A FLIRTATIOUS RENDEZVOUS

The Gentlemen Next Door—Book Four

Historical Regency Romance Novella

by

Cecilia Gray

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* * *

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Copyright 2012 by Cecilia Gray

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written consent from the author/publisher.

Published by The Alpha Division, LLC

Acknowledgements

Adrienne. You should know why. You won't. Because you're modest like that. But you should.

Would it be an acknowledgements section if I didn't thank Shelley? No, it wouldn't.

Prologue

Twelve-year-old Hanna Morton followed Hayden Banks up the old beech tree that grew exactly between their two London homes near the neighborhood of Pimlico. Hayden perched at the top, nestled against the trunk and a sturdy, knotted branch, and glanced down as she clawed at the base.

“You’ll never make it to the top if you go that way,” he said. “You need to use the branches that grow closer together.”

Hanna surveyed the tree, trying to find the branches he was recommending, but they all looked the same to her. By the time she figured it out, Hayden would be long gone.

“This will do.” She anchored her elbows on a branch. With a grunt, she hoisted herself over it. The rough bark pricked the skin beneath her dress and her mousy brown hair snarled in the twigs.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She winced as her hair was tugged hard from its roots. “No, I won’t.”

She tackled the next branch and the next, ignoring the snags in her curls and the pinching of her skin. After several minutes, she reached the top, breathless not only from her exertions, but also from her proximity to Hayden Banks. He was quite possibly the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen—and she had the good fortune to live next door to him.

“See,” she said as she gasped for air. “I told you so. I made it.”

Even though his eyes darkened with scorn beneath his brows, he looked positively romantic.

“Barely. Why didn’t you use the route I suggested?” He pointed beneath their feet. From this vantage point, she could see the branches that were stronger and closer together. She could have used them like a set of stairs.

“How could you tell that from the bottom?” she asked.

“How couldn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I made it anyway.” She gave a contented sigh—he was not only beautiful, but smart as well.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What is what?”

“You sighed. Whenever a lady sighs, she wants a gentleman to ask her why.”

She considered his question. Why had she sighed? Why did she always seem to sigh when he was around? “I suppose it’s because…because…” Hanna felt lightheaded and woozy. “I love you.”

Hayden’s lips parted. “Nonsense. Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean precisely what I asked. Why do you love me? There’s no reason to it. You don’t even know me.”

“Love doesn’t need a reason,” Hanna insisted. “Love doesn’t have a reason.”

Hayden shook his head. “Everything has a reason.” He scooted off the branch and began to climb down, ranting all the way. “There’s no point to your feelings. I don’t love you in return. I never will.”

Disappointment pierced her, sharp and poignant. “How do you know?” Hanna called down the trunk.

Hayden dropped to the ground and stared up at her. “Because, despite your pleasant green eyes, you’re not very pretty, and we have nothing in common. I’m sure we can be considerate neighbors, though. There’s nothing to prevent that.” He pivoted on his heel and walked away.

Hanna watched Hayden disappear inside his red-brick Georgian house and kept watch, though all she could see was his head as he passed from one white-framed window to another.

She grasped for a reason to hate him, a reason to drown her feelings, but it was futile. She was twelve, after all, and not much given to sense. She could only consider how he’d complimented her eyes, which her father had always said were an amazing shade of green.

So despite reason and sense, she continued to love Hayden Banks.

Chapter One

Lady Hanna Morton had learned three things about love in her nineteen years.

First, her parents loved each other. She realized this not from the moments when they gazed into each other’s eyes or held hands, but in the moments they didn’t seem to love each other at all. Such as on the occasion of her tenth birthday party, when her father had clumsily knocked over her tea setting in his eagerness to be sure the water was piping hot. Her mother had scolded him as they righted the cups and blotted at the damp tablecloth, waving away the serving staff who tried to intervene.

Their movements almost seemed a dance, their arms twining around and through one other to grab a napkin or a plate, or to save a biscuit before it soaked, and between the movements her father squeezed the tender skin just above her mother’s elbow and her mother wiped her father’s brow with the back of her glove.

Second, Hanna loved her mother, even though her last words had been ones of disappointment. Hanna had driven away yet another governess with her inability to concentrate, because she could never seem to remember her lessons. Her mother had asked if she wanted to end up in a nunnery and she’d said no, and her mother had said she’d better start acting like a lady. She remembered her mother’s scowl every day, but it didn’t seem to make a difference, because her mother loved her, and she knew it with every bit of her soul.

Third, and most stubbornly, Hanna loved The Honorable Hayden Banks, the youngest son of the Earl of Landale, who lived next door.

Mr. Hayden Banks was perfect.

It was not that he was the epitome of gentlemanly good looks. In fact, his dark hair, cool black eyes, and clean, muscular frame were most unfashionable amongst the pale, lanky blond dandies that ruled the dance floors of the ton.

It was not that he was stylish. In fact, most of her friends found him sloppy. He was often caught with his cravat loosened and sometimes even his shirt sleeves pushed up to his forearms when he thought no one was watching—which was a fair assumption, given how Hanna often spotted him this way when high in the tree between their houses, spying through his private study window.

It was not that he was clever and witty. In fact, he was of average wit and cleverness, both of which qualities were buried beneath his genius. He was a prodigy. Only twenty-two and yet published six times in mathematical journals.

No, Hayden Banks was not perfect in any of these respects.

Hanna loved him because she had always loved him, and because he seemed confident and certain of everything, of every answer, of every movement. He was never plagued by doubts, and the only time Hanna felt the same was when she was with him.

Hanna fantasized about Hayden Banks every day.

About their wedding and how he’d gaze at her as she walked down the aisle of St. George’s. About their first kiss, which would be beneath the gnarled and knotted beech tree that stood on the border between their London homes, of course. His hand would lash out to grab her behind the neck and he’d pull her against his mouth and—

“You’re making fish lips again.”

Hanna shook herself out of the fantasy to look down at her father, who stared up at her in the tree with concern.

“Just tasting the air,” she said, climbing down the mottled trunk. She swung off the lowest branch to leap to the ground and landed in a clump next to him. She glanced back at the window that allowed her to peek into Hayden’s study—for the last time, she realized with a pang. “I’ll miss the air here.”

“What nonsense,” he said with a sigh. Her father squeezed her shoulders and blinked rapidly—the way he did when he knew she was watching, when he didn’t want her to see him cry.

“Oh, Father.” She hugged him tight. She understood exactly—this was the house they’d lived in with her mother, the house where they had the best memories. And that, she supposed, was why her father insisted on finding a new home in the countryside and why she hadn’t protested.

“Quickly, dear.” He cleared his throat and hurried her toward the house. “We’re needed inside.”

She took one last glance back, and her dreams of marrying Hayden Banks shriveled away.

* * *

Hanna knew she was a daydreamer. So she must have drifted away whilst sitting on the couch during Lady Landale’s visit. It was the only explanation. Otherwise, she could have sworn Lady Landale had just said—

“I’m so pleased you’re to live with us, Hanna.”

She pinched the inside of her wrist to keep present and waited for Lady Landale to say something else in the realm of pleasantries. Only her ladyship continued to smile at her over the rim of a teacup from the settee while her father paced behind it. Her features were a softer, prettier version of Hayden’s. Her eyes a warmer brown, her hair less severely cut than his, and her lips much more likely to smile. As they were smiling now.

Hanna glanced at her father, whose fist was pressed firmly against his mouth. He removed it. “I meant to tell you sooner.”

Lady Landale’s gaze whipped between them. “Is she just hearing that she’s to live with me for the first time? But her things have already been moved.”

“She thought her things were being sent to the country,” her father explained.

Hanna knew she wasn’t the best student, nor the best listener, which was why governesses left in droves, but she could have sworn they meant…. “Am I to stay here, in London, with Lady Landale instead of moving to the country with you, Father?”

“I should leave you two to discuss this,” Lady Landale offered, setting down her teacup.

“She should be with a woman here,” her father said.

But Hanna knew he didn’t mean woman. He meant mother.

Hanna’s lower lip began to tremble, rather embarrassingly, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help that she and her father hadn’t found the same easy routine they’d had when her mother had been alive, and she couldn’t help that she did want a woman around, and she couldn’t help that she didn’t want to leave her father alone but didn’t want to leave London, the only home she’d ever known, either. There seemed no way that she could have everything she wanted, so she was destined to lose.

“I thank you for your kindness, Lady Landale. But there’s no need.” Hanna fixed her father with a firm stare. “I will come with you. I won’t leave you.”

“All daughters must leave their fathers,” he said. “You’re nineteen, near twenty. If not now, then when?”

“Later,” she insisted, panic flooding her. “After we’ve settled.”

“Be smart about this. Think, Hanna. Please.”

“I’m thinking clearly enough.”

“You rarely do, my dear.” Her father shook his head. “Bless your sweet soul, it’s what I love about you most. This country home is miles from the nearest community, further still from eligible bachelors.”

“Not everyone marries.”

This elicited gasps from both Lady Landale and her father. But how could she tell them that if she couldn’t marry Hayden, she needn’t marry at all?

“You need your Season,” Lady Landale explained.

“Why?” she insisted. “Why now?”

“Because, dear.” Pity softened Lady Landale’s face. “It’s been long enough.”

* * *

Hanna stood at the steps to the Landale residence and faced her father. Her heart told her head this was temporary. She would placate her father by letting him move first to the country, to settle in, to realize how much he missed her. Then he would send for her and she would come.

Until then, she would enjoy the grand adventure of living under the same roof as Mr. Hayden Banks. An experience for a lifetime of dreams and memories to take into whatever spinsterhood lay ahead.

A brief but flirtatious—if she had her way—rendezvous.

“Get enough rest,” her father said. “Don’t forget to sleep—daydreaming isn’t enough, you know.”

“I know, Father.”

“And take care with their home. I do not want any correspondence from Lady Landale complaining of broken heirlooms.”

“I haven’t broken a vase in years!”

He smoothed back the wayward brown tendrils at her forehead. “It will be a privilege to stay with Lady Landale.”

“It is more a privilege to remain your daughter,” Hanna insisted.

Her father snorted but smiled as he patted her head. “I’ll miss your silliness, Hanna. I’ll miss how infectious it is.”

“Then remember to be silly without me.” Hanna plucked imaginary fibers off the shoulders of his coat so her hands would have something to do instead of grabbing his arm so he wouldn’t leave her.

Her father kissed the top of her head. She waited for him to say that she should visit as soon as possible, but instead he said, “Please write—your penmanship could use the practice. And my heart could use the comfort.” And then he was in the carriage pulling away—destined for the country.

She walked out onto the road, waiting until the horses rounded the bend and he disappeared from sight. A heavy sadness settled in her bones and she worried it would overtake her, much as it had when she’d lost her mother, so she turned and looked up at the foreboding doors of the Landale home. She thought of Hayden Banks inside. As it had after the death of her mother, the thought of him lifted her spirits, filled her with anticipation instead of dread, and gave her something to look forward to.

One more memory on which she could build a lifetime of daydreams.

She took the steps slowly, then faster, until she practically ran into the front door.

She knocked.

* * *

Hayden knew his mother wanted him to ask her what she was thinking. He wished she would just tell him. Instead, she entered his study as he was bent over his Twin Prime proof, all dramatic sighs and resting her chin thoughtfully against her fist as she stared out the window.

He had no intention of giving in to her fanciful games. There was no harm in indulging one’s mother. He loved her, after all. But he’d seen what had befallen his two older brothers.

The demise of their free will had begun with indulging the countess’s preferences for the interior design of their bedrooms, for what was the harm in that? Then her holiday requests. And her invitation lists for dinners and parties. And so on and so on until they had indulged their matchmaking mother straight into marriages with women they didn’t want to be married to. Now they complained every time they were home or at their clubs about how they were trapped in situations for which there was no recourse.

Unlike his brothers, he was too smart for that.

His was one of the foremost mathematical minds in England, specializing in number theory and game analysis that had made him invaluable to the Crown. He would not be outsmarted by his mother, who had far too much time on her hands with his father’s recent diplomatic tour of the Continent.

He knew precisely what the countess would say if he asked her what she was thinking. She would say, “Isn’t it sad how the Morton girl has no parents to look after her? We should be nice to her.”

And what she would mean was, “Propose, you idiot.”

Only he was not an idiot. Thank goodness. So he continued to ignore his mother as she continued to sigh. After a few moments, he heard the butler let someone in the front door.

His mother, whose ruse for attention had failed, finally glanced at him in annoyance and said, “Please be sure you’re available for dinner to greet our guest.”

* * *

“You’re looking very well,” the countess said to Hanna as she spooned vegetable soup to her lips. “Isn’t she, Hayden?”

“She seems free of illness,” Hayden agreed, to his mother’s disapproving glare.

“And you seem to be free of compliments,” Hanna said.

“So we’re both skilled at observation today.” Hayden fought a smile as his mother’s glower took on the ferocity of the sun. One of his father’s great pleasures when he was in town was teasing his mother, and he and his brothers understood the impulse well.

His mother was correct, however. Hanna did look well. Sometime in the seven years since her ill-conceived confession of love, she had grown, if not beautiful, then pleasantly attractive. Her pale green eyes were often remarked upon, as was her brown hair, although the latter was because her time in the sun had given it unfashionable streaks of gold. Why anyone would care about gold streaks he didn’t know—her hair seemed fine to him.

But what people remarked on the most was how she was obviously and shamefully in love with him. Fortunately, not to the point where it would be a matter of honor that they marry. But enough that old matrons acknowledged it with a fond chuckle.

Hayden had no empirical evidence of her love. She had never repeated her confession of seven years ago, and indeed, their interactions had become rather similar to verbal jousts. But he knew she still fancied herself in love with him.

The proof was shining through her.

Even as she sparred with him, like she always did, and even as she disagreed with him, like she always did, she always gazed at him with a satisfied, secretive smile on her lips and those light green eyes filled with admiration. As she did now from across the dining table.

If they were ever in a room with other men, she seemed only able to respond to him, to compliment him.

As if she believed they were perfectly suited.

Worse yet, his mother seemed to have caught the bug. She was all but applauding her own ingenuity as she glanced between them, stars in her eyes. He’d predicted this—if not with Hanna, then another candidate—when his father had left, but he’d knowingly stayed behind.

Nothing was more dangerous than a mother at leisure with an eligible bachelor for a son.

Then again, he supposed there were things worth enduring to ensure one’s mother was not lonely.

“We’ll have to begin right away,” the countess was saying.

“Pardon?” he asked. He wasn’t usually given to a wandering mind. He hoped Hanna’s silliness wasn’t contagious. No, of course it wasn’t. He knew that.

“You must not trouble yourselves—” Hanna began.

“Oh, but we must,” his mother insisted, looking back to him. “Hanna’s launch into society is of utmost importance.”

He didn’t miss Hanna’s swallowed sigh—so the girl wasn’t eager to be fed to the lions? Of course not. A launch in society was a search for a husband, and he knew Hanna had her sights set directly on him.

“I think it a wonderful idea.” He was grateful for it. It had been why he hadn’t protested the idea of Hanna living with them. A launch would give his mother something to do, even if her nefarious motivation was seeing them married, and would place Hanna on the marriage mart to someone else so she could divest herself of her feelings for him.

There also was the fact that she’d missed her debut because of her mother’s death, and he wasn’t insensitive to her situation. His mother launching her into society was a multi-pronged solution to several problems. “I’m sure the launch will keep you both very busy.”

“You as well,” his mother said.

Hayden set down his knife and fork. “How so?”

“Hayden,” his mother scolded. “There’s an incredible amount of work to be done in a short period of time. The Season is upon us, so I can’t delay her introduction. Don’t think your participation won’t be necessary.”

“What do I know about launching someone into society?”

“I thought you knew about everything,” Hanna said.

He couldn’t tell if this was one of her lovesick declarations or if she was egging him on. He also couldn’t tell why his pride had him saying, “I’m sure a society launch isn’t that difficult.”

“Is that so?” his mother said. “It sounds like something we should prove empirically.”

“An empirical proof of the relative difficulty of a society launch?” His interest was piqued. “How do you propose that?”

“We’ll arrange two events,” the countess said. “I’ll prepare one event with one set of eligible bachelors, you the other. And we’ll see which is more successful.”

“Assuming we indulge this, how do we measure success?”

“The only way,” she said. “By the number of marriage proposals resulting from each.”

Hanna dropped her fork, which clattered against her plate, sending bits of roasted potato across the table. He watched her eyes grow wide and her lip tremble as she made excuses to the staff who were rushing to clean up her mess. “Lady Landale, I could never thank you enough for your hospitality, but there’s no need…this rush…if it is because I am a burden—”

“You’re not a burden,” Hayden said before his mother could respond, although she did seem content to watch him serenely and sweetly from across the table. “You may not be aware, but my mother has a habit of wagering, although she never wins.”

“Then I must be due for a victory,” his mother said.

The countess’s gaze remained fixed upon his. After a moment, he couldn’t help a glance across the table. This was probably the quietest he’d seen Hanna. She likely did not know how to intervene. Most people didn’t whenever he and his mother locked horns.

His mother was presenting a puzzle.

He knew she ultimately wanted him married to Hanna. So why would she encourage a race for proposals?

After several seconds of consideration, he rejected the question. It did not matter.

Launching Hanna would not only keep her busy, the race for marriage proposals would ensure she was safely off the mart and out of his mother’s speculations for him. Even the countess wouldn’t deny a suitable match for their guest if one presented itself.

“What of the order?" he asked. “Whoever launches first may be at an advantage…or disadvantage.”

“Disadvantage,” his mother said. “Proposals are more likely to follow the second event because attendees will also have the benefit of hearing about her through the rumor mill after the first. However, I will forfeit the advantage, as I’ve put on numerous fetes and you have no experience.”

“Your generosity isn’t necessary. I’m sure I’ll fare well without it.”

“This isn’t just about you.” She speared a piece of asparagus. “I would hate for you to garner no proposals at your event because of your failure, and then what of poor Hanna? Would you see her so humbled?”

He felt a pinch in his chest at Hanna’s distressed expression. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with ire. “Even if I failed miserably at event planning, she would garner proposals on her looks and manner alone.”

“Is that so?” his mother said slyly.

Hayden realized too late his mistake at being goaded—not until he saw Hanna’s lovesick grin and starry eyes.

A trap well laid by his mother. He would remember not to underestimate her in future.

* * *

Lady Hanna Morton was exhausted by the time she collapsed on her soft goosedown-filled bed, her hair splayed over the pillow. Her body imagined it had run to and from Bath, leaving her with aching feet, a sore back, and a slight headache.

Hayden had retired to the study directly after dinner, and she had seen the lamps burning under the door even as she prepared for bed hours later. Lady Landale seemed positively gleeful as she made for bed—as if an easy rest were guaranteed.

She and her son had simply laid out Hanna’s life for the next two weeks. Each would have six days to prepare her for a ball on the seventh. They had wagered, and the prize was to see Hanna engaged.

Her father would have been amused by the proceedings. Hanna was not often stunned silent, but the wager had rendered her mute. She was known for saying exactly what she was feeling, but she’d been feeling so many conflicting emotions that she didn’t know which words to use first.

At the tip of her tongue, always, was a declaration of love for Hayden. But this would have been closely followed by a declaration of mortification to be the object of such attention.

Ah, but she smiled as she imaged her father’s reaction to the conversation. “Are you taking odds?” he would have asked, and reached for his money clip.

Her father would be midway to Leicester by now and bedded down at an inn, somehow convincing the keeper to sneak him a bowl of sweet cream before bedtime. Else she could recount the night’s activities to him in person instead of in the letter she had started and stopped and started and stopped again.

Because how could she convey it?

The utter irony of it all.

Hayden, the love of her life, intended to see her wed to someone else. He had bet his pride on it. And her beloved did not know how to fail.

Which meant that, despite her best intentions, she knew with certainty that she would soon be engaged. To someone who was not Hayden.

Chapter Two

“Come, come now,” Lady Landale said, whisking her onto the raised platform that had been placed in the center of the morning room. “Stop fidgeting.”

Hanna forced herself to remain still as the dressmaker drew a measuring tape around her waist and then held it from hip to toe. Every so often she heard a grunt of frustration from Hayden’s study and wondered what he could be doing.

“I think the dusty rose,” Lady Rivington said with an incline of her pale blond head in an accent that betrayed her as American despite her impending title of Duchess once her father-in-law passed. “Anything to show the first blush of youth is still upon her.”

“Agreed, agreed,” Lady Landale murmured, inching closer to her cohort. “A touch of pink will de-emphasize impending spinsterhood.”

“Spinsterhood?” Hanna sputtered and propped her hands on her hips. Even though she’d resigned herself to the inevitable fate, she didn’t like hearing it from another’s lips.

“No fidgeting, dear,” Lady Landale said.

“Impending spinsterhood is nothing to be ashamed of,” Lady Rivington said. “It simply means delaying the inevitable chains of womanhood.”

“Hush, you’ll scare her,” Lady Landale said.

Hanna studied Lady Rivington’s face. Lady Landale’s cousin by marriage was young—much, much younger than herself even—and she looked deceptively younger still because of her pale skin, nearly white hair, and soft, gray eyes born of a fairytale. She must have been monstrously younger than her husband, the heir to the Duke of Abernathy, one of the oldest lineages in the country. Their marriage had been scandalous—Lady Rivington had been barely twelve at the time of their engagement, and American to boot. Yet she stood here as self-possessed as any matron twice her age, with a reputation for elegance and sophistication.

“Do you like being married? Do you like your husband?” Hanna asked.

“How forward,” Lady Rivington said with a bark of laughter.

“She really has no idea of propriety. It’s refreshing,” Lady Landale said. “And yes, my dear, I adore being married and adore my husband although I do not adore his travel schedule.”

“I adore not being unmarried,” Lady Rivington said. “And I adore my husband’s willingness to let me alone.”

“But do you adore your husband?” Hanna prodded.

Lady Rivington fussed with a piece of sample cloth from the dressmaker. “Many couples have the misfortune of having had chosen for them what they would not have chosen for themselves.”

“Can you still be happy?” Hanna knew Hayden would succeed—knew he would ensure she was engaged soon. She couldn’t picture a life with this mysterious person who was not Hayden. “Can you still be happy and adore marriage even if you aren’t married to your choice of husband?”

Both women went stone silent. Even the dressmaker’s hands stilled at her feet, where she was making marks on a hem.

“Well?” Hanna asked.

“You’ll be able to make your choice,” Lady Landale said. “If none of your proposals suit you—”

“But your first choice,” Hanna said, her eyes flitting to Hayden’s study door. “What if I don’t have my first choice? Will second do?”

More silence followed. Hanna felt increasingly hot as she stood under their scrutiny.

Finally Lady Rivington let out a peal of laughter that lit up the room. “You were right. She was worth the carriage ride over here. You’re precious, my dear. Absolutely precious.” She leaned close to give Hanna a tight hug, but Hanna did not miss the points of moisture at the corners of her eyes as she pulled away.

“It seems a shame to waste the time we have with you as captive audience,” Lady Landale said as the seamstress began to drape and measure different materials over her shoulder and around her waist. “Perhaps we should discuss the fine art of conversation.”

“I’m much practiced in conversation,” Hanna assured her.

“Not real conversation,” Lady Rivington said.

“Most definitely not,” Lady Landale added.

“Is there such a thing as conversation that isn’t real?” Hayden would agree with such an observation and she wished he was here to give her credit for it.

Lady Rivington’s hand flew to her chest. “Most assuredly!”

“If a husband is a fish, and your dress is a fishing line, why dear, the art of conversation is the deadly hook.”

Hanna gulped at the gleam in Lady Landale’s eyes.

“It’s just...I’ve never been particularly skilled at...well...acquiring new skills.” Hanna thought back to how she fumbled her Latin so well that she’d apparently been insulting and how her mathematics tables always turned into scribbles of Hayden’s profile. It wasn’t that she was stupid, it was that she found it hard to concentrate on anything for very long—except Hayden, of course.

“I suppose you’ll have to find a way to practice before the ball,” Lady Landale said.

“Yes, quite,” Lady Rivington murmured. “Practice makes perfect.” She nudged the dressmaker and pointed to Hanna’s bodice. “Can we do something about that, dear?”

“Now,” Lady Landale rubbed her hands together with a smile. “Let’s begin.”

* * *

Hayden could see Hanna’s shadow peeking beneath the door as she paced outside his study. Even if he couldn’t see the shadow, he would have felt her presence.

Hayden always felt Hanna’s presence. For one, because she was always present. Always following him or pestering him. For two, because she had the subtlety of a bright pink ox in a china shop.

He always saw her. Had even learned to pick up her scent—a gardenia perfume he knew her mother had worn that she must have inherited. Sometimes he swore she haunted his dreams just to be particularly difficult.

“Just come in,” he finally said, setting aside his pen, then rubbing his tired eyes. He’d been staring at the Twin Prime proof for so long he was going to see it in his dreams—alongside Hanna.

All those prime numbers in pairs, one by one, marching away down a line. Three and five. Five and seven. Eleven and thirteen. Seventeen and nineteen. Paired primes, together and on and on and the question remained: Could the pairings go on forever? Could mankind trip its way down an infinite number of numbers and find more and more pairs?

Even for someone who found proofs as easy as breathing, a satisfactory proof for this problem eluded him and even better scholars—the few that there were—than he.

He could use a diversion from the proof, and Hanna was always that.

The door slowly crept open.

“Is the hinge broken?”

He bit back a smile at her predictable reaction of flinging the door open and setting her hands on her hips. He braced himself for the retort, but she hesitated and dropped her gaze to the floor, clasped her hands in front of her, and meekly stepped inside.

He straightened as discomfort trickled down his spine. He knew Hanna well, and meekness did not suit her.

“I came to inquire after your day and to ask if I may make you a drink.”

Hayden narrowed his eyes to study her. Despite her lovesickness, she was not one to indulge in such banal conversation or simpering requests. His mother’s fingerprint was all over her behavior, and yet, as often happened when Hanna was around, he could not resist taking a moment to goad her.

“My day has been well, and yes, you may pour me a glass of port.”

Her eyes flew open in surprise, no doubt at his agreeableness. She stumbled to the bar table and shakily poured port from the decanter into a glass.

“I’m glad your day has been well.” She crossed the room to him, holding out the drink with both hands as he sat before her.

He took the glass from the bottom. Her hands were bare. He was struck by curiosity—what would she do if he drew his finger against the naked skin at the back of her hand?

Surely this curiosity was spurred by her unusually deferential manner—no doubt a plan of his mother’s—yet the quest for an answer burned within him. Would she drop the glass? Would there be an outburst?

He wouldn’t do it, of course. He couldn’t. It would be irresponsible to toy with her feelings even in the name of scientific inquiry, but he couldn’t deny that the desire was overwhelming. Her hand was a slip of the finger away. He could easily graze the warmth of her skin.

Hayden felt his breath go shallow, and brought the glass quickly to his lips. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Her inability to meet his eyes irked him. Now he wished he had touched her, just so she would look at him.

“Will that be all?” he said.

“Unless you require more of me.”

Annoyance flared beneath his breastbone. “And if I do?”

Finally, she looked at him, peeked down with her green eyes beneath those lashes. “Wha—what?”

He swallowed again. “What if I require more of you?”

Her lips parted. “Then ask it.”

Damn and blast, but his imagination took a turn. Instead of seeing the skin at the back of her hand he was seeing the skin at the curve of her breast and the flare of her hip. “What do you want?” he barked, shifting to cross his legs and taking another drink as his throat went dry.

She furrowed her brow. “I thought we were determining what you wanted?”

What he wanted was not a topic for polite conversation. “What do you mean by this charade?” he asked, sweeping his hand around the room. “The deference? The accommodation?”

She dropped her clasped hands to her sides and glanced at the door as if questioning escape.

“No, you don’t.” He stood and maneuvered to block her, though it meant standing close to her, close enough to smell the gardenias. “You’re to stay with us for an extended period of time and I will not condone mind games.”

“It’s not a game,” she protested. “Lady Landale and Lady Rivington instructed me in the art of polite conversation, which I’m to exercise at the ball on Sunday. I was practicing.”

Her words turned over in his head as he made sense of them, of her actions. “Let me see if I understand—not only did my mother and her cousin-in-law give you abominable advice on how to compose yourself to catch a husband, they advised you to practice these techniques on me, thereby putting me in the position of helping my competitor beat me at a wager?”

She smiled brightly. “Of course you understand it perfectly.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, exasperated.

Hanna beamed at him, that smile of utter adoration she bestowed on him so often. “Because.” She gave a shrug and he averted his eyes from the rise and fall of her chest under the tight bodice—had it been that tight at breakfast? “You’re a gentleman.”

His thoughts veered into most ungentlemanly territory and he fought the errant images the only way he knew how—with verbal sparring. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention that neither my mother nor Lady Rivington possesses the tender conversational skills you’re displaying.”

She furrowed her forehead again—she did it often, no doubt because she was often tasked with having to think or consider things more than the average person. “You’re correct.”

“I usually am.”

She turned back to the bar table and fixed another drink. He almost reached out to take it but instead she downed it herself, the groove in her furrowed brow growing deeper. “Why would they advise me to behave in a manner contrary to the way they caught husbands?”

“Lady Rivington’s marriage was arranged by her father-in-law, the duke, for her copious coin. I doubt her manner would have mattered one way or the other.”

She set down her glass and leaned close. “You know, I do believe she’s happy in her marriage, but would have preferred to choose another.” She looked up at him, adoring again.

Hanna was thinking that she would choose him.

He had often considered over the years the academic matter of why this should be, and he rarely had an answer. An infatuation was one thing, but the stubborn devotion she had for him defied any logic. An insoluble proof. Confounding.

“You’ll have many suitors to choose from. Mother showed me the guest lists for our events with an equal number of suitable candidates. Any one will do.”

Just not me.

* * *

Hanna heard them arguing as she pulled on her gloves and made her way down the hall to meet the landau that stood outside.

“She’s an adult, Mother, and perfectly capable of procuring her own ribbons.”

“You’d have me send her into the streets with coin on her person? Should I paint a target on her back? Hang a sign around her neck to invite the ruffians?”

“A disturbing number of society ladies patronize Bond Street without encountering a single ruffian.”

“Hanna is exceptional, as you well know.”

She strained an ear to await his response—for he would have one. Hayden always had one. But instead she heard the slam of a door and the brisk step of Hessian boots as he made his way out of his study and toward her.

Her heart bubbled. He was walking toward her. Instead of away from her or behind a closed door. Toward her! Granted, it was because his mother made him, but—

“Are you ready?” he asked as he passed.

Hanna nodded and whirled, giddy at the prospect of spending an afternoon shopping with him.

He seemed ready to dash into traffic once they passed through the front door, but he stopped, closed his eyes in what seemed like resignation, and offered his elbow to assist her down the steps.

She accepted it, feeling light as a feather and ready to float away on a breeze.

How could she not daydream? How could she not fantasize?

Of a life where she and Hayden married and took turns around the city and ate dinners together and all the wonderful banal events that made up a marriage. Even if she wanted to imagine another man, she couldn’t.

She tried.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine there was someone else at her elbow. Someone nicer, who gazed at her adoringly, who—

“Oomph.” She tripped, her ankle giving way on the steps.

She opened her eyes on a gasp, just as Hayden’s arms tightened around her waist, just as she gripped his shoulders for support, just as he gathered her close.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Time froze. Her fingers dug into his coat. His arms braced around her body, cocooning her in warmth and safety. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.

He shook her—funny how it was not as tender as her imaginings. “I asked if you were all right!”

“Oh…yes,” she said on a sigh.

Hayden stood her up. “Did you not see the step?”

“Ah, the step, yes…well, I would have…”

He drew his arms back to his sides with scorn. “You were daydreaming again.”

“I was imagining,” she countered, taking his arm, which he allowed without protest.

“Imagine us arriving at Bond Street without broken necks.”

She was about to retort, but he smiled as he said it, and she couldn’t help but smile back as he lifted her into the landau with firm hands around her waist.

“I suppose you know the best place to procure ribbons?” he asked.

She instructed the driver on the shop’s location and turned her gaze back to Hayden. He had fished several crumpled pages from his pocket and had smoothed them out on his lap to study them, his fist tucked under his chin.

“What is it?” she asked, leaning toward him.

“Hmmm? Oh…it’s a theorem I have been working on for ages and was just in the middle of…I feel as though there’s an answer at the tip of my tongue.”

Her eyes crossed and glazed as she stared at the series of numbers and squiggles and scratches that seemed to continue ad infinitum down the pages. “Is it something you haven’t been able to solve?” she asked, unable to imagine such a thing.

“It’s a problem that no one has solved,” he said a little defensively. “It’s called the Twin Prime theorem.”

“What do twins have to do with mathematics?”

“No, see, the numbers are twins.” He pushed a paper toward her so it settled over her lap. “Three and five, five and seven. These are all prime numbers that are separated by one number. And it seems that as numbers become larger and larger, these twin primes still exist.”

“Do you think they make baby numbers?” she asked playfully.

“Your imagination is frightening.”

“Ah, but do you think of it now that I’ve questioned it?” she asked with a grin.

“The actual question is…can they exist forever? No matter how large the numbers become, will the twin prime numbers continue?”

“God made them, and if He made them in pairs, he would continue them as such,” Hanna said, shamelessly squirming a little closer. In his distraction, he allowed it.

“Unfortunately, the Mathematical Society would reject such a simply worded proof. And if they did accept it, it would beg the question, if one could prove God did create the twin primes, why would one also assume they continued?”

“Because He wouldn’t want them to be lonely. He never intends us to be lonely.”

Hayden glanced up at her, his eyes questioning before they shaded over with frustration. “You can’t mean that to stand as proof of whether the numbers can exist forever.”

“But of course I do—of course they can!”

“There is no of course—either it can be proved or it cannot.”

“That seems silly. Whether you prove it or not will not change whether it is true.”

His mouth dropped open, and Hanna noted it was the first time she had rendered him speechless. His expression transformed into a grin, one that lit up his eyes.

“That may be the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said.”

“Oh, quick, write it down.” She tapped the paper on her lap and transferred it back to his. “Quickly, before it’s forgotten.”

He chuckled, but obliged her, taking a pencil from his pocket and scribbling down her words. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why they were intelligent. Some things were just obvious.

Chapter Three

Hanna wished she could slow down time. Especially the limited amount of time she was to have with Hayden. If he and his mother had their way, she’d be married off by month’s end.

“Oh, exquisite!” Lady Landale clasped her hands as she studied Hanna from head to toe. Hanna wore a rose satin dress with slim sleeves and a high waist that made her feel like the long stem of a champagne flute. “And your hair!”

Her mousy brown hair had been pulled tight into an elegant bun and twined with the green ribbon that Hayden had mentioned in passing reminded him of her eyes. She now owned enough spools to circle London a dozen times.

She hardly recognized herself in the looking glass. She seemed a soap bubble—and just as easily shattered. If one hair came out of place, one lace undone, the illusion would be over.

“Thank you,” Hanna said as Lady Landale took her hands. “Your kindness has been priceless.”

“Nonsense.” Lady Landale rubbed her wrist against her cheek quickly and cleared her throat. “Now, do you remember what we taught you?”

Hanna nodded dutifully and recited the words she had repeated to herself dozens and dozens of times. “Inquire after their health and wellbeing. Accept an offer for a drink, but also inquire after their thirst. Ask after their…”

Lady Landale nodded encouragingly.

“Ask after their…” She could have sworn she’d heard the lesson a million times, but by the time she reached this point, there was always something more interesting afoot.

“Their interests,” Lady Landale prodded.

“Ah yes,” Hanna said. “Ask after their interests and compliment them, only once, very discreetly. Manage my own opinions. Particularly if they are contrary.” Essentially the opposite of everything she had ever done with Hayden. If she had been so well behaved from the beginning, would she have caught his interest?

It was too late for speculation, unfortunately, as he was aware of her true nature.

“That was wonderfully recited, dear. Let’s be on our way to put it in practice! They’ll make the announcement for you soon.”

The long walk down the curved staircase to the glittering ballroom was the first moment that time seemed to slow for Hanna the way she’d wanted it to all week.

With every step, it was as if she could relive a memory from the days before. The dance lessons with Lady Rivington acting as the man, all giggles, especially as Hayden refused to cooperate against his own interests. The dresses, and even more dresses, which Hanna protested given the cost and her own three serviceable gowns. But Lady Landale insisted.

Best of all, the simple, quiet moments. Breakfast with Hayden, where she was able to coax him into explaining why the sunrise changed colors or how he knew by the kind of cloud whether it meant rain. City walks where they argued over whether a phaeton or a carriage would be faster and then she realized she thought he’d said fashionable, not faster, and he’d sighed in exasperation at it all. She dreaded dinner, because it meant he would soon retire to his study and slave over his mathematics and she would have to wait until sunrise to see him again.

She would miss those moments and wanted to savor them, each and every single one. Even tonight’s ball wouldn’t hold a candle to a simple minute with him.

As her name was announced, the crowd of revelers turned to watch her descent down the stairs. She held the rail for support, scanning the room, where her rose-pink dress was sure to stand out in a sea of darker, richer reds and browns. Lady Rivington had neglected, purposely she imagined, to invite a single other debutante.

She caught appreciative glances from men and women alike, but she was scanning for Hayden and did not acknowledge them. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find him.

Lady Rivington greeted her and Lady Landale at the bottom of the steps. “Introductions are in order,” she said with a gleeful grin. “I have more than enough speculations set aside.”

Hanna forced herself to stand still as gentleman after gentleman was introduced. They were pleasant. Some even spectacular-looking. Many were nice and oh, so sweet. And none were Hayden.

“Is your dance card free for the next cotillion?” asked the gentleman with curls in his hair and lace at his wrists.

She struggled to remember his name, although she had been told it a moment before. Viscount Mon…Viscount…Viscount Montcreif!

“Of course, my lord,” she said on a curtsy. He took her hand and led her out to the dance floor and she tried to focus on his pleasing smile and nice manners.

But instead, she was forced into epic bouts of concentration as she went through each of the ever-changing figures and patterns. First stepping right onto the ball of her right foot. She winced—she forgot to draw her hands over her head. She hopped to land on her left foot and extended right, but this time forgot her plié.

She glanced up at Viscount Montcreif but this meant losing her place so she turned the wrong way and bumped into a poor, flustered man who discreetly gestured for her to spin to her left—she could have sworn she’d learned it the other way.

As much as she didn’t want to marry anyone who wasn’t Hayden, she certainly didn’t want to be a humiliated ape-leader with no proposals, either.

She glanced down at her dance card, which contained a half dozen more names. This was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Hayden cringed as he watched Hanna trample yet another unsuspecting fool’s toes. To the credit of her partners, not a one had begged off, despite seeing what was ahead for them. Brave souls.

He couldn’t bring himself to dance even one dance with the most accomplished lady at this event, despite more than one hint that had been dropped. He didn’t see the point. Dancing was a courtship, and he courted no one.

When his father returned, he could finally move into his bachelor’s residence and dedicate his life to the London Mathematical Society. While he understood marriage’s purpose for society and the propagation of the species, he knew he would be better suited to remaining single, no matter what his mother wanted.

As if conjured from his thoughts, his mother rested a hand on his shoulder, the other at her heart, as she walked up next to him. “Doesn’t she look lovely?”

“How she looks doesn’t appear to be the issue. Lady Rivington’s dance lessons are showing abysmal results.”

“Well,” his mother said with a sigh, “you do know that learning new skills is not Hanna’s strong suit.”

“For once I don’t believe Hanna is the one to blame. Her lack of concentration is more academic than related to motor skills. I have seen her ride, after all.” He studied the countess. “I see your intention now, Mother.”

“What nonsense are you spewing now?”

“Your matchmaking eye has never been subtle when it comes to me or my brothers. You’ve decided to sabotage Hanna’s chances at a proposal, thereby thinking to force my hand. It won’t work.”

She slapped his shoulder. “I’m appalled you would think I’d jeopardize Hanna’s chances for future happiness and a family.”

“Chance for happiness?” Hayden snorted. “You’ve turned Hanna into a mindless parrot. Her conversational skills seem mostly to consist of repeating whatever her partner says and complimenting him on his cleverness.”

“Quite the hypocrite, aren’t we? I’m teaching Hanna to make her future husband feel intelligent and interesting—the same way she makes you feel.”

“Hanna’s admiration of me is completely genuine,” he reasoned. “And not without its criticisms.”

Hayden watched Hanna teeter. In a moment she would take a spill on the floor. He had taken half a step forward, fists clenched, when her partner righted her. Her partner was more quick-footed than he imagined. He looked familiar, actually—he was certain this was his second dance.

He squinted—yes, it was Viscount Montcreif. He’d been the first to dance with Hanna and enough time had passed where a second dance would be both respectable and a declaration that he was interested…although Hayden couldn’t imagine why he would declare such intentions. Hanna had trampled on his feet and no doubt bored him to tears with her conversation lessons.

“Worried you have competition for her affections?” his mother asked, oh-so-innocently.

“I’m more concerned she will break her foot dancing. It won’t do much for our wager if she is in a cast for my week,” he said.

“Fair point. Ah, see how she is so grateful and flustered? Viscount Montcreif’s is one proposal I am sure to have in hand. And to your point about admiration, rest assured she’ll grow to admire him, and until then, she’s giving him encouragement.”

“But what of his admiration for her? He’ll be utterly oblivious to her true nature, which is far more interesting than what you’ve portrayed.”

“Then he’ll be getting a bargain, won’t he?”

Hayden bit down. He was certain there was now a tic pulsing in his jaw.

“If you think you can do better, you have an entire week to do so,” she said, and strolled away.

He was annoyed that he’d let himself be goaded by his mother. He had less sense than he should when it came to his family, and almost none when it came to her. She had denied that she was deliberately sabotaging Hanna’s efforts at making a match, but he couldn’t believe Hanna was this terrible a dancer—that Lady Rivington had allowed her on the floor unless she meant sabotage.

He supposed there was one way to find out.

He crossed the floor quickly. Hanna’s green eyes widened in shock but he didn’t give her an opportunity to react.

“You’re free for the quadrille,” he said, taking her hand. But they’d gone no more than two steps when the strings switched their bows and a waltz was struck. He spared a glance at the conductor, where sure enough, his mother was at work begging favors.

Hanna glanced down at her card, likely confused by the change in music. She was too innocent for her own good sometimes.

“Did Lady Rivington teach you a waltz?” he asked.

“No,” she said, panicked. “Lady Landale said there would be no closed-position dances. We covered minuet and quadrille and—”

“I’ll teach you now,” he said. If she picked up the steps quickly, he would at least confirm his mother and Lady Rivington’s sabotage.

Ignoring her squeak of protest, he spun Hanna into his arms.

* * *

She was daydreaming again. That must be it. She’d been dancing with Viscount Montcreif—a nice enough fellow with fair hair and a pleasing smile—when she’d finally caught sight of Hayden leaning against the fireplace. She’d imagined him striding purposefully toward her and gathering her into a waltz—so much so that she’d tripped and the poor Viscount had to right her—and here she was, back in the fantasy—Hayden’s hand behind her shoulder blade, hers at his shoulder, with their other hands clasped.

She needed to pinch herself so she’d wake up and not hurt poor Montcreif again.

“Ow—what was that for?” he asked.

“Pardon?” It was still Hayden holding her close. Not close enough, unfortunately, as he maintained a respectable gap between them. Perhaps she should allow herself the fantasy a little longer.

“You pinched my hand.”

“Are we dancing?” she asked, confused.

“I know you aren’t this daft.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you?”

This was real.

She was dancing a waltz with Hayden Banks, in his arms, touching his shoulder. She’d never wanted time to slow more in her life.

She had friends who had fallen in love and they always spoke of their rapidly beating hearts—as swift as a hummingbird’s wings. But this was not Hanna’s experience—even now. Her heartbeat seemed to slow so that with each pump the contraction held longer, louder, the time and space between beats stretching.

“Miss Morton.” He gave her a shake.

“We’re dancing,” she said finally on a sigh and a smile.

The corners of his lips curled. “There’s the girl I know.”

He led her into the steps and unlike her other dances, she followed with ease. Probably because she had spent her entire life following Hayden. When he stepped back, she followed forward. When his palm tightened on her waist, she knew instinctively to turn.

“As expected, you are not an abysmal dancer,” he surmised.

“As expected, you are an abysmal complimenter.” She winked at him as he turned her again and floated back into his arms on a grin.

“I had wondered, given your failure in your earlier dances.”

“Those were different. Now all I have to do is follow you.”

He stumbled but quickly righted them both. His smile was gone, replaced by a grimace.

She must have said something wrong. But she often said the wrong thing and he often reacted with amusement or annoyance, but never a grimace. This was the closest she had come to a declaration since that afternoon years ago.

“Miss Morton,” he began.

“Mr. Banks,” she interrupted, because as slow as she was, Hanna was fast realizing that something was changing in their relationship. That it was in the process of changing even in this exact moment in his arms. That the time had come to put away childish imaginings.

Only, she wasn’t ready to set her love for him aside.

“You haven’t asked me how I’m finding my first ball. I have it on good authority and previous experience, as you are my twelfth dance partner of the night, that this is standard conversation.”

He studied her for a moment, his lips parted.

Would he indulge her—this once?

“Miss Morton, forgive me. How are you enjoying your first ball?”

“I’m enjoying it very much,” she said. “Thank you for asking. Is this your first ball?”

“Not quite.” He considered for a moment. “I’ve been to at least thirty.”

“I’m surprised you were so easily coerced.”

“I’m bound by the same obligations as anyone.”

She felt a tug at her heart. “You love your mother very much.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He took her a little roughly into the next turn.

“No need to protest. I feel the same. I wish…” She cleared her throat and swallowed.

“I wish your mother and father were here to see you, too,” he said softly. “I’m sure you will pen a perfect picture of the night to him.”

“It has been rather perfect,” she agreed.

She met his gaze and felt the emotion in his eyes as if it were a physical thing in her heart.

He coughed, looking away. “My mother is already claiming victory. I agree that you can likely claim Viscount Montcreif as an admirer.”

“Ah, yes.” Hanna shook herself back to thought. Her memories flashed to Montcreif—although it seemed an eternity since she’d danced with him. She could barely remember his face, could only recall his lacy sleeves. “He seems very nice, but—”

“He would be suitable,” he insisted, his grip on her hand tightening.

She stared at him, disbelieving. She’d thought she could go through with this charade. A part of her had even entertained the notion she could marry someone else, settle into a life of contentment instead of happiness. So many couldn’t marry the love of their lives for whatever reason—so why did she deserve such a luxury?

But he was here, in her arms, within reach. After the past week of living with him, knowing what a life with him would be like, she couldn’t pretend to settle any longer.

“Why would you help your mother win the wager?” she asked. “Why would you help when you know how I feel about you? When you know I lo—”

“Stop.”

He nearly crushed her hand as he spun her out and dragged her across the dance floor. They were near the servants’ entrance to the ballroom and he pulled her toward it, yanking her around a man carrying a tray of glasses.

“What…where…”

“Not yet.”

She kept up with his long strides as best she could in her thin slippers as he pulled her through the kitchen to the common dining area for servants, where he pushed her against a wall. Her breath caught as he rested his fists on either side of her face. Her heartbeat slowed to almost nothing. He leaned his forehead on the wall over her head and took a deep, long breath.

She slumped against the wall and willed him closer. She felt his breath, smelled the starch of his shirt, wanted to bury her nose in his neck. She could stay here forever.

But he took two steps back and crossed his arms, staring at her hard.

“I will only say this once, Miss Morton, so listen carefully. As long as you are living under my mother’s roof, you are my ward, and my only role for you is one of guardianship.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” she said. “We’re suited, you and I.”

“You’re too bold.” He held up a hand to stop her from responding. “Your feelings for me are a remnant of a childhood fascination which I allowed to fester. It is my fault as much as anyone’s, so I apologize. But you will get over it in time.”

“No,” she insisted, fighting the chill that seeped into her. “I won’t.”

“Of course you will.”

“I won’t. I know I won’t. You told me I wouldn’t.”

He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brow. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“When?” he asked, exasperated.

“At my mother’s funeral.” Hot tears slid down her cheeks at the memory. “Everyone was so nice. They said time would heal my pain. Time would ease my wounds. In time, it wouldn’t hurt so much. That time would make me forget. You saw how upset I was and you told me it wasn’t true. That no time would be measurable enough to erase my love for my mother. You were right.”

He stared at her, horrified, his mouth agape.

“There will never be enough time to make me love you less. Ever.”

He let out a ragged breath and ran his hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, Ha—Miss Morton. I’m sorry. If I had known.” He shook his head.

He was standing right in front of her but Hanna felt as if someone had lengthened the room, stretched him away, because she swore if she reached out her hand he wouldn’t be there beneath her fingers. He had withdrawn, retreated, and left her icy inside.

He finally met her eyes. “I should leave.”

“No! Please—”

He gathered her hands in his, rendering her silent and still. “I must leave. For your own good. Tell my mother I forfeit.” He hesitated, then pressed a kiss to her hand—and was gone.

Hanna was used to daydreams. Used to coming to and realizing she’d lost hours of time to her reverie. This time was the same—in that when she came to, Lady Landale had appeared and was waving smelling salts under her nose.

* * *

She’d ruined everything.

Her dress, for one, which had scuffs on its train from when she’d fainted.

Her face, for two, as her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

Her life, for three, because Hayden had left it. She’d never truly imagined they would be together, but she’d never imagined he would leave on such terms.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and glared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. How could she repay Lady Landale’s kindness with such ingratitude? With such a scene?

A tentative knock sounded at the door. She sniveled one last time and ran the back of her hand under her nose. “Come in.”

The door opened as she looked into the mirror’s reflection. Lady Landale’s sympathetic gaze found her there.

Before she could think, she had turned and Lady Landale met her with open arms, holding her head against her bosom and gently stroking her hair as she cried. Like her mother used to.

“I’m so childish, so foolish,” she wailed. “But I can’t help what I want.”

Lady Landale made soothing sounds and as her fingers stroked back her hair, Hanna felt her hiccups calm into long breaths.

“I think, my dear, it might be important for you to move on from Hayden.”

“If I can’t marry him, I don’t want to marry anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”

Lady Landale pulled away and crouched to her level, resting her palm on her cheek. “Sometimes the heart doesn’t know what it wants until you show it. Give love a chance, my dear. Give yourself a chance.”

Chapter Four

Hayden squelched the need to defend his actions as his mother cast a disparaging glare around the sitting room of his bachelor’s townhouse on the other side of London. He’d known this would happen when he let her in. Yet he’d let her in anyway. He wasn’t always as smart as people assumed.

“This is beneath you, Hayden.”

“This is the family townhouse and well representative of our means.”

“I wasn’t referring to this residence or the money,” she said icily. “I meant welshing on your bet with me.”

“Really, Mother? Welshing?”

“To say nothing of your promise, your honor, your duty to your family.”

He winced.

“Your duty to Hanna’s family—they did practically raise you when your father and I were on diplomatic tour when you were younger.”

The pinch of guilt squeezed firmly between his eyes.

“You are supposed to prepare Hanna for a ball at the end of this week. Now she’s been left alone and—”

“Mother, stop.” He squeezed his eyelids shut, fighting the headache.

To her credit, she set down the cup of tea he’d offered her and folded her hands in her lap, albeit with unnecessary force.

“I know. You are right. I have acted without honor, but can’t you see I am trying to rectify that? You can’t encourage Miss Morton’s fanciful feelings toward me. Not when they stand in the way of her future happiness.”

“This is beneath you too, Hayden.”

“What is it this time?”

“Hiding behind a woman.”

“I’m not—What?” He leaned closer, elbows on his knees, certain he must have misheard. “Hiding behind Miss Morton?”

“Yes,” she said, shooting to her feet. “That’s exactly what you’re doing. Running off here. Pretending it’s because of Hanna. Pretending it’s for her own good when it’s naught to do with her. Don’t pretend you have a selfless bone in your body. The only way you would leave the house is for your own good. She’s getting to you, Hayden. And you can’t handle it.”

He was shaking—every bone in his body trembled at her words, but he couldn’t show it. Not to her. So he folded his hands over his knees and held them there with a settling breath. “Is that all, Mother?”

She tsked in frustration. “No, it’s not all. Hanna is receiving visitors—nay, suitors—every afternoon at the house. You should be there.”

“I already told you, she needs space from me. Time in which to move on.”

“She’s fine. She’s looking forward to meeting hordes of marriage-minded men. She’s already moved on from…what did she call it? Ah yes, those foolish childish feelings for you. I encouraged her to forget you, I’ll have you know. I agreed—”

“She said that? Foolish and childish?” Hayden shivered—was he cold? He’d stoked the hearth earlier, but chills raced down his spine.

“There are a great many men expected to call on her. You’re needed to add propriety and to give your opinion. You may know these men from your gentlemen’s clubs and it will be easier for us to sort through the crowd with your advice.”

Hayden pulled his coat tighter. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a superb one.” His mother readied to leave and he stood to follow her out. “And I swear, Hayden, if you don’t show up, I will burn down your entire study.”

“In that case, I suppose I need to pick up my proofs,” he said slowly.

She turned suddenly, this time a smile on her face. “Excellent—I’ll expect you at four.”

Hayden should have felt relieved as his mother left and he settled back at his desk to catalog a set of proofs. She was right—he had to stop by to pick up the rest of his things. And it was his duty to advise Miss Morton on suitable matches.

Only his mother’s words kept scratching inside his head. She’s getting to you, Hayden.

Something was getting to him.

He wasn’t just shaking. He was shaken.

What else could explain his decision to move out of his home in less than a day? It was drastic. Irrational.

Just like her.

* * *

Hanna fidgeted with the hems of her wrist-length sleeves. Any moment now….

She heard the front door open and gulped. She didn’t know what to say when she came face to face with him—not after the way he had left.

It had seemed so final.

Even more so than the other times. She’d told herself a dozen times over the years that she was done with Hayden Banks.

There had been the night she’d spied a woman in his study, only to discover it was his cousin and fellow mathematician. Then the day he’d refused the sweetcakes she’d baked for him. In all fairness, they were burnt. And, of course, the evening her father had said they were moving to the country.

But those had been her own stubborn attempts at rejecting him. This was the first time since that day in the tree that he’d so blatantly pushed her away.

Well, she had her pride.

She heard the click of Hayden’s boots down the hall. She expected him to go straight to his study, but instead, he framed the doorway to the sitting room and with a sigh of resignation, walked straight up to her and knelt at her feet.

She turned on her seat and feigned interest in the intricate carvings of the side table.

“Is it true?” he asked.

She glanced up sharply, steeling herself against her body’s reaction to him, to how it wanted to melt under his intent gaze. “Is what true?”

“You’re done with your foolish, childish feelings for me?”

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant—and why he’d say such a thing—but swallowed her words. It didn’t matter what he meant. His question was still valid. “Yes, I am.”

Skepticism furrowed his brow.

She held her head high and nodded. “Definitely.”

He slowly stood and backed away from her until he backed against the single chair to the right of the sofa across from her. His knees seemed to collapse beneath him as he sat in it—but no, she must be imagining it. Daydreaming again.

“Would you like some tea?”

He inclined his head in a single shake.

Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to sit there looking delectably scruffy, with his dark hair in disarray, as if he’d tossed and turned and forgotten to run a comb through it?

Thankfully she was saved from the direction of her wandering thoughts by the knock at the door and the arrival of guests—into the entertainment of whom she was determined to throw herself with full abandon.

The next hour was a blur as Lady Landale brought in one suitor after another. Had she bribed them? Hanna didn’t even recall this many people in attendance at the ball or remember meeting them, yet somehow they remembered her, as well as little tidbits about things she’d said. Not that she remembered saying these things, no doubt under the mesmerism of Lady Landale and Lady Rivington’s conversation advice, which took so much concentration to enact that she could never actually remember the content.

She pretended not to notice when Hayden was eventually ousted from his seat by Lady Landale to a spot in the corner upon Viscount Montcreif’s arrival.

Him, she could remember. She had prayed for the recovery of his toes ever since their dance.

“How are your feet faring?” she asked.

He politely laughed with a toss of his blond head. “They are quite well, thank you, and eager to make the acquaintance of your heels again.”

The entire room erupted in polite tittering and Hanna felt the stiffness at her shoulders ease for the first time. Montcreif related a tale of his first dance mishap, which involved an overturned punch bowl and an irate countess. She listened, or tried to. He did seem to be speaking more to the entire room than to her. But he smiled at her and she smiled at him.

Was Lady Landale right? Did she just need to give her heart the chance to fall in love with Montcreif?

Like him, she urged her heart. He’s gentlemanly and charming. Like him like him like him.

Yet even as the room became enraptured by his tale, her heart remained unmoved. In fact, it was telling her, begging her, to turn to the corner where she knew she would find Hayden. It was as if two hands had palmed her face and were yanking it toward where he sat, so she had to crane her neck away to stay focused on Montcreif.

But stay focused she did, even though she found it exhausting.

She would give her heart a chance. She addressed him. “I understand you are from Leicester—what do you recommend for diversion in the area? I am sending my father a letter soon.”

“Good company is the best diversion, always,” he answered with a grin. “I’m sure yours is the best. Perhaps I am due a visit home. Perhaps we both are.”

He was being bold, overly so.

“Miss Morton has plenty to divert her here,” Hayden drawled from the corner.

She did glance at him then, and her heart fluttered at the lazy way he leaned in his chair, knee crossed over one leg.

Viscount Montcreif twisted in his chair and acknowledged Hayden—he was practically her guardian, after all. “True, but the diversions in the country are much simpler to enjoy.”

Hayden stiffened, his tone turning icy. “What is so challenging about London’s diversions?”

“You know more than any of us, Mr. Banks. Several weeks ago we met at the Astrological Society lecture on Mercury’s orbit.” Viscount Montcreif flashed her an apologetic smile. “I’m sure Miss Morton would find little to interest her there.”

“I’ve never excelled at the sciences,” she admitted, although now she was fascinated with the study of Hayden, with how he was changing, unfurling, growing, as though the experiment with Montcreif had been the catalyst.

“There you have it, a confession from Miss Morton’s own mouth. I would hate to torture her with most of what London has to offer,” Viscount Montcreif concluded. “She’d find a dissertation on the planet’s orbit boring.”

“Perhaps she would not find it boring if it were well explained.”

“Oh, look at the time,” Lady Landale exclaimed with a clap of her hands, and like the true hostess she was, began thanking and ushering guests in droves out of the sitting room before retiring to her room.

None were left but Hayden and Hanna, the latter shaking like a leaf.

“How could you treat him that way?” she demanded.

Hayden reared back his head in disbelief. “How could I treat him that way? How could he treat you that way?”

“What way?” she asked. “In a manner befitting a lady?”

“In a manner befitting an idiot. He doesn’t know your true nature—barely knows you at all. He was completely condescending.”

“That is fresh, coming from you,” she gasped. “You of all people don’t have the right to throw around condescension as a fault. You are the worst offender of them all.”

He grabbed her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arms. “You may take forever to grasp simple concepts, Miss Morton. But that has never once stopped me from explaining them to you.”

Hanna stared up at him, shocked to find they were both an inch apart, breathing labored, breath mingling between their lips.

“You can’t like him, Hanna. Not him.”

Something sharp and sweet clenched at her heart. It was close—his lips, a kiss, her dream.

She closed her eyes and went up on tiptoe to meet his mouth.

His lips were warm and firm. His fingers tightened on her, then wrapped around her and pulled her close. Her blood sang, her heart sang, everything in her sang an opera as her chest pressed against his.

It was her dream, only it hadn’t happened under a tree, but in the sitting room.

But it was Hayden, and these were his lips. His fingers tangling in her hair. His groan as his hips pressed into hers, sharper and sweeter still. His mouth that angled and plundered for more, as if he were stealing her very breath.

But it was also his hands that pushed her away. His voice swearing. His insistence, “I’m angry at myself, not you.”

“There’s nothing to be angry about.”

“Yes, there is. I should know better. Sometimes, I’m just a man. But I should know better.” He turned away. “I won’t be back, Miss Morton. Not again.” As he walked out the door she realized she had had her kiss, her dream.

And now she was waking up.

* * *

Dinner was nothing but the clicks of cutlery against plates.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lady Landale asked again.

Hanna nodded and smiled, but she and Lady Rivington exchanged concerned glances yet again. If she didn’t do something soon, they would continue to cast looks of pity her way.

“Viscount Montcreif was very agreeable,” she said finally.

“Yes, he seems so,” Lady Rivington agreed. “And there were a great many other gentlemen visiting with you today.”

“Yes,” Hanna agreed. She took another bite, tasting the saltiness of a stray tear that had run down her cheek before she could wipe it away. “But I don’t need a great many. I just need one.”

Chapter Five

Hayden took another sip of brandy, musing that he may well have found another course of scientific inquiry. Why did alcohol dull some memories while sharpening others? For instance, he found it hard to remember why he’d fought so hard against his mother and it was difficult to remember what he loved about his bachelor’s residence. Instead, all he could think about was a particular pair of plump lips and the soft, innocent flick of her tongue.

He crumpled up yet another piece of paper and threw it across his sitting room. He grabbed his glass of brandy and downed it in three quick swallows.

He should be thinking about the proof, not Hanna. But this proof was impossible.

What if it wasn’t true? What if the pairs ceased to exist? What if they stopped and infinity was nothing but number after number standing apart, all alone?

What if he had one more drink?

He stood to fill his glass and stumbled, catching himself on the back of his chair. The room spun and he closed his eyes. Yet another strange effect of alcohol. The room seemed rather larger, even though it was smaller than his study at the family home. Why was that?

All his things were here now. He’d dragged his work here piece by piece to be sure his mother had no way to blackmail him back for yet another salon of suitable bachelors.

Only, the countess had not come asking. Not the day after he’d left, not the day after that, not yesterday and not today, even though it was close to four.

Who was drunk at four in the afternoon?

No one with any sense.

Who was still fixated on the siren’s call of full lips and wide green eyes?

Not he, that was certain.

He groaned. His head pounded as he staggered over to pour another drink.

One drink, one glass.

One number after another to infinity.

He slumped to the floor and rested his forehead against his knees.

What had he done? Why had he kissed her?

It made no sense.

He’d been angry at her—that was it. Angry after listening to idiots treat Hanna like an idiot, and worse yet, at how she sat there and accepted it and didn’t bite back with the fight he knew she had in her.

Could he really live with himself if she ended up with one of them?

Still, he had kissed her. Kissed her.

Anger didn’t make a man kiss a woman, did it?

No, wanting her did. He’d wanted her. Beyond logic, beyond reason.

He let out a growl of anger. He didn’t want Hanna. He wanted to live in his bachelor’s rooms and perform mathematics and confine himself to his studies.

Yes, that was the life for him. He pictured it. Here, day in and day out.

An eternity. A life of one. An infinity alone.

An infinity of reason and logic and proof.

He glanced back at his desk—at the papers there. At one paper in particular, with a quote scrawled along its bottom from the day of ribbon shopping.

He was up on his feet and running—out the door, down the street. Running instead of taking his phaeton. Running instead of walking.

Running against all reason.

* * *

Hayden burst through his own front door, past their startled butler, with mumbled apologies. His mother came scurrying out of the sitting room and stopped him dead with a look of shock and censure.

“Are you drunk?”

“Is that all you can think of at a time like this?” He pointed to the sitting room just behind her, where Hanna was no doubt holding court. “When this travesty is going on?”

His mother shot a bewildered look behind him—to the butler, he realized—and before he could guess her intention, both of them were taking either arm and dragging him to his study. The butler turned the chair at his desk to face outward and he lowered himself into it. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but it only fogged up more.

He looked up into his mother’s concerned face as the butler quietly shut the door, leaving them alone.

“Clearly time away from Hanna is not as beneficial to you as it is to her.” His mother lifted his chin and peered into his eyes. He reared back. “You are in a sorry state. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted.

She chuckled and folded him into a hug, and he let her, because she was his mother, and even grown sons wanted hugs from their mothers from time to time. She pulled back and studied him again as she lowered herself onto the antique chest where he kept his old books.

“I don’t know what’s happened to me, Mother. She’s always been there. She’s always been next door, just separated by the tree. I think I believed she always would be. On and on for infinity. Then when she wasn’t…” He shook his head again. “Have I embarrassed her and her guests? I should apologize.”

“There are no guests,” his mother said. “She isn’t here.”

“Where is she?” he started to rise but sat quickly again as the blood rushed out of his head. He was not skilled at being drunk, unfortunately.

“She left yesterday for Leicester to visit her father. With Lady Rivington and Montcreif’s party.”

He shot up this time and promptly keeled over, chest heaving. He grabbed his desk. “You let her go?”

“They’re properly chaperoned,” his mother reasoned. “And how would I know you’d finally stop being a blithering idiot?”

“How did you know?” he asked. The question struck him harder than he thought. “Mother, yes. How did you know? How did you know…." The truth of his feelings struck him and he laughed maniacally. "That I would fall in love with her?”

His mother sighed and sent her gaze heavenward. “Still an idiot, I see. You didn’t fall in love with Hanna. You were already in love with her. You’ve always been in love with her. I’ve always known it.”

Hayden furrowed his brow. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have, Hayden. Just…think back.”

He did. He thought back. He remembered how she’d tried to climb that tree when they were twelve. She’d chosen the worst possible route and yet she hadn’t given up. Through will and gumption she’d forced her way to the top. He remembered the time she’d baked those horrible treats and given them to him, and he’d been awed at how she could be so oblivious to failure. How she never seemed afraid to dream, to try. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone more fearless. He didn’t think he’d ever been in awe of anyone else.

“How did you know?” he asked. “How did you know when I didn’t? When I’m supposed to be the genius?”

“Don’t feel too badly, dear. You had to get your intellect from somewhere, but alas, you have your father in you, too.”

* * *

Hanna peeked in from the kitchen as Viscount Montcreif rattled off a list of local fairs to her father. The two had been steadily involved in conversation about the region’s agricultural offerings since Viscount Montcreif had stopped by several minutes ago.

Her father had only two staff at his country home of twelve rooms, and they were already overtasked now that she was visiting without notice, so she had taken it upon herself to boil water for tea. She opened one cupboard after another until she found the jar of dry tea leaves from India.

It was strange, feeling out of place in what should be her own home.

Even when she’d moved into the Landale residence, it hadn’t seemed foreign. She knew the location of every candle, the best hiding spots, the turns around every corner. This country house was new, furnished solely by her father.

It didn’t have tapestries—the fine woven works of art had been a hobby of her mother’s. There wasn’t the smell of gardenias, her mother’s perfume, anywhere except for the dab on her own wrists.

She hadn't even been able to give Lady Rivington a tour when they first arrived and her new friend was now walking to town and probably knew more about her father's neighborhood than she did.

As she filled the teapot and steeped the leaves, she rested her elbow on the kitchen counter with a sigh.

Her father had made a life without her mother—and without her.

Part of her had accepted Viscount Montcreif’s offer to travel to the countryside, well, firstly because Lady Landale and Lady Rivington had insisted it would be a good idea but secondly in thinking she could persuade her father to let her stay. It would be easier to forget Hayden if she wasn’t reminded of him every day. But there was no place for her here, which only made her miss him more.

At least with him, she’d felt at home.

She strained out the tea leaves as she poured, and placed the two cups on a silver tray. After forcing a smile to her face, she lifted the tray and made her way to her father’s sitting room.

“If you like to hunt for sport, I can recommend a manor a half day’s ride away,” Viscount Montcreif was saying. “Ah, thank you, Miss Morton. The tea smells lovely.”

She thanked him for his compliment as she set down the tray and placed one cup in front of her father, the other in front of his guest.

“The hounds are more likely to sniff rabbits than game, but it’s the nearest respectable grounds,” he continued, taking a neat sip. “Do you hunt?”

“I never had occasion to in London,” her father said. “But I’ve always wanted to try. Hanna’s mother loathed the country so we never visited, but I am finding it most diverting.”

Hanna stood awkwardly as they resumed their conversation. Funny, when her father and Hayden conversed, she never felt any awkwardness. Never stopped herself from charging into the conversation where she wasn’t wanted. Now that she considered it, they never shut her out, either.

And yet here, even with his politeness, she felt dismissed, even if that was not Viscount Montcreif’s intention. She returned to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, at a loss for what to do next.

She was just considering taking her shawl to wander out to the garden when she heard a commotion—the door slamming open, and loud voices.

She ran toward the front room.

“Where is she?”

Hanna considered the possibility of her own mental breakdown as she rounded the corner into the sitting room and caught sight of Hayden standing in the open doorway. The wind had ruffled his hair, and dirt was caked on his boots as if he’d slogged through the country roads from London without stopping for either rest or wash.

“Mr. Banks, please come in,” her father was saying as he gestured inside. “Is everything all right with Lady Landale?”

He was silent but for heaving breaths until his gaze, direct and searing, found her. It flickered once to Viscount Montcreif then back to her. “May I please speak with Miss Morton alone?”

* * *

Hanna finally did grab her shawl, as Hayden insisted they be the ones to converse outside. He had, after all, rudely interrupted Viscount Montcreif and her father. But of course as they made their way up the path, surrounded on both sides by knee-high grass swaying in the wind, she could feel the eyes of both her father and Montcreif on her back as they stared from the window.

“Is your mother all right?” What other reason could there be for his visit?

“Yes, she is well. And right, as always,” he said. “And your father?”

“Very well,” she said with a rueful smile. “He seems to have acclimated quite well, and I’m ashamed to admit I wish he had more need of me. As it is, Viscount Montcreif is proving more useful than I am.”

“I trust Viscount Montcreif has been an amicable travel companion?”

So this was why he was here. He was ensuring that she was well and truly over him. If he wanted the reassurance, she would give it to him. “He is amicable in many ways,” she said. “And while he has made no official declaration of his feelings, we can safely assume your mother has won your wager, with or without your forfeit of it.”

“And what of your feelings?”

Hanna stopped short and glanced up, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Pardon?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at her. “Your feelings, Hanna. What of them?”

Had he just used her Christian name or had she imagined it? “I find him amicable, too. I…like him.”

“Don’t.”

She must be going deaf. “Wh…what?”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice desperate. “Don’t like him.”

“I’m…confused. As usual, I suppose.” She shook her head. “I thought you said—”

“I said a great many things, Hanna, most of them stupid.”

She fought the soaring feeling of hope because she couldn’t bear its plunge to the ground. “What are you saying now?”

He ran both hands through his hair so it stuck up at all ends, the way he did whenever he was trying to solve a particularly troublesome mathematics problem. “I’ve had two days to consider it, Hanna. Two days of forty-eight hours that somehow felt infinite, as I imagined whether I’d arrive to find you had already eloped.”

She gasped. Eloped! “Who is the silly one now?”

“Precisely,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “It has always been me. You told me you loved me when you were twelve years old.”

“There’s no need to tease,” she said, her cheeks burning.

“I have been telling myself for years that I do not love you. That I harbor no feelings for you whatsoever. None that I can prove. But when I was without you, when I pictured a life without you…”

Hanna’s breath caught in her throat as his hands ran up her neck to cup her jaw.

“The very thought was unbearable, and I couldn’t figure out why. The thought of you with someone else—it hurt, Hanna. Like a physical spear in my side.”

She felt lightheaded and grasped his elbows to steady herself. “Do you know what you’re saying to me? Do you know what you mean by this?”

“I mean…I mean that I love you, Hanna.”

She blinked, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Are you sure? Even if you can’t prove it?”

“A woman once assured me that whether I prove something or not, it will not change the fact that it is true.”

She smiled against his kiss.

He gathered her against his chest and for once her daydreams stopped and she felt here, in the present, with his warmth all around her, the sun shining down on them, the blades of grass dancing in the wind, his hair tickling her cheek. “And you trust this silly woman?”

“Don’t call her silly.” He pressed a tender kiss to her hair. “She may be the smartest person I know.”

The End

* * *

Don’t miss the first three novellas in the sweet and delightful Gentlemen Next Door series!

A Delightful Arrangement

An Illicit Engagement

A Dangerous Expectation

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Cecilia's Booklist

The Jane Austen Academy Series

Young-Adult Novels – view the series trailer at http://youtu.be/YL36WerF1y0

The Jane Austen Academy: where sassy girls, hot guys and Jane Austen collide

Available Now

Fall For You: A Modern Retelling of Pride & Prejudice

So Into You: A Modern Retelling of Sense & Sensibility

Coming Soon

When I’m With You: A Modern Retelling of Northanger Abbey

Suddenly You: A Modern Retelling of Mansfield Park

Only With You: A Modern Retelling of Emma

Always You: A Modern Retelling of Persuasion

The Gentlemen Next Door Series

Historical Regency Romance Novellas

The Complete Series Available Now

A Delightful Arrangement

An Illicit Engagement

A Dangerous Expectation

A Flirtatious Rendezvous

Fallen Idols Series

Paranormal Chick-Lit Romance Novellas

Available Now

Falling

Fading

Coming Soon

Fleeting

Fall For You

The Jane Austen Academy Series #1 – A Modern Pride & Prejudice Retelling

The Jane Austen Academy: where sassy girls, hot guys and Jane Austen collide

The Jane Austen Academy Series are young-adult modernized retellings of Jane Austen’s beloved books. View the series trailer at http://youtu.be/YL36WerF1y0.

* * *

Description

The last thing that the girls at the elite Jane Austen Academy need is hot guys to flirt with. But over the summer the school has been sold, and like it or not, the guys are coming. And it’s about to turn the Academy—and the lives of its students—totally upside down…

To say Lizzie and Dante are polar opposites is the understatement of the century. He’s a snooty Exeter transfer with more money than Google. She’s a driven study-a-holic just barely keeping up with tuition. It’s obvious that Dante thinks he’s way too good for Lizzie. And Lizzie knows Dante is a snob with a gift for pressing her buttons.

But things are changing fast this year at the Academy. And when Lizzie’s quest to stop those changes blows up in her face, taking her oldest friendship with it, she has nowhere else to turn but to Dante, with his killer blue eyes, his crazy-sexy smile, and his secrets… Secrets Lizzie can’t seem to leave alone, no matter how hard she tries…

* * *

A unique twist on a classic… A compelling mix of action, drama and love. – Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

There are no words to describe just how MUCH I HEART Fall for You. ~ Tumbling In Books

An incredibly charming novel - a heroine worth cheering for! – Growing Up YA

Whether you’re a romantic or a Jane Austen fan, you can’t help falling for this book.. - EZ Read

I can visualize a cult following. Bravo! – Reader’s Favorite

This book? AMAZING. Addictive and mysterious and intriguing. Drama, romance and the right amount of mystery. – Ed & Em Reviews

Fall For You does not disappoint! I recommend for any Austen fan or any romance fan! – Books Are Sanity review

I absolutely devoured this. Overall, this was a gem of a read. A great, humorous read with lots of romance . – The Girl in the Café

Its own story cleverly woven within the classic. ~ Book Haven Extraordinaire

* * *

Buy Fall For You (The Jane Austen Academy Series #1 – A Modern Pride & Prejudice Retelling)

About Cecilia

Cecilia Gray lives in Oakland where she reads, writes and breaks for food. She also pens her biographies in the third person. Like this. As if to trick you into thinking someone else wrote it because she is important. Alas, this is not the case.

Cecilia has been praised for “instilling a warmth and weight into her characters” (Romancing The Book Reviews) and her books have been praised for being “well-written, original, realistic and witty” (Quills & Zebras Reviews).

Several of her titles - including A Delightful Arrangement (The Gentlemen Next Door #1) and An Illicit Engagement (The Gentlemen Next Door #2) - have spent, in her view, a shocking amount of time on bestseller lists for romance, historical romance and regency romance in the US, UK, Italy and Spain.

FALL FOR YOU, the first in a series of young-adult contemporary Jane Austen retellings, received a starred Kirkus review and was praised for being a “unique twist on a classic” and offering “a compelling mix of action, drama and love.”

She’s rather enamored of being contacted by readers and hopes you’ll oblige.

* * *

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