Page 39 of The Earl’s Hoyden

And there were a great many.

Lucien would doubtless be happy with any of these women, and she would be free once more to focus on her future as a spinster.

The door to her room opened, and Mary stepped in. “Miss Bexley, are you ready to dress for the dinner party?”

Hannah blew on the page to dry the ink and folded it in half before nodding to her maid. “Yes, I am as ready as I ever will be.”

“We must have you looking your very best. Mary rushed about the room, plucking through ribbons and jewelry as she muttered to herself, her cheeks flushed.

“I think you are far too eager for Lord Brightstone’s arrival,” Hannah told the other woman.

Mary paused, quirked an eyebrow and straightened. “Are you not excited? Have I misread your interest in Lord Brightstone?”

“I am merely helping him if you recall.” Hannah put her back to her maid so she could begin to style Hannah’s thick red hair.

Mary ran the brush through the long tresses with her usual care. “Your mother thinks there may be more there between you two,” she said diplomatically.

Hannah didn’t answer.

“There could be more there,” Mary added as she thrust a pin into Hannah’s hair to secure it.

No matter how light one’s touch was, pins always managed to stab and jab the scalp and it was miserably uncomfortable.

“I think I’ve been disappointed enough over the years,” Hannah said with finality.

A pin fell from Mary’s mouth and fell with a plop on the lush carpet. “You’re not giving up, are you, dearest Hannah?”

Dearest Hannah. It was the endearing term Mary had used when Hannah was a girl and one that she still used on occasion when there was a point to make.

Hannah dropped her gaze to avoid Mary’s heartbroken stare in the mirror. “I think you’re becoming as dramatic as my mother.”

“Maybe I want to see you happy,” Mary retorted, adding another wretched pin.

“I will be.” Hannah’s attention slid toward the letter. “Soon.”

But even as her gaze lingered on the list of names, her thoughts drifted toward Lord Brightstone. Lucien.

That kiss.

She need only get through this one night, present him with a selection of potential brides all ripe for a successful match, and she could escape his allure.

Or so she thought until she saw him downstairs that evening when he arrived for dinner in a well-tailored suit of midnight blue that made her wish to stare up at the sky with him and kiss until the stars danced around them.

But no matter how much she longed to relive that night once more, in her heart, she knew it would be best to see him off and be done with it.

To finally be free of the Earl of Brightstone.

Lucien had eagerly anticipated the dinner party at Westwich House since he discovered the invitation lying on the floor behind the hutch in the morning room three days prior. The mistake was one he knew his butler had not made. The old man was far too careful in his years of service to the Lambert family.

The tucked-away envelope was the work of Lady Brightstone, whose sharp, disapproving gaze followed Lucien out the door that evening. It was a stare he pointedly ignored.

Now, he strode into the pale blue drawing room of Hannah’s home, where candles lit against polished sconces filled the room with a golden glow. Nervous energy consumed him, making his palms overly warm in his gloves and restlessness burning in his muscles.

How many times had he thought of this exact moment in the last few days? Whatever the large number was, it was surpassed by how often he recalled that most wondrous kiss beneath the sky’s brightest star. He had hoped to see Hannah again at the next ball, but when she hadn’t shown, he’d assumed her absence would be for only one night.

Yet, no matter which ball or soiree or dinner party he’d attended, she was not there. He’d even chanced approaching Miss Honeyfield once, who confirmed Hannah had been unwell.

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.