Page 57 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“I hadn’t realized my son would be here tonight.” The other voice was familiar as well. “But I’d thought it was going rather well this evening until he disappeared with her.”

Hannah’s heart constricted at the recognition of Lady Brightstone. Clearly talking about Hannah.

“I specifically told him to use her for practice,” Lady Brightstone huffed indignantly.

To use her for practice.

The words froze away whatever residual warmth remained from her passionate kiss with Lucien.

“Not to pursue her for marital options,” the countess haughtily continued. “Her father is only a baron, and she is…well…do I even need to elaborate?”

“No,” Lady Arksford replied dryly. “You do not.”

Hannah knew she should speak up, to defend herself against such ugly accusations. Instead, she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

Lady Brightstone heaved an irritated sigh. “It is so dreadfully cold out here. Whatever he does or says with her ends tonight. When he returns home, I’ll insist he leave that creature alone and pursue a woman worthy of the Lambert name.”

That creature.

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, hating the heat of tears leaking silently down her cheeks. And while she knew now more than ever that she ought to stand up for herself against these horrendous women, she absolutely could not do so with a quivering voice and wet cheeks.

And so, she stayed in the alcove like a coward until their footsteps faded and their harsh criticisms only existed where they circled in her mind. Even then, she remained hidden from view as she reeled over what she had overheard.

Lucien had used her for practice. While she knew that he had asked her advice and had implemented her guidance so perfectly that he gained more popularity than Hannah herself had ever known. But practice?

Rage simmered low in her belly. Because as much as she wanted to reject the idea from her thoughts, it made sense.

The way he’d danced with her before dancing with anyone else, how he’d used her to sharpen his wit with her banter, even in the way he had taken her outside now to kiss her, to touch her. He’d known she would decline that terrible proposal. What woman would not?

Or perhaps that was practice too?

Bile burned up her throat. She pressed her icy hands to her cheeks to cool them, her gloves somehow having disappeared through the spiral of events that had occurred in only several short minutes.

She wished she could snap her fingers in that instant and immediately be home. But first, she would have to face her friends. Better them than anyone else in the world, at least. Finally, she slinked from her hidden location and went to the retiring room to freshen up before forcing herself to re-join her friends.

“There she is,” Lucy sang out joyfully.

Their smiling faces fell as soon as they laid eyes on Hannah. As much as she tried to conceal her pain, it was too stark to shield.

“It didn’t go as you planned,” Jillian said matter-of-factly.

Amy opened her arms to offer an embrace, but Hannah shook her head mutely. She was too fragile right now and feared such comfort would shatter her composure.

“I’ll go find someone to summon the carriage.” Elizabeth pushed up from her chair.

“I’ll find someone to break his leg,” Lucy muttered. “Bollocks to that. I’ll do it myself.”

Hannah gave a weak smile. None of them asked for details as they tried to sooth her hurts and distracted her from the agony of her pain.

As much as she had dreaded having to see her friends after such humiliation, she was now glad to have them at her side. It was through them that she would recover from such betrayal.

What she did know, however, was that she would never, ever trust Lord Brightstone again.

Lucien regarded Lady Alison warily.

“Good evening, Lord Brightstone,” she said innocently. “I trust you are having a pleasant evening?” With a pointed look behind her at Hannah’s retreating form, she turned back to him with a smirk. “Or interesting one, at least.”

Her coy behavior rankled him. Already his nerves were scratched bare from the interaction with Hannah. The abrupt and harsh change from extreme passion to total self-loathing at his inability to convey emotions.