peered up at Mr. St. Albans as he protectively led her toward the dance floor. There was no question as to the gentleman’s identity, and yet, something was different.
Something about his tender touch made her tremble within. But not with fear or dread.
With heart-thumping excitement.
Oh, what had the Feathertons done to bring about such a visceral response in her? It had to be their doing, for there was no other explanation for this sudden fondness for a man she had professed to be the most irritating in all of Bath.
Hannah recalled hearing that the ladies, while in the last shank of a matchmaking scheme, had actually sprinkled some mysterious powder into their own grandniece’s cordial. They were shameless when it came to serious matchmaking.
Perhaps they had done something similar to her. She had just taken tea with the two clever spinsters, after all.
Mr. St. Albans turned his green-eyed gaze to her when they reached their place on the floor. He encircled her waist with his muscled arm and gently took her right hand in his. He smiled at her then, and all of her blood seemed to drain into her Turkish slippers.
Hannah’s breathing grew thinner still.
Devil take you, Annie, for persuading me to wear this oversnug corset. I do not give a fig how it shapes my form. I need to breathe!
Several times as Mr. St. Albans whirled her around the dance floor, she tried to break the gaze that held her so firmly, but she could not.
What was happening to her? She had danced the waltz a number of times, both in Bath and London, but this time—though there was no accounting for the notion—the proximity to this man seemed all too . . . intimate.
Just then, she felt his fingers trace a small circle upon her back, sending a tingle darting into her middle, and lower as well. She was horrified. Such incredible nerve the man possessed!
“Dear, s-sir,” Hannah sputtered, curiously noting that she did not miss a single step. “I will have you know that I am not as naive as you might believe.”
Mr. St. Albans’s eyes grew impossibly large and round. “I beg your pardon, Miss Chillton—”
“I admit, I do not know what game you play, Mr. St. Albans”—Hannah leaned close to make sure he heard her next words with total clarity despite the din of music and idle chatter that filled the ballroom—“but I certainly know its nature.”
Inexplicably, Mr. St. Albans released her hand and waist, and stilled his step. He stared into her eyes, his mouth opening and closing as if he meant to reply, but could not.
Hannah suddenly felt every pair of eyes in the ballroom upon her. Heat rose into her cheeks and burned the tips of her ears as she turned to see elderly matrons pointing at her and her statuelike dance partner. Young misses giggled at her predicament, and gentlemen grinned.
And they had every right to stare, hadn’t they?
Mr. St. Albans had ended their dance abruptly and was creating quite an embarrassing moment for them both. She turned to walk from the floor. Indeed, had walked several steps toward the door when suddenly she stilled her step.
No. No.
She’d not give in. She’d not feel shame for this. She had done nothing wrong, after all!
Hannah whirled back around, intending to walk up to Mr. St. Albans and demand he finish the dance—as any polite gentleman would do.
But he was no longer standing where she’d left him. There was only a blatantly unoccupied bit of floor space where the man had once been.
Oh, jolly good.
Now her humiliation was nearly complete.
Well, she wasn’t going to allow him to do this to her. Not tonight. Not ever!
Hannah’s angry gaze swept the ballroom, weaved through the crowd, and even sought out the door.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. St. Albans was gone.
Chapter Five
G riffin charged through the outer doors of the Upper Assembly Rooms and into the street. At once, a stiff wind ruffled his hair, and in the night air the scent of coming rain became plain to his
Something about his tender touch made her tremble within. But not with fear or dread.
With heart-thumping excitement.
Oh, what had the Feathertons done to bring about such a visceral response in her? It had to be their doing, for there was no other explanation for this sudden fondness for a man she had professed to be the most irritating in all of Bath.
Hannah recalled hearing that the ladies, while in the last shank of a matchmaking scheme, had actually sprinkled some mysterious powder into their own grandniece’s cordial. They were shameless when it came to serious matchmaking.
Perhaps they had done something similar to her. She had just taken tea with the two clever spinsters, after all.
Mr. St. Albans turned his green-eyed gaze to her when they reached their place on the floor. He encircled her waist with his muscled arm and gently took her right hand in his. He smiled at her then, and all of her blood seemed to drain into her Turkish slippers.
Hannah’s breathing grew thinner still.
Devil take you, Annie, for persuading me to wear this oversnug corset. I do not give a fig how it shapes my form. I need to breathe!
Several times as Mr. St. Albans whirled her around the dance floor, she tried to break the gaze that held her so firmly, but she could not.
What was happening to her? She had danced the waltz a number of times, both in Bath and London, but this time—though there was no accounting for the notion—the proximity to this man seemed all too . . . intimate.
Just then, she felt his fingers trace a small circle upon her back, sending a tingle darting into her middle, and lower as well. She was horrified. Such incredible nerve the man possessed!
“Dear, s-sir,” Hannah sputtered, curiously noting that she did not miss a single step. “I will have you know that I am not as naive as you might believe.”
Mr. St. Albans’s eyes grew impossibly large and round. “I beg your pardon, Miss Chillton—”
“I admit, I do not know what game you play, Mr. St. Albans”—Hannah leaned close to make sure he heard her next words with total clarity despite the din of music and idle chatter that filled the ballroom—“but I certainly know its nature.”
Inexplicably, Mr. St. Albans released her hand and waist, and stilled his step. He stared into her eyes, his mouth opening and closing as if he meant to reply, but could not.
Hannah suddenly felt every pair of eyes in the ballroom upon her. Heat rose into her cheeks and burned the tips of her ears as she turned to see elderly matrons pointing at her and her statuelike dance partner. Young misses giggled at her predicament, and gentlemen grinned.
And they had every right to stare, hadn’t they?
Mr. St. Albans had ended their dance abruptly and was creating quite an embarrassing moment for them both. She turned to walk from the floor. Indeed, had walked several steps toward the door when suddenly she stilled her step.
No. No.
She’d not give in. She’d not feel shame for this. She had done nothing wrong, after all!
Hannah whirled back around, intending to walk up to Mr. St. Albans and demand he finish the dance—as any polite gentleman would do.
But he was no longer standing where she’d left him. There was only a blatantly unoccupied bit of floor space where the man had once been.
Oh, jolly good.
Now her humiliation was nearly complete.
Well, she wasn’t going to allow him to do this to her. Not tonight. Not ever!
Hannah’s angry gaze swept the ballroom, weaved through the crowd, and even sought out the door.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. St. Albans was gone.
Chapter Five
G riffin charged through the outer doors of the Upper Assembly Rooms and into the street. At once, a stiff wind ruffled his hair, and in the night air the scent of coming rain became plain to his
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