His good friend, the Earl of Whitmore, approached with an intent glare upon his face. A moment later, Whitmore’s younger brother, Lord Quentin Chesterfield, joined them.

“I hope, for your sake, Thorpe, that you weren’t eyeing my sister.” The earl spoke the words in a calm, deliberate fashion. “Otherwise, I’ll have to kill you.”

Quentin leaned in, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’ll help.”

Michael ignored their threats, though he didn’t doubt that they meant them. “Your sister shouldn’t be dancing with Belgrave. I don’t trust him.”

“He might be a baron, but he looks a bit too polished, doesn’t he?” Quentin agreed. “Like he’s trying too hard to impress the women.”

“You could try a bit harder with your own attire.” Whitmore grimaced at his younger brother’s dark purple jacket and yellow waistcoat.

“I like colorful clothing.” Quentin shrugged and turned his attention back to the dancing couple. “I suppose we shouldn’t worry. Our father isn’t going to allow Hannah to wed a man like Belgrave, even if he does propose.”

Glancing at the ceiling as if calculating a vast number, Quentin thought to himself. “Now how many proposals does that make for her this Season...seventeen? Or was it twenty-seven?”

“Five,” Whitmore replied. “Thankfully, from no one appropriate. But I’ll agree with you that Belgrave wouldn’t be my first choice.” Crossing his arms, the earl added, “I’ll be glad when she finds a husband. One less matter to worry about.”

From the tension in Whitmore’s face, Michael suspected that impending fatherhood was his greater fear. “How is Lady Whitmore?” he asked.

“One more month of confinement, and then, pray God, we’ll have this child. Emily begged me to take her to Falkirk for the birth. We’re leaving at dawn. Still, I’m not certain I want her to travel in her condition. Our last baby arrived weeks earlier than we’d expected.”

“Emily is approaching the size of a small carriage,” Lord Quentin interjected.

Whitmore sent his brother a blistering look, and Michael offered, “I’ll hold him down while you break his nose.”

A smile cracked over the earl’s face. “Excellent idea, Thorpe.”

Changing the subject, Michael studied Lady Hannah once more. “Do you think the marquess will choose a husband for her this Season?”

“It’s doubtful,” Whitmore replied. “Hannah might as well have a note upon her forehead, telling the unmarried gentleman: Don’t Even Bother Asking.”

“Or, The Marquess Will Kill You If You Ogle His Daughter,“ Quentin added.

The brothers continued to joke about their sister, but Michael ignored their banter. Beneath it all, he understood their fierce desire to protect her. In that, they held common ground.

But regardless of what he might desire, he knew the truth. A marquess’s daughter could never be with a soldier.

No matter how badly he might want her.