Sloane wound up seated next to Lady Hannah, his nephew on Hannah’s other side. Rawley and his wife were above them, and Morgana was on the other side of the table, not quite across from him. Sometimes when he glanced at her, she quickly looked away. Sometimes she engaged in conversation with the gentlemen on either side of her, both husbands of Lady Cowdlin’s friends and not the best dinner companions for an eligible young lady. Lady Cowdlin ought to stand in place of Morgana’s mother, see her well situated, instead of neglecting her.
But the idea of Morgana with a serious suitor did not quite please Sloane. He stabbed at a piece of meat and glanced around the table at the two dozen guests as he chewed. His nephew and Morgana were the only two whose presence he could tolerate for more than half an hour. He ought to admit to himself that he found society a dead bore. Why the devil had he made that infernal bet with himself?
He caught his brother watching him. Rawley quickly averted his eyes, but Sloane had not missed the contemptuous expression on his face. It must rankle with Rawley indeed that this bastard brother was seated at the same table. And rankle with his father as well.
By God, that was reason enough to persist in his plans to make a place for himself among these tedious people.
‘Do you like the potatoes?’ Lady Hannah asked, bringing him back to the present.
‘Delicious,’ he muttered.
Hannah smiled. ‘My mother shall be so pleased.’
She turned back to her plate. Hannah was a sweet girl. The perfect bride, he thought, as he studied her profile for a moment.
But not for him.
He’d been bored with her after a fortnight, he realised. Think what would happen after years together. All her promise of becoming a warm and responsive woman would wither like a rosebud in early frost. She deserved better.
Heronvale might advocate the connection between them, but ruining Hannah’s life was too high a price to pay for a career in politics. Sloane would be better off marrying a woman like Morgana.
He dropped his fork and it clattered against his plate as it fell, causing a few heads to turn. He stared at Morgana. By God, why had he not realised it before? He did not have to act the rake towards her; he could be her husband. He could marry wild, unpredictable Morgana. Who cared if she leaped over the bounds of propriety? He’d jump with her and have a vastly better time than he’d had these past few months. He wanted her.
She looked over at him as well, her eyes lingering as she again fingered her hair. He wanted to tuck that lock up where it belonged before it drove him to complete distraction. She looked back down at her glass of wine and slowly brought it to her lips. Taking a sip, she glanced at him again, her pink tongue peeking out to lick a droplet of wine from her full, kissable lips. He would go mad indeed.
The footmen came to remove the dishes and the cloth. Sloane forced himself to chat with Hannah until the cakes, fruit and ices were served. He joined Lady Hannah in taking a glass of champagne, all the while on fire for the moment he could be alone with Morgana.
Soon dessert was over, and the ladies left the room. As Morgana passed his chair, he felt her hand graze his shoulder, a touch so light it was almost indiscernible. It acted upon him as if she’d raked her fingernails along his naked flesh.
He endured the dull conversation of the men while the Madeira, port and claret were circulated around the table. Lord Cowdlin pointedly included Sloane in the discussion. It was definitely time to make it clear he would not offer for Hannah. Whatever might happen to Cowdlin’s debts was none of his concern. There were other, more eligible young men for Hannah; one of them ought to be rich enough to suit her father.
Cowdlin announced it was time to rejoin the ladies, and Sloane lagged behind, hoping to contrive some time with Morgana. As the other gentlemen entered the drawing room, Lady Hannah appeared in the doorway of the room next to it.
‘Psst!’ She waved her hand for him to come to her.
Damn. He had no wish to be with Hannah, especially not alone. He walked over to her.
‘Mr Sloane, may I speak with you for a moment?’ She looked upset.
‘Alone, Hannah? I do not think so.’ He certainly did not want to be trapped in a compromising situation with her.
‘For a moment, please,’ she persisted. ‘We may leave the door open a crack.’
He stepped just inside the doorway of the Cowdlin library, leaving the door open wide enough for his back to be visible to anyone passing by. He hoped that would prevent any accusation that he was engaged in a private meeting. ‘What is it, Lady Hannah?’
The room was dimly lit by only one branch of candles, but the distress on her face was easily visible. ‘My mother has had words with me… a moment ago, but my father earlier today.’ She broke off.
‘And?’ He crossed his arms over his chest.
She picked at her fingers like a distressed child. ‘Will you offer for me, Mr Sloane? My father is in desperate need of money and he has so counted on you offering for me. I… I know you like me and we… we got along famously at first. So, will you?’
He gazed down at her, so sorry he had led her and her family to count on his suit. He’d selected Hannah primarily because her father was friends with his father, he now realised. Merely to vex his father, he had toyed with this young lady’s hopes and expectations. It had been very wrong of him.
He tried to make his voice sound as gentle as he could. ‘No, Lady Hannah. I will not offer for you.’
Her face crumbled and she grabbed at his arm. ‘But you must, Mr Sloane! My father—’
He put his hand over hers and slowly removed it. ‘Your father is wrong to solve his problems by saddling you with a man such as me.’
‘I am certain we will suit,’ she cried.
‘And I am certain we will not.’ He tried to sound sympathetic.
‘Then what am I to do?’ She began to shake and take quick breaths. ‘What am I to do?’
He steadied her with a hand on her arm. ‘You are to marry a man who would give you the regard you deserve, Hannah.’
She collapsed against him, sobbing. ‘If only I could! It is impossible, though. He thinks of you, for one thing. And his fortune, it is not his to offer.’ She sniffled loudly.
He set her away from him, holding her at arm’s length. ‘Of whom do you speak?’
She gave him a miserable look. ‘Of your nephew, sir!’
He nearly laughed. David and Hannah in the tortures of young love, impeded only by the wealthy uncle who was expected to marry her? It was a villain role he’d never expected to play.
He controlled his smile. ‘Do you wish to marry David?’
She straightened, suddenly in control of all the passion of youth. ‘What I wish is of no consequence. I must do my duty.’
He did laugh then. ‘Rubbish!’
She glared at him. ‘It is not a joke, sir!
