Page 23 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sirrah, you are a flirt.” She tapped her fan on his forearm, and her gaze lingered on him for a heart-stopping moment.

A flirt?

He frowned. What he had said was simply the truth, not flirtation.

They had nearly finished walking the perimeter of the ballroom. Their time was almost up, and urgency nudged him to make his request once more. “Would you perhaps please reconsider instructing me on small talk? I tend to be at a loss as to what to say.”

Miss Bexley bit that full lower lip and regarded him.

“I genuinely do need help, and you were of such great assistance before,” he added with a pleading expression.

She sighed. “Very well, but only because you said you liked my laugh.”

“Are you flirting now?” he asked, not entirely certain but well aware how very much he enjoyed it.

In response, she laughed. “I’ll be at Almack’s on Wednesday. If you care for instruction, be there.”

“I will,” he promised. “Thank you.”

She nodded primly and gave him a small curtsy before departing to join her friends, who had gathered in an intimate circle once more. Suddenly, he was anticipating the season for the first time since he was obliged to attend these droll functions. And that eagerness had everything to do with Miss Bexley.

5

Candles glittered in the elaborate chandeliers overhead. Almack’s was filled to the brim with the best the ton had to offer, or so was determined by the Patronesses, who only granted vouchers to the exclusive establishment to those they felt deserving.

Somehow Hannah had managed to stay in their good graces, though heavens, it did take effort.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when a light supper—if one could call buttered bread and dry cake supper—would be served, and the doors closed. Except that Lucien had not yet arrived.

Hannah glanced about once more, hating the crush of disappointment in her chest. He had lingered in her mind like a stubborn burr, the spines of their conversation nestled securely against her brain.

He liked her laugh.

No one liked her laugh, least of all her. But he did.

He also thought her vivacious. And beautiful.

Stop.

It was a cycle of thoughts that had churned incessantly since Lord Ranford’s ball several days earlier.

“What do you think, Hannah?” Jillian asked.

Hannah blinked and refocused on her friend, realizing she had been asked a question. “Um, yes, I think that would do nicely.”

Jillian shared a look with Elizabeth and Amy, and the three giggled delicately behind their fans.

“What is it?” Hannah groaned.

“You, my dear, are distracted,” Amy teased gently, pointing a silk-gloved finger at her.

Elizabeth grinned. “Jillian asked what we might do if the room were to rotate suddenly, so the dance floor was on the ceiling.”

“Well.” Hannah laughed. “I suppose that would not do nicely.”

“No, indeed,” Jillian replied, her lips curling up in a wide smile.