A Convenient Engagement

by Kimberly Bell

  Gravity shifted again, coiling and tightening inside of her like the spiraling of her own tiny solar system. She heard herself call out Gavan’s name, struggling for a familiar coordinate to keep hold of as she headed rapidly toward an inevitable combustion.

  And then it was there. All of her nerve endings, every tiny star in her own personal cosmos, exploded into light. Shudders wracked her body as she burst apart into a million pieces, floating down to the slowing rhythm of Gavan’s attentions.

  The overwhelmingly bereft sensation of his hand withdrawing snapped her eyes open, and her knees buckled. He caught her, pulling her onto his lap and settling her against his chest.

  * * *

  The dazed expression slowly cleared from Hannah’s eyes.

  “Welcome back,” he said, softly kissing her lips.

  She blinked at him. “Is that what I taste like?”

  Gavan closed his eyes with a groan. “Go easy on me, hellcat.”

  His subtle shifting drew Hannah’s attention to the hardness jutting into her hip. She wiggled experimentally. Gavan sucked in a breath and squeezed a warning with the hand on her thigh. “No.”

  “Why not?” She studied him curiously.

  “I need some time to get myself under control.” He needed to forget how slick with want she had been, how her body had gripped him like a vise, and how the heat of her had threatened to burn him alive. And the sounds she made. God above, the sounds.

  “How much time?”

  He closed his eyes again. “Twenty, maybe thirty years.”

  She frowned. “I do not find that timeline acceptable. What happens if I—”

  “You’ll be introduced to another base activity, and far less gently than you deserve,” he interrupted. “If I’m being honest, many base activities. Probably all of them, in rapid succession.”

  She looked entirely too contemplative as she leaned her head against his chest.

  There was no denying that he had pleased her. Shouldn’t she be falling into a blissful nap right about now? He let his fingers travel up to the nape of her neck and started weaving through the soft strands there. As he massaged the base of her skull with his thumb, she sighed and snuggled into his chest. That was more like it.

  The pleasant silence was broken by a thump, followed by a sculpture clattering to the floor and a flurry of cursing in the hallway.

  “Hannah!” a voice whispered loudly. “Hannah! Where are you?”

  Hannah’s eyes went wide at the sound of her own name.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Just speak normally.” Lady Hawthorne’s irritation identified her as the sculpture’s assailant.

  “I’m trying to be discreet, Aunt Mattie.” The first voice revealed itself to be Bailey’s sister, Jane.

  Gavan started to hail them through the doorway, but Hannah stopped him with a hand on his mouth and a vigorous headshake.

  Lady Hawthorne’s voice came directly through the door now. “Anyone in earshot, which is everyone in the county at that volume, now knows we’re sneaking around on some covert purpose. And for the love of God, stop tiptoeing.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I don’t know the proper behavior for subterfuge. I’ve never had occasion to go skulking about in dark hallways.” Jane’s affronted tones passed the parlor, moving down the hallway opposite the direction they had come.

  “Don’t worry, dear. I haven’t given up on you yet.”

  Gavan gauged they had moved out of earshot. “Why are we hiding from the Baileys?”

  “The first time I met Jane, you had just finished kissing me senseless in the hallway.”

  His lips twitched. That day had been a personal highlight on many counts.

  “I was a mess. I couldn’t think straight. I looked frightful. Everyone knew.”

  Gavan couldn’t help the satisfaction that spread through him at the thought.

  She glared. “I promised Jane I was not in the habit of being ravished in hallways.”

  “We’re not in a hallway. We’re in a parlor. Completely different.” Gavan was openly grinning now.

  “We have to get back to the party before they find us.” She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirts and tugging at her bodice. “How do I look?”

  Rising from the floor, he looked her over with the advantage of height. “Glorious.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and strode to the mirror she’d discovered during her earlier perusal. “Bloody hell.”

  “You look,” he said, moving up behind her, placing kisses on the side of her neck, “like a woman who has been well pleased.”

  “I can’t go out there like this.” She stared at herself with blank panic.

  Gavan sighed. “Hold still.”

  He began removing and reapplying pins with swift efficiency. Within minutes, her hair was back in order. He inspected her dress from the back. The thick brocade had held up well and only required a few shakes to straighten out suitably. He turned her around by the shoulders and checked her from the front. One of her engageantes was hanging loose, so he reattached it. After a few more minor adjustments, he declared her presentable.

  Hannah turned back to the mirror to see for herself. She turned back to him, expression full of speculation. “You’re quite adept at that.”

  “Would you rather I were inept at it?” he asked lightly. This train of thought was going nowhere pleasant. Time to go.

  “No, I just . . .” she trailed off in thought.

  He led them to the door and unlocked it. Poking his head out, he confirmed that the path was clear before ushering Hannah back out into the hallway. She was blissfully silent as they entered a dim corridor and took a set of stairs intended for the serving staff back down to the ground floor. A few quick turns took them to a side door that deposited them in a barely lit corner of the garden a few yards from the terrace off the ballroom.

  The silence didn’t last. On the edge of the stonework, she stopped. “How many women have you played lady’s maid for?”

  That was a question fraught with peril. He was considering how best to lie when providence intervened.

  “Hannah! Thank goodness!” The ladies Bailey arrived on the scene like angels of mercy. The younger clucked over his fiancée like a mother hen, expressing worry and concern. Lady Hawthorne raised a knowing eyebrow in his direction. He shrugged unapologetically, and she grinned back at him.

  “Miss Howard?”

  Gavan didn’t know the dumpy gentleman approaching them, and he didn’t like the way Hannah stiffened when she recognized him.

  “Lord Powell,” Hannah growled.

  Bailey’s sister gasped loudly. The sound drew the attention of a few of the terrace’s other inhabitants. Gavan caught sight of the eternally nosy Snowden twins edging closer.

  “Hannah, darling, I believe we’ve had enough air. Shall we go back inside? I am certain I owe you another dance.” The situation forming up around them was a recipe for disaster.

  Lord Powell shot him an acid glare. “So it’s true, then. You’re going to marry him?”

  The tilt of Hannah’s chin was unmistakable. Whoever this Powell fellow was, he had stirred up Hannah’s formidable temper. Gavan almost felt sorry for him, almost.

  “I don’t believe that is any of your business, my lord.” Her voice was icy cold.

  “None of my business! You’re supposed to marry me, not him!”

  “You have clearly lost what little mind you—”

  As much as Gavan was certain he would enjoy watching Hannah assault someone other than himself, her cause would not be helped by it. He hooked an arm around her waist and ushered her toward the doors. The crowd buzzed audibly around them as they made their way back to the ballroom. The last man between them and their escape turned to let them pass, and Gavan stopped dead.

  Courseclay.

&nbs
p; Chapter 11

  The scratch of quill on parchment and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds in Gavan’s study. He sat behind the desk, working his way through the accounts. Figures had never been his strong suit, but the math required to balance the books was not complex. Bailey’s neat hand was easy to follow, and he was soon finished. He took a moment to stand and stretch before sitting back down to start on the list of tenant issues.

  With endearing predictability, a knock sounded at the study door.

  “Come in, Ewan.” Gavan knew he wouldn’t.

  After the first three visits of this nature, Ewan had started keeping his distance, as if unsure the man behind the desk was still his cousin. The Scot pushed open the door and stood just inside the room.

  “I assume you don’t actually need anything?” Gavan asked.

  “Nae so much, no.”

  Gavan nodded and returned his attention to the notes he was making. When he didn’t hear retreating footsteps or the sound of the closing door, he looked up again and sighed.

  “Ewan, I’m fine.”

  “No, yer nae. Ye’ve never been fine after a run-in with John.”

  “Well, I’m fine this time.” There had been no outburst last night on the Conduitts’ terrace. Not with Hannah standing next to him, his hand on the small of her back. Gavan had led them silently to the coach, and they had arrived home without incident. He had been in the study ever since.

  “Aye, ye’ve said, but I’m nae convinced. Yer doing accounts, for Christ’s sake.” Ewan bristled with worry from the doorway.

  He put the quill down. “What will convince you?”

  “Tell me what’s going on. Why have ye suddenly decided to start doing yer duty?”

  Gavan rubbed the middle of his forehead and answered evenly. “It keeps my mind occupied. The alternative is to sit in the dark, drinking and most likely becoming despondent. I have decided not to do that.”

  “Ye’ve decided. Just like that. All of a sudden.”

  “Yes.”

  Ewan remained unconvinced. He stood, waiting for a better answer. Gavan was loath to give it to him, afraid that saying it out loud would dispel whatever magic was keeping the darkness at bay for him. If it was going to abandon him, though, maybe it was better to know now.

  “I promised Hannah I would take her to the theater tomorrow evening. She’s never been.” His eyes pinned Ewan’s, willing him to understand. “I do not want to disappoint her.”

  Ewan assessed him for a moment, and then all the tension left his body and he smiled. He looked around the doorway before taking a few steps inside.

  “She sent someone to keep an eye on ye. A maid named Betsy has been posted in the hallway all night and day.”

  “Why didn’t you send her back?”

  “We tried. She’s nae moving.”

  “Have Magnus do it,” Gavan said dismissively.

  “He tried, too.”

  Well, now. That was an interesting development. “A maid has thwarted the indomitable Magnus and lived to tell the tale?”

  “Aye. Saw it with my own eyes or I wouldnae have believed it. She told him right off.”

  “This I have to hear firsthand. Send her in.”

  Ewan chuckled as he disappeared around the door, returning quickly with a curly-haired blond woman from Hannah’s household. She dropped a curtsy in the doorway, keeping her eyes on the carpet.

  “I think that’s enough deference. I sincerely doubt you bested my ghoulish majordomo by averting your gaze and speaking softly.”

  There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes when she looked up, but she maintained decorum. “Miss Howard wanted me here, my lord. I take my orders from her, not anyone else.”

  “I see. Did she say why she wanted you here?”

  “In case you need her, my lord.”

  “I see.” He had promised he would let her help him when he needed it. Hannah was making sure he kept his promise. “Tell me, how did you defeat my dragon?”

  “He’s not so frightening as people say, my lord.”

  “On the contrary, I can assure you he is infinitely more frightening than people say.”

  She seemed to consider that. “Maybe you’re right, but he didn’t mean me any real harm. I can tell the difference. It takes all the menace out of it, once you know that.”

  “Betsy, I don’t suppose you want to defect? I do not currently have a housekeeper, and you seem like the perfect woman for the job.” Gavan could just imagine Magnus being thwarted daily by this slip of a girl with her wild hair.

  She grinned. “No, my lord. Thank you, my lord, but someone has to keep an eye out for Miss Howard. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.”

  “Well, then. I can’t convince you everything is fine?”

  “She told me to stay here, my lord.”

  “Did she specify where and how you must stay?”

  Betsy looked thoughtful. “No, my lord, she didn’t.”

  “Excellent. Ewan, for the duration of her visit, I charge you with keeping Betsy entertained. No more sitting in the hallway, bored to tears.”

  “Oh no, my lord. That’s not necessary. I’m quite—”

  “You will be doing me a favor, Betsy. It’s impossible to concentrate with this mother hen coming in to wring his hands at me every half an hour.”

  Ewan’s good mood evaporated into a steely glare.

  “Of course, my lord. I’ll see what I can do.” Betsy looked the Scotsman over. “Do you play piquet?”

  “Indeed he does,” Gavan answered for his cousin. “Ewan, try not to lose all of our money. Off you go.”

  * * *

  “Unbelievable!” Jane exclaimed again from her place by the fire.

  A steady rain beat against the drawing room windows, giving Hannah a plausible excuse to stay in for the evening. The invitations had come pouring in this morning along with the rain, but she was in no mood for entertainments. The appearance of Lord Powell at the party and the potential storm brewing with Rhone next door left her with very little energy for observing social niceties. The ladies had decided on a quiet evening at home.

  “Eight,” Mathilda declared, laying her card down in front of her.

  “Fifteen,” Hannah countered, laying her seven down and advancing her peg two points to finish the game.

  Lady Hawthorne sighed and tossed her hand onto the table. “No more cribbage. I can’t take any more.”

  “Just listen to this! It is absolutely preposterous.” Jane recited from the scandal sheet she held in her hand.

  The latest bit of news in the saga of Lord Rhone and his lady fair comes in the form of an old flame. One might naturally assume this amorous association belongs to the earl, but think again. An unknown country gentleman was seen at the Conduitt ball proclaiming that Miss Howard is meant to marry him. Is this a case of infatuation gone too far, or could the mysterious Miss Howard be playing our dear Rhone false?

  “As if you would! As if the odious Lord Powell could ever hold a candle to Rhone!” she finished.

  Mathilda poured a glass of whiskey and a glass of sherry. “Jane, dear. Settle down.”

  “How can I?” Jane threw the offending page into the fire. “They suggest that Hannah is an opportunist who ‘traded up’ when Rhone showed interest in her.”

  “It’s a scandal sheet, darling. Its sole purpose is to be full of malicious lies and hearsay.” She handed the sherry to Jane, keeping the whiskey for herself.

  Jane took a bracing sip of the sherry. “Well. I hope Rhone makes them eat their hats when Hannah becomes his countess.”

  “About that.” Hannah followed Mathilda’s suit, pouring her own whiskey for courage. She couldn’t let Jane go on defending her honorable intentions. It wasn’t right. “The situation between Rhone and myself is a bit unusual.”

&
nbsp; “Oh, we know, dear. You didn’t actually know each other before that first scandal. That much we’ve gathered.” Mathilda had settled into one of the armchairs and was sipping the whiskey with an appreciative smile.

  “Right. That’s not,” Hannah paused, taking a healthy swallow, “the whole of it, though.”

  “Perhaps it didn’t begin perfectly, but he did the right thing and proposed.” Jane sounded so certain. “You’re quite lucky, really. You two get on so well, it’s easy to believe it actually was a love match. We see the way he looks at you.”

  “We’re not actually getting married,” Hannah blurted out.

  The room fell silent. That probably wasn’t the best way to go about it, but she couldn’t take any more encouragement. Not when she had deliberately let them believe a lie.

  “What do you mean, dear?”

  Hannah closed her eyes and summoned her courage. “We decided to be engaged, but only until the scandal dies down.”

  “Oh my.” Mathilda paused, before adding, “You do realize that is never going to happen.”

  Hannah slumped onto the settee. “I’m beginning to, yes.”

  Mathilda moved to sit beside her and patted her consolingly on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have a contingency plan?”

  “Well, Rhone wants me to jilt him for someone else when the time is right, but I never intended to do that. I thought I might travel.”

  “You’ll have to, especially the way you two have been carrying on.”

  Hannah blushed.

  “Your engagement is a lie?” When Jane finally spoke, she sounded so fragile.

  Hannah didn’t know what else to say. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “But you like each other so much. His gifts are so thoughtful, and you’re always so happy when you’re with each other.” Jane stared at her hands, twisting in the folds of her skirt. “I suppose I should have known. It’s never actually like that, is it?”

  “Jane. I’m sure—”