The Bewitching Hour by Diana Douglas Page A

around, she kept her eyes averted. She didn’t want to look at him. Lord Stratton was far too handsome and elegant in his black evening clothes. Magnificent really. Just looking at him sent little shivers up and down her back. How ridiculous. She vowed not to give him another thought.
      As always, Lord Mallory was talking nonstop. With a pleasant round face and thick brown hair, he wasn’t unattractive, but he had always been a crashing bore, full of boasts and long-winded stories. Normally, she refused to do anything that might encourage him, but tonight she wanted Stratton to stew a bit. Lord Mallory was smiling at her as if he had said something clever. Lord knew that was impossible, but she smiled and laughed as if he was the most clever man she knew.
      “The play was absolutely wretched. An utter waste of the evening. We should have left after the first act,” he rambled on. “But Lady Cynthia insisted that we stay and as it was her father’s box we were occupying, we had no choice.”
      She shut out his drivel, knowing that she would fall over in a dead faint from total boredom if she listened to any more of what he had to say. She glanced back at where she had last seen Lord Stratton, but he wasn’t there. Really, how was she supposed to annoy him if he wasn’t even watching?
      When the dance ended, Mallory led her off the dance floor. His hand had captured hers on the crook of his arm and any chance of immediate escape seemed unlikely. Somehow, she had to get rid of him. “It’s dreadfully warm. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of champagne?”
      “It would be my pleasure, Miss Hawthorn.”
      “I believe I’ll wait for you on the terrace. It should be much cooler there.”
      He frowned at her independence. “You shouldn’t go unescorted. If you’ll only wait a moment, I’ll accompany you.”
      She smiled stiffly. “I appreciate that, but it isn’t necessary. There are a number of guests on the terrace enjoying the night air, so I’ll be quite safe. I won’t leave the terrace.”
      “It isn’t quite the thing to roam about unescorted.”
      “No, thank you,” she said emphatically.
      His frown deepened, but he left without comment to find their refreshments.
      She wandered toward the tall French doors that gave way to the terrace. It had been a wretched evening. There had been no shortage of dance partners, her every whim had been attended to, but she hadn’t enjoyed herself. And it was all Lord Stratton’s fault. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and it was becoming very irksome. She stepped out onto the terrace and took in a breath of air. The cool air was refreshing after the stuffy ballroom. The moon hung low and full and lanterns spilled a soft glow over the gardens beyond the terrace. It was a lovely spot.
      “Miss Hawthorn.” The sound of his voice made her breath catch. She couldn’t seem to help herself. It was so much easier to be vexed with him from a distance. Standing next to him, she didn’t have a chance.
      How absurd! And how could she leap so quickly from annoyance to desire? It was unsettling for one man to instill two such diverse emotions. Hoping she hadn’t betrayed her feelings, she turned toward him, inclined her head and curtsied. “My lord.”
      He took her hand and placed it between his. “Have you missed me?”
      “Certainly not,” she said disparagingly. “I’ve had such a wonderful evening that I haven’t given you a thought. Have you been enjoying yourself, as well?”
      Seemingly undaunted by her reply, he touched his lips to her hand ever so slightly. She felt the color burn in her cheeks and hoped that it was too dark for him to notice.
      “Well, let me see,” he murmured. “I’ve danced with a giggling young miss who went to school with my sister, a young woman my Aunt Mirabella forced