Page 34 of The Earl’s Hoyden

Lucy said nothing and simply lifted a brow. “Do you remember Lady Alison from when we were all at Lady Finch’s?”

Hannah groaned and rolled her eyes. “How could we forget when she made it known to everyone that her father was once honored by the king, and we had to kiss the ground she walked upon?”

Lucy snorted. “Remember when you happened upon her in a compromising position with the stable hand?”

Hannah giggled. “I’d never seen a man’s chest before then.”

“You saw a lot more than that.” Lucy laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you never told anyone.”

“It was none of my business,” Hannah replied nonchalantly. Seeing Lady Alison chuckle at something Lord Brightstone said made Hannah wish she could go back in time and ruin the spoiled young woman.

The vehemence of her thought startled Hannah. She wasn’t an unkind person. What was causing this awfulness to well up inside her and make her consider such ugly sentiments?

A tightness squeezed at her chest that left her feeling as though she couldn’t breathe around it.

The music finally stopped, and the dance ended. But as Lord Brightstone escorted Lady Alison off the dance floor, a small crowd of women gathered around him, all fluttering lashes and overeager grins.

All at once, the swirl of people became too pressing, the heat from the candles overhead and the hearth fires were so hot, perspiration prickled at her brow, and the air was thick and sluggish in her chest. She shoved her lemonade into Lucy’s hand and fled the room, desperate for a chance to breathe again, to clear her head and heart.

She shoved out the door to the terrace, where an icy February breeze enveloped her overheated body like a breath of fresh air. No one else was outside, and why would they be? Only someone mad would be on the terrace in the middle of the most frigid winter in London.

The air burned her lungs as she inhaled, but the fog in her mind began to lift finally. She had allowed herself to get too involved with Lord Brightstone. And blast it all, she knew better.

There had been too many times where she had done this before. Men were drawn to her because she was kind to them, and she genuinely did want to help them. But then, as time went on, her heart became invested.

And theirs did not.

How many times would she do this to herself? How many times would she lose herself with a man when she knew her lack of appeal as a potential wife?

The door to the ballroom opened.

“Hannah,” Amy’s voice called. “Will you come in? You’ll catch your death out there.”

“I need a moment longer,” Hannah replied.

The light taps of footsteps approached. “I figured you might say that.”

Hannah turned to her friend and found Amy in a heavy wrap with Hannah’s fur-trimmed blue cloak in her arms. Amy gave her a tender smile and lifted the garment in offering. Even as she did so, a chill rippled up Hannah’s arms.

Admittedly, she was rather cold.

“Thank you.” She took the cloak and settled it over her shoulders. It was heavy against her back, but the frigid touch of the fabric to her skin quickly warmed and blocked the worst of the wind.

Amy remained at her side for a long moment, both quiet as they gazed out at the garden where small lanterns were set up in the darkness to look like fairy lights.

“If I may…” Amy said gently.

Hannah glanced at her friend.

“What is your connection to Lord Brightstone?” A puff of frozen air fogged around Amy’s heart-shaped mouth as she spoke. “You know I’ll keep your secrets. But something is amiss, and I’d like to know what it is.”

“I may have allowed myself to become invested in Lord Brightstone,” Hannah said with a sigh.

“And why does that have you so upset?” Amy asked.

“I know my failures perfectly well.” Hannah smiled weakly. “And anyway, I have no intention of marrying.”

“You have no failures that I’m aware of.” Amy put an arm around Hannah in a light embrace. “This isn’t about our pact, is it?”