‘So,’ he said after they’d settled into a hackney on the way to Gunter’s. ‘Did my speech convince you that the time is right for reform?’

      ‘Your arguments are very persuasive,’ she admitted.

      ‘I hope your father and the Tories in the Lords agree. With so many Whigs returning to the Commons, passage of the bill in the lower house is certain. Though many in the Lords resist change, even the most hidebound cannot defend the ridiculousness of a pocket borough with a handful of voters having two representatives, when the great cities of the north have none.’

      ‘True. But Members are not elected to represent only their particular district, but the interests of the nation as a whole,’ she pointed out.

      ‘Another excuse to oppose change that the Tories have trotted out for years!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Let’s be rational. When a borough contains only a handful of voters who must cast their vote in public, they usually elect the candidate favoured by the greatest landholder in the area.’

      ‘Who, since he does own the property, should look out for its best interests and those of the people who work it and make it profitable,’ she countered. ‘Which is why giving every man a vote, as I’ve heard you approve, could be dangerous. A man who owns nothing may have no interest at all in the common good. With nothing to lose, he can be swayed by whatever popular wind is blowing.’

      ‘Just because a man owns property doesn’t mean he tends it well, or cares for those who work it. Oh, I know, the best of them, like your father, do. But wealth and power can beguile a man into believing he can do whatever he wishes, regardless of the well-being of anyone else.’

      As his father had? Maggie wondered. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘But what about boroughs where the voters sold their support to the highest bidder? Virtue isn’t a product of birth. Noble or commoner, a man’s character will determine his actions.’

      ‘With that, I certainly agree.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘You’re a persuasive speaker yourself, Lady Margaret. A shame that women do not stand for Parliament. Though since you favour the Tories, I expect I should be grateful they do not!’

      At that point, the hackney arrived at Gunter’s, and for the next few moments, conversation ceased while Hadley helped her from the carriage and they were seated within the establishment. As Hadley ordered the tea she requested in lieu of the famed ices, Maggie simply watched him.

      She’d been intensely aware of him, seated beside her in the hackney during the transit. But she’d been almost equally stirred by his conversation.

      Most gentlemen felt ladies were either uninterested in, or incapable of understanding, the intricacies of politics. Only her father had ever done her the courtesy of discussing them with her. Even her cousin Michael Armsburn, and the several other candidates for whom she had canvassed, valued her just as a pretty face to charm the voters.

      None of the men she’d supported had ever invited her to discuss their policy or its philosophical roots. Giles Hadley excited her mind as much as he stirred her senses.

      Or almost as much, she amended. He mesmerised her when he talked, not just the thrilling words, but watching those mobile lips, wondering how they’d feel, pressed against hers. She exulted in the tantalising magic of sitting beside him, the energy and passion he exuded arousing a flood of sensation in her, the heat and scent of him and the wondrous words he uttered a sea she could drown in.

      Oh, to be with a man who burned with ardent purpose, who inspired one with a desire to be with him, not just in bed, but out of it as well!

      Tea arrived shortly thereafter. Maggie forced herself to cease covertly studying the excellence of Giles Hadley’s physique, the breadth of his shoulders and the tapered elegance of his fingers, and concentrate on filling his cup.

      After they had each sipped the steaming brew, Hadley set down his cup with an apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid I must confess to not being completely truthful about my reasons for inviting you here.’

      Her great-aunt’s warning returned in a rush, dousing her heated euphoria with the ice water of wariness. ‘Not truthful? In what way?’

      ‘Much as I am enjoying our excursion to Gunter’s, we could have taken tea in the committee room. Except there is a matter I feel I must discuss with you that demanded a greater degree of privacy than would have been afforded in a Parliamentary chamber.’

      Foreboding souring her gut, she said, ‘Then by all means, let us discuss it.’

      ‘I spoke with my brother not long ago. As you know, we…are not close, and he generally does not seek me out unless he wishes to dispute with me about something. The matter he wished to dispute about this time…was you.’

      So she was to be a bone of contention? Not if she could help it! But perhaps she should hear him out before rushing to conclusions. ‘What was the nature of that dispute?’

      Hadley shrugged. ‘You’ve read the journal reports—and so has George. Apparently my half-brother thinks you favour him—or he believes your father approves of him, and would favour his suit. He warned me to stay away from you.’

      Some of the anger, hurt and despair of the episode with Sir Francis rose up, nearly choking her. ‘And so you sought my company to spite him?’ she spit out at last. ‘Do you think to beguile me, and then boast to him about it?’

      He straightened, frowning. ‘Not at all! How could you imagine such a thing? Besides, if I were trying to charm you and boast of my conquest, would I have told you about our disagreement?’

      ‘Do you think you could charm me?’

      His irritated expression smoothed, a roguish smile replaced it, and he smiled at her, that smile that made her knees weak. ‘Do you think I could?’

      ‘If you did, and we were compromised, we might be forced to wed. Then you’d be stuck with me for life—a fate which