Page 33 of Anastasia and the Duke
"You are upset with me," the duke noted, momentarily placing his hand on the small of her back to steady her when she stumbled at the directness of his words.
"I am not," Hannah replied, worried she might stumble again, for his brief touch had turned her knees to jelly, "You did not need to send flowers to apologise, your Grace. I can honestly say that I did not think about you, or our conversation, in the intervening days. It was quite a non-event."
This was a lie, for the duke had filled Hannah's mind--both waking and sleeping--since the night he had kissed her in Lady Jersey's bedchamber. Not that she was going to revealthat.
"Indifference is far worse than anger," the duke commented, idly, "I can only hope that yours is feigned. I did upset you, Miss Blackmore, and for that I am truly sorry. I wished to tell you so in person that I truly regret doubting your intentions."
Lud; Hannah bit back a sigh. She would prefer his suspicion to his admiration, for that inspired another queasy bout of guilt within her.
"Please," she finally turned her eyes to him, "I mean it when I say don't apologise; it was gallant of you to be so concerned for Lady Lansdowne's welfare."
There, she thought with satisfaction, that ought to distract him. There was nothing most men liked more, she knew, than an open compliment.
"It was not gallant of me to insult you in the process, though," Hawkfield replied, pausing as they reached the curtain to the box, "So for that, I apologise. Most sincerely."
His stormy-blue eyes held hers, and Hannah felt as though she had been swept up into a tempest of longing and want. It was not just desire for the man which made her pine. Hawkfield's eyes were filled with admiration for her, for a goodness she did not possess, and Hannah ached as she saw all that she could be reflected in the way that he looked at her.
"I accept your thoroughly unnecessary apology," Hannah eventually said, breaking the spell which had fallen between them.
Her words coincided with the arrival of Lady Lansdowne and the duchess, who were now chattering amicably between themselves. A call went up from the stage for the audience to take their seats, and there was a moment of confusion as everyone decided where to sit. Hannah, who was reluctant to sit beside the duke, took the seat in the farthest corner, but she was quickly moved by the duchess, who declared it was the only angle she could see the stage from.
"I am afraid I am near-sighted in my right eye," the duchess explained, apologetically, as Hannah shifted to the next seat.
"And I am far-sighted in my left, so I shall have to sit there," Lady Lansdowne added, shooing Hannah off her second preference seat.
Which just left the two seats at the front of the box for Hannah and the duke, which Hannah doubted was down to coincidence or matters of ophthalmology. She had been outschemed.
"It's the best seat in the house," the duke whispered, apologetically, as he helped Hannah into the chair, "Even if the company is not quite up to your preferred standards."
Despite herself, Hannah smiled at his self-deprecating words, which hinted that he recalled the counter-insult she had offered him.
"Ah," Hawkfield gave a satisfied grin, as he noted her amusement, "I have been waiting a long time for you to bestow me with one of your smiles."
Hannah flushed and diverted her gaze toward the stage, which was so close she could almost reach out and touch the curtains. Below, in the stalls, the usual crowd was gathered. Young-bloods deep in their cups, braying loudly to each other, sat nearest the stage, while ladies of the night moved amongst them, none too discreetly hawking their wares.
Hannah closed her eyes as she recalled other nights, long ago, when she had weaved in and out unseen through crowds of men, pilfering what was in their pockets. She could still spot the easy targets amongst the crowd below; men so foxed that it would be child's play to half-inch the purses they concealed in their pockets.
"Quite the crowd," Hawkfield commented, taking her distraction for something else, "That's Byron, in the box opposite. The famed Beau Brummell is seated two boxes to his left, seated beside a lady who is nothiswife, but someone else's. And in the box above him, is Lady Jersey, she of Almack's fame."
Hannah started at the mention of Lady Jersey's name; how strange it was to think that Hannah had once been in the lady's bedroom and she would never know.
And that was a secret Hannah shared with Hawkfield--though he did not know it.
Suddenly, as she recalled the passionate kiss they had shared, Hannah became acutely aware of the duke's presence. His large frame dwarfed hers, and his body seemed to radiate heat--which might account for the sudden flush that came over her.
"It's hot," Hannah commented nervously, as she fanned her face with the programme for the play.
"Shall I fetch you a drink?" Hawkfield asked swiftly, his eyes so full of concern that Hannah almost laughed.
"Thank you, but it's not necessary," she replied, and further discussion was not needed, for a loud cheer went up from the crowd as the curtain went up for the first act.
Hannah settled back into her seat, determined to enjoy the performance--a tragedy ominously titled Remorse--but found that she could not concentrate on the actors when Hawkfield insisted on distracting her by existing.
Arrogant duke, Hannah thought, somewhat unfairly, for he couldn't well expire for the duration of the first half, just for her comfort.
Her distraction did not go unnoticed, for someway into the second act, Hawkfield leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"Are you not enjoying the performance, Miss Blackmore?" he asked, his breath tickling Hannah's ear and causing a delicious shiver to run through her.
