A Flirtatious Rendezvous: The Gentlemen Next Door #4 - Historical Regency Romance Novellas (6 page)

“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.

Him, she could remember. She had prayed for the recovery of his toes ever since their dance.

“How are your feet faring?” she asked.

He politely laughed with a toss of his blond head. “They are quite well, thank you, and eager to make the acquaintance of your heels again.”

The entire room erupted in polite tittering and Hanna felt the stiffness at her shoulders ease for the first time. Montcreif related a tale of his first dance mishap, which involved an overturned punch bowl and an irate countess. She listened, or tried to. He did seem to be speaking more to the entire room than to her. But he smiled at her and she smiled at him.

Was Lady Landale right? Did she just need to give her heart the chance to fall in love with Montcreif?

Like him
, she urged her heart.
He’s gentlemanly and charming. Like him like him like him.

Yet even as the room became enraptured by his tale, her heart remained unmoved. In fact, it was telling her, begging her, to turn to the corner where she knew she would find Hayden. It was as if two hands had palmed her face and were yanking it toward where he sat, so she had to crane her neck away to stay focused on Montcreif.

But stay focused she did, even though she found it exhausting.

She would give her heart a chance. She addressed him. “I understand you are from Leicester—what do you recommend for diversion in the area? I am sending my father a letter soon.”

“Good company is the best diversion, always,” he answered with a grin. “I’m sure yours is the best. Perhaps I am due a visit home. Perhaps we both are.”

He was being bold, overly so.

“Miss Morton has plenty to divert her here,” Hayden drawled from the corner.

She did glance at him then, and her heart fluttered at the lazy way he leaned in his chair, knee crossed over one leg.

Viscount Montcreif twisted in his chair and acknowledged Hayden—he was practically her guardian, after all. “True, but the diversions in the country are much simpler to enjoy.”

Hayden stiffened, his tone turning icy. “What is so challenging about London’s diversions?”

“You know more than any of us, Mr. Banks. Several weeks ago we met at the Astrological Society lecture on Mercury’s orbit.” Viscount Montcreif flashed her an apologetic smile. “I’m sure Miss Morton would find little to interest her there.”

“I’ve never excelled at the sciences,” she admitted, although now she was fascinated with the study of Hayden, with how he was changing, unfurling, growing, as though the experiment with Montcreif had been the catalyst.

“There you have it, a confession from Miss Morton’s own mouth. I would hate to torture her with most of what London has to offer,” Viscount Montcreif concluded. “She’d find a dissertation on the planet’s orbit boring.”

“Perhaps she would not find it boring if it were well explained.”

“Oh, look at the time,” Lady Landale exclaimed with a clap of her hands, and like the true hostess she was, began thanking and ushering guests in droves out of the sitting room before retiring to her room.

None were left but Hayden and Hanna, the latter shaking like a leaf.

“How could you treat him that way?” she demanded.

Hayden reared back his head in disbelief. “How could
I
treat
him
that way? How could
he
treat
you
that way?”

“What way?” she asked. “In a manner befitting a lady?”

“In a manner befitting an idiot. He doesn’t know your true nature—barely knows you at all. He was completely condescending.”

“That is fresh, coming from you,” she gasped. “You of all people don’t have the right to throw around condescension as a fault. You are the worst offender of them all.”

He grabbed her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arms. “You may take forever to grasp simple concepts, Miss Morton. But that has never once stopped me from explaining them to you.”

Hanna stared up at him, shocked to find they were both an inch apart, breathing labored, breath mingling between their lips.

“You can’t like him, Hanna. Not him.”

Something sharp and sweet clenched at her heart. It was close—his lips, a kiss, her dream.

She closed her eyes and went up on tiptoe to meet his mouth.

His lips were warm and firm. His fingers tightened on her, then wrapped around her and pulled her close. Her blood sang, her heart sang, everything in her sang an opera as her chest pressed against his.

It was her dream, only it hadn’t happened under a tree, but in the sitting room.

But it was Hayden, and these were his lips. His fingers tangling in her hair. His groan as his hips pressed into hers, sharper and sweeter still. His mouth that angled and plundered for more, as if he were stealing her very breath.

But it was also his hands that pushed her away. His voice swearing. His insistence, “I’m angry at myself, not you.”

“There’s nothing to be angry about.”

“Yes, there is. I should know better. Sometimes, I’m just a man. But I should know better.” He turned away. “I won’t be back, Miss Morton. Not again.” As he walked out the door she realized she had had her kiss, her dream.

And now she was waking up.

* * *

Dinner was nothing but the clicks of cutlery against plates.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lady Landale asked again.

Hanna nodded and smiled, but she and Lady Rivington exchanged concerned glances yet again. If she didn’t do something soon, they would continue to cast looks of pity her way.

“Viscount Montcreif was very agreeable,” she said finally.

“Yes, he seems so,” Lady Rivington agreed. “And there were a great many other gentlemen visiting with you today.”

“Yes,” Hanna agreed. She took another bite, tasting the saltiness of a stray tear that had run down her cheek before she could wipe it away. “But I don’t need a great many. I just need one.”

Chapter Five

Hayden took another sip of brandy, musing that he may well have found another course of scientific inquiry. Why did alcohol dull some memories while sharpening others? For instance, he found it hard to remember why he’d fought so hard against his mother and it was difficult to remember what he loved about his bachelor’s residence. Instead, all he could think about was a particular pair of plump lips and the soft, innocent flick of her tongue.

He crumpled up yet another piece of paper and threw it across his sitting room. He grabbed his glass of brandy and downed it in three quick swallows.

He should be thinking about the proof, not Hanna. But this proof was impossible.

What if it wasn’t true? What if the pairs ceased to exist? What if they stopped and infinity was nothing but number after number standing apart, all alone?

What if he had one more drink?

He stood to fill his glass and stumbled, catching himself on the back of his chair. The room spun and he closed his eyes. Yet another strange effect of alcohol. The room seemed rather larger, even though it was smaller than his study at the family home. Why was that?

All his things were here now. He’d dragged his work here piece by piece to be sure his mother had no way to blackmail him back for yet another salon of suitable bachelors.

Only, the countess had not come asking. Not the day after he’d left, not the day after that, not yesterday and not today, even though it was close to four.

Who was drunk at four in the afternoon?

No one with any sense.

Who was still fixated on the siren’s call of full lips and wide green eyes?

Not he, that was certain.

He groaned. His head pounded as he staggered over to pour another drink.

One drink, one glass.

One number after another to infinity.

He slumped to the floor and rested his forehead against his knees.

What had he done? Why had he kissed her?

It made no sense.

He’d been angry at her—that was it. Angry after listening to idiots treat Hanna like an idiot, and worse yet, at how she sat there and accepted it and didn’t bite back with the fight he knew she had in her.

Could he really live with himself if she ended up with one of them?

Still, he had kissed her.
Kissed
her.

Anger didn’t make a man kiss a woman, did it?

No,
wanting
her did. He’d wanted her. Beyond logic, beyond reason.

He let out a growl of anger. He didn’t want Hanna. He wanted to live in his bachelor’s rooms and perform mathematics and confine himself to his studies.

Yes, that was the life for him. He pictured it. Here, day in and day out.

An eternity. A life of one. An infinity alone.

An infinity of reason and logic and proof.

He glanced back at his desk—at the papers there. At one paper in particular, with a quote scrawled along its bottom from the day of ribbon shopping.

He was up on his feet and running—out the door, down the street. Running instead of taking his phaeton. Running instead of walking.

Running against all reason.

* * *

Hayden burst through his own front door, past their startled butler, with mumbled apologies. His mother came scurrying out of the sitting room and stopped him dead with a look of shock and censure.

“Are you
drunk?
”

“Is that all you can think of at a time like this?” He pointed to the sitting room just behind her, where Hanna was no doubt holding court. “When this travesty is going on?”

His mother shot a bewildered look behind him—to the butler, he realized—and before he could guess her intention, both of them were taking either arm and dragging him to his study. The butler turned the chair at his desk to face outward and he lowered himself into it. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but it only fogged up more.

He looked up into his mother’s concerned face as the butler quietly shut the door, leaving them alone.

“Clearly time away from Hanna is not as beneficial to you as it is to her.” His mother lifted his chin and peered into his eyes. He reared back. “You are in a sorry state. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted.

She chuckled and folded him into a hug, and he let her, because she was his mother, and even grown sons wanted hugs from their mothers from time to time. She pulled back and studied him again as she lowered herself onto the antique chest where he kept his old books.

“I don’t know what’s happened to me, Mother. She’s always been there. She’s always been next door, just separated by the tree. I think I believed she always would be. On and on for infinity. Then when she wasn’t…” He shook his head again. “Have I embarrassed her and her guests? I should apologize.”

“There are no guests,” his mother said. “She isn’t here.”

“Where is she?” he started to rise but sat quickly again as the blood rushed out of his head. He was not skilled at being drunk, unfortunately.

“She left yesterday for Leicester to visit her father. With Lady Rivington and Montcreif’s party.”

He shot up this time and promptly keeled over, chest heaving. He grabbed his desk. “You let her go?”

“They’re properly chaperoned,” his mother reasoned. “And how would I know you’d finally stop being a blithering idiot?”

“How did you know?” he asked. The question struck him harder than he thought. “Mother, yes. How did you know? How did you know…." The truth of his feelings struck him and he laughed maniacally. "That I would fall in love with her?”

His mother sighed and sent her gaze heavenward. “Still an idiot, I see. You didn’t fall in love with Hanna. You were
already
in love with her. You’ve
always
been in love with her. I’ve always known it.”

Hayden furrowed his brow. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have, Hayden. Just…think back.”

He did. He thought back. He remembered how she’d tried to climb that tree when they were twelve. She’d chosen the worst possible route and yet she hadn’t given up. Through will and gumption she’d forced her way to the top. He remembered the time she’d baked those horrible treats and given them to him, and he’d been awed at how she could be so oblivious to failure. How she never seemed afraid to dream, to try. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone more fearless. He didn’t think he’d ever been in awe of anyone else.

“How did you know?” he asked. “How did you know when I didn’t? When I’m supposed to be the genius?”

“Don’t feel too badly, dear. You had to get your intellect from somewhere, but alas, you have your father in you, too.”

* * *

Hanna peeked in from the kitchen as Viscount Montcreif rattled off a list of local fairs to her father. The two had been steadily involved in conversation about the region’s agricultural offerings since Viscount Montcreif had stopped by several minutes ago.