Page 43 of The Earl’s Hoyden

The very idea of it squeezed at a tender place in Lucien’s chest. But he would not begrudge her an opportunity for a happy life in love, nor would he prevent her from it.

“I will not trouble Miss Bexley any further,” Lucien said.

Lord Westwich narrowed his eyes. “I have your word as a gentleman?”

Lucien nodded. “You do.”

And from that moment on, he vowed to himself to never even think of venturing beyond the civil edicts of society with Miss Bexley again. Not after having caused so much discontent.

Dinner had been utter torture for Hannah. Lucien appeared vexed by the list of potential brides, but was that not why he’d sought her out initially?

She took a sip of tea, barely listening to her mother’s discussion with Lady Whimbly and Lady Hasselton on which silk thread was best to use for embroidery. This was interspersed with a bit of gossip about a new debutante who placed herself in a rather precarious situation with Lady Arksford’s grandson.

So much for propriety.

Time with Lucien was something Hannah had always anticipated with relish. But tonight, their interaction had been limited to the edification of polite dinner conversation. She instructed, and he listened.

The façade had been taxing to maintain, but she had not been able to stop herself from looking back as she left, to gaze at what a handsome figure he cut one last time. What would it be like to be a normal courting couple with Lucien? One where he was genuinely interested in her for who she actually was and not what she could do for him.

An ache clenched in her heart.

The doors to the drawing room opened, and the men entered. Lucien was beside her father, his strong jaw set as his cerulean eyes met hers. A jolt of energy shot through her, making her pulse jump.

“Forgive me, but I must take my leave,” he announced to Hannah’s mother.

The cards tumbled from Lady Westwich’s hands. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry to hear it.” She swept to her feet, heedlessly scattering the dropped cards as she approached him. “We do hope to have you come again sometime soon.”

Lucien bowed to her and turned to Hannah. His hair was slightly overgrown, in need of a trim. It reminded her of when she’d first met him, with his shaggy hair and the comfortable, loose garb of a tutor rather than an earl. She missed that shy scholar who had first approached her to help him become more desirable.

“I hope you are not unwell,” Hannah said politely.

He shook his head. “I apologize for my abrupt departure.”

No further explanation was offered, and in such a formal setting, it would be impolite to push him for more information. She had led him to assume his kiss had offended her. And while it had been painful and unkind for her to do so, the falsehood had been necessary for her own sanity.

If he kissed her again, she did not know that she could guard her heart against his charms any longer. Allowing herself to love him as she’d once thought to love others would be too hard to overcome when he rejected her.

And he would.

They all did.

Especially when he had so many attractive, sought-after women vying for his attention.

She nodded. “Thank you for joining us.”

He bowed. “I appreciate the invite and the instruction.” His mouth flattened into a hard line. “And the list.”

That blasted list. The mere mention of it set her teeth on edge. “It was my pleasure,” she said, practically choking on the words. For it had not been a pleasure—the arduous task had been miserable as she imagined him with each of those women.

“I bid you a good evening, Miss Bexley," he said with a formality they’d never shared. “And farewell.”

The way he met her eyes as he spoke and the sincerity with which the statement was delivered somehow felt as though he was not simply bidding her farewell that evening but forever.

A knot stuck fast in her throat, and she excused herself not long afterward, unable to concentrate on the cards in her hand. How could she when instead she continued to think upon the list and how he might win over any one of those ladies?

The following day, she expected some kind of letter from Lucien, some way to explain his abrupt departure. None came.

While the night before, she’d sought this solitude as a break from him, a chance to recover her wits, it now fell over her like a weight. His coldness made her desperate to revisit his warmth, and the distance had her craving his closeness.