What were Danvers, Comstock, and Quincy up to tonight? Had any of them succumbed to the parson’s noose in the last year? Probably not. The only one of them that had any decency had been their friend Grisham. Hart knew that Lucius was happily tucked away in Marbury with his new wife. He was glad Grisham had got out of London and the lure of its many vices. Lucius deserved to be happy. The lads were probably at Brook’s having dinner and wine before deciding which proper social function to grace with their presence. Had Danvers got his sister married off?
A carriage drove by, interrupting his thoughts. Perhaps he should just bite the bullet, get dressed, choose one of the many invitations he had received, and get out of the house. Everyone wanted to get a good look at him and, fuck it, he might as well get it over with.
Hart strode to his desk and picked up the stack of invitations left by his secretary. Flipping through them made his stomach feel sick. There were several dinner invitations and two invitations to balls, a handful of notes to meet for drinks, and one charity function. He chose an invitation at random and threw the pile down. Exiting his study, he headed for the stairs.
Townson hurried over to his side.
“Tell Thomas to get my carriage ready. I’m going out.”
Chapter Seven
The carriage pulledup in front of the Bruton Street house. Hart peered out the window at the grand home of Lord and Lady Thornbury. He’d been to fêtes at their home before. Thornbury had been a good friend of his father’s. So why did the acid taste of fear coat the back of his throat? Through the home’s large windows, he could see people mingling. His dread continued to build. He ran a hand down his face, the raised lines of his scars now a familiar pattern under his fingertips. Why was he hesitating? He didn’t care what others thought of him. He never had. Of course, it had been easier when opinions had always been favorable. Back when he had used his good looks to charm and flirt and used his title to stay aloof and unapproachable.
Now everyone inside would want to have a look at his ruined face and speak with him about where he had been, how he was doing… His hand began to shake at the thought of all those questioning stares, all the pitying looks. He clenched his fingers into a fist, but the tremors spread to the other hand. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow. A discreet knock startled him.
The door opened. Thomas stood waiting. “Are you ready to go in, Your Grace?” His coachman studied him from underneath the brim of his cap. “Perhaps you would like to take a ride around the block first?”
Hart closed his eyes and tried to take in a deep breath and compose himself, but his body refused to respond to his command. Instead, his breath stuttered in his chest. His heartbeat drummed too fast. Dammit, what was wrong with him? Panic, sharp and familiar, thrummed. He needed a drink. The sharp burn of a brandy would ease the tension inside him. He should go home. It had been a mistake to think he could do normal things again.
“Your Grace?”
A swell of music and voices rose into the night air. Hart opened his eyes. Over Thomas’s shoulder, he saw that the front door of the house was open. And illuminated by the glow of light from the interior stood Lucy. A liveried footman held out a hand and then escorted her down the front stairs. Her hair was intricately curled and studded with pearls. A pair of sapphire earrings swung gently from her ears; the pair he gifted her last year for her birthday. The hypnotic swing of the earrings and the familiar slopes and curves of her face enabled him to take in a breath past the tightness of his throat.
“Thomas?” Lucy called out as she reached the drive. “Is that you?”
Hart straightened in his seat as Thomas turned to face Lucy, effectively blocking the door opening.
His coachmen tipped his hat. “Good evening, Miss Middleton.”
“Good evening, Thomas. Is Lord Hartwick in there?”
The soft lilt of her voice brought his shaking to a halt. Hart brought out his handkerchief and blotted his forehead before replying. “Yes, he is. Thomas, it’s all right.”
Thomas moved aside, and Lucy peered up at him. “Hart, what a surprise. I would not have expected to see you here tonight.”
He cleared his throat. “Um, well, I thought maybe it would be good to get out of the house, but as we arrived, I was having second thoughts. I may just go home.”
Lucy’s gaze ran over him. “Well, this is opportune. I was feeling unwell and was headed home myself. But if you can give me a lift, then my coachman will not have to make two trips, as he must return later to pick up Aunt Trudy.”
“Of course, I can.” Relief poured through him at having the perfect excuse to leave. “I’d be delighted to escort you home.” He held out his hand.
Lucy quirked one eyebrow. “Delighted?” She put her hand in his, and he helped her climb into the seat next to him.
Thomas closed the door. Then the carriage rocked gently as he climbed into the box. In the next moment, they were off.
Lucy flicked back the curtain and watched the house as they pulled away. Then she leaned back with a soft sigh.
He frowned. “Lucy, Trudy knows you’ve left, doesn’t she?”
She straightened. “Of course. I left her a note with a footman.”
“You’re not feeling well?”
She swiveled to face him. “If you must know, I am simply sick of being at these boring events. I saw my friends at the beginning of the evening, but inevitably, they must also go dance with men their mothers want them to meet. And Aunt Trudy kept parading me around. I swear we stopped to talk with every gentleman in attendance tonight.” Her bottom lip jutted out. “I could not take another moment.”
He shrugged. “You won’t receive censure from me. I could not even force myself to get out of the carriage.”
“Why didn’t you want to go inside?”
