been away long enough to understand what had happened, why we lived as we did, it was too late. Too late to tell her how much I appreciated the love and care she gave, and the tremendous strength and courage she displayed in creating a happy home for her child, despite her own sorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘When my aunt came to take me away to school, I pleaded not to have to leave. I was certain I would be content to spend my whole life there, in that little cottage.’
Emboldened by having him answer her other questions, knowing she was pushing the bounds of the permissible, but unable to stop herself she said, ‘So you don’t think you would ever be able to forgive your father—the earl?’
His face shuttered. Alarmed, she feared he’d either say nothing at all, or give her the set-down she deserved for asking so personal a question. But after a moment, he said, ‘Mama could have lied, you know. Denied that she and Richard had been lovers. My aunt told me that the earl had assured her he’d always known she loved Richard, and only wanted the truth. And then he punished her for giving it to him, in the most humiliating fashion possible. Disgraced. Divorced. Repudiated by her own family. How can I forgive him that?’
The anguish in his tone broke her heart, and she wanted to reach out to him—the isolated child whose adored mother had been mistreated and scorned.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But I do know that anger eats away at the soul, creating a wound that festers. One cannot heal until one lets it go.’ Advice she would do well to heed herself, she thought ruefully.
‘Would that I could follow such wise counsel,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some day, I will.’
‘It was presumptuous of me to offer it,’ she admitted.
‘Caring,’ he corrected. ‘You do offer it out of…compassion, don’t you?’
Oh, it wasn’t wise for her heart to ache for his pain—but it did. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
With a sigh, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss on it. At his touch, their discussions of politics, her family, his past—all the words in her brain disintegrated, leaving her conscious only of sensation, as the simmering connection between them flamed up, powerful and resurgent. She caught her breath, her fingers trembling in his, fighting the urge to lean closer and caress his cheek.
Then he was bending towards her, his grip on her hand tightening as he drew her against him. She closed her eyes and angled her face up, offering her lips, filled with urgency for his kiss.
He brushed her mouth gently, as if seeking permission. She gave it with a moan and a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Groaning, he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her, pressing her against his chest while he deepened the kiss.
At his urging, she opened her mouth to him. He sought her tongue and tangled his with it, sending ripples of pleasure radiating throughout her body. She rubbed her aching breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer, impatient with the layers of cloth that kept them from feeling flesh upon flesh.
Time, place, everything fell away. She was consumed by him, devouring him, afire with ravening need that raged stronger with every stroke of his tongue.
Lost in mindless abandon, she wasn’t sure how much further she would have gone, had he not suddenly broken the kiss, pushed her away, and jumped up to stumble to the hearth.
‘Voices!’ he rasped, his tone breathless and uneven. ‘Coming this way.’
She heard them then, the shock of cold air against her heated cheeks as he abandoned her slamming her back to the present even as she recognised her father’s tones and Lord Coopley’s growling bass.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered, raising shaking hands to straighten her bodice and smooth her disordered curls.
Seconds