More or Less a Temptress

by Anna Bradley

  “We can’t…” But whatever he intended to say was lost in another groan as she pressed her open mouth to the hollow of his throat. He slid his hands down her back to the curve of her bottom, and lifted her against him. “This is what you do to me,” he whispered, as he nudged his hips into hers in a single, restrained thrust. “Do you feel me? Do you feel how much I want you?”

  “Y-yes.” She felt him, the long, hard length of him pressing into the soft flesh of her belly. He was so long and hard, in fact, a wiser woman would have been reduced to maidenly tremors, but instead Hyacinth’s core was melting for him, and she had the strangest urge to raise her leg, wrap it around his waist, and—

  “Lachlan? Damn it, where are you? I’ve been waiting an age.”

  Lachlan froze, his hands still clutching her bottom. “Oh, Christ. It’s Ciaran. He’s been waiting in the carriage all this time.”

  Hyacinth knew she should be horrified at the possibility of getting caught with her leg balanced on Lachlan’s hip, but to her surprise a choked laugh rose to her lips, and she had to slap her hand over her mouth to smother it. “Oh, dear. He sounds put out.”

  “He’s not known for his patience.” Lachlan’s mouth curved with a crooked grin as he gazed down at her, then he leaned forward and pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips.

  They waited until they heard the thud of Ciaran’s heavy boots pass the library, and then the low murmur of his voice speaking to Isla before they reluctantly broke apart. Lachlan smoothed the neck of her gown back into place, and brushed a few loose strands of her hair back from her face before he cracked the library door open and glanced into the hallway. “He’s in the drawing room with Isla. Stay here until you hear him pass, and I’ll sneak off to the carriage.”

  Hyacinth laughed softly, still giddy from his kisses. “If you hurry, perhaps you can convince Ciaran he’s the one who kept you waiting.”

  He was partway out the door, but he turned back, and before she could say another word he was across the room, standing before her again. He took her face in his hands, and pressed one last long, tempting kiss to her lips. “You and Isla will ride to Lady Entwhistle’s ball in Lady Chase’s carriage tonight? Ciaran and I will come after our appointment.”

  Hyacinth nodded, but Lachlan hesitated, his long fingers stroking her cheekbone, his eyes dark with worry again. “You’ll stay by Lady Chase’s side until we arrive, and won’t go anywhere alone with Dixon?”

  “No, I-I won’t,” she stammered, knowing if all went as she hoped it would tonight, she’d be compelled to break her word. Oh, how many times would she be forced to lie to this man?

  “Good.” He kissed her forehead, and then he was gone.

  Hyacinth waited a few minutes until she heard Ciaran pass, then she ducked out the library door and hurried back into the drawing room.

  Isla was waiting for her, her arms crossed over her chest. “Well, here you are at last. Where have you been all this time, and…upon my word, Hyacinth, why do you look so odd?”

  “Odd? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Your face is flushed, your hair is in disarray, your skirts are wrinkled, and you look…” Isla’s eyes widened. “Your lips are swollen! Oh, my goodness, have you been off somewhere kissing my brother?”

  “Hush, will you?” Hyacinth turned back to the door and pulled it closed. “For pity’s sake, my grandmother will have an apoplexy if she hears you.”

  “Oh, but this is delightful!” Isla threw herself onto the settee and patted the seat next to her. “Tell me everything! Well, not everything—he’s my brother, after all. In fact,” she added, with a little wriggle of distaste. “Perhaps it would be best if you told me very little. Oh, dash it, don’t tell me anything at all, aside from this. Are you in love with Lachlan?”

  Hyacinth sank down onto the settee, her stricken gaze meeting Isla’s as several irrevocable truths dawned on her at once. She was in love with Lachlan—rather desperately in love—and she was also quite sure he’d lied to her.

  “You are in love with him,” Isla breathed. Her lips curved in a joyful smile. “Oh, Hyacinth, I couldn’t be happier. Lachlan’s been so miserable since we left Scotland, and he’s been forced to endure so much. I know he can be grim and rough, but he’s the best of men, truly, and he deserves so much better than what…”

  Isla trailed off into silence, her smile fading, and Hyacinth knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Lord Dixon hadn’t lied about the Ramseys. There was a secret, and it was bad enough they’d felt the need to hide it.

  But secrets were ephemeral things, and now the time had come to tell the truth. No matter how awful it was, Hyacinth intended to have the whole of it before she left this room.

  Hyacinth took Isla’s hand in hers. “Last night, after you left the terrace, Lord Dixon came out. He found me there alone, informed me he intended to court me, and then he…he tried to take a liberty.” Isla gasped, but Hyacinth held up her hand for quiet. “As you can imagine, I rebuffed his advances. But when I made it clear I didn’t encourage his suit, he got angry, and he…he made an ugly threat.”

  “He threatened you?” Isla stared at Hyacinth, aghast.

  “No, Isla. He didn’t threaten me. He threatened you. You, and Ciaran and Lachlan. He said he knew a secret about you, and he told me he’d tell it if I didn’t let him court me.”

  Isla’s face went deathly pale, and the hand Hyacinth held turned icy cold. Alarmed, Hyacinth scrambled for the tea things to pour Isla a restorative cup, but her own hands were shaking, and the dainty porcelain dishes cracked into each other under her clumsy fingers.

  “But I don’t understand. How could Lord Dixon possibly know about it? Lochinver is such a small, remote village. How could word have made it all the way to London?” Isla seemed to be speaking to herself now, almost as if she’d forgotten Hyacinth was there. “My mother assured us this wouldn’t happen, that this story wouldn’t follow us—”

  “What story, Isla? You need to tell me the truth, so we can think what to do.”

  “Oh, Hyacinth.” Isla buried her face in her hands. “I never wanted to hide this from you. None of us did, not from any of you, but we were afraid. We’d lost everything. Our mother died, and the people we’d known our whole lives, all our friends—they turned their backs on us. It felt as if we were living in a nightmare. Lachlan saw there was nothing left for us in Lochinver, and he made us leave. Ciaran didn’t want to—he’s angry about it still—but Lachlan was right, Hyacinth. We had to go. We had no choice. We were never going to be able to have any kind of life there, after it happened.”

  Hyacinth struggled to catch her breath as panic welled in her chest. Dear God, what had happened? What could have been so awful they’d been forced to leave the only life they’d ever known behind?

  Hyacinth pulled Isla’s hands gently away from her face. “What happened, Isla?”

  Isla drew in a shaky breath, then began to speak. “When I was eighteen, I was betrothed to a young man named James Baird. He was a cousin to a family we’d known all our lives. Lachlan, Ciaran and I grew up with his cousins, and our families were close friends. I thought I knew James, too, but I was wrong.”

  Hyacinth squeezed Isla’s hands, and waited.

  “One day, a few months or so before our wedding, we happened to find ourselves alone in the stables after a late ride, and he…he tried to take, by force, that which should only be given to a woman’s husband on her wedding night. I suppose he thought he had every right, since we were betrothed.” A hard, bitter note crept into Isla’s voice. “Perhaps he did. Perhaps if I’d just stayed quiet, and let him have his way—”

  “No.” Hyacinth clutched at Isla’s hands, her grip fierce. “No man has that right.”

  “He…he was rough, Hyacinth, and I—I was in such shock at his sudden viciousness, I didn’t…I hardly know what I did, but I must have screamed,
because Lachlan burst into the stables, and when he saw James on top of me, hurting me…” Isla shuddered at the memory, and raised tear-filled eyes to Hyacinth’s face. “He yanked James away from me, and shoved him back. Lachlan didn’t….he just wanted to get James off me, but James stumbled, and when he fell he cracked his head on a heavy wooden post. He…he died, Hyacinth. He died.”

  Isla shoulders began to shake with sobs, and Hyacinth, tears now running down her own cheeks, gathered her friend into her arms. For a long while, they sobbed quietly, but at last Isla pulled away, and wiped her hand across her eyes.

  “Everyone in the village turned on us after that. All our friends, people we’d known all our lives—they called Lachlan a murderer, and me a whore. My mother—well, she’d never recovered from my father’s death the previous year, but she began to fail in earnest after that. I truly believe her heart was broken.”

  “I’m so sorry, Isla.” Hyacinth brushed her friend’s tangled hair back from her face with a soothing hand.

  “Before she died, she told Lachlan the true circumstances of his birth—that he wasn’t our father’s son, but the son of the previous Marquess of Huntington. A legitimate son and Finn’s brother. Lachlan was shocked and angry, and heartbroken, too, I think. He’d always looked up to our father, and then to find out the man he’d so admired wasn’t his father at all, and that he had a brother he’d never met—well, you can imagine how he felt. I loved my mother, Hyacinth, loved her with all my heart, but it was wrong, what she did to Lachlan, and he…I’ve been so worried for him.”

  Hyacinth nodded, but inside her chest, her heart was bleeding for Lachlan.

  “Lachlan despised being lied to, but he saw my mother’s revelations as a chance for a new life, and within a few short weeks we were bound for England. I was relieved, but Ciaran was forced to leave his betrothed, a lady named Isobel Campbell, behind. She’d already broken the betrothal—she was as hateful as everyone else in Lochinver—but despite her betrayal, Ciaran loves her still. He can’t admit to himself she doesn’t deserve his love, and so he blames Lachlan. It’s easier to blame someone you know will never turn their back on you, isn’t it? And Lachlan—he blames himself for all of it.”

  Hyacinth gripped Isla’s hand, and choked back the tears gathered in her throat. “So when you arrived in England, you chose to keep it a secret.”

  Isla turned pleading eyes on her. “Yes. We should never have done so, but you must understand, Hyacinth. Everything we’d ever known, everyone we’d ever loved and trusted—it was all gone in a single instant. After that, we felt we couldn’t trust anyone ever again. We thought if Lord Huntington knew the truth about us, he’d want nothing to do with us. We thought he’d send us away, and Lachlan…oh, Hyacinth, he was desperate to give Ciaran and me a new life, to replace the one he thinks he took from us.”

  Hyacinth nodded, but her hands had gone as cold as ice, and she felt numb all over. What must it be like for him, to carry that terrible weight on his shoulders? He’d been wrong not to tell them the truth, and yet how could she blame him for it? Why should he trust her—or Finn or Iris or any of them—when his own mother had lied to him? When everyone he’d ever called a friend had turned their backs on him?

  “Lachlan regrets it now—not telling Finn the truth, I mean. You’ve all been so kind to us, so welcoming. We made a mistake, and all three of us see that now, but…oh, Hyacinth!” Isla turned an ashen face toward her. “What’s to be done about Lord Dixon? I suppose we haven’t much choice other than to let him tell the ton all he knows.”

  “No, Isla. We’re not going to do that. Not when your family’s happiness is at stake.”

  And my happiness, as well.

  Hyacinth couldn’t imagine her life without the Ramseys. Isla with her fierce spirit, and Ciaran with his devilish smile…

  And Lachlan. Most of all, she couldn’t imagine her life without Lachlan.

  Isla was shaking her head. “But—”

  “Listen to me, Isla. If we can just rid ourselves of Lord Dixon, the secret doesn’t have to come out. As you said, Lochinver is tiny and remote. There’s very little chance anyone else in London will ever hear of it.”

  Isla went very quiet, and Hyacinth could see by the sudden pallor on her friend’s face Isla understood what she was saying. “If Finn heard of it, do you think he’d send us away?”

  Hyacinth hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t sure what Finn would do. He was one of the kindest gentlemen she knew, but he had his own painful past to contend with, and he could be severe when it came to certain things.

  Things like secrets, and lies.

  If he found out the Ramseys had kept something from him, he’d be furious. Worse, he’d be hurt. He’d feel betrayed. Hyacinth didn’t know whether he’d be angry enough to send the Ramseys away. He’d always longed for a family, and she couldn’t imagine Finn ever doing anything so cruel and unforgiving, but she didn’t know him well enough to be sure of him, and she wasn’t willing to risk the Ramsey’s future on it.

  Lachlan’s future. He’s already lost so much—

  “We can’t let you marry Lord Dixon, Hyacinth! The man’s a terrible scoundrel.”

  “He is a scoundrel, and worse, too. I’ve not the least intention of marrying him, I can assure you.” Hyacinth thought for a moment, then asked, “Isla, didn’t you tell me Lord Sydney’s lost a great deal of money to Lord Dixon at cards?”

  “Yes. A small fortune. Apparently Lord Dixon is lucky, and clever about his wagers.”

  Hyacinth hesitated. Once she told Isla her plan, she’d see it through to the end, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t frightened. She was. Just the thought of being alone with Lord Dixon made her stomach turn, and her flesh crawl with dread.

  “It’s not cleverness, or luck.” Hyacinth reached into the pocket of her day dress and pulled out the piece of wax she’d liberated from Lord Dixon’s waistcoat. “He’s a cheat.”

  Isla’s mouth dropped open. “How can you know that? And what is that, in your hand? It looks like—”

  “It’s a bit of wax, pinched into a point at the end.”

  Isla stared at the wax, her brow furrowed. “Where did it come from?”

  “Lord Dixon had it secreted away in his waistcoat pocket. I had a bit of a tussle with him on Lord Pomeroy’s terrace, and quite by accident I plucked out the wax.” Hyacinth held it up so Isla could see it more clearly. “I can only think of one reason a gentleman would carry wax in his waistcoat pocket, and that’s to mark the cards.”

  “Mark them? How?”

  Hyacinth, who’d been prepared for this question, drew a pack of playing cards from her skirt pocket. “Like this.” She separated a card from the deck, flipped it over, and drew a single line across the blank white back of it.

  Isla was shaking her head. “But you can’t see the mark. It’s invisible.”

  “Not if the light is at the right angle. Come see.” Hyacinth rose from the settee and went to the window, Isla following her. “If the light catches it just so, the bit where I drew the line is duller than the rest of the card. See?” Hyacinth turned the card this way and that. “If you know what to look for, it’s not difficult to see it. When Lord Dixon enters the cardroom, he already has the wax hidden in his palm. As the play goes on, he subtly draws patterns of lines on the backs of the cards to indicate the number and suit. Then lays his wagers accordingly.”

  Isla stared at her, dumbfounded. “For pity’s sake, Hyacinth. You’re not a card cheat yourself, are you?”

  Hyacinth smiled at that. “No. But you’d be amazed at the odd bits of information one can pick up during six weeks in Brighton.”

  “Indeed.” Isla held out her hand for the card, studied it for a moment, and then handed it back to Hyacinth. “It’s clever, isn’t it? But how do you plan to turn it to account? No one in London suspects Lord Dixon of being a cheat.”
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  “No, but they might if Lord Sydney, who’s lost such large sums to him, happened to discover a piece of wax in Lord Dixon’s waistcoat pocket. If such an unfortunate occurrence should happen, and Lord Dixon should be revealed a cheat, I doubt the ton will care to listen to any of his stories about the Ramseys, do you? Indeed, he’d likely be obliged to leave London at once, or find himself at the wrong end of an irate gentleman’s pistol.”

  “But how will Lord Sydney get a peek into Lord Dixon’s waistcoat? Lord Dixon would have to take it off first, and—” Isla’s hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes went wide. “No, Hyacinth.”

  “There are any number of ways a lady can inspire a gentleman to remove his waistcoat.”

  Isla buried her face in her hands with a groan. “Lachlan will go mad if he hears of this.”

  “He won’t hear of it. Lady Entwhistle’s ball tonight is sure to be a crush, and I think we can manage the thing without being noticed. When Lord Dixon asks me to dance I’ll accept, but instead of a quadrille, I’ll invite him to join me in the library. When you see me leave the ballroom with him, you’ll follow with Lord Sydney, and when you come upon us, we’ll take care that Lord Sydney discovers the wax. He’ll know what it means at once, I daresay.”

  “I don’t like this. It’s far too risky. Why not just tell Lord Sydney about it, and ask him to demand to see inside Lord Dixon’s pocket?”

  “No, that won’t do. What if Lord Dixon doesn’t have any wax hidden in his waistcoat pocket tonight? We can’t have Lord Sydney imply Lord Dixon’s a cheat unless we can be certain of the outcome.”

  “We can’t be certain of that no matter who goes diving into Lord Dixon’s pockets! You could risk yourself and your reputation, Hyacinth, only to find his pockets empty.”

  “His pockets won’t be empty.” Hyacinth held up the bit of wax in her hand, and met Isla’s gaze without blinking. “This will be there.”