More or Less a Temptress

by Anna Bradley

  “No. Something isn’t right about this.” It was Iris again, her voice still distant. “I think we need to do as this, ah…gentleman asks, and wake Hyacinth.”

  Hyacinth’s frown deepened. Why, what a traitor Iris was.

  She didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay where she was, gliding about on this soft cloud. Hyacinth’s fingers twitched as she tried to grasp at the cool, floating mist; desperate to hold onto unconsciousness just a little while longer, but as she began to drift off again, the acrid scent of smelling salts burned her nose.

  “Hyacinth?” Cool fingers brushed her forehead. “Open your eyes, dearest.”

  Hyacinth jerked her head away, but it was too late. The fog was dissipating. A faint moan of protest left her lips, but whoever wielded the smelling bottle waved it under her nose again. The last few shreds of that blessed, numbing fog slipped through her fingers.

  She peeled her eyes open to find she was in a dimly-lit room. The walls were spinning in dizzying circles around her, but she thought she was lying on a sofa in Finn’s study, her head in someone’s lap. Iris, Violet and Lady Chase were leaning over her, peering anxiously down into her face.

  “She’s waking up.” Iris patted her cheek, and some of the tension eased from her face when Hyacinth’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, much better. We’re going to sit you up, all right? Violet, take her hands.”

  They eased her limp body upright and propped her against the back of the sofa. Lady Chase wrapped cold fingers around Hyacinth’s hand, and the rest of her family gathered in a protective circle around her.

  “What happened?” Hyacinth blinked up at the faces surrounding her.

  They all looked at each other with blank expressions, then Violet said, “We’re not sure, dear. A man none of us recognizes approached you in the ballroom just now. For some reason he gave you a fright, and—”

  “And you called him a murderer, then fell into a swoon without explaining yourself.”

  The voice was deep and clipped, slightly accented, but with the lilt shorn off at the edges.

  I’m still Scot enough to knock you unconscious…

  Hyacinth’s entire body went rigid as memories slammed into her, all at once, one after the next. The blood gushing from that man’s nose, the dark red stains on his white cravat. The sickening crack of a fist meeting bone, the hard wall of the inn digging into her spine as she shrank back against it, clinging to the shadows.

  The man, lying still and lifeless on the ground, his face covered with blood.

  Without warning, Hyacinth shot to her feet. Dizziness swamped her, but she struggled against the swoon that threatened.

  “Hyacinth!” Iris leapt up and gripped her arm, but Hyacinth shook her off, and took two steps toward the fireplace, from where the voice had come. When she emerged from the shadows and he got a look at her, a scowl blacker than death itself fell over his face.

  Oh, dear God.

  She’d thought him terrifying enough when she saw him beat another man to a bloody pulp, but he was far more frightening up close. He was the most enormous man she’d ever seen—a veritable giant—with shoulders wider than a doorway, straining at the seams of his coat, a wild shock of inky black hair, and hands the size of horse’s hooves.

  “You…w-why did you c-come here? W-wh-what do you want of me?”

  His hard mouth pulled into a grim line, and icy hazel eyes narrowed on her face. “Not a damn thing until you began shrieking about murder. Would you be so kind as to explain yourself, before someone slips a noose around my neck?”

  Violet came up beside her and grasped her hand. “Is it possible you’ve made some sort of mistake, Hyacinth?”

  “No! Do you think I’d accuse a man of such an awful c-crime if I weren’t certain of his guilt? There’s no m-mistake. I saw him do it with my own eyes, the n-night before last.”

  “I don’t recall beating a man to death the night before last. You’d think I would, wouldn’t you?” He smiled, but it was the cold smile of a thief just before he wields a blade. “You’ve made a mistake—”

  “No! Y-you were in Aylesbury, at the Horse and Groom Inn, f-f-fighting with another man in the yard behind the stable.” Hyacinth’s voice rose, every syllable ringing with panic. “You beat him unconscious, and there was b-blood everywhere, and he never got back up again, and then you dragged him away, and—”

  “Just look at her, will you, Lord Huntington? She’s frightened to death!” Lady Chase hurried across the room and wrapped her arm around Hyacinth’s shoulder. “Why, this man must be a cold-blooded killer, just as Hyacinth claims he is. You and Lord Dare must take him to the magistrate, and see him hanged at once, before he murders us all.”

  “For pity’s sake, Grandmother, you can’t simply hang a man without a trial—”

  Iris didn’t get any further, because the giant man interrupted her. “I was at the Horse and Groom Inn in Aylesbury the night before last. She’s right about that, if nothing else.”

  Finn turned to Hyacinth, his face puzzled. “I didn’t see this man that night, and if a murder did take place, it was a remarkably quiet one. I never heard a thing.”

  “There was nothing to hear.” The stranger muttered a curse under his breath. “She did see something, but it wasn’t a murder, and I can prove it.”

  “Well, let’s see it then, man, so we can put an end to this, and I can take my wife home. She’s upset, and no wonder.” Lord Dare raised an eyebrow at Finn. “Beg your pardon for saying so, Huntington, but this is the least enjoyable ball I’ve ever attended.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Finn muttered.

  “My brother and sister are in front of your house right now, waiting for me,” the man said to Finn. “Send a servant to fetch them here, and we’ll explain everything.”

  Finn didn’t move. “Why the devil should your brother and sister be standing in front of my house?”

  The giant gave Finn a tight smile. “One interrogation at a time, Lord Huntington, and I’d just as soon save my neck first, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Finn hesitated, but then he blew out a breath and crossed the room to ring the bell. When the servant appeared, he murmured a few words to him, then sent him off.

  Then they waited, not one of them uttering a single word.

  Hyacinth sank down next to Lady Chase on the sofa, but she couldn’t keep her gaze from wandering toward the black-haired giant, who now stood in front of the fireplace, his legs spread wide, and his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t spare Hyacinth a glance, but instead watched Finn with a strange, fixed attention—at odds with his expressionless face.

  She was still staring at him when the door to the study opened and the servant ushered a slender, dark-haired young lady into the room, and behind her…

  Hyacinth choked out a gasp, her blood freezing in her veins when she got a good look at the man who strolled into the room. A black mark shadowed his left eye, his lip was cut and swollen, and a large bruise covered his jaw, but there was no mistaking his face.

  It was the man from the inn-yard, and he was…well, he appeared to be very much alive.

  He stopped in the middle of the room, summed up the situation with one quick glance, and to Hyacinth’s astonishment, barked out a laugh. “Well, it looks as if everything is going just as we hoped it would. Well done, Lachlan.”

  Lachlan—for that was presumably the giant’s name—ignored this, and pointed at Hyacinth. “This lady has accused me of beating a man to death at the Horse and Groom Inn two nights ago.”

  The man blinked in surprise, but then his lips curved in a grin. “Has she indeed? How peculiar.”

  Lachlan crossed his huge arms over his chest. “Tell her she’s mistaken.”

  “Hmm. I wish I could, but I can’t say what happened with any certainty. I was unconscious, if you recall.”

/>   Lachlan took a threatening step toward the other man. “I said, tell her she’s mistaken, Ciaran.”

  The man gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “But I don’t like to lie to these good people, Lachlan, and for all I know you did beat a man to death, after you’d finished with me. I do remember you being quite angry.”

  A low, warning growl rumbled from Lachlan’s chest. “Damn it, Ciaran.”

  “Oh, no. He looks as if he might do someone an injury.” The man—Ciaran—nodded toward Lord Dare and Lord Huntington. “Perhaps you two gentlemen had better restrain him, just to be safe. Tie him to a chair, or—”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Ciaran. Hush, will you?” The dark-haired young lady had been watching the scene unfold, but now she stepped forward and silenced the man with a single, quelling look.

  “This isn’t some bloody game, Ciaran—”

  The young lady cut him off. “Quiet, Lachlan. You’re as bad as he is, and it looks as if you’ve made a grand mess of this. No doubt it was that black scowl of yours that started it all.”

  Lachlan jerked his chin toward Hyacinth. “I wasn’t scowling until she accused me of murder.”

  The young lady dismissed this with a wave of her pretty fingers. “Certainly you were scowling. You always do.”

  Hyacinth stared at the lady, amazed. She had the loveliest voice—feminine, but slightly husky, with a pleasant lilt and a smooth, low-timbered quality to it. To hear her was rather like listening to music, yet for all its sweetness, the entire room fell silent when she spoke.

  “My name is Isla Ramsey.” She offered the company a polite curtsey, then straightened, and tossed a disgusted look toward the two men behind her. “As much as I might wish to disown them at the moment, these two scoundrels are my brothers, Lachlan and Ciaran Ramsey. I beg your pardon, Lord and Lady Huntington, for bursting upon you so rudely.”

  “Well, I…that is, thank you, Miss Ramsey.” Iris looked as if she were at a loss as to what to think, but she managed to give Miss Ramsey a gracious nod. Finn said nothing, but stood frozen, staring at Isla Ramsey as if she were a ghost just risen from the grave.

  If Miss Ramsey noticed Finn’s pointed stare, she chose to ignore it. “My brothers had a bit of a set to the night before last. Ciaran had the worst of it, and he was, ah…a trifle messy by the time it was over. I’m afraid this lady,” she nodded toward Hyacinth, who sat speechless on the settee. “She must have seen them brawling, and assumed the worst.”

  Lachlan glanced at Hyacinth, scorn written plainly on his face. “A few blows, and a few drops of blood, nothing more. Who could mistake such a minor scuffle for a murder?”

  Isla Ramsey turned on her brother, her lips pinched into a stern line. “Why, an English lady who’s not accustomed to seeing two thick-headed ruffians pummel each other, of course. For goodness’s sake, Lachlan. You must see how it would have looked to her. Ciaran was unconscious by the time you’d finished with him.”

  “Not from my fists. The bottle of whiskey he drank was what finished him. Christ, he was so far in his cups he accused some lordling of cheating at cards. I dragged him out to the yard to keep a bullet from landing between his eyes.”

  Lady Chase gasped, but before she could say a single word, a hearty laugh rang out, and every head in the room turned toward the fireplace, where Ciaran Ramsey was wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. “Really, it’s too delicious this lady happened to be at the Horse and Groom Inn the night before last. Jesus, what are the odds?”

  Lachlan Ramsay didn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as his brother did. He jerked his head toward Hyacinth and snapped, “Enough, Ciaran. Introduce yourself to her so she can see you’re still breathing.”

  “With pleasure.” Ciaran Ramsey strolled across the room and stopped in front of the settee. He bowed to Lady Chase, then turned to Hyacinth, captured the tips of her fingers in his enormous hand, and dropped a chaste kiss on the back of her glove. “How do you do, miss? Allow me to offer my appreciation for your concern over my murder.”

  Lachlan Ramsey raised an eyebrow at Hyacinth, his face hard. “Is this your dead man?”

  Hyacinth swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I thought so. Not so dead after all, is he?” He could have said it as a jest, an attempt to break the tension, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice, or a hint of softness in his face.

  Hyacinth lowered her gaze to her lap, her cheeks burning with shame. “No. I—it seems you were right after all. I did make a mistake. I beg your pardon, Mr. Ramsey.”

  He grunted. “It’s too late for apologies. The entire ballroom heard you. My family is ruined, thanks to your hysteria.”

  “Watch yourself, Ramsey—”

  “Why, how dare you—”

  “She’s not hysterical, only a trifle nervous—”

  Lady Chase, Iris, Violet and Lord Dare all leapt at once to Hyacinth’s defense, but Isla Ramsey, turning to her brother with a scowl as black as his own, drowned out their protests. “Shame on you, Lachlan Ramsey! None of this is her fault. If you and Ciaran hadn’t been brawling, this never would have happened.”

  “And we did warn you not to scowl, Lach,” Ciaran Ramsey added. “The English get nervous when they see a man your size with a scowl on his face.”

  Isla turned and jabbed her finger into Ciaran’s chest. “You may as well wipe that smirk off your face at once, sir, because this is your fault, as well. Goodness knows when you and Lachlan brawl you come close enough to killing each other.”

  Hyacinth stared at this forbidding creature with awe. She looked like an ocean tempest, with her fiery blue eyes and the midnight blue skirts of her riding habit swirling around her ankles. She was a tiny, slender thing, no more threatening than a woodland sprite, with her narrow, delicate face and cloud of dark hair, and yet there she stood, her hands on her hips, scolding her enormous, wild-looking brothers, either of whom could crush her under a boot heel in a single step.

  She’s not afraid.

  What would it be like, not to be afraid? To feel words tumble off the edge of your tongue without a stammer, and without a single moment’s hesitation?

  “That’s enough, Isla.”

  Lachlan’s harsh tone was enough to make Hyacinth shrink back, but Isla Ramsey dismissed his warning with a toss of her head, and turned to Hyacinth. “I beg your pardon for my brother’s behavior, miss, ah…miss…”

  “Somerset. Hyacinth Somerset. I’m Lady Huntington’s sister.”

  “Lady Huntington’s sister!” Ciaran Ramsey let out a peal of laughter. “Good Lord. That’s cursed bad luck, that is.”

  Miss Ramsey took Hyacinth’s hand. “How do you do? Oh, dear. Your fingers are so cold, Miss Somerset. Perhaps you’d better lie down again.”

  “No, I…no. You’re very kind, but I’m quite all right now, thank you.”

  “No, you’re not, child.” Lady Chase struggled to her feet. “You seem a nice enough young lady, Miss Ramsey, but these brothers of yours.” She pointed her cane first at Ciaran, and then at Lachlan Ramsey. “Beatings and murders, and blood and whiskey—scoundrels, the both of them. I’m taking my granddaughter home. She’s had a terrible fright tonight, and she suffers from delicate nerves—”

  “Wait, Lady Chase.”

  Finn hadn’t moved or spoken since Miss Ramsey came into the room, but now he came forward, and Hyacinth was shocked to see his face had drained of color. He pointed at Isla Ramsay. “Who are you?”

  Iris frowned, and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Are you quite all right, Finn? They’ve just told us who they are—”

  “No.” Finn shook his head, but his gaze never left Isla Ramsey’s face. “Who are you?”

  Iris, Violet, Nick and Lady Chase exchanged puzzled glances, but Hyacinth was watching Lachlan Ramsey. A chill shot through her when she noticed he didn’t look at all confused. Ind
eed, all three of the Ramseys seemed to know exactly what Finn was asking.

  Iris, who was truly alarmed now, tugged at Finn’s sleeve. “They’re the Ramseys, just come to London from…from…where did you say you came from?”

  “Scotland.” Finn’s voice was hoarse. “They came from Scotland.”

  * * * *

  Lachlan had seen this moment unfold over and over again in his mind. Ever since he’d learned the truth about his birth, he’d agonized over how best to break what was sure to be unwelcome news to the Marquess of Huntington.

  The scene had played out any number of ways, but not once had Lachlan imagined he’d have to defend himself against a murder charge moments before he was introduced to his long-lost brother.

  Ciaran was right. He’d made a mess of this.

  No, I didn’t. Hyacinth Somerset did.

  He shot her a resentful look. She noticed, and her face paled as if he were a wild beast about to lunge for her throat.

  Timid thing. Excitable, too. Possibly mad.

  Hyacinth Somerset might look like an angel, but celestial beings were useless enough, and beautiful women were always more trouble than they were worth. He should have known she’d prove difficult as soon as he saw her face.

  It was too late now. The damage was done. Scotland, and now England…

  Everywhere they turned they found only wreckage, and now they’d run out of places to go.

  “This young lady, she…”

  Lachlan raised his head to see Lord Huntington had ventured a step closer to Isla. He studied her face, his gaze lingering on each of her features. “She looks just like my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Lady Huntington paled, and reached down to grip her husband’s hand. “But that’s…so strange. You don’t remember what she looked like, do you?”

  “Not much, no. I only recall the outlines of her face, but my father commissioned a portrait of her several years before she ran away, and her resemblance to this young lady, the dark hair, the shape of her face, the eyes and mouth…” Lord Huntington shook his head, stunned. “She could be my mother’s daughter. My God. Who are you?”