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“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.” A pair of concerned brown eyes met his.

He had seen those expressive eyes before. Recently. Remaining where he was, he took in her glossy dark curls and elegant gown. Her feet were tucked beneath the chair, and her small hands clutched the cover of a thin book. But recognition did not come until she offered a hesitant smile. She had smiled at him like that once before. In the music room of his own home.

“Miss Hadford,” he said with a bow. “I think perhaps it is I who should be asking forgiveness. If I had known anyone else was in the room, I would not have dreamed of disturbing you.”

“Oh, I am not here alone, my lord.” She pointed to the matching chair on the other side of the small table, and to his shock, Alexander realized that it, too, was occupied. “My aunt,” Miss Hadford said softly. “The ball became a little much for her.”

From the shadowy recesses of the oversized chair, Lady Millward snored. Alexander’s lips twitched with amusement as relief surged through him. A sleeping Lady Millward was not the most attentive of chaperones, certainly, but the fact that she was here at all made a vast difference to their situation. If he and Miss Hadford had been discovered alone in the library, there would have been no containing the scandal.

“I am glad to see that she is resting comfortably,” Alexander said. “But what of you, Miss Hadford? You do not appear to be overly tired. What has drawn you away from the ball?”

“Is it your head?” she asked, seeming to ignore his question.

“My head?”

“I noticed the bruising at Lady Bloxley’s musical evening,” she admitted.

Seemingly of its own volition, Alexander’s hand rose, his fingers carefully touching the tender skin above his eye. “You are very observant,” he said. “Not even my mother mentioned it.”

Her half smile returned. “I have ample personal experience with pain, my lord. Perhaps that has given me more sensitivity when it comes to recognizing it in others.”

“Your leg,” he guessed.

She lowered her eyes, her fingers running down the silk that covered her left thigh. “Yes. Although I fear that particular injury is obvious to all.”

Alexander knew that by now, his absence at the ball would have been missed by far more than merely his mother. And yet, he did not wish to abruptly take his leave of this young lady. Whether it was the sense of daring that had placed him in the center of so many scrapes at school or the hint of pain that he sensed behind Miss Hadford’s words, he could not tell. But whatever it was, the impulse kept his feet firmly planted in front of her.

“Your difficulty in walking was caused by an accident, then,” he said.

She nodded, and he noted the surprise on her face. It was likely that most people skirted around her injury, not wanting to bring up the subject lest it be too distressing. Perhaps he was being too forward. After all, he barely knew the woman. But before he could formulate an apology or come up with a viable segue into another topic—such as one that facilitated his removal from the room—she spoke again.

“I fell from a horse.” Her grip on the book tightened, but she continued. “It happened five years ago on the Yorkshire Moors. Unfortunately, the outcropping of rock that caused my mare to stumble was also my landing place, and when my mount fell, I was pinned beneath her.”

Shock kept Alexander’s voice low. “You are fortunate to be alive, Miss Hadford.”

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips, but the light in her eyes dimmed. “So I’ve been told—many times.”

Sensing that he’d made a misstep somewhere, he redirected the conversation. “You are good to ask about my injury. I am fortunate that the pain has subsided considerably since my accident occurred.”

She cocked her head slightly, studying him. “And yet something is troubling you deeply.”

Alexander stared at her. He was unused to anyone showing such concern for his welfare. Most people assumed that a well-financed earl lacked for nothing and, therefore, needed nothing. “Are you always so discerning and so direct, Miss Hadford?”

A laugh escaped her. “I confess, with my physical activity so limited, I find myself with ample time to observe those around me. With a little practice, it is not so very difficult to ascertain another’s well-being.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But it does not always follow that the observer would act upon that knowledge.”

She lowered her eyes. “Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to overstep.”

“Caring is very different from overstepping, Miss Hadford,” he said, a desire to share his load with someone else unexpectedly sweeping over him. “And if you are willing to listen, I will tell you the cause of my current distress.”

Her head rose, and Alexander was relieved to see that the light had returned to her eyes. “If you think I can be of any assistance, I should be happy to try.”

Alexander refrained from telling her that outside of hiring a Bow Street Runner, he’d been unable to think of anyone amongst his many acquaintances who might help him with his current predicament. His faint hope was that by verbalizing his dilemma, he would see a new way forward. “As you are aware, on the evening of my mother’s musical gathering, I was involved in a nasty accident.” He began pacing again. “The hackney carriage in which I was riding hit a flower seller as she was crossing the street.” Miss Hadford gasped, but Alexander pressed on. “The young woman did not survive the vehicle’s impact.”

“I’m very sorry,” she said. Her voice was calm, and she showed no hint of the vapors. “That must have been terrible.”

“It was rather.” Culpability clogged his throat, and he swallowed hard against the memories of Miss Brown’s faint but pleading voice. “Her last words were to ask that I find her son and tell him of her passing.”