More or Less a Temptress

by Anna Bradley

  Lord Dixon’s brows lowered, and his face hardened. “I’m very sorry it should have come to this, Miss Somerset, but you’ve left me no choice. If you refuse my offer, I’m afraid I’ll have to make London unpleasant indeed for your dear new friends, the Ramseys.”

  Hyacinth stared up at him in confusion. She was quite sure he’d just threatened her, but she couldn’t make any sense of his meaning. What did the Ramseys have to do with Lord Dixon courting her? “I don’t understand.”

  A cold smile stretched his lips. “Ah, you don’t know, do you? I thought as much. The Ramseys have been keeping a secret from you and your family, Miss Somerset, and it’s a rather ugly one. Ugly enough to end Miss Ramsey’s season, and ensure none of the Ramseys will ever be welcome in another London drawing-room. Perhaps not even the Marquess of Huntington’s. I don’t know him well, but I understand the marquess is a bit touchy about certain things. I doubt he’ll take kindly to being lied to.”

  Hyacinth’s wits had scattered like a flock of birds, but she managed to raise her chin and glare at Lord Dixon. “I don’t take kindly to it either, my lord, and I think you’re lying to me right now.”

  He laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. I had the story word for word from a distant cousin of mine who lives near Lochinver, where the Ramseys were born and bred. Remote place—quite wild, really. It’s a miracle their tale ever made it as far as London. No doubt they thought it wouldn’t. But you still look as if you don’t believe me, Miss Somerset. Why don’t you ask them yourself? I warn you, though, it’s a horrifying tale. Best for all concerned if it never sees the light of day. But of course that’s up to you.”

  Hyacinth’s head was spinning. Why, Lord Dixon was mad, utterly mad. There was no other explanation—

  But then she froze as something Lachlan had said to her that night in Lord Hayhurst’s library came back to her.

  If you knew what I’d done, all I’ve done…

  For a moment, she was too stunned to utter a word.

  Lord Dixon mistook her silence for acquiescence, and a satisfied smile crossed his lips. “Ah, I knew you were a clever girl.”

  A clever girl…

  Yes, she was clever—far cleverer than he imagined. Far too clever to allow herself to be coerced into a courtship, much less a marriage, but she had no intention of saying so until she knew more about the Ramseys’ allegedly shocking, ruinous secret.

  For his part, Lord Dixon seemed to consider the matter of their courtship settled. “Tell me, Miss Somerset.” He lowered his face so his mouth hovered over hers, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Are you lips as soft as your skin?”

  Hyacinth jerked her head to the side, and slammed her palms against his chest in an instinctive bid to shove him back, but he was far larger and stronger than she was, and she found herself scrabbling at any part of him she could reach in a desperate effort to fend him off. She’d managed to grasp his waistcoat when all at once he was yanked aside, and she was left clutching at empty air.

  “You’ve made a mistake, Dixon.” The voice was low, harsh and furious, and so was the vicious wrench that sent Lord Dixon across the terrace and into the opposite wall.

  Hyacinth staggered, but she caught herself before she fell, and looked up in time to see…

  Oh, dear God.

  Her eyes widened at the savage look on Lachlan’s face as he advanced on Lord Dixon. “Lachlan, wait!” She leapt forward and grabbed his arm, and Lord Dixon wisely took that moment to stumble to his feet.

  “Did you touch her, Dixon? Did you dare?” Lachlan’s voice was low and controlled, but there was no mistaking the icy menace there. It was far more terrifying than if he’d fallen into a rage.

  Lord Dixon seemed to agree, because he lost no time hurrying toward the door to the ballroom. “It’s none of your concern, Ramsey,” he spat, as soon as he’d put a safe distance between them. “But if you must know, Miss Somerset has just agreed to accept my courtship.”

  Oh, no. Hyacinth’s eyes dropped closed, but they flew open again when she felt the muscles in Lachlan’s arm go rigid under her fingers. She didn’t release him, but gripped harder, certain he wouldn’t risk hurting her by yanking his arm away.

  “I see. Did you mistake Lord Pomeroy’s terrace for your bridal bed?”

  Lord Dixon bristled. “Now see here, Ramsey—”

  “You’ll take care not to make that mistake again, Dixon, if you want to live to see your wedding night.”

  That threat was more than enough to scare off a braver man than Lord Dixon. He tugged his waistcoat down with a sharp jerk, and bowed to Hyacinth. “I bid you good evening, Miss Somerset.” But when he straightened, his gaze caught hers, and there was no mistaking the warning there.

  A chill shot down Hyacinth’s spine. Dear God, he was utterly serious. Whatever secret he had, he was certain it would ruin the Ramseys, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Hyacinth thought of Isla, of the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of Lord Pierce, and a cold, tight feeling squeezed her chest.

  “Are you all right?”

  Hyacinth jerked her attention back to Lachlan. He was standing before her, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his composure.

  “Yes, I…yes, I’m quite all right.”

  Lachlan dragged his hands down his face, and when he looked at her again, she was shocked to see how pale he was.

  “Hyacinth, you can’t ever let any man lead you out onto a dark terrace alone, especially a man like Dixon. Even if you are courting,” he added, his voice hoarse.

  “I—” It was on the tip of Hyacinth’s tongue to say she hadn’t agreed to a courtship, and never would, but something made her hesitate. If Lord Dixon truly did have a terrible secret about the Ramseys, she’d do whatever she could to stop him from telling it.

  Short of marrying the scoundrel, that is.

  But a courtship—Lord Dixon assumed she’d agreed to it, and as long as he thought so, he’d keep quiet about whatever rumor he’d heard.

  Provided it was a rumor. If it was the truth…

  What then? Hyacinth drew a deep breath and fought back the panic that threatened to engulf her. “I didn’t come out to the terrace with him, Lachlan. I came out with Isla. Lord Dixon must have followed me.”

  This didn’t seem to reassure Lachlan, who regarded her with bleak eyes. “Dixon’s not like Lord Chester, Hyacinth. He’s not your friend. You’ve got to be on your guard against him. Swear to me you won’t go off alone with him again. He’s…I don’t trust him.”

  Nor should you.

  But Hyacinth didn’t say this. She only nodded. “I won’t do so again. I swear it.”

  “This…courtship.” Lachlan bit off the word, as if it tasted foul. “Does Lady Chase know of it? Have you written to Finn?”

  “No!” Oh, this would become an awful tangle indeed if her family got involved. Whatever it was she intended to do, it had to be done quickly. “It’s a recent development only, and I, um…well, I’d just as soon keep it to myself for now.”

  “You haven’t told anyone? Not even Isla?”

  Hyacinth bit her lip. “No, only you, but I will tell Isla.” She had quite a lot to say to Isla, and if what Lord Dixon claimed was true, to hear even more from her in return.

  Lachlan’s jaw ticked. “A day at most, Hyacinth, then you either tell Lady Chase, or I will.”

  “Yes, of course. I promise. Lachlan? Is there something…”

  Oh, she wanted so badly to ask him if he was keeping something from her—from all of them—but her mouth refused to form the words. Lachlan was no liar. If he was hiding something, she knew with all her heart he was doing it to protect someone. Perhaps he was wrong to do so, but he would only ever hide something if he believed he had to.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I just—I’m sorry we argued at the S
edleys’ ball. It seems I was wrong about not needing your help, after all. I’m glad you came after me tonight.”

  He took a step closer to her, his eyes going soft as they met hers. “I’ll always come after you, leannan, and not because I don’t think you’re brave. I do.” A faint smile twisted his lips, and he reached out and tugged gently at a stray curl resting against her shoulder. “You’re the bravest English lass I know.”

  Hyacinth flushed with pleasure. “I am? Do you know a great many?”

  “No. Only you and your sisters. But they’re both fierce enough.”

  “They are, indeed,” Hyacinth agreed, her lips twitching.

  He held out his arm to her. “Let’s find the others. I’ve had enough of this ball.”

  Hyacinth nodded and took his arm.

  They’d made it halfway across the terrace when she realized she had something tucked into her other hand. She opened her fist, surprised she’d just now noticed it, and glanced down at the object resting in her palm.

  It was a small bit of paraffin wax, one end of it worked into a point, rather like a pencil.

  She blinked down at it in confusion. Where in the world had it come from? She certainly hadn’t had it when she came out to the terrace, so where—

  Lord Dixon’s waistcoat.

  She’d grabbed at his waistcoat to push him away, and at one point she’d gotten her hand into the small pocket. She’d been in a panic, clutching at whatever she could reach, and she must have snatched the odd bit of wax without realizing it. When Lachlan shoved Lord Dixon back, she’d pulled it free.

  There was no other explanation for it—nowhere else it could have come from.

  She snapped her fist closed, hiding the wax in her palm.

  Ciaran had said something about Lord Dixon’s gaming, hadn’t he? She wracked her brain, trying to remember.

  Lord Dixon plays deep, and wins often.

  She peeked down at the wax again, her stomach twisting. Not one in a hundred ladies would understand what that bit of wax meant, but Hyacinth was one of the few who did.

  Last year, when she’d been in Brighton, she’d become friends with a young lady who’d confided to Hyacinth that her brother had nearly been killed in a duel that past spring, after he’d been caught marking cards. He’d done it by drawing a pattern of lines on the backs of the cards to indicate the number and suit. The lines were invisible to the naked eye, but if one knew they were there, they could see the patterns when the light hit the cards at a certain angle.

  He’d drawn the lines with a tiny bit of wax he kept hidden in his palm.

  Hyacinth stared down at the wax, her breath catching hard in her chest. She could think of only one reason a gentleman would keep a bit of wax secreted away in his waistcoat pocket.

  Lord Dixon was a card cheat.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hyacinth had been pacing from one end of the drawing-room to the other, waiting impatiently for Isla to arrive, but when the door opened at last and she caught sight of Lachlan entering the room on his sister’s heels, her face fell.

  Dash it. She’d invited Isla for a teatime chat under the guise of discussing their gowns for Lady Entwhistle’s ball this evening, but what she really intended to do was pry the Ramseys’ terrible secret out of her. That is, if such a secret even existed. But she wouldn’t be able to wrestle a single word out of Isla with Lachlan hovering about.

  Lachlan noticed her reaction, and paused in the doorway to raise an eyebrow at her. “You don’t look pleased to see me, Miss Somerset.”

  Heat flooded Hyacinth’s cheeks. “No, that’s not so, Mr. Ramsey. I just, ah…well, I can’t help but remember the last time you assisted us with our ball gowns. I seem to recall a discussion about some housekeeper’s lace night caps, and there was something else as well, having to do with ‘stringy white bits.’ Yes, that’s what it was.”

  “That was Ciaran,” Lachlan protested.

  “Oh, never mind Lachlan, Hyacinth. We won’t be obliged to listen to his opinions regarding lace trimmings, because he isn’t staying. He and Ciaran have another appointment this afternoon. Go on, then.” Isla made a shooing motion toward the door, then plopped down on the settee. “Now, Hyacinth, about that jonquil silk gown we discussed. I think—”

  “Before you two delve into the merits of jonquil silk, I need a word with you, Miss Somerset.”

  Hyacinth, who was certain Lachlan wanted to discuss Lord Dixon, was tempted to refuse. All it would take was one searching look from those hazel eyes, and she’d be in danger of telling him everything. She’d have a mess on her hands, indeed. Lachlan would go after Lord Dixon at once. She simply couldn’t run that risk—not until she learned if Lord Dixon truly did have a secret that could ruin the Ramseys.

  Lord Dixon was a cheat, after all. Why shouldn’t he be a liar, as well?

  Still, she could see by Lachlan’s expression he wasn’t going to accept a refusal. “Yes, all right.”

  He led her to the library, closed the door behind them, and eased her back against it. “You didn’t tell me the truth about what happened between you and Lord Dixon on the terrace last night. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about it.”

  He was worried for her? Hyacinth’s heart threatened to pool into a warm puddle at her feet, but she forced a casual shrug. “I’m sorry you were concerned, but really, there’s nothing at all to worry about.”

  His eyes narrowed, and a growl of impatience rose from his chest. “Don’t lie to me, lass. I saw your face when I came out onto the terrace last night. You were frightened. He said or did something that scared you. Tell me what it was.”

  “Nothing. There was nothing, I swear it.” Hyacinth held his gaze, and prayed he wouldn’t notice the guilty flush on her cheeks. “He, ah, took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “If that’s all it is, why haven’t you told Lady Chase he’s asked to court you? Why hasn’t he asked her permission? Damn it, he followed you out onto that terrace last night. He waited until you were alone and unprotected, and then he pounced on you.”

  Lachlan took her shoulders in his hands, his face twisted with anger and….dear God, was that fear?

  “He could have hurt you,” he rasped.

  He could hurt you as well, and I can’t let him.

  His fingers tightened. “Hyacinth? Tell me the truth. Christ, for all I know, he did hurt you.”

  “No. He didn’t. Lachlan, listen to me. If anything was amiss, I-I’d tell y-you.” She swallowed, but she could still taste the lie on her tongue, and Lachlan’s eyes were still shadowed with worry.

  Hyacinth didn’t know what to say to convince him, but she couldn’t bear to leave him in anguish, so she did the only thing she could think of. She cupped his face in her hand, and stroked her thumb across his cheek.

  His eyes drifted closed. Lachlan sighed, and let his forehead rest against hers. “Nothing can happen to you, aingeal. If you were hurt, I don’t know how I’d ever…”

  He trailed off with a shake of his head. She stroked her thumb over his cheek again, shivering with pleasure at the rasp of his beard against her skin. “Nothing will happen to me. How could it, when you never take your eyes off me?”

  Oh, no. No…

  As soon as Hyacinth said the words, she wanted to sink into the floor. Why, she’d made it sound as if she believed he was enamored of her! Now he’d think she thought he cared for her, or perhaps he’d think she cared for him, or…well, he’d think something. She could hardly tell what anymore, but it was sure to be humiliating, whatever it was.

  A furious blush flooded her cheeks, and she looked away, embarrassed. “I-I—that is, what I meant to say is, I trust you to—”

  Warm fingers touched her chin, and the next thing she knew she was looking into smoky, heavy-lidded hazel eyes. He lifted her hand to his mouth, and brushed his lips over the backs of her
knuckles. “It’s true, leannan. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

  “You mean in the, um…brotherly sort of way?”

  She bit her lip, half-afraid to hear his answer, but the corners of his mouth quirked in that rare, precious smile, and he slowly shook his head. “No. Not in a brotherly way at all.”

  He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, his breath catching when she parted for him, and then his mouth was on hers, so warm and gentle, teasing and licking at her lips until all that mattered was the sensual glide of his tongue against hers.

  But she wasn’t supposed to kiss Lachlan, was she? There was some reason she couldn’t, she was quite sure of that much, but when Lachlan sucked at her lower lip that way, she couldn’t quite recall what it was. It had something to do with Lord Dixon…oh, yes! Lord Dixon was meant to be courting her, and—

  “You taste so good, aingeal,” Lachlan whispered to her between kisses. “So sweet.”

  …and only a scandalous wanton allowed one man to kiss her while another was courting her. She had to stop kissing Lachlan. She had to push him away, and…and something else…leave the room at once? Yes, she must take herself out of his way, before they gave themselves up to temptation.

  But she didn’t do any of those things. Instead a tiny sigh escaped her, and she wrapped her arms around Lachlan’s neck and pressed her body closer to his, as tightly as she could, so she could feel the solid muscles of his chest against her breasts.

  He was murmuring something to her, something about butterflies and flowers and honey, and she was struggling to make sense of his words, but then he slid his mouth across her cheek to nip behind her ear, and whatever he was saying didn’t matter anymore.

  “Lachlan.” She gasped when his mouth moved to her throat, his warm breath caressing her dampened skin as he kissed his way down her neck. He tugged down the sleeve of her day dress to bare her skin, then buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, his lips tracing the curve there.

  “Lachlan.” Her breath grew shorter with every touch of his lips. She rose to her toes to sink her fingers into the unruly mass of dark hair at the back of his neck, desperate to learn his every line and texture.