The door opened to the drawing room, and the family entered. Lord and Lady Westwich in fine dining attire and Miss Bexley—Hannah—in a lovely white gown accented with gold thread and beads. Her hair was carefully pinned up, revealing her slim, elegant neck that he suddenly wondered after its texture, how warm and smooth such sensitive skin might be against the whisper of his lips.
Lucien approached his hosts and bowed in greeting before taking Hannah’s hand and bestowing a chaste kiss on the back of her glove.
“Lord Brightstone, it’s so good of you to join us,” Lady Westwich said congenially.
Lord Westwich opened his mouth to say something, but his wife nudged him along with a wide smile tossed in Lucien’s direction as they left him alone with Hannah.
“I heard you were unwell.” He searched her face for evidence of having been ill, but her complexion was as rosy as always. “Are you fully recovered?”
“I am, thank you.” She stared at him for a long moment, and a silence that he didn’t mind at all fell between them.
It was the kind of quiet one reveled in, which did not occupy one’s attention to compose words but left the mind free to explore exactly what stood in front of them. That shared experience allowed him to appreciate her beauty in all its glory. The way her red curls were softer in this intimate setting, more natural, how the beads of her gown reflected the light with every subtle inhale until he could practically feel her breathing by the ripple of glittering beads. How he could still taste lemonade and brandy when his gaze found her lips.
She swallowed, and a flick of her eyes to the floor suggested her nerves were getting the better of her. “I have—”
“I’ve missed your company,” he said earnestly at the same time she began to speak.
They laughed together, shy and nervous at once in a titillating rush of excitement. “Please, do go ahead,” he said.
Whatever warm emotion was in her gaze shifted, then hardened somewhat as she reached for the reticule at her side. “I have something for you.”
“Is it the second volume of Pride and Prejudice?”
A smile flashed uneasily on her lovely mouth. “No, I wager it will be some time before you ever read the first.”
Before he could protest that he had indeed already read it and purchased the second volume, Hannah rushed on. “It is a list of eligible ladies with whom I believe you could make a suitable match.”
He stilled at her words as she pulled her small, beaded purse from her wrist, the gold flecks winking in the light.
The kiss had changed nothing.
What he had been so profoundly impacted by, what they had shared that night, had changed nothing.
Of course, it had not. What an imbecile he’d been to assume it might have. They carried on so well with one another. Their banter was so smooth and effortless, their attraction so undeniable with the spark of that kiss.
Or perhaps it had been one-sided, the same as his affection. Unrequited.
He had never fancied he might be such a romantic fool, but it appeared he was indeed just that type of fool when it came to Hannah.
She fumbled with her reticule a moment, the delicate clasp slipping against her gloves before she snapped it open and handed him a folded paper.
He hesitated to accept it, and the parchment shivered between the pinch of her fingers. Was she as loath to present it to him as he was to receive it, or was he simply injecting emotion where there was none on her part?
Perhaps the kiss had been the same way. Perhaps she had not wanted it but did not wish to be rude when he’d leaned over her. A sinking feeling rolled in his stomach. “I should apologize—”
“Here.” She pushed the list into his hand.
Wordlessly, he accepted the paper from her and unfolded it.
Lady Alison headed the list, the vapid young woman who feigned her laughter with delicate titter that grated at his nerves and fluttered her lashes like a doe in a blizzard. The gossip wrought by the second dance she had insisted on still haunted him. He immediately tossed aside the idea of even fathoming a future with so detestable a woman.
Next came Miss Closewell, a name that sounded familiar but one he could not place. On and on, the list went until fifteen young women from esteemed families were noted. And not one of them was Miss Hannah Bexley.
The butler entered the room at that exact moment, saving Lucien from having to compose a response. Instead, he refolded the note and thrust it into his jacket pocket, where it rested like a boulder against his heart.
“We’ll be sitting beside one another, of course,” Hannah said. “To ensure I can give you proper guidance on polite dinner conversation.”
The sinking sensation in his stomach crashed down to his toes. This was why he had been invited to a dinner party at Westwich Place. Not to be part of an intimate family gathering where he and Hannah might speak to one another in a more private setting, but so that she could further instruct him.
At least his mother would be happy.
They made their way to the dining room, where the table had been set with polished silver and an array of hothouse flowers. His seat was by Hannah’s, naturally, framed by the rest of the attendees. There would be no opportunity to speak alone. Yet the press of his inexcusable kiss was almost suffocating him.
“If I caused you offense on our last meeting, I truly do apologize,” he said in a low voice that others would not be likely to hear.
“There was no offense taken,” Hannah replied quietly.
He tried to read her expression, which was curiously blank despite her reddening cheeks. “This list…”
“It’s what I’m here for.” She smiled brightly at him. Perhaps too brightly. “To help you in your marital pursuits.”
He frowned. “What happened that night—”
“Can’t happen again,” she said quickly.
The swiftness of her reply confirmed his suspicions that his advances had been entirely unwelcome, and he had egregiously misread what lay between them.
“Forgive me my misstep.” He met her gaze, earnest to his soul. “I can assure you that it will not.”
Hannah gave a prim nod as the first course was served, a delicate white soup favored at most dinner parties but not much to his liking. Lifting her spoon, she said, “Discussing what you are eating is always a good topic of conversation.”
Lucien nodded and prepared himself for a night of careful instruction, though he suddenly found his role in the game tiresome. Through his lessons to become desirable among the ton, he realized it was not the material that enticed him but the tutor.
If nothing else, he would at least be equipped with the tools necessary to find a wife as the lady whose company he had come to enjoy continued to remain out of reach.
9
As the dinner party pressed on, Lucien was exceedingly aware that, despite Hannah’s protests he had not caused offense, he most assuredly had. Or at least, it was the only explanation he could summon for her incredibly cordial manner.
But it did not make him wish to escape her company. Rather, he wished they might be alone for him to apologize properly. A chance he was well aware would not be possible. The most he could hope for would be a private card game between them sometime later when they reconvened in the drawing room.