They didn’t deserve him.
“Hannah, do you want to leave?” Amy asked softly.
“I think…” Hannah’s face burned at having been caught staring at Lucien. No, not Lucien - Lord Brightstone. “I think I should like to go to the retiring room.”
“I’ll join you.” Elizabeth pushed to her feet, and together, the two of them slipped from the private box.
After a moment alone and a bit of cool water on her cheeks, Hannah was feeling markedly improved.
“We can stay here a moment longer if you prefer,” Elizabeth said gently.
Hannah shook her head.
Elizabeth cast her a concerned glance. “We’ve already seen Madame Saqui perform. There is no reason for us to stay.”
“Aside from the fireworks, you mean.” Hannah waved off the implied suggestion that they should depart. Everyone knew the best part of Vauxhall was the fireworks. “It’s been a delightful time, and I’m not at all inclined to depart early.”
Elizabeth acquiesced with hesitation and strode out into the night once more toward the narrow hall that would lead them to her father’s supper box. As she rounded a corner, she gave a slight gasp and deftly slid out of the way, inadvertently allowing Hannah to careen into the person Elizabeth had narrowly avoided.
“Forgive me,” a familiar voice said as Hannah staggered back. “Are you hurt, Miss Bexley?”
She gazed up at Lord Brightstone. His face was so shadowed, she couldn’t see the shade of his eyes, though she knew them to be the most beautiful blue she’d ever become lost in. Of all the awful luck.
“I’m fine.” Her voice was soft, breathy. All the more embarrassing, and she wished she could have a second chance to redo the moment.
“I wondered if you were free for a few minutes to speak?” he asked abruptly.
Hannah glanced to the retiring room behind her. “Were you following me?”
His eyes went wide. “No. No, this was a mere coincidence. A happy one.”
“It looks like a nice evening for a walk,” Elizabeth said cheerfully.
The evening was about as nice for taking a stroll as the tundra was for a ballroom.
Elizabeth shrugged as if realizing her suggestion was preposterous.
“Please,” Lucien said. “I wish to explain myself, as I failed to do in our previous discussion.”
Hannah bit her lip. Wasn’t it better to cast him from her thoughts, from her heart?
Or was meeting with him giving her a chance for a different life? One where she didn’t have to hang onto the hope that her friends would end up spinsters, especially when the likelihood was so slim.
Would she deprive Elizabeth of a chance at living her own romance? Or keep Amy from having the children she craved? Or Lucy the chance for a partner who might settle her wild manner? And poor Jillian didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter, especially if her father had his way.
Perhaps it was for all those reasons that Hannah nodded. “Yes, I would like that.”
“I’ll fetch your wrap,” Elizabeth said quickly, dashing off before Hannah could stop her.
In the second that it took her to retrieve the heavy wrap, Hannah and Lucien were entirely alone. Lucien. Because with him standing before her, tall and handsome and so achingly familiar, it was impossible to think of him so formally as Lord Brightstone.
“Thank you for agreeing to walk with me,” he said in that thoughtful, quiet voice of his. It soothed a part of her she hadn’t realized needed quieting until it was done.
There were many attributes about Lucien that appealed to her, and in these last few days of their distance, she had missed every one.
Elizabeth practically ran toward them, no doubt worried Hannah would change her mind if too much time passed, and almost threw the wrap around Hannah’s shoulders.
“Take your time.” Elizabeth grinned at them and waved.
Hannah tossed her an incredulous look, to which Elizabeth merely giggled in reply before leaving them alone once more. Lucien offered her his arm, which she accepted. The superfine wool was smooth beneath her gloved hand, his warmth evident and comforting.
The wind hit them like ice outside, but they both ignored its wrath and strolled as though the sun were dappling a spring garden before them. Even still, the frigid air was not enough to dampen the distinct scent of whale oil used to light the various colored lamps.
“I care for you, Hannah,” Lucien said. “Incredibly so. I’ve missed your presence these last few days.”
Well. She hadn’t expected that. Doubt crept over her like armor.
Was the compliment simply part of his need to make up for what he told her about her father? Or—worse still—the humiliating confession she’d thrown spitefully at him?
“You needn’t flatter me,” she said rigidly.
“But it’s true.” He stopped and turned to her, his face partially illuminated by a green lantern nearby.
Her heart caught in her chest, locked there by a fledgling whisper of hope.
She gazed up at him, and a gust of wind blasted at them. An involuntary shiver rippled through her. Lucien put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into a darkened alcove where the wind could not touch them. His familiar scent was replaced with an expensive spice.
“You smell different,” she observed.
He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “My valet suggested it. I actually dislike the scent.”
“It isn’t unpleasant,” she replied. “But I prefer the way you smelled before.”
They were close to one another in the limited space of the alcove so that the toes of her slippers touched those of his polished Hessians. Their eyes met, and the breath fled Hannah’s lungs.
She knew that look on Lucien’s face, the softening of his eyes as his stare swept down her face to her lips.
He was going to kiss her.
And she was going to let him.
There was so much Lucien wished to say to Hannah. It hadn’t truly been his intent to lure her to an alcove and kiss her.
Except that the inclement weather forced them into such tight quarters, and with her so close, her sweet citrus fragrance and her beauty beckoning him…he could not help himself. Especially not when he had spent every night since that kiss reliving the moment—the taste of her lips, the heat of her mouth, the fire that crackled inside him and tightened his loins.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you,” he said raggedly.
She swallowed. “Nor I, you.” Her breath came in a shaky exhale, and her lashes fluttered as she angled her face up.
“I kissed you before, and you did not want it,” he said. “I will not do so again unless you wish me to.”
Her teeth sank into that lower lip he wanted so desperately to suck into his mouth. She looked up at him. “I want you to kiss me.”
Sweeter words had never been heard by any man.
He reached for her, caressing the line of her jaw with his gloved hand. It wasn’t enough. With a growl, he withdrew his hand, wrenched off the glove and let his bare fingers caress her skin. She was softer than he imagined, like a rose petal, warm and tempting.
“Hannah,” he whispered.
“Lucien.”
He closed his eyes with pleasure at hearing his name breathy and eager on her lips. Without allowing himself to think—only to feel instead—he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.