Relentless Lord by Amy Sandas Page A

all depends upon who is involved. In this case—” his censorious glance slid once again toward Miles, “—you have cause to heed your cousin’s words.”
    Miles gave a jaunty bow as though accepting a compliment, but Hannah gasped in mock astonishment. She even brought her hand swiftly to her breast. Miles hid his grin at her theatrics.
    What a delightful creature.
    “My goodness! Lord Whitely—” she leaned toward him with her eyes round, “—did you know you were such a scoundrel?”
    “Indeed. I can ruin a lady with just a look.” He glanced toward Miss Tremaine, casting her a smile heavily tainted with wickedness.
    The silly twit fluttered before she gathered her composure to say to Hannah, “Do not say I did not warn you, dear cousin. All it takes is one inappropriate move and you will be ruined.” After she spoke, Miss Tremaine’s pinched face slid into a disturbing smile. She looked back and forth between Miles and Hannah and then tapped Lord Hathmore’s arm with her fan. “I have done what I could. Let us move on.”
    As they walked away, Miles looked back to Hannah. Her expression of amusement slid immediately into one of weary frustration.
    He dipped his head toward hers. “What is the matter?”
    “I feel like I am trapped in a perpetual game where the rules keep changing.”
    “Then make your own rules.”
    “To what end?”
    Miles smiled. “That all depends on what you want.”
    Her blue eyes looked at him, so clear and vivid, as she seemed to think on his last comment. Then she shook her head. “If you will excuse me, Lord Whitely.”
    She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there with an ache in his chest that felt an awful lot like loss.

Chapter Seven
    Hannah claimed the first opportunity she came across to retire early that night. She occasionally felt Lord Whitely watching her after their stroll, but she refused to glance his way again. The man had managed to make her already conflicted feelings even more complicated.
    She had come to England to please her parents. They felt it important once she reached marriageable age that she have the opportunity to meet proper English gentlemen. Hannah had known the moment she was first presented to her uncle she would not be the success her parents envisioned. But she had been determined to do her duty and experience a full Season before returning home. After only a few weeks, she wondered why she’d even bothered.
    Her debut was a dismal failure.
    And now, she also had the disconcerting attention of Lord Whitely to contend with.
    The more she tried to ignore him, the less she wanted to. Although a great deal of her internal conflict came from the rather intense physical attraction she felt for the man, the rest had to do with the fact that she was coming to appreciate his humor, his easy manner and the way he made her feel. She was more relaxed and like herself in his company than she had been in the last two years.
    After changing into a lawn nightdress and brushing out the length of her hair, Hannah stretched out on her bed. Her thoughts were in turmoil over the feelings she was developing for a very improper gentleman, but the night was warm and deep. Sleep claimed her with little effort.
    It could not have been much later when Hannah was abruptly brought back into full wakefulness. Tension slid along her limbs, but she did not alter the pattern of her breath nor move a muscle beyond a tightening of her hand beneath her pillow. Something had stirred her from her sleep. She was just not sure yet what it was.
    She listened for a moment. There it was again, a light scratching at the door and a murmured, “Hannah.”
    It sounded like Beatrice.
    Hannah swept from the bed and went quickly to open her bedroom door. Her cousin stood in the hall, still dressed in her evening gown and wringing her hands as though she would twist them off.
    “Oh, thank goodness, Hannah, you have to help me,” she muttered while her eyes darted desperately