More or Less a Temptress

by Anna Bradley

  He’d do well to remember that. A devil had no business trifling with an angel.

  Lachlan dropped her hand and rose from the sofa. “I’m certain you’ll have dozens of better offers—”

  “Hyacinth? Where are you, child?”

  Lachlan turned at the sound of shuffling feet, and the muted thump of the tip of a cane on each stair.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes. Why must Iris have so many stairs?”

  Lachlan strode into the hallway. “May I help you, Lady Chase?”

  Thump. “No indeed, Mr. Ramsey. You’ll only make me nervous. Just tell me where my granddaughter is, if you please.”

  “Just here, in the drawing room. We were discussing—”

  Thump. “Yes, yes. I know very well what you were discussing. I don’t know what you did to coax my granddaughter into this foolishness, Mr. Ramsey, but if she should die of a consumption because she didn’t go to Brighton, you may comfort yourself with the knowledge it was all done in service to you.”

  “This was my idea, Grandmother, not Mr. Ramsey’s.” Miss Somerset came up beside him, and offered her arm to Lady Chase, who’d at last made it to the bottom of the stairs. “You spoke with Iris?”

  “I did, indeed, and she’s as foolish as you are.”

  “Then you know she’s refused to go to Buckinghamshire unless you agree to sponsor Miss Ramsey, and remain in London so the two of us can debut together?”

  “I know it all, but you needn’t pretend Iris approves of this business. She isn’t any happier about this idea than I am. She wants you to go to Brighton.”

  “Yet she did agree to it, nonetheless, and I’m sure you don’t wish her to stay in London, or go to Huntington Lodge without Finn.”

  “Humph.” Lady Chase glared at Lachlan.

  Hyacinth led her grandmother into the drawing room and settled her on a sofa close to the fire. “Does that mean you agree?”

  “But what of Brighton, Hyacinth?” Lady Chase rapped on the floor with her cane. “What if you should become overwrought, and contract some dreadful disease?”

  It took all Lachlan’s powers of restraint not to snort. Damn it, he was starting to despise the word overwrought.

  Miss Somerset hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough for his breath to stop with dread—but then she shook her head. “If I start to feel myself weakening, we can always go to Brighton then.”

  Lady Chase regard her for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh. “Well, Hyacinth, I know you’re fond of Miss Ramsey, and you’ve always been a tender-hearted thing. But are you certain you wish to do this?” She cast a dubious look at Lachlan Ramsay. “I daresay it won’t be at all pleasant.”

  Another slight hesitation, then, “I’m certain.”

  “You don’t have any obligations in this, my dear. The Ramseys are Lord Huntington’s family, not ours.” Lady Chase held up a hand to stop her granddaughter from interrupting. “I know it sounds selfish to say it, but there it is.”

  “Come now, Grandmother.” Miss Somerset sat down on the settee next to Lady Chase. “You know I don’t make those sorts of distinctions. Finn’s family is our family.”

  Lachlan stared at her. Her blue eyes had gone soft, and even in that ungodly sack of a dress…

  Aingeal.

  Lady Chase sighed, then she patted her granddaughter’s cheek, and there was no mistaking the pride and affection in her face. “Well, well. You’ve a kind heart, Hyacinth. Always have.”

  Lachlan had begun to back out of the room to give them privacy, but before he could reach the door, Isla and Ciaran burst in.

  “Lord Huntington is carrying Lady Huntington down the stairs!” Isla announced breathlessly. “I mean, Finn is carrying Iris…oh, bother! You all know who I mean!” With that, she darted back into the hallway, presumably to watch this momentous event.

  “Lady Huntington’s mad as a hornet about it!” Ciaran seemed to have put aside his anger of this morning, and was now wearing a gleeful grin. “She fussed and protested until Lord Huntington lost patience, wrapped her up in a blanket and scooped her into his arms like she was a sack of potatoes. By God, I like our brother, Lachlan. I thought he was going to be a stiff, proper, deadly dull English peer, but he’s a great deal more fun than I expected.”

  Ciaran strode into the hallway after Isla, and the rest of the party followed him, just in time to see Finn turn on the landing and start down the final flight of stairs. He was clutching Iris to his chest, his mouth a grim, determined line. Iris had her arms wrapped around his neck, and she was looking up into her husband’s face, her expression an odd combination of irritation and amusement.

  “This is absurd, my lord. I’m perfectly capable of walking…oh, Mr. Ramsey!” Iris called, when she spotted Lachlan at the bottom of the stairs. “Will you attend me to the carriage? I’d like a word.”

  Lachlan blinked in surprise, but he followed them out to the carriage, and stood by while Finn deposited his wife gently on the seat, and arranged half a dozen cushions around her. “I’m going to fetch another blanket.”

  “There are five here already, but if you insist, then by all means fetch another one.” Once Finn had disappeared into the house, Iris turned her attention to Lachlan, and she didn’t mince words. “My parents died when Hyacinth was fifteen years old. Both of them at once, in a dreadful carriage accident. Did you know that, Mr. Ramsey?”

  Lachlan’s eyebrows shot up, and he fumbled for a response. “Ah, Lord Huntington mentioned it, yes.”

  “Hyacinth was always a quiet child. Even before we lost our parents, she was painfully shy, and then the other children teased her because of her stammer, which only made things worse. She’d largely outgrown her difficulty with speech by the time she was fifteen, but after my parents’ sudden deaths she stopped speaking altogether. We feared she’d never…she’d never…”

  Lady Huntington choked on her words, then fell into a pained silence, but Lachlan didn’t need to hear any more. He could already see Hyacinth in his mind’s eye—a fair-haired girl with an angel’s face, so devastated by grief she retreated inside herself, lost and silent.

  “We’re all very protective of her, Mr. Ramsey—perhaps too much so, but I couldn’t leave without making sure you understand how difficult undertaking a London season is for her. Indeed, I think it’s far, far more difficult than either you or I can possibly imagine.”

  “I understand,” he murmured hoarsely. His chest was tight, so tight…

  “We’re trusting you to take care of her. Promise me you will.” Lady Huntington reached for his hand, and looked straight into his eyes as she held it between her own.

  He was a liar. Some claimed he was a murderer, as well. There were a dozen different reasons why Lady Huntington shouldn’t trust him.

  But in this…in this, he would not fail.

  No matter what else happened, no one was going to hurt Hyacinth Somerset.

  “I will, Lady Huntington. I swear it.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Second Ball

  Her Ladyship, the Countess of Bagshot

  Requests Miss Hyacinth Somerset’s presence

  At an elegant evening party at Orchards Park

  Tuesday, Feb. 3rd, 8:00 o’clock in the evening

  S. Audley Street, Mayfair.

  Hyacinth had already predicted there’d be a shocking lack of columns in Lady Bagshot’s ballroom. What she hadn’t guessed was there wouldn’t be any columns at all.

  Alcoves. That was it, and they were shallow ones, at that. What good were shallow alcoves to her? Paltry, insufficient things—

  “You’re anxious. Your hands are trembling.”

  Hyacinth shifted her attention from the alcoves to Lachlan Ramsey’s steady hazel eyes. There was no sense in denying it, not when her fingernails were even now tearing a hole in the arm of
his coat. “It’s the columns.”

  He glanced around the ballroom. “There are no columns.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m anxious.”

  His lips quirked. A bolt of pleasure shot through Hyacinth, and for a moment she forgot all about columns and alcoves, and let happiness sweep over her. Lachlan rarely smiled, but when he did, she felt it all the way down to the soles of her slippers.

  “There’s nothing to be anxious about. You look...” He waved his hand toward her gown. “Very well,” he finished gruffly.

  Very well.

  It was a proper, brotherly sentiment, but the way his eyes darkened to that hot, intense green when he looked at her…

  It wasn’t brotherly. That is, Hyacinth didn’t think it was. She didn’t have brothers, but she’d never seen any of her acquaintances’ brothers look at their sisters the way Lachlan Ramsey was looking at her right now.

  He cleared his throat. “The color suits you.”

  Hyacinth let a fold of the pale blue silk drift through her fingers. The gown had lived up to every one of her girlish fantasies. It was divine, and if it was the only good thing that came of an otherwise disastrous evening, at least she’d gotten the chance to wear it.

  “I think I understand the white bits now.” Ciaran was standing next to Lachlan, with Isla on his arm. “They make more sense now you’re wearing the gown. They, ah…well, they enhance the…” He made a vague gesture toward Hyacinth’s bosom. “That is, they call attention to the—”

  “For God’s sake, Ciaran.” Lachlan’s smile was swallowed by his usual dark scowl as he eyed his brother.

  “What? That’s what the white bits are for, isn’t it?”

  Lachlan didn’t answer, but continued to glower at him until Ciaran gave a helpless shrug. “Well then, I’ll simply say all three ladies look lovely tonight. Your turban, Lady Chase, is an exceedingly good one. I didn’t realize feathers of such a spectacular green existed in nature.”

  “Never mind my feathers, you young rogue. Make yourself useful, and take me over to Lady Atherton. She’s just there on the other side of the ballroom, chatting with Lady Eustace.”

  “Who are all those young ladies hanging about the alcoves?” Ciaran asked, peering across the ballroom at a cluster of grim-faced debutantes.

  Lady Chase squinted at the ladies through her quizzing glass. “Wallflowers. Well, it’s disgraceful any young lady should be neglected, with all these gentlemen wandering about. Shockingly bad manners on their part.”

  “Wallflowers?” Ciaran looked appalled. “But they’re lovely!”

  “Amiable, too, most of them.” Lady Chase lowered the glass with a sigh. “Oh, look, Hyacinth—poor Miss Atkinson is back for a third season. Well, it’s a pity. She’s a sweet thing, but no money, you know, so what’s to be done?”

  “Why don’t you invite her to dance, Ciaran?” Isla suggested.

  “Perhaps I will. Perhaps I’ll make myself useful, just as Lady Chase commands, and invite them all to dance.”

  Lady Chase nodded approvingly at him. “Very gentlemanly of you, Mr. Ramsey. Now, Hyacinth, my dear. Don’t fret. You’ve never looked lovelier, but do stop biting your lip, won’t you? Miss Ramsey, come along, and I’ll introduce you to Lady Eustace and her son. Perhaps he’ll invite you to dance. He isn’t handsome, and he’s an atrocious dancer, but you have to start somewhere.”

  “Yes, my lady.” With a last wide-eyed look at Hyacinth, Isla let Lady Chase and Ciaran drag her to the other side of the ballroom.

  Hyacinth watched them go. Ciaran’s coat was a bit rumpled, his hair was tousled, and he was pushing his way through the crowd with a bit more energy than was strictly polite, but his height and dark good looks were striking. Hyacinth noticed more than one pair of appreciative feminine eyes following his progress across the ballroom. “It looks as if the ton will welcome Ciaran warmly enough.”

  “The female half, yes, though I don’t know why. He looks like a blackguard.”

  “He does a bit, but it suits him. The young ladies here seem inclined to admire him.”

  “The Scottish lasses did, as well. No need to worry about Ciaran. He can take care of himself, and Lady Chase has Isla well in hand. Will you dance, Miss Somerset?”

  Her nervous gaze roamed the ballroom. They’d attracted more than one curious glance when they were announced, and even now she saw a number of speculative faces pointed in her direction, but it was nothing to the stares and whispers that would commence once she and Lachlan danced together.

  “Tell me about Ciaran’s Scottish lasses first.”

  He let out a surprised laugh. “Tell tales on Ciaran? All right. He’s a rogue. I can’t say any more than that without shocking you.”

  Hyacinth was absurdly gratified to have made him laugh, and her lips curved in an answering smile. “Indeed? How intriguing. What has he done?”

  His eyes narrowed. “One tale about one lass. Then we dance.”

  “Yes, all right.” She’d have to dance sooner or later, and perhaps it was a nice long tale.

  “Ciaran’s first love was a red-headed lass named Fiona. She didn’t return his affection, so he tried to woo her by bringing her a gift—a fish he’d caught, which was still thrashing and flopping when he dropped it in her lap. She screamed and ran away from him, and Ciaran’s heart was broken.”

  Hyacinth laughed, delighted. “Oh, poor Ciaran. How old was he?”

  “Seven. He’s better at wooing now.”

  “Did he win the affections of his second love?”

  “One tale about one lass, Miss Somerset. It’s time for our dance.”

  Dread rolled through Hyacinth as the couples on the floor moved through the final figures of the quadrille. “Perhaps we should wait just a bit longer, until...”

  Until I’m not about to cast up my accounts all over your shoes.

  “Hyacinth.”

  Hyacinth’s gaze darted to his face. She’d never heard that soft inflection in his voice before.

  “There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.” He held out his hand to her as the first notes of a waltz drifted across the ballroom. “Come. You’ll feel better when it’s over.”

  There was a breathless pause as the quadrille ended, and the company watched him lead her to the center of the floor.

  Then the whispers began.

  She could see the faces of the company watching them from both sides of the ballroom. She’d known they’d all stare at her, and she’d expected the ladies would whisper and smirk from behind their fans. She’d known there would be tittering and gossip, wide eyes and even wider mouths, greedily repeating every tidbit of information. She’d known they’d be curious—had prepared herself for it—but this wasn’t mere curiosity. There was a darkness to it, an edge of malicious glee she never could have predicted, even in her worst nightmares.

  She missed a step, and stumbled against Lachlan. His hand curved more firmly around her waist. “Don’t look at them, Hyacinth. Look at me.”

  Yes. That was a good idea. Surely she could manage that much. He was far larger than anyone else in the room.

  “Good,” he murmured, when she lifted her face to his. “Is that better?”

  “Yes.” And it was better, for a moment or two, until her frantic gaze wandered back to the press of bodies surrounding them. Dear God, they looked as if they’d moved closer, as if they were trapping her in a tight circle from which there’d be no escape. Her head began to spin, and her stomach dropped, just as it had the other night, right before she’d swooned—

  “Ciaran did win over his second love,” Lachlan said suddenly. “Her name was Catriona, and she was also a red-headed lass.”

  That caught Hyacinth’s attention. The crowd around them blurred into the background again, and she was able to gather her wits enough to ask, “Does Ciaran only fancy redh
eads?”

  “Not anymore. He was more discriminating then. Now he fancies everything in skirts.”

  Well. That was a highly improper thing to say, and yet despite the heat in her cheeks, Hyacinth couldn’t help being diverted. “Catriona returned his affections?”

  “Yes. I caught him kissing her behind the stables one day. I was so jealous I jumped on his back and held his face to the ground until he was so filthy Catriona refused to kiss him anymore.”

  “But that’s awful! Why would you do that? Did you fancy Catriona yourself?”

  “No. I was jealous because he was only nine at the time, and I was already eleven, and I’d never kissed a lass. I was older, and my pride wouldn’t allow him to kiss one before I did.”

  Any lingering awareness of the sneering faces surrounding them faded from her consciousness at this fascinating detail. Hyacinth tried to picture Lachlan as a dark-haired eleven-year old boy, seething with jealousy over his younger brother’s romance. “So you tried to drown him in the mud? That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “No, but neither of us cared about what was fair. Ciaran and I spent most of our childhood beating each other bloody. I didn’t break his nose that time, though. In any case, he got me back.”

  “He did? How? What did he do?”

  “When I was twelve I was mad for a lass named Mary Mackenzie, and used to show off for her by doing tricks on my horse. One day I tried to impress her with some foolish stunt, and I split the seat of my breeches. Mary saw my bare bottom, was disgusted, and never spoke to me again. I found out later Ciaran had picked apart the seams of every single pair of my breeches. He’d been waiting a week for one of them to split.”

  Hyacinth laughed so hard she missed another step in the waltz. “Did you break his nose that time?”

  “No. He broke mine, and I blacked his eye, and then we decided lasses were too much trouble to bother with, and we went off fishing together.”

  “Oh, my! It sounds as if it must be much more entertaining to have brothers than sisters. My sisters and I never brawled, or broke each other’s noses, or picked each other’s seams loose. Was Mary Mackenzie a red-head?”