Page 7 of The Earl's Hired Bride
No one answered her.
“Oh, dear.” Hart’s mother bit her lip. “I did hope you were wrong, darling.”
“As did I,” he said grimly. “But clearly I am not to be given a moment’s peace.”
“Excuse me?” The girl was getting frustrated now. Clearly she’d expected a more receptive audience. “My ankle?”
“Yes, yes. We’ll get you taken care of in a moment.” His mother turned back to him. “You tried to fix the situation, but I don’t know what we can do, now that . . . it hasn’t worked out.”
“I know what we can do,” he said shortly. “Take her inside, Williams.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord.” The girl lifted a hand to him. “If you could just help me rise?”
He ignored her. “I’m going to put a stop to this before it gets out of hand.”
“I’ll see to her, but what about you, darling?” His mother sounded a little alarmed.
“Keep her. As long as you like. Nurse her, call her family, but warn them to leave the special license at home. I won’t be back. Not until I have this matter in hand.”
* * *
Not quite an hourlater Hart strode up to the house on Craven Street. The famous half moon and stars, carved out of the fanlight and replaced with crystal, sparkled as the door swung open.
The woman emerging must be Hestia Wright. Surely there were not two such stunning women running about London. He stepped up. “Miss Wright? Forgive my bad manners, but may I detain you for a moment?”
The beautiful blonde smiled up at him. “Only for a moment. And please, call me Hestia. Mr.—?”
He bowed. “Lord Hartford, at your service, ma’am.”
“My lord, I am ever so pleased to meet you, but I am in a bit of a hurry. If you would care to come back, or to step inside to make an appointment?”
“I do apologize. I am in a rush, myself.” Desperate, he raked his hand through his hair and looked down toward the Strand. “Look, allow me to get you a hackney, then perhaps we can talk on the way?”
“No need.” She gestured toward the coach ambling toward them. “Here is my carriage, but if you are in dire straits, then, of course, you may ride with me—as long as you promise not to interfere when I reach my destination.”
Startled, he promised, then saw her into the coach and climbed in after her. “Many thanks to you, ma’am—”
“Just Hestia, please.” She smiled at him and he lost a moment to the dazzle of it.
“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I must seem absurd to you, but I fear I’m in the midst of a situation that has descended to the level of a farce. I am indeed growing desperate.”
“Normally I’d scoff, hearing such drama from a man like you, but I do remember a bit of what happened to you last Season.” She regarded him steadily. “I take it you fear a repeat?”
“Yes, exactly!” He was relieved to find her so easy to talk with—and to find an air of understanding and steely competence under all of that ethereal beauty. He hoped like hell that she would put it to use for him.
“Tell me,” she said simply.
“Well, what went on last Season was a disgrace,” Hart said bitterly. “I never expected to inherit. My brother was the perfect heir. I was the perfect spare—little to be seen.”
She chuckled.
“It was such a blow, losing him so young and so unexpectedly,” he continued. “We were all still in shock. My brother’s body was barely cold. I’d just been ceremoniously introduced into the House of Lords. I wasn’t going about in Society, which apparently frustrated the young ladies of the ton.”
“They can be an excitable lot,” Hestia murmured.
“So I’ve learned. I was still trying to catch my breath, recover from having all of my plans yanked out from under me, and I’d barely begun learning all that my brother had been in training for all of his life. The last thing I wished to consider was marriage.”
“Ah, but marriage is the only thing so many of these young ladies have to consider.”
