by Anna Bradley
So tempting, so delicious I can hardly keep my hands or mouth off you…
Her face fell, and she let out a long, weary sigh. “You’re really far too kind, Mr. Ramsey. May I go back to my grandmother now?”
Back to her grandmother, or back to Dixon? “No. You still haven’t answered my question. I was under the impression you were on your way to Brighton, yet here you are. I can’t imagine how I could have misunderstood. Can you explain it?”
She shrugged, but her eyes darted guiltily away. “I recall you suggesting a trip to Brighton, but I don’t recall ever agreeing to it.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Hyacinth.” He leaned in closer, and rested his arm against the column above her head. His mouth was a scant inch from her temple, and he wanted to press his lips to the tiny cluster of curls there. “It was a command. I believe that was perfectly clear.”
“The part that isn’t clear to me, Mr. Ramsey, is how you can think I’m in any way obliged to follow your commands. I answer to my grandmother, not to you.” She lifted her chin, and despite his frustration with her, Lachlan had to restrain a smile. He’d seen both her sisters make that same gesture when they were piqued, but he’d never yet seen Hyacinth do it. It was oddly endearing.
“I see. And what did Lady Chase say, when you told her I suggested Brighton? Since you’re here tonight, I assume she refused to go. Is that right, aingeal?”
She didn’t answer, but the guilty flush on her cheek was answer enough for Lachlan. “You never said a word to her about it, did you?” Unable to stop himself, he reached for one of the long, loose curls framing her face, and stroked it with his fingertips. “So devious, Hyacinth. But never mind. I’ll speak to her myself.”
He started to pull away, but Hyacinth’s low, calm voice stopped him. “No, you won’t, Lachlan.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll do it yourself, then?”
“No. There’s no need to speak to her at all, because I’m not going to Brighton. I’m going to stay in London and finish my season, just as I promised Isla I would.”
“Isla will understand if you can’t keep your promise—”
“Perhaps she would, but I’ve a promise to keep to myself, as well, and I won’t break it. Not even for you.”
He stared down at her, shaken by her sudden intensity. Her face was pale and set, but there was a telltale quiver in her lower lip, and it hit Lachlan right in the center of his chest. He reached for her without thinking, and cupped her face in his hand. “Do you think I want to see you go, leannan? I don’t. I’ll miss you.” To Lachlan’s shock, his hand was shaking. “But you’ll be better off in Brighton. You have to go, for your own good—”
“Stop it, Lachlan.”
Lachlan froze. She spoke calmly, but he’d never before heard such aching disappointment in her voice, and it silenced him at once.
She pulled his hand away from her face. “I don’t want any more help from you this season. You don’t need to worry about protecting me, or watching over me anymore. I’m releasing you from your promise to do so.”
Lachlan had withstood dozens of blows to his face in his lifetime, and any number of fists to his gut, but none of them had ever hurt him as much as hearing her say she didn’t need him anymore. Thousands of words rushed to his lips—questions, protests, and apologies—but he could only speak one of them. “Why?”
Her eyes were bright with tears, and he watched in horror as one spilled over and ran down her cheek. She didn’t bother wiping it away. “Because you lied. You told me if I went ahead with my season, you’d make sure no one hurt me. That was a lie.”
“Who hurt you, leannan?” But Lachlan already knew the answer.
“You did. The other night, when we were in Lord Hayhurst’s library, you told me I was brave. Do you remember that? No one’s ever said that to me before. I thought you meant it.” She let out a hollow little laugh. “But you didn’t, did you?”
He’d meant every word, but how did he tell her it wasn’t her bravery he questioned, but his own? How could he explain that for all her supposed timidity, for all her fragile nerves and innocence, and her delicate angel’s face, she was far stronger, far braver than he was?
He didn’t have the words to tell her that, so he did the only thing he could do. A strange sense of having been here with her before washed over him as his arm fell away from the column, and he stepped back to give her room to pass. They seemed to be always walking away from each other, with a thousand words left unspoken between them.
But he didn’t speak them now, and neither did she. She paused, her eyes searching his, but in his own way Lachlan was as good at hiding as she was, and whatever she saw there, it wasn’t what she wanted to see.
She slid away from the column, turned her back on him, and walked away.
Chapter Seventeen
The Fifth Ball
Miss Hyacinth Somerset’s company
Is requested at a ball at Lord Pomeroy’s townhouse,
On Monday, the 23rd of February
at 8:00 o’clock in the evening,
Bruton Street, Mayfair
“Lord Pierce kissed me.”
Hyacinth had been inspecting the red marks Isla’s fingertips had left on her upper arm when Isla had dragged her out to the terrace, but now she jerked her gaze to her friend’s face, her mouth falling open. “He did? Where?”
“Where? Why, on the lips, of course. Where else?”
“No, no. I mean, where could you have found enough privacy for a kiss?” Every time Hyacinth turned around she caught Lachlan’s eyes on her, burning with such intensity, she half-expected to find scorch marks on her gown. He’d kept his distance since their argument at the Sedleys’ ball, but he hardly suffered her to stir a step out of his sight. He was nearly as bad with Isla, so how had she managed to get out from under his eye?
“Lord Pierce followed me to the ladies’ retiring room, and when I came out he took my arm, and we ducked into the library.”
“Indeed?” Perhaps Lachlan had been right when he’d said the library was the first place a rogue intent on seduction would lure his innocent victim. Hyacinth had thought it nonsense at the time, but she’d kissed Lachlan in Lord Hayhurst’s library, and now here was Isla with her own tale of debauchery among the tomes.
Except Lord Pierce wasn’t a debaucher. If anything, he erred on the side of being too stiff and proper. For him to forget himself so thoroughly could only mean one thing.
Hyacinth grasped Isla’s hands, squeezing with excitement. “Oh my goodness, Isla. Lord Pierce isn’t at all the sort of gentleman who kisses young ladies in darkened libraries. He must be in love with you!”
She expected her friend to share her delight, but to Hyacinth’s surprise, Isla’s smile faded, and a troubled cloud passed over her pretty face. “No, he…I don’t think he does love me. He, ah…well, the truth is, most of the time he doesn’t even seem to like me much.”
“But he must, Isla. I tell you, he’s as far from a debaucher as any gentleman I’ve ever known. If he kissed you, it was because he couldn’t bear not to.” Hyacinth allowed herself a tiny, forlorn little sigh at the idea of a gentleman so smitten he couldn’t resist a kiss. What would it be like, to inspire such passion?
“It’s a reluctant affection, then. If he does care for me, I suspect he wishes he didn’t.”
“That’s nonsense,” Hyacinth said stoutly. “No man could wish such a thing in regards to you. Why, you’re lovely, Isla, and so clever and charming.”
Isla gave her a half-hearted smile, but she was shaking her head. “Not clever and charming enough to excuse my scandalous connections. As far as the English ton is concerned, my father is a scoundrel who stole the Marchioness of Huntington out from under the nose of her lawful husband, and my mother a disgrace to her name and family. Lord Pierce may not be a rogue, but he’s also not th
e sort of man who’s likely to overlook such things.”
“If he truly loves you, he will,” Hyacinth insisted, but there was a thread of doubt in her voice. She didn’t know Lord Pierce well, but she did know the ton. They’d tolerated the Ramseys so far, but once the novelty of Lord Huntington’s Scottish siblings wore off, so might the ton’s forbearance.
“I don’t know that he does truly love me, or even if he loves me at all.”
Isla gave a little shrug, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other if Lord Pierce cared for her, but Hyacinth wasn’t fooled. “But you love him, don’t you?”
Isla hesitated, but then she held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m afraid I do. Terribly foolish of me, I know, but I seem to be destined for tragic love affairs.”
Hyacinth’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Do you have dozens of tragic love affairs in your past?”
Isla laughed, but she didn’t meet Hyacinth’s eyes. “Oh, never mind me. I’m just being silly. Let’s talk of you, instead. Forgive me for asking, but have you and Lachlan had a row?”
Oh, no. Was it as obvious as that? “We, ah…why should you think we’ve had a row?”
“Because you haven’t spoken a word to each other in a week. Because I’ve never seen Lachlan more miserable. Oh, and he has a new scowl, too. Did you notice? He only ever uses it on Lord Dixon, and it’s a fearsome one. If I saw that scowl aimed at me, I’d flee London, but Lord Dixon hasn’t left your side since the Sedleys’ ball.”
He hadn’t. His attentions had been so assiduous, in fact, when he made a passing remark about playing at cards this evening, Hyacinth had come close to shoving him into the card room, just to be rid of him.
“He’s enamored of you, Hyacinth, and…oh, but you don’t look pleased. Don’t you care for him? He’s very handsome.”
Hyacinth sighed. He was handsome. He was also elegant and charming, intelligent, witty, and entertaining, and solicitous of her comfort. He was, in short, precisely the sort of gentleman every young lady on the marriage mart hoped to snare before the end of the season. Her grandmother was delighted with him.
And Hyacinth….wasn’t. “He’s, ah…well, he’s perfectly…that is, he’s very…”
“You don’t care for him,” Isla said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly—”
“Hyacinth Somerset, don’t you dare lie to me.”
Hyacinth covered her face, but Isla took her wrists and gently lowered them again. “It’s all right, you know. You’re not in the least obliged to care for him. It often happens that a gentleman’s regard doesn’t inspire a lady’s.”
“Or a lady’s a gentleman’s,” Hyacinth muttered, thinking of Lachlan. “What troubles me is I don’t know why I don’t care for him.” Lord Dixon was warm without being too heated, polite without being distant, and proper without being haughty. In short, he was the perfect gentleman, and yet...
“There’s something about him, Isla. Something….cold? Or manipulative, perhaps? Oh, I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with warning. I daresay I’m being unfair to him.”
“Yes, well, love isn’t fair, is it?”
Isla gave a short laugh, but there was such bitterness in it, Hyacinth’s eyes widened with surprise. “Isla, what—”
“Listen to your intuition, Hyacinth, especially when it comes to gentlemen. If you feel something is off with Lord Dixon, then it very likely is. If there’s one thing I wish someone had told me earlier, it’s that.”
“Yes, well, perhaps your intuition is a good deal wiser than mine. If you recall, my intuition told me Lachlan was a violent, brutal man—a murderer, for pity’s sake, and I couldn’t have been more wrong about him, could I? No, Isla. My intuition has already failed me once, with disastrous consequences. I won’t trust it again.”
“My dear friend, that wasn’t your intuition. That wasn’t an error in judgment, but a conclusion you drew from the evidence of your own eyes. I’ve seen my brothers when they brawl. They look like two giant savages bent on killing each other. Dreadful thing to watch.” Isla took Hyacinth’s hands again, and held them in hers. “There’s nothing wrong with your intuition, Hyacinth. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Oh, how dear Isla was. Hyacinth raised one of her friend’s hands and pressed it to her cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with you, either, no matter what the ton might think about your parents. We need not concern ourselves with their vicious gossip. As for Lord Pierce, what does your intuition tell you about him?”
“He’s a good man, Hyacinth. The best of men, but he’s…in the end, I’m afraid he’s not meant for me.”
Isla tried to smile, but she looked as if her heart would break, and a fissure opened in Hyacinth’s own heart. “Don’t give up on him yet. Perhaps all it needs is a bit more time.”
“Perhaps. I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” Isla released Hyacinth’s hands and turned toward the door that led back into the ballroom. “Shall we go back? Lady Joanna dragged poor Lachlan off to dance, but he’ll be looking for us as soon as she releases him from her clutches.”
“Does she ever?” As far as Hyacinth could tell, Lady Joanna had sunk her talons deeply into Lachlan, and it wasn’t clear he even wanted to get free.
Isla grinned. “Oh, every now and then he squirms loose. Are you coming?”
The last thing Hyacinth wished to see was Lachlan dancing with Lady Joanna. “Yes, in a moment. Just another breath of air, and I’ll follow you.”
Isla nodded, then she slipped back into the ballroom, leaving Hyacinth alone on the terrace. She stood for a long moment, staring into the dark garden below, a rueful smile rising to her lips as she recalled how dull she’d thought her season would be. Everything had become so twisted and tangled she couldn’t see how it would ever come right again, but it certainly hadn’t been dull—
“You look pleased, Miss Somerset. Has something in the garden amused you?”
Hyacinth turned just as Lord Dixon came through the door and joined her at the wall. Her first instinct was to move away from him, but instead she forced a polite smile. He hadn’t done a single thing to earn her wariness, and she could hardly advocate for more time for Lord Pierce without offering Lord Dixon the same courtesy.
“No, the gardens are dark and deserted, I’m afraid. The windy weather has frightened everyone away.”
“Not you.” He inched a little closer, then leaned down and braced his elbows on the top of the wall, his forearm touching hers. “I do hope you aren’t chilled.”
She was tempted to jerk her arm away from his, but she remained where she was. If she was going to flinch away every time a gentleman touched her, she may as well go back to hiding behind columns. “Oh, I’m not as delicate as you imagine, my lord.”
Lord Dixon smiled at her. “But you look so delicate, rather like a porcelain doll.”
No doubt he meant this as a compliment, but Hyacinth had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Perhaps someone should hint to Lord Dixon young ladies didn’t care to be compared to lifeless toys.
Perhaps she should.
But Hyacinth held her tongue, and Lord Dixon took this as an encouraging sign. “I find it very fetching, Miss Somerset.” His voice lowered to a husky murmur, and he drew closer. “I find you very fetching.”
“You’re kind, my lord, but I’m afraid I must ask you escort me back into the ballroom at once.” Hyacinth’s instincts were warning her to back away from him, but when she retreated, he followed her. Before she knew it, they’d moved outside the rectangle of light streaming through the glass door, and into a shadowy corner of the terrace.
He fingered a loose lock of her hair, his eyes gleaming with desire. “Now, Miss Somerset. You’ve no need to be afraid of me. I simply want to see if your skin is as soft a
s it looks.”
“You forget yourself, my lord. Now let me pass, if you please.” Hyacinth put every bit of command into her voice she could muster, but Lord Dixon only chuckled, then raised his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.
Hyacinth gasped with outrage, and batted his hand away.
“Shhh,” he crooned, as if he were soothing a naughty child. “I’ll let you pass, of course. I only wanted a private moment to tell you you’ve bewitched me. I flatter myself my tender sentiments are returned, and I wish to formally court you.”
Court her? Returned his sentiments! Why, they hardly knew each other! No man was so easily bewitched by a lady. Now that lady’s fortune, on the other hand....more than one fashionable London gentleman found English pounds mesmerizing enough.
Hyacinth’s heart was racing now, and she drew a deep breath to calm it. “I thank you for your kind attentions, my lord, but it’s far too early in our acquaintance for me to agree to a courtship.”
He peered down at her in genuine surprise. “I’m astonished to hear you say so, when you’ve so particularly encouraged my attentions these past weeks.”
Hyacinth gaped at him, amazed. Why, the conceit of him! Only a man of extreme arrogance could have interpreted her politeness as romantic encouragement. “If I have encouraged you, Lord Dixon, I can only offer my sincerest apologies. I never intended for my actions to imply anything more than friendship.”
Now she was finding it rather a struggle to remain friendly, given her newfound, implacable loathing for him.
But he only shrugged, as if her feelings on the matter were of little consequence. “A great many successful marriages are founded on friendship, Miss Somerset. Friendship and desire,” he added, trailing his fingers down her neck.
“I do not desire you, Lord Dixon, and I’m afraid your behavior this evening has put an end to any chance of a courtship between us.” She squirmed away from his groping fingers. “I insist you unhand me at once, and let me pass.” Hyacinth was truly distraught now, but her voice remained calm and even, and in some distant part of her brain, she marveled at it.
