“Thank you.” She was relieved to be dressed in a becoming gown, her freckles lightly powdered for good measure. James looked handsome too, and cut a dashing figure in frock coat, snowy cravat, and patterned waistcoat. He removed his hat, and continued to watch her.
She self-consciously descended the remaining stairs.
“Perhaps you would step into the sitting room, Mr. Lowden?” she suggested, errands forgotten. “We may talk there.”
He gestured for her to precede him, set his hat on the sideboard inside, and with a meaningful look at her, slowly closed the door behind them.
Hannah removed her bonnet, pulse racing. His compliment and warm look were a relief after their cool parting. After she had turned him down, followed by that mortifying hearing. She was pleased James still could—would—speak kindly to her. For a moment she felt a flicker of disloyalty. Then she reminded herself that despite her long-held affection for Sir John, her chance with him was lost now that Marianna had returned. Like it or not, he was a married man, and she herself had urged him not to pursue divorce.
James slowly crossed the room to her, his eager gaze locking on hers. Her breath hitched. Might there be a future for them yet? Could James help heal her heart?
The blacks of his eyes dilated, nearly eclipsing the green irises. His nostrils flared. “Hannah...” He drew out the syllables in breathy longing.
“I’m ... here,” she faltered, and waited for him to kiss her.
He raised his hand, gently stroking her cheek. “Darling Hannah,” he murmured, yet remained where he was.
Why did he hesitate?
James dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Before we say or ... do ... anything else, I need to tell you something.”
But inhaling the smell of his cologne, and focused on the grooves carved alongside his mouth, Hannah barely heard hisdemur, his words, whatever they were. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to forget. All her fear and humiliation of the last weeks. All her conflicted feelings for a man who would never be hers.
“Hush,” she whispered, running a finger over his lips and then along one of those appealing grooves.
Instantly, James bridged the gap between them and pressed his mouth to hers. His hands bracketed her waist, pulling her against him.
A moment later, he broke their kiss and trailed his lips over her cheek, her neck, her ear. “Marry me,” he whispered.
She drew in a shaky breath. Then she thought again of Sir John and her chest tightened.
“James, wait—” Hannah pushed away. “I’m sorry. I thought, perhaps, but...” She shook her head. “I can’t. Not now. Too much has happened.”
He grimaced as though in pain, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I know,” he said. “Forgive me. I got carried away.”
James released her, took a step back, and blew out a ragged exhale. “I came here determined to keep my distance. At least until I had told what I need to tell you.”
She looked up at him in concern. “What is it?”
He regarded her warily, pursed his lips, then began. “I have learned that Sir John was never legally married to Marianna Spencer.”
“What?” Hannah frowned in confusion. She must have heard wrong.
“You remember Sir John sent me to find evidence against Mr. Fontaine about the affair?”
She nodded.
“Instead, when I returned to Bristol, I discovered that she had eloped with Anthony Fontaine before she wed Sir John.”
Hannah gaped. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am, unfortunately. Her father wanted her to marry SirJohn. He was outraged and refused to acknowledge the elopement as legal. So he covered it up. Paid the parson, the coachman, and groom to keep it quiet. To pretend it never happened.”
“And Mr. Fontaine?”
“Quite willing to go along with the scheme. For a price, of course. Apparently he and Marianna never had any intention of ending their relationship.”
“I can’t believe it. What a risk!”
