Page 20 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“Yes.” Jillian cringed, her worried expression following Amy and Elizabeth through the crowd. For as aloof as Jillian could sometimes be, she was very much affected by an inflamed sense of guilt, especially when it came to her friends. “We should check on them.”

Suddenly, Lord Ranford was there, standing in front of Hannah. He watched the departing Lord Darington and frowned. “Will you dance with me, Miss Bexley?”

Hannah blinked up at him. Had he seen the exchange? And was now asking her for a dance?

It was on the tip of her tongue to decline when she noted her mother’s gaze on her from across the room, bright with rapt eagerness. There would be no escaping from this dance.

Hannah cast an apologetic look to Jillian and Lucy and nodded at Lord Ranford, giving her best attempt to appear delighted with the ill-timed request. “That would be wonderful.”

“Lord Darington didn’t say anything to upset you, did he?” Lord Ranford asked as he led her toward the dance floor.

Startled, she glanced up at him. His face was a touch too long, yet somehow it paired well with his lean, lanky frame. “Did you mean to protect me from him?” she asked.

Before, she might have been hopeful he would say yes—that he intended to be a hero to rescue her like a knight in one of the romantic books Elizabeth loved to read. Perhaps it was that Lord Ranford had smashed Hannah’s heart to pieces previously, but now the thought of him rescuing her was more amusing than appealing.

A blush colored Lord Ranford’s face, and he self-consciously smoothed his brown hair back. “You’ve done so much for my family by helping Julia last season. I would hate for you to be repaid by an errant friend being obnoxious.”

“That is most considerate of you, but unnecessary, as he was in no way impolite,” Hannah truthfully replied as they took their places across from one another on the dance floor.

Over Lord Ranford’s shoulder, Hannah could make out her mother on the other side of the ballroom. Her eyes lit with the over-eager gleam of a mother with a possible future son-in-law locked in her sites.

Hannah suppressed a sigh. “Did Lady Julia enjoy the season last year?” she asked politely.

“So much so, I fear she may force me to endure several seasons before finally selecting a husband.” Lord Ranford grinned at Hannah in a way that should have made her heart stutter. She truly had given up hope on him.

Which was for the best.

Their conversation skimmed the surface of polite chatter as it pertained to his sister and the uncommonly frigid temperatures in London before moving on to plans for the following week with who was dining where and when. Even Hannah’s mother had stopped craning her neck to spy on them as the song droned on.

At last, their dance came to a blessed end. Hannah scanned the room, hoping for the return of her friends before having to relegate herself to her mother’s company.

“Forgive me, Miss Bexley.” The masculine voice was soft yet slightly cocky. Strangely familiar.

Hannah’s heart apparently recognized Lord Brightstone before her mind could, for her pulse thudded like a rapid drum in her ears.

“Ah, Lord Brightstone.” She turned toward him, and her breath caught. He was even more alluring up close with the intensity of his dark blue eyes fixed on her, a muscle clenching at the back of his square jaw.

Yet there was a part of her that missed the shaggy sweep of hair over his brow and the way it had made her fingers ache to brush the waves from his handsome face.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” she lied.

“Yet I am. Obviously.” His mouth stretched into a hard line as he appeared to chastise himself internally for the ridiculous reply.

He looked at Lord Ranford. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all. I was just leaving.” Lord Ranford bowed to Hannah. “Good evening, Miss Bexley.”

Hannah inclined her head to the earl and shifted her attention back to Lord Brightstone. “You do look rather dashing if I may say so.”

He ducked his head, the effect sheepish and endearing. “I had wonderful advice from a trusted friend.”

Friend.

The word hit its mark at the center of her heart.

Ah, yes, the ever-present reminder of her place in this world.

A friend and nothing more.