by Cecilia Gray
“You’re free for the quadrille,” he said, taking her hand. But they’d gone no more than two steps when the strings switched their bows and a waltz was struck. He spared a glance at the conductor, where sure enough, his mother was at work begging favors.
Hanna glanced down at her card, likely confused by the change in music. She was too innocent for her own good sometimes.
“Did Lady Rivington teach you a waltz?” he asked.
“No,” she said, panicked. “Lady Landale said there would be no closed-position dances. We covered minuet and quadrille and—”
“I’ll teach you now,” he said. If she picked up the steps quickly, he would at least confirm his mother and Lady Rivington’s sabotage.
Ignoring her squeak of protest, he spun Hanna into his arms.
* * *
She was daydreaming again. That must be it. She’d been dancing with Viscount Montcreif—a nice enough fellow with fair hair and a pleasing smile—when she’d finally caught sight of Hayden leaning against the fireplace. She’d imagined him striding purposefully toward her and gathering her into a waltz—so much so that she’d tripped and the poor Viscount had to right her—and here she was, back in the fantasy—Hayden’s hand behind her shoulder blade, hers at his shoulder, with their other hands clasped.
She needed to pinch herself so she’d wake up and not hurt poor Montcreif again.
“Ow—what was that for?” he asked.
“Pardon?” It was still Hayden holding her close. Not close enough, unfortunately, as he maintained a respectable gap between them. Perhaps she should allow herself the fantasy a little longer.
“You pinched my hand.”
“Are we dancing?” she asked, confused.
“I know you aren’t this daft.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you?”
This was real.
She was dancing a waltz with Hayden Banks, in his arms, touching his shoulder. She’d never wanted time to slow more in her life.
She had friends who had fallen in love and they always spoke of their rapidly beating hearts—as swift as a hummingbird’s wings. But this was not Hanna’s experience—even now. Her heartbeat seemed to slow so that with each pump the contraction held longer, louder, the time and space between beats stretching.
“Miss Morton.” He gave her a shake.
“We’re dancing,” she said finally on a sigh and a smile.
The corners of his lips curled. “There’s the girl I know.”
He led her into the steps and unlike her other dances, she followed with ease. Probably because she had spent her entire life following Hayden. When he stepped back, she followed forward. When his palm tightened on her waist, she knew instinctively to turn.
“As expected, you are not an abysmal dancer,” he surmised.
“As expected, you are an abysmal complimenter.” She winked at him as he turned her again and floated back into his arms on a grin.
“I had wondered, given your failure in your earlier dances.”
“Those were different. Now all I have to do is follow you.”
He stumbled but quickly righted them both. His smile was gone, replaced by a grimace.
She must have said something wrong. But she often said the wrong thing and he often reacted with amusement or annoyance, but never a grimace. This was the closest she had come to a declaration since that afternoon years ago.
“Miss Morton,” he began.
“Mr. Banks,” she interrupted, because as slow as she was, Hanna was fast realizing that something was changing in their relationship. That it was in the process of changing even in this exact moment in his arms. That the time had come to put away childish imaginings.
Only, she wasn’t ready to set her love for him aside.
“You haven’t asked me how I’m finding my first ball. I have it on good authority and previous experience, as you are my twelfth dance partner of the night, that this is standard conversation.”
He studied her for a moment, his lips parted.
Would he indulge her—this once?
“Miss Morton, forgive me. How are you enjoying your first ball?”
“I’m enjoying it very much,” she said. “Thank you for asking. Is this your first ball?”
“Not quite.” He considered for a moment. “I’ve been to at least thirty.”
“I’m surprised you were so easily coerced.”
“I’m bound by the same obligations as anyone.”
She felt a tug at her heart. “You love your mother very much.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He took her a little roughly into the next turn.
“No need to protest. I feel the same. I wish…” She cleared her throat and swallowed.
“I wish your mother and father were here to see you, too,” he said softly. “I’m sure you will pen a perfect picture of the night to him.”
“It has been rather perfect,” she agreed.
She met his gaze and felt the emotion in his eyes as if it were a physical thing in her heart.
He coughed, looking away. “My mother is already claiming victory. I agree that you can likely claim Viscount Montcreif as an admirer.”
“Ah, yes.” Hanna shook herself back to thought. Her memories flashed to Montcreif—although it seemed an eternity since she’d danced with him. She could barely remember his face, could only recall his lacy sleeves. “He seems very nice, but—”
“He would be suitable,” he insisted, his grip on her hand tightening.
She stared at him, disbelieving. She’d thought she could go through with this charade. A part of her had even entertained the notion she could marry someone else, settle into a life of contentment instead of happiness. So many couldn’t marry the love of their lives for whatever reason—so why did she deserve such a luxury?
But he was here, in her arms, within reach. After the past week of living with him, knowing what a life with him would be like, she couldn’t pretend to settle any longer.
“Why would you help your mother win the wager?” she asked. “Why would you help when you know how I feel about you? When you know I lo—”
“Stop.”
He nearly crushed her hand as he spun her out and dragged her across the dance floor. They were near the servants’ entrance to the ballroom and he pulled her toward it, yanking her around a man carrying a tray of glasses.
“What…where…”
“Not yet.”
She kept up with his long strides as best she could in her thin slippers as he pulled her through the kitchen to the common dining area for servants, where he pushed her against a wall. Her breath caught as he rested his fists on either side of her face. Her heartbeat slowed to almost nothing. He leaned his forehead on the wall over her head and took a deep, long breath.
She slumped against the wall and willed him closer. She felt his breath, smelled the starch of his shirt, wanted to bury her nose in his neck. She could stay here forever.
But he took two steps back and crossed his arms, staring at her hard.
“I will only say this once, Miss Morton, so listen carefully. As long as you are living under my mother’s roof, you are my ward, and my only role for you is one of guardianship.”
“But it doesn’t have to be,” she said. “We’re suited, you and I.”
“You’re too bold.” He held up a hand to stop her from responding. “Your feelings for me are a remnant of a childhood fascination which I allowed to fester. It is my fault as much as anyone’s, so I apologize. But you will get over it in time.”
“No,” she insisted, fighting the chill that seeped into her. “I won’t.”
“Of course you will.”
“I won’t. I know I won’t. You told me I wouldn’t.”
He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brow. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“When?” he asked, exasperated.
“At my mother’s funeral.” Hot tears slid down her cheeks at the memory. “Everyone was so nice. They s
aid time would heal my pain. Time would ease my wounds. In time, it wouldn’t hurt so much. That time would make me forget. You saw how upset I was and you told me it wasn’t true. That no time would be measurable enough to erase my love for my mother. You were right.”
He stared at her, horrified, his mouth agape.
“There will never be enough time to make me love you less. Ever.”
He let out a ragged breath and ran his hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, Ha—Miss Morton. I’m sorry. If I had known.” He shook his head.
He was standing right in front of her but Hanna felt as if someone had lengthened the room, stretched him away, because she swore if she reached out her hand he wouldn’t be there beneath her fingers. He had withdrawn, retreated, and left her icy inside.
He finally met her eyes. “I should leave.”
“No! Please—”
He gathered her hands in his, rendering her silent and still. “I must leave. For your own good. Tell my mother I forfeit.” He hesitated, then pressed a kiss to her hand—and was gone.
Hanna was used to daydreams. Used to coming to and realizing she’d lost hours of time to her reverie. This time was the same—in that when she came to, Lady Landale had appeared and was waving smelling salts under her nose.
* * *
She’d ruined everything.
Her dress, for one, which had scuffs on its train from when she’d fainted.
Her face, for two, as her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were streaked with tears.
Her life, for three, because Hayden had left it. She’d never truly imagined they would be together, but she’d never imagined he would leave on such terms.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks and glared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. How could she repay Lady Landale’s kindness with such ingratitude? With such a scene?
A tentative knock sounded at the door. She sniveled one last time and ran the back of her hand under her nose. “Come in.”
The door opened as she looked into the mirror’s reflection. Lady Landale’s sympathetic gaze found her there.
Before she could think, she had turned and Lady Landale met her with open arms, holding her head against her bosom and gently stroking her hair as she cried. Like her mother used to.
“I’m so childish, so foolish,” she wailed. “But I can’t help what I want.”
Lady Landale made soothing sounds and as her fingers stroked back her hair, Hanna felt her hiccups calm into long breaths.
“I think, my dear, it might be important for you to move on from Hayden.”
“If I can’t marry him, I don’t want to marry anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”
Lady Landale pulled away and crouched to her level, resting her palm on her cheek. “Sometimes the heart doesn’t know what it wants until you show it. Give love a chance, my dear. Give yourself a chance.”
Chapter Four
Hayden squelched the need to defend his actions as his mother cast a disparaging glare around the sitting room of his bachelor’s townhouse on the other side of London. He’d known this would happen when he let her in. Yet he’d let her in anyway. He wasn’t always as smart as people assumed.
“This is beneath you, Hayden.”
“This is the family townhouse and well representative of our means.”
“I wasn’t referring to this residence or the money,” she said icily. “I meant welshing on your bet with me.”
“Really, Mother? Welshing?”
“To say nothing of your promise, your honor, your duty to your family.”
He winced.
“Your duty to Hanna’s family—they did practically raise you when your father and I were on diplomatic tour when you were younger.”
The pinch of guilt squeezed firmly between his eyes.
“You are supposed to prepare Hanna for a ball at the end of this week. Now she’s been left alone and—”
“Mother, stop.” He squeezed his eyelids shut, fighting the headache.
To her credit, she set down the cup of tea he’d offered her and folded her hands in her lap, albeit with unnecessary force.
“I know. You are right. I have acted without honor, but can’t you see I am trying to rectify that? You can’t encourage Miss Morton’s fanciful feelings toward me. Not when they stand in the way of her future happiness.”
“This is beneath you too, Hayden.”
“What is it this time?”
“Hiding behind a woman.”
“I’m not—What?” He leaned closer, elbows on his knees, certain he must have misheard. “Hiding behind Miss Morton?”
“Yes,” she said, shooting to her feet. “That’s exactly what you’re doing. Running off here. Pretending it’s because of Hanna. Pretending it’s for her own good when it’s naught to do with her. Don’t pretend you have a selfless bone in your body. The only way you would leave the house is for your own good. She’s getting to you, Hayden. And you can’t handle it.”
He was shaking—every bone in his body trembled at her words, but he couldn’t show it. Not to her. So he folded his hands over his knees and held them there with a settling breath. “Is that all, Mother?”
She tsked in frustration. “No, it’s not all. Hanna is receiving visitors—nay, suitors—every afternoon at the house. You should be there.”
“I already told you, she needs space from me. Time in which to move on.”
“She’s fine. She’s looking forward to meeting hordes of marriage-minded men. She’s already moved on from…what did she call it? Ah yes, those foolish childish feelings for you. I encouraged her to forget you, I’ll have you know. I agreed—”
“She said that? Foolish and childish?” Hayden shivered—was he cold? He’d stoked the hearth earlier, but chills raced down his spine.
“There are a great many men expected to call on her. You’re needed to add propriety and to give your opinion. You may know these men from your gentlemen’s clubs and it will be easier for us to sort through the crowd with your advice.”
Hayden pulled his coat tighter. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a superb one.” His mother readied to leave and he stood to follow her out. “And I swear, Hayden, if you don’t show up, I will burn down your entire study.”
“In that case, I suppose I need to pick up my proofs,” he said slowly.
She turned suddenly, this time a smile on her face. “Excellent—I’ll expect you at four.”
Hayden should have felt relieved as his mother left and he settled back at his desk to catalog a set of proofs. She was right—he had to stop by to pick up the rest of his things. And it was his duty to advise Miss Morton on suitable matches.
Only his mother’s words kept scratching inside his head. She’s getting to you, Hayden.
Something was getting to him.
He wasn’t just shaking. He was shaken.
What else could explain his decision to move out of his home in less than a day? It was drastic. Irrational.
Just like her.
* * *
Hanna fidgeted with the hems of her wrist-length sleeves. Any moment now….
She heard the front door open and gulped. She didn’t know what to say when she came face to face with him—not after the way he had left.
It had seemed so final.
Even more so than the other times. She’d told herself a dozen times over the years that she was done with Hayden Banks.
There had been the night she’d spied a woman in his study, only to discover it was his cousin and fellow mathematician. Then the day he’d refused the sweetcakes she’d baked for him. In all fairness, they were burnt. And, of course, the evening her father had said they were moving to the country.
But those had been her own stubborn attempts at rejecting him. This was the first time since that day in the tree that he’d so blatantly pushed her away.
Well, she had her pride.
She heard the click of Hayden’s b
oots down the hall. She expected him to go straight to his study, but instead, he framed the doorway to the sitting room and with a sigh of resignation, walked straight up to her and knelt at her feet.
She turned on her seat and feigned interest in the intricate carvings of the side table.
“Is it true?” he asked.
She glanced up sharply, steeling herself against her body’s reaction to him, to how it wanted to melt under his intent gaze. “Is what true?”
“You’re done with your foolish, childish feelings for me?”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant—and why he’d say such a thing—but swallowed her words. It didn’t matter what he meant. His question was still valid. “Yes, I am.”
Skepticism furrowed his brow.
She held her head high and nodded. “Definitely.”
He slowly stood and backed away from her until he backed against the single chair to the right of the sofa across from her. His knees seemed to collapse beneath him as he sat in it—but no, she must be imagining it. Daydreaming again.
“Would you like some tea?”
He inclined his head in a single shake.
Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to sit there looking delectably scruffy, with his dark hair in disarray, as if he’d tossed and turned and forgotten to run a comb through it?
Thankfully she was saved from the direction of her wandering thoughts by the knock at the door and the arrival of guests—into the entertainment of whom she was determined to throw herself with full abandon.
The next hour was a blur as Lady Landale brought in one suitor after another. Had she bribed them? Hanna didn’t even recall this many people in attendance at the ball or remember meeting them, yet somehow they remembered her, as well as little tidbits about things she’d said. Not that she remembered saying these things, no doubt under the mesmerism of Lady Landale and Lady Rivington’s conversation advice, which took so much concentration to enact that she could never actually remember the content.
She pretended not to notice when Hayden was eventually ousted from his seat by Lady Landale to a spot in the corner upon Viscount Montcreif’s arrival.