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The door opened, and Miss Sophia walked in. “There you are, Hannah! Father is asking for you, and I told him—Oh—” Her gaze landed on Samuel, and she came to an abrupt halt. “Forgive me. I did not realize Mr. Ross was still here.”

“Still here but leaving immediately,” Samuel said, rising quickly with a nauseating blend of relief and regret swirling in his stomach.

Hannah stood more slowly. “Thank you for being willing to share your story with me, Samuel.”

He managed some semblance of a smile. She deserved to know who he really was. He’d lost the opportunity to tell her today, but he would make it a priority the next time he came. His unsettled stomach churned. He would not think on how his confession would affect her view of him or Bow Street’s plans for capturing Grimsby. Somehow, he would have to come up with another means of entering Lady Telford’s house that did not involve the Denningtons.

“Hannah.” Miss Sophia’s voice drew their attention again. She was still standing at the door but was staring at Fanny with a mystified look on her face. “Why does Fanny have her fingers in her ears?”

“Because she needed a moment of peace and quiet,” Hannah said.

“But of course.” Miss Sophia grinned. “I should have guessed. It’s a marvelous idea. In fact, I believe I shall employ that very thing the next time Mrs. Chesterfield comes to visit.”

Hannah glowered at her, but Samuel seized his cue. “I have stayed too long and should be on my way.” He crossed to the chair where he’d left his hat, gloves, and cloak. “Thank you again for the dance lesson.”

“Will you return tomorrow?” Hannah asked.

“If that is convenient,” he said, attaching the cloak’s clasp at his neck.

“It is.” She smiled, and his throat tightened. One more time and then he would not be invited back.

Chapter 19

Samuel was late. Hannah stood at her bedchamber window and watched a hackney drive by. The skies were overcast, threatening rain, and the usually busy street was quiet. Most people had likely decided against taking a chance on getting wet, though Samuel did not seem like the kind of gentleman who would be put off by inclement weather. Few navy men would be. But she hoped he arrived before the weather worsened.

Shaking her head slightly at the thought, she wandered away from the window and took a seat at her dressing table. Surely no rainy day in London could compare to a storm on the Atlantic. Or worse, a deadly battle at sea. She had lain awake in bed last night, thinking on how close Samuel had come to death, on how stoically he was moving forward regardless of not having been dealt a fair hand, on how much he liked dancing with her . . . She groaned. Nothing in his demeanor had suggested the latter item on her list—not even remotely—but how she wished it were true.

Ever since her incident with the highwaymen, thoughts of Samuel had never been far from her mind. Now, after four days of dancing together, those thoughts had taken up permanent residence in her head. And Hannah did not know what to do about it. Her trip to Tyburn Gallows and her conversation with Sophia had brought her more peace than she would have thought possible. Coupled with Samuel’s regular visits, the distress she’d once associated with recalling a pair of startling gray eyes had become a longing to see them more often. And that was most concerning.

Twelve days. That was all there was before Lady Telford’s ball. If, as she suspected was the case, Samuel and his associates were preparing to catch Grimsby there, Hannah’s association with the Bow Street runner would end in under a fortnight. Her fingers moved to gently touch the pink scar beneath her jaw. With the criminal in custody, there would be no reason for Samuel to come to the house. Her heart ached at the thought, but she was unwilling to analyze exactly what that meant. Or even to look that far ahead. She would simply take one day at a time, just as she and her father did with difficult business dealings.

Her father. She smiled at the memory of his response when she’d laid out her plan for helping Samuel. “Out of the question,” he’d said. “I will not have my daughters participating in Bow Street work.”

“One of your daughters already participates in Lombard Street work,” she’d rejoined. To have a female family member connected to London’s business district was an equally socially unacceptable activity among those who erroneously thought their opinions mattered.

“That is not the same at all.”

“There is only a hairbreadth between them,” she’d said. “Besides, Mr. Ross could very well be called a business associate. He has been working with us to reclaim lost cargo.”

“And look where that got us,” her father had grumbled.

“Well, we could call him a long-lost cousin instead,” she’d suggested, knowing full well that her father would consider that an even worse idea.

His face had blanched. “Your aunt Marjorie would roll over in her grave. And if word of another cousin reached your aunt Josephine, she would drive directly here from Bath and would be harrying us all for weeks.”

“So you agree that my original idea is best, then?”

Realization that he’d been caught in her trap had settled on him instantly. With a huff that was one part frustration, one part pride, he’d leaned back in his chair and studied her with narrowed eyes. “Nicely done, my dear! Nicely done.”

She’d been unable to contain her smile. “It is for a good cause, Father,” she’d said. “Truly.”

He’d reached for a piece of paper and his quill. “Anyone who suggests that you could never be as shrewd as any gentleman working on Lombard Street is either a fool or a liar, Hannah. Indeed, I should probably warn your future husband that henpecking will be the least of his worries.”

“Thank you, Father,” she’d said. “I think that was a compliment.”

He’d chuckled. “Go on with you. I shall write to Lady Telford to ask if I may bring an extra gentleman to her ball. But if Mr. Ross is to have dance lessons in this house, I shall count on you to adhere to the practice of a chaperone. Even if every other proper form of behavior seems to have fled, we can be mindful of that one.”

“Of course, Father.”