“Lady Hannah, you are truly the loveliest woman in this room.” Robert Mortmain, Baron Belgrave, led her in the steps of the polka, his smile broad.

“Thank you,” she murmured without looking at him.

She couldn’t deny that Lord Belgrave was indeed charming and handsome with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Born into wealth, nearly every unmarried woman had cast her snare for him—all except herself. There was something about him, a haughtiness that made Hannah uncomfortable.

Don’t worry about it, she told herself. Papa isn’t going to force you to marry him, so there’s no need to be rude. The problem of Baron Belgrave would solve itself.

Hannah’s skin crawled when the baron touched the small of her back, even with gloved hands. As they moved across the floor, she tensed. The smug air upon his face was of a man boasting to his friends. He didn’t want to be with her; he wanted to show her off. A subtle ache began to swell through her temples.

Just a few minutes more, and the dance will be over, Hannah consoled herself. Then she could escape to the comfort of her room. It was nearly midnight, and though she was expected to remain until after two o’clock, she might be able to convince her father that she didn’t feel well.

Lord Belgrave scowled when they danced past the refreshment table. “I didn’t realize he would be here tonight.”

He was speaking of Lieutenant Thorpe, who was now openly staring at them. Displeasure lined the lieutenant’s face and he gripped the lemonade glass as though he intended to hurl it toward the baron.

“Why did your father invite him, I wonder?” Lord Belgrave asked.

“Lieutenant Thorpe saved my brother Stephen’s life a few years ago,” she admitted. “They are friends.”

Though how Stephen had even encountered such a man, she’d never understand. Despite his military rank, Thorpe was a commoner—not the second son of a viscount or earl, as was customary for officers in the Army. And were it not for her brother’s insistence, she knew the lieutenant would never have been invited.

There was nothing humble or uncertain about the way he was watching them. Anger ridged his features, and though Lieutenant Thorpe kept himself in control, he looked as if he wanted to drag her away from Belgrave.

“He’s trying to better himself, isn’t he?” Belgrave remarked. “But a man of his poor breeding only poisons his surroundings.”

From his intensity and defensive stance, the lieutenant appeared as though he were still standing on a battlefield. Likely he’d be more comfortable holding a gun instead of a glass of lemonade.

“I don’t want you near a man like him.” The baron scowled.