More or Less a Temptress

by Anna Bradley

  “Oh, no. I wasn’t hiding, Mr. Ramsey. I was just, ah…well…”

  She trailed off, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of course, she had been hiding. Judging by the teasing glint in Ciaran Ramsey’s eyes, he knew it.

  “You’re a terrible liar, Miss Hyacinth. But come now, there’s no need for such a furious blush. I’m only teasing. You looked so serious and earnest as you approached us, I couldn’t resist.”

  “Oh.” Hyacinth gave him a shy glance. Ciaran Ramsey was nearly as big as his brother, and the bruises still visible on his face made him look a bit sinister, but it was difficult to be afraid of a man with such a playful grin. “Well, then. I’m come to beg your pardon for my behavior the other night, and to take my punishment.”

  Ciaran’s brow quirked with surprise. “Well, how gratifying to be administering a punishment at last, instead of receiving one. All right then, Miss Hyacinth, what would you like for your punishment?”

  Hyacinth smiled. “If it’s something I like, then it’s not a punishment at all, is it?”

  “Oh, right. Well, you see I’m not very good at this. Perhaps we’ll just forego the punishment entirely, and simply start fresh, as if none of it happened.”

  Hyacinth curtsied. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  Isla Ramsey’s dark eyes twinkled with humor as she linked arms with Hyacinth. “I warn you, Miss Somerset, not to let down your guard. Ciaran can be charming when he wishes, but he’s also a merciless tease.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sure Mr. Ramsey can’t be so wicked as that.”

  Isla let out a short laugh. “Indeed he is. You don’t have brothers, Miss Somerset, but you may trust me when I say they’re all horrid, teasing things.”

  “All of them? Even your eldest brother?” Lachlan Ramsey hadn’t struck Hyacinth as a carefree, lighthearted tease, but then she’d been wrong about him being a murderer. Perhaps she was wrong about this, too.

  “Lachlan? Oh, Good Lord, no.” Ciaran was loping along behind them, swinging his hat by the brim. “You see, Miss Somerset, teasing leads to smiling, and even—heaven forbid—laughter, and Lachlan doesn’t do either of those things. He’s more the grim, menacing sort of brother.”

  Menacing? Hyacinth choked back a surge of panic. She owed Lachlan Ramsey an apology, and she’d give him one, no matter that the thought of facing that black scowl made her quake in her slippers. “Is he…is Mr. Lachlan Ramsey about? I must offer my apologies to him, as well.”

  “Apologize, to Lachlan?” Ciaran gave a low whistle. “There’s your punishment.”

  Hyacinth bit her lip. In truth, the only thing she wanted to offer Lachlan Ramsey was a wide berth, but she’d publically accused the man of a murder he didn’t commit. It wasn’t the sort of thing one could pretend hadn’t happened. “It’s not such a daunting task as that, is it?”

  “No, no. Of course not.” Miss Ramsey frowned at Ciaran. “Lachlan went riding, but he may be back by now. You could check the stables.”

  “Yes. I will. Thank you.”

  Hyacinth wandered off in the direction of the stables, her feet dragging with every step. Why did it have to be the stables? No one would hear her scream from there, and weren’t there pitchforks in the stables?

  “Good luck!”

  Hyacinth turned back to see them waving gaily at her, but she couldn’t help but notice Isla’s brow was furrowed with concern, and Ciaran was fingering his black eye, as if he’d just recalled what Lachlan was capable of.

  Hyacinth slipped as quietly as she could into the cool, dim interior of the stables. She’d far rather catch Lachlan by surprise than the other way around, but aside from the dust motes floating in the weak sunlight, the stables were empty.

  Perhaps he’d already come and gone, or given up the idea of riding altogether. Well, it was an awful pity, but she had done her best to find him. She could always beg his pardon later, in the drawing room after dinner this evening, perhaps, when there were witnesses present—

  “Riding out, Miss Somerset?”

  Hyacinth was halfway through the stable door, mere feet away from a timely escape, but she whirled around at once to face the owner of that low, mocking voice. It had to be Lachlan—no one but a giant had a voice that deep—and the last thing she wanted was a giant sneaking up behind her in a dark barn.

  “You forgot your riding habit.” He came around to the front of the stables, a cloth in his hand, and a heavy saddle slung over one arm.

  Hyacinth stared at him, a peculiar sensation fluttering in her belly. He wasn’t wearing a hat or a coat—just a white linen shirt open at the neck, and pair of buckskin breeches so snug, she fancied a closer inspection would reveal…well, the sorts of masculine things a lady was obliged to overlook.

  Not that she intended to get any closer.

  Except she couldn’t help but notice the dark bristles shadowing his cheeks and jaw, or the tousled mass of thick hair falling over his forehead. It was damp with sweat, and his shirt was so transparent she could see the muscles in his back ripple as he tossed the saddle onto a rack at the end of the front row of stalls, as if it weighed no more than a handkerchief.

  Goodness. She’d never seen a more, ah…manly sort of man in her life. He put her in mind of a coiled spring just before it exploded into action. His entire body hummed with restlessness, and he looked as if every inch of him was about to burst through the seams of his clothing. He was all long legs and undulating, flexing bits—

  “You’re staring at me, Miss Somerset, as if I were the elephant at the Royal Menagerie.”

  The elephant? What nonsense. If he were anything, he’d be the Bengal lion, prowling about his cage, stalking his prey.

  “Should I duck into one of the stalls?” he asked. “That way you could peer over the edge, and it would be more like the Menagerie.”

  Well. It seemed Lachlan Ramsey did know how to tease, despite what his brother had said. But this wasn’t a friendly tease. He wasn’t smiling, and there was more than a little mockery in his voice.

  She jerked her gaze away from the hint of his chest revealed by the loose neck of his shirt. “No, I, ah—no, of course n-not. I didn’t c-come to stare. I mean r-ride. I didn’t come to ride. I w-was looking for y-you.”

  Hyacinth cringed as the words caught on her lips, then flushed with humiliation when they stumbled in fits and starts from her mouth. She didn’t often stutter these days, but when she did, it was always at the worst possible moment.

  If he noticed her embarrassment, he didn’t show it. He simply stared at her, his face devoid of expression. “Well, what do you want?”

  Hyacinth twisted her fingers in her skirts, flustered at his clipped tone. “Well, I-I thought I’d…t-t-that is, I just w-wanted to…” Dash it, must she stutter through the entire thing? Lachlan Ramsey no doubt already thought her a hysterical half-wit.

  She drew a deep breath to calm herself, and get her mouth around her syllables. “I came to beg your pardon, for…”

  She fell silent again, her mind going blank as she struggled to find a way to say it without inflaming the situation further. How did one apologize for such a thing?

  I beg your pardon for my unjustified murder accusation? I regret I called you a killer in front of all of London?

  Neither seemed quite the thing, so Hyacinth settled on the blandest words she could think of. “I apologize f-for the misunderstanding last night. I sincerely beg your pardon, Mr. Ramsey.”

  This was met with a long, tense silence, until at last, one of his eyebrows rose. “Misunderstanding? Is that what you’d call it?”

  Dash it. She’d managed to spit out a word at last, and it was the wrong one. “Well, I thought—”

  “I doubt the London gossips will call it a misunderstanding.”

  His voice was cold, inflectionless, but his hazel eyes were flickering with some sort of
suppressed emotion, and she’d seen for herself what a formidable temper he had…

  She edged closer to the stable door. “No, I’m afraid they won’t, but—”

  “No. When they repeat it to their friends—and they will repeat it—they’ll call it an accusation. But call it a misunderstanding, if it comforts you.”

  Despite all appearances to the contrary, Hyacinth had a bit of a temper of her own. She never indulged it, of course—anger led to all sorts of unpleasantness—but a hint of irritation rippled up her spine at this cool speech.

  He was awfully self-righteous for a man with a black eye.

  The unfortunate truth was that Lachlan Ramsey had engaged in a bloody brawl in a public inn-yard, where anyone could have seen him. It was cursed bad luck that she’d been the one who had, but given those circumstances, her assumptions about him hadn’t been entirely out of line. He wasn’t, after all, completely innocent in this.

  Still, it seemed wiser not to dwell on sensitive issues like truth and guilt while she was trapped in the stables alone with him. “I can assure you, Mr. Ramsey, nothing about this situation is comfortable for me, but—”

  “Why not? All of London doesn’t believe you to be a murderer.”

  “It wasn’t all of London. Lady Atherton wasn’t there, or Lord and Lady Herbert, or—”

  “You managed to do enough damage, just the same,” he interrupted, with another arch of that infuriating black eyebrow.

  Hyacinth blew out a breath. “I realize that, and that’s why I came to say—”

  She didn’t get any further, because he turned and strode away from her without another word. Hyacinth stood there, watching his broad back as he walked away, and tried to recall a time when she’d felt as utterly invisible as she did right now. It was as if he’d snapped his fingers, and she’d disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  She should have been glad for it. She’d apologized, just as she’d intended, and she hadn’t wept, or cast up her accounts, or fallen into a swoon. She hadn’t done anything she need be embarrassed about, aside from the stammering.

  All and all, it had gone far better than she’d dared hope.

  Then why wasn’t she flying out the stable doors, muttering prayers of thanks to heaven for granting her such an easy escape? Or perhaps the better question was, why was she going after Lachlan Ramsey, and stopping him with a hand on his forearm?

  She didn’t have time to answer these questions, because he whirled around at her touch, astonishment plain on his face. His hard muscles jerked under her fingertips, a trace of black hair tickled her palm, and for a moment, Hyacinth could only stare up him, strangely breathless.

  “What the devil—” he began.

  “Not everyone in London believes you a murderer, Mr. Ramsey. Finn doesn’t believe it, and neither does Iris, or Lord and Lady Dare. Even my grandmother has admitted, albeit grudgingly, that she isn’t quite ready to condemn you to the noose. Surely these are the people who truly matter?”

  “What about you?” He took two long strides forward, until he was towering over her.

  Hyacinth’s hand dropped away, and every muscle in her body urged her to back up, or to flee, but some latent streak of stubbornness made her hold her ground. “Me? What about me?”

  “Don’t you matter?”

  For the first time Hyacinth noticed his eyes were an unusual greenish brown color. Hazel, just like Finn’s. “Of course I believe you innocent, Mr. Ramsey. How could I not? I think we can all agree your brother is very much alive.”

  Lachlan grunted. “For now he is.”

  For now? Oh, dear. Surely that was a joke? A nervous giggle escaped her, but he only stared down at her without a trace of humor in his hard face.

  Hyacinth swallowed. “Yes, well….um, my point is, if you wish to take a place in London society, Finn and Iris will do whatever is necessary to see that it happens. As the Marquess and Marchioness of Huntington, they hold considerable influence over the ton.”

  “What about you?” He repeated a second time.

  She snorted. “I hold no sway over the ton whatsoever, I’m afraid.”

  “I mean, Miss Somerset, what will you do to ensure I’m able to take a place in London society?”

  Hyacinth blinked up at him. Was it possible he didn’t understand of how little consequence she was? She would have thought it was obvious, but then he was new to London, and might not recognize social obscurity when he saw it. “When I said I regret my actions of the other night, I meant it, Mr. Ramsey. I wish to make whatever amends I can, but I’ve no power over the ton, despite my aristocratic connections. I’ll be of very little use to you, I’m afraid.”

  Before she could say another word, the black scowl she recalled from the other night returned. “It’s more convenient for you that way, I think.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What in the world does that mean? It sounds as if you’re accusing me of something.”

  His face hardened. “Me, accuse you? Is that a joke?”

  “No! I don’t…I only meant—”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about me, Miss Somerset. The best way for you to make amends is to stay away from me, before some other misfortune occurs. Now, is that all? Or do you have something else to say to me?”

  “No.” In fact, Hyacinth suddenly had quite a lot to say to him, and none of it pleasant, but of course she’d never dare—

  “Good, because there’s no point in arguing. You said yourself you’d be little help, and I agree.”

  Then again, perhaps she did dare, after all.

  Hyacinth drew herself up to her full height, which was, admittedly, not quite as high as his shoulder, and met his cool gaze with a furious one of her own. “Is this how you accept a lady’s apology, Mr. Ramsey? By insulting her?”

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry you find the truth insulting, but that’s nothing to do with me.”

  “Oh, you’re a dreadful man!” She was so angry, she actually stamped her foot. “You were right the first time, Mr. Ramsey. You do belong in the Royal Menagerie. What a pity they already have—”

  Oh, no. No, no, no. I can’t say that.

  She bit down hard on her tongue, and stopped herself just in time. And thank heaven for it, because what she’d been about to say…well, she couldn’t say it.

  No matter how much she wanted to.

  And she did want to.

  Badly.

  Even now, the words were trying to leap off her tongue.

  Lachlan Ramsey, who hadn’t bothered to hide his boredom during her apology, was now looking down at her with a great deal more interest, his hazel eyes glittering. “I think you do have something else to say to me, after all. Go on, then. The Royal Menagerie already what?”

  “They already have an ass!”

  Oh, dear God.

  Hyacinth slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She’d actually said it. She’d called Lachlan Ramsey an ass.

  Dizziness threatened as the word echoed in her head, and her knees were quaking under her skirts as she waited to see what he’d do. Would he wrap his huge paws around her neck and squeeze the life out of her? Toss her over his shoulder and drop her into one of the horse stalls? Skewer her with a pitchfork?

  He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, something else happened. She watched, dumbfounded, as his black scowl faded, and one tiny twitch at a time, the corner of his mouth quirked.

  Then the last thing in the world she would ever have expected to happen…

  Happened.

  Lachlan Ramsey smiled.

  Chapter Five

  “Did you just call me an ass?”

  Lachlan crossed his arms over his chest and waited, but Miss Somerset’s face had gone scarlet, and instead of answering, her pink lips opened and closed helplessly, like a fish trying to dislodge a hook.


  For God’s sake. At this rate, she’d swoon before she managed to squeak out a word. “Did you, or did you not, just call me an ass, Miss Somerset?” He thought she had, but it could have been his conscience shouting at him, since he had, in fact, been acting like an ass.

  “Well, yes, I, ah, I did call you that, and I…” she swallowed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been quite so…descriptive. I beg your—”

  “No.” He held up his hand, the half-smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t take it back now. You’ll ruin it.”

  He’d watched her creep into the stables half an hour ago, looking like a guilty child due for a thrashing, and he’d known she’d come for him. He’d expected her to apologize, and she had. He’d expected that apology to be tedious, and it was. He’d expected at some point he’d get too close to her, or sigh too loudly, or blink too aggressively, and she’d scurry off like a terrified little mouse.

  Instead, she’d surprised him. She was still here, and this apology was turning out to be far more interesting than he’d expected.

  The lady had a temper. Oh, she kept it under tight control, but under that sweet angel’s face, behind the blushes and timid stammering was a lady with the word “ass” just waiting to spring from her lips, and it hadn’t taken much goading on his part to set it free.

  Not so angelic, after all.

  “What do you mean, I’ll ruin it?” She braced her hands on her hips. “Do you mean to say you enjoy being called as ass?”

  “No, but I like it when someone surprises me, and you’re not the sort of lady I’d expect to call me an ass.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Do you expect other sorts of ladies to call you an ass, then?”

  His lips twitched again. “Just Isla. She does so regularly.”

  “The more I hear of Miss Ramsey, the fonder I become of her.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if she weren’t quite sure she could trust his smile. “Well, then. Do you accept my apology?”

  He couldn’t very well refuse her. She was Lady Huntington’s sister, and Finn had made it clear enough he wanted Hyacinth to finish her season. Lachlan still didn’t think she’d make it through to the end—no doubt she’d take fright again, or fall into another swoon over some foolish thing, but he kept these thoughts to himself.