Frankly, I think it does our family discredit to cut you off without a word.’
Our family? Sloane was amused at his nephew’s words.
David’s father had been born to the Earl of Dorton’s first wife—the virtuous wife. Sloane’s mother was not virtuous. She’d had a fairly public liaison with a dashing but impoverished Italian count, and, though the Earl of Dorton had declared Sloane his son, it was widely bandied about that Sloane was the product of that rollicking affair.
Indeed, the Earl, the man he called father, had branded him with the name Cyprian lest anyone forget what his mother was.
What he was.
From the time Sloane was old enough to understand these matters, the Earl had made certain the boy knew how good the Earl had been to acknowledge him as his son, how hard the Earl had tried to keep Sloane’s mother on the country estate, how she ultimately left them both when Sloane was not yet three years old, running off to Paris with her count.
How she and the man who sired him got caught in the revolutionary upheaval there and, as titled persons, went to their deaths on the guillotine.
Sloane wrenched his thoughts back to this nephew. ‘Your grandfather will be angry, I dare say.’ And, like as not, would place the blame at Sloane’s feet.
His nephew’s eyes twinkled. ‘I shall plead an attack of Christian charity. Grandfather will not dare argue on that score.’
Sloane could not help but laugh. ‘I trust the Earl is in good health? And your father as well?’
The young man replied, ‘My father is quite robust. Grandfather fatigues easily, although he will never admit to any weakness. Otherwise he is much as he has always been.’
Trying to still the flood of painful memories that suddenly assaulted him, Sloane asked other polite questions about the health of other relations who would, like as not, cross a street to avoid having to greet him. David answered just as politely, with an open countenance that led Sloane to think his sentiments might be genuine. The young man’s looks were more poetic than manly, with features that in the father appeared weak, but in the son seemed kind. Sloane could not help but like him.
As they chatted, Sloane kept half an eye on Lady Hannah—and her cousin. The two ladies left the chaperons and were slowly promenading around the room, stopping to chat with Lady Hannah’s ‘particular’ friends.
They eventually came near enough for Lady Hannah to feign surprise at seeing him. ‘Why, Mr Sloane, how delightful to see you here tonight. You recall my cousin, Miss Hart.’
Sloane gave Miss Hart an amused glance. ‘Yes, Miss Hart. I am able to recall our first meeting quite well, I assure you.’
Miss Hart’s lips twitched.
Lady Hannah gave a tittering laugh, placing her hand briefly on Sloane’s arm. She turned to his nephew, waiting for the introduction.
Sloane obliged. ‘Lady Hannah and Miss Hart, may I present Mr David Sloane.’ He deliberately withheld their relationship, lest it put David in an awkward position.
His nephew bowed. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Hannah, Miss Hart. Mr Sloane is my uncle, you know.’
‘Oh, is that not splendid!’ Lady Hannah cooed, more automatically than genuinely. ‘Tell me, are you gentlemen enjoying the assembly tonight?’
Enjoy would not be a word Sloane would attach to Almack’s. His nephew answered first. ‘I assure you, my lady. I begin to enjoy myself immensely.’
Lady Hannah blushed prettily and tittered again.
Not only poetical looks, Sloane thought in amusement, but a tongue to go with them. He glanced at Miss Hart, who returned a knowing smile.
‘Are you gentlemen not dancing?’ Lady Hannah piped up, with a flutter of eyelashes.
Undoubtedly this had been her objective all along. To work her way around the room to Sloane’s side, so he could be the first gentleman to ask her to dance.
‘The next set is a waltz,’ she added significantly.
Before Sloane could open his mouth, David spoke, ‘I would be honoured to be your partner, my lady. There is nothing I could desire more.’ He accompanied this speech with a suitably earnest look.
‘Oh.’ Hannah blushed again, clearly pleased. ‘Then I suppose we must dance, sir.’ She turned to Sloane. ‘Would you be so good as to ask my cousin to dance? I would not wish to leave her standing alone.’
Sloane disliked her ordering him around every bit as much as he had the ruffian in the park. He was not some besotted slave devoted to her every whim, but he gave an assenting nod.
David lost no time in whisking her on to the dance floor as the music started. Sloane turned to Miss Hart.
She gave him a level look. ‘My cousin presumes too much, Mr Sloane. You are under no obligation to ask me to dance if you do not wish it. I am well able to walk across the room and rejoin my aunt.’
He understood the irritation in her voice, so like his own, but if she walked away from him, someone was certain to spread the tale that the notorious Cyprian Sloane had been rejected by a mere baron’s daughter. That would cost him. Besides, should he allow Lady Hannah’s presumption to stop him from doing what he longed to do?
He raised his brows to Miss Hart and spoke with deliberate exaggeration. ‘And what if I have pined for just such an opportunity?’
She immediately caught his humour. ‘Flummery, sir.’
He extended his hand to her. ‘I would truly be greatly honoured, Miss Hart.’
Her ginger eyes were unreadable for a second. Then she accepted his hand with a very gracious smile. ‘I confess, I long to dance.’
Sloane liked the feeling of leading her on to the dance floor and taking their places in the waltz. He put his arm at her back and she placed hers on his shoulder. He waited a moment to capture the beat of the music, then led her into the dance, twirling her to the music. With her height, he had only to bend his head a trifle to look into her face. Her eyes, softening into pools of golden warmth, were even more entrancing at such an intimate distance.
She followed his steps as if they were one person. He stopped even thinking of the dance, and merely allowed the music to carry them along. ‘This is not so bad, is it, Miss Hart?’
She smiled, creating tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. ‘It is better than a walk in the park.’
He laughed aloud and her smile widened.
He twirled her around twice more and she looked up into his face. ‘I thought you were estranged from your family.’
He almost missed a step. Most ladies talked of trifling matters during a dance. ‘That is one of the tales told of me. What others have you heard?’
She blinked rapidly and glanced away, but brought her gaze back to his. ‘I beg your pardon, sir.’ Two spots of pink touched her cheeks. ‘I often speak before thinking. It is one of my most vexing faults. I
