A Flirtatious Rendezvous: The Gentlemen Next Door #4 - Historical Regency Romance Novellas

by Cecilia Gray

  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.

&nbs
p; 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.

  Her father had only two staff at his country home of twelve rooms, and they were already overtasked now that she was visiting without notice, so she had taken it upon herself to boil water for tea. She opened one cupboard after another until she found the jar of dry tea leaves from India.

  It was strange, feeling out of place in what should be her own home.

  Even when she’d moved into the Landale residence, it hadn’t seemed foreign. She knew the location of every candle, the best hiding spots, the turns around every corner. This country house was new, furnished solely by her father.

  It didn’t have tapestries—the fine woven works of art had been a hobby of her mother’s. There wasn’t the smell of gardenias, her mother’s perfume, anywhere except for the dab on her own wrists.

  She hadn't even been able to give Lady Rivington a tour when they first arrived and her new friend was now walking to town and probably knew more about her father's neighborhood than she did.

  As she filled the teapot and steeped the leaves, she rested her elbow on the kitchen counter with a sigh.

  Her father had made a life without her mother—and without her.

  Part of her had accepted Viscount Montcreif’s offer to travel to the countryside, well, firstly because Lady Landale and Lady Rivington had insisted it would be a good idea but secondly in thinking she could persuade her father to let her stay. It would be easier to forget Hayden if she wasn’t reminded of him every day. But there was no place for her here, which only made her miss him more.

  At least with him, she’d felt at home.

  She strained out the tea leaves as she poured, and placed the two cups on a silver tray. After forcing a smile to her face, she lifted the tray and made her way to her father’s sitting room.

  “If you like to hunt for sport, I can recommend a manor a half day’s ride away,” Viscount Montcreif was saying. “Ah, thank you, Miss Morton. The tea smells lovely.”

  She thanked him for his compliment as she set down the tray and placed one cup in front of her father, the other in front of his guest.

  “The hounds are more likely to sniff rabbits than game, but it’s the nearest respectable grounds,” he continued, taking a neat sip. “Do you hunt?”

  “I never had occasion to in London,” her father said. “But I’ve always wanted to try. Hanna’s mother loathed the country so we never visited, but I am finding it most diverting.”

  Hanna stood awkwardly as they resumed their conversation. Funny, when her father and Hayden conversed, she never felt any awkwardness. Never stopped herself from charging into the conversation where she wasn’t wanted. Now that she considered it, they never shut her out, either.

  And yet here, even with his politeness, she felt dismissed, even if that was not Viscount Montcreif’s intention. She returned to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, at a loss for what to do next.

  She was just considering taking her shawl to wander out to the garden when she heard a commotion—the door slamming open, and loud voices.

  She ran toward the
front room.

  “Where is she?”

  Hanna considered the possibility of her own mental breakdown as she rounded the corner into the sitting room and caught sight of Hayden standing in the open doorway. The wind had ruffled his hair, and dirt was caked on his boots as if he’d slogged through the country roads from London without stopping for either rest or wash.

  “Mr. Banks, please come in,” her father was saying as he gestured inside. “Is everything all right with Lady Landale?”

  He was silent but for heaving breaths until his gaze, direct and searing, found her. It flickered once to Viscount Montcreif then back to her. “May I please speak with Miss Morton alone?”

  * * *

  Hanna finally did grab her shawl, as Hayden insisted they be the ones to converse outside. He had, after all, rudely interrupted Viscount Montcreif and her father. But of course as they made their way up the path, surrounded on both sides by knee-high grass swaying in the wind, she could feel the eyes of both her father and Montcreif on her back as they stared from the window.

  “Is your mother all right?” What other reason could there be for his visit?

  “Yes, she is well. And right, as always,” he said. “And your father?”

  “Very well,” she said with a rueful smile. “He seems to have acclimated quite well, and I’m ashamed to admit I wish he had more need of me. As it is, Viscount Montcreif is proving more useful than I am.”

  “I trust Viscount Montcreif has been an amicable travel companion?”

  So this was why he was here. He was ensuring that she was well and truly over him. If he wanted the reassurance, she would give it to him. “He is amicable in many ways,” she said. “And while he has made no official declaration of his feelings, we can safely assume your mother has won your wager, with or without your forfeit of it.”

  “And what of your feelings?”

  Hanna stopped short and glanced up, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Pardon?”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at her. “Your feelings, Hanna. What of them?”