Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(48)

She lifted her eyes to Nora’s, dark and curious and entertained in the way only a good friend could be. “This isn’t amusing.”

Nora barked a little laugh. “I am afraid it’s immensely amusing; you told me he promised you your lessons, did he not? Did he not agree to aid you in your Year of Hattie exploration?”

Hattie was grateful for the darkness covering her blush. “He did.”

And he called me fucking dangerous.

A thrill shot through her at the thought. What a delightful thing for someone to think of her.

“Then perhaps that is why he is here.”

“It’s not.”

“It should be,” Nora said. “From what you said, he rather missed out on the important bits.”

“Nora!”

“I’m only arguing in favor of equality!” Nora spread her hands wide with a laugh. “All right, then, where do we go from here?”

“I really can’t imagine how he knew I’d be here tonight. I’m never—” She stilled. Turned to Nora, who appeared transfixed by the starry sky above them. “You.”

Nora looked to her. “Hmm?”

“You said we should come here. You pushed it. I wanted to stay home and look over the books.”

“I like balls,” Nora said.

“You loathe balls.”

“Fine! The Duchess of Warnick sent a special note asking for me to attend and to bring you and your father. I don’t like disappointing duchesses.”

“You don’t care a bit about disappointing duchesses.”

“That’s true. But I quite like this one, and she did promise a wonderful time.”

Hattie pointed an accusatory finger. “You are a traitor.”

Nora gasped. “I am not!”

“You are! You should have told me it was a trap!”

“I thought it was going to be another man in need of a dowry! I didn’t know it was going to be a trap laden with your partner in erotic escapades!”

It was Hattie’s turn to gasp.

“Not that I don’t fully support said escapades,” Nora qualified with a grin.

“He is not my partner in—” She paused. “Nora. This man is all that stands between me and my lifelong dream.”

“And the escapades?”

Hattie gave a little sigh. “Obviously, those were quite nice.” Before Nora could speak, Hattie added, “But he isn’t here for that tonight. Which makes it very disconcerting to think that he’s here for something else.”

“You mean, like another woman?”

She hadn’t, but that idea sent her stomach sinking, if she were honest. “No. I mean, here for something that would impact our negotiation. I don’t know . . . information on Augie or . . . meeting my father. That cannot happen. I must convince him to leave immediately.”

“Hmm,” Nora said, the perfunctory sound drawing Hattie’s attention.

“What?”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s a reasonable plan.”

“Why not?” Hattie said. “I’ll just head back in there and . . . find him first.”

“That might be difficult,” Nora said.

A gust of cold air tore across the balcony. Hattie narrowed her gaze on her friend. “Why?”

Nora pointed past her shoulder, to the bright ballroom framed by the open doorway beyond. “Because he’s speaking to your father right now.”

Hattie spun in the direction of the other woman’s finger.

Of course he was.

She’d had such wild, wonderful plans for the Year of Hattie when it had begun. And now, here she was, prepared to take the world by storm—to spend her twenty-ninth year sorting out the past so she might begin the future. And it seemed no one had told the Year of Hattie that it should cooperate with those plans.

Certainly no one had told Mr. Saviour Whittington that he should cooperate with those plans. “Damn,” she whispered.

“Whoever he is,” Nora said softly, “he’s very good at this.”

Her fingers tightened around the silly dance card Nora had insisted she take. It was the kind of thing that women who did not worry about business, or money, or retribution, or whether the man who’d put a knife in their (albeit deserving) brothers several days earlier might recount the entire thing to their fathers, cared about. It was the kind of thing Hattie had never cared about. And still, for some reason, in that moment, all she could do was stare at Beast’s beautiful face and revel in the bite of the parchment in her palm.

Not that it would do her any good at all in the battle that was to come. Hattie might as well have been holding a violin for all the value it did her. Indeed, a violin might have been more useful, as she could have cracked him over the head with it, which would have made a scene, yes, but also would have resulted in the two men not speaking.

As though he sensed the threat in her thoughts, he lifted his head from where he’d dipped low to speak to her father over the din of the ballroom, his strange amber gaze instantly finding hers. And then, as though he’d spent his entire life in Mayfair ballrooms, he winked at her.

“Interesting . . .” Nora drawled.

“No. It’s not interesting at all. What game is he playing?” And why wasn’t she more angry at him for playing it here, in front of all the world? She should be terrified. She should be furious. But instead . . . she was excited.