Including himself.
She was an untouched angel.Innocent of the world, and yet he recognized the weariness in her green eyes.Her caramel-brown hair had been artfully arranged with sprigs of jasmine, while her gown was purest white.It irritated him that her parents treated her as a marital offering to be served out to debauched males.
Like the dog that he was, he wanted to snarl at her suitors, warning them to stay the hell away.But what good would come of it, except embarrass her among her family and friends?
No.Better to remain in the shadows and keep watch over her.He’d seen so much death and war in the past few months, he felt the need to protect something fragile and good.Soon enough, he’d have to go back to the Crimean Peninsula.He’d have to face the demons and ghosts he’d left behind, and, more than likely, a bullet would end his life.
For now, he would savor this last taste of freedom before the Army ordered him back to the battleground.He glared at Belgrave, watching the pair of them on the dance floor.For a brief moment he imagined himself holding a woman like Hannah in his arms.
His good friend, the Earl of Whitmore, approached with an intent glare upon his face.A moment later, Whitmore’s younger brother, Lord Quentin Chesterfield, joined them.
“I hope, for your sake, Thorpe, that you weren’t eyeing my sister.”The earl spoke the words in a calm, deliberate fashion.“Otherwise, I’ll have to kill you.”
Quentin leaned in, a mischievous smile on his face.“I’ll help.”
Michael ignored their threats, though he didn’t doubt that they meant them.“Your sister shouldn’t be dancing with Belgrave.I don’t trust him.”
“He might be a baron, but he looks a bit too polished, doesn’t he?”Quentin agreed.“Like he’s trying too hard to impress the women.”
“You could try a bit harder with your own attire.”Whitmore grimaced at his younger brother’s dark purple jacket and yellow waistcoat.
“I like colorful clothing.”Quentin shrugged and turned his attention back to the dancing couple.“I suppose we shouldn’t worry.Our father isn’t going to allow Hannah to wed a man like Belgrave, even if he does propose.”
Glancing at the ceiling as if calculating a vast number, Quentin thought to himself.“Now how many proposals does that make for her this Season...seventeen?Or was it twenty-seven?”
“Five,” Whitmore replied.“Thankfully, from no one appropriate.But I’ll agree with you that Belgrave wouldn’t be my first choice.”Crossing his arms, the earl added, “I’ll be glad when she finds a husband.One less matter to worry about.”
From the tension in Whitmore’s face, Michael suspected that impending fatherhood was his greater fear.“How is Lady Whitmore?”he asked.
“One more month of confinement, and then, pray God, we’ll have this child.Emily begged me to take her to Falkirk for the birth.We’re leaving at dawn.Still, I’m not certain I want her to travel in her condition.Our last baby arrived weeks earlier than we’d expected.”
“Emily is approaching the size of a small carriage,” Lord Quentin interjected.
Whitmore sent his brother a blistering look, and Michael offered, “I’ll hold him down while you break his nose.”
A smile cracked over the earl’s face.“Excellent idea, Thorpe.”
Changing the subject, Michael studied Lady Hannah once more.“Do you think the marquess will choose a husband for her this Season?”
“It’s doubtful,” Whitmore replied.“Hannah might as well have a note upon her forehead, telling the unmarried gentleman:Don’t Even Bother Asking.”
“Or,The Marquess Will Kill You If You Ogle His Daughter,“ Quentin added.
The brothers continued to joke about their sister, but Michael ignored their banter.Beneath it all, he understood their fierce desire to protect her.In that, they held common ground.
But regardless of what he might desire, he knew the truth.A marquess’s daughter could never be with a soldier.
No matter how badly he might want her.
“Lady Hannah, you are truly the loveliest woman in this room.”Robert Mortmain, Baron Belgrave, led her in the steps of the polka, his smile broad.
“Thank you,” she murmured without looking at him.
She couldn’t deny that Lord Belgrave was indeed charming and handsome with dark brown hair and blue eyes.Born into wealth, nearly every unmarried woman had cast her snare for him—all except herself.There was something about him, a haughtiness that made Hannah uncomfortable.
Don’t worry about it, she told herself.Papa isn’t going to force you to marry him, so there’s no need to be rude.The problem of Baron Belgrave would solve itself.
Hannah’s skin crawled when the baron touched the small of her back, even with gloved hands.As they moved across the floor, she tensed.The smug air upon his face was of a man boasting to his friends.He didn’t want to be with her; he wanted to show her off.A subtle ache began to swell through her temples.
