by Anna Bradley
A murderer.
God, the irony was so perfect. Even he could appreciate the beauty of it. What a fool he was to think he could escape his past—escape who he was.
“Dixon’s holding this over Hyacinth, Lachlan. He’s threatening to tell our secret unless Hyacinth agrees to…Jesus, I don’t even know what. Marry him? My God, what kind of man threatens a lady into marriage?”
“The kind with gaming debts? Hyacinth’s an heiress. Maybe Dixon’s not as lucky with his wagers as Sydney thinks he is.”
Ciaran’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to throttle Dixon.”
Lachlan had to fight not to let his head fall into his hands. He was as close to despair as he’d ever been in his life. He didn’t give a damn about the secret anymore. Dixon could spread the tale all over London, for all he cared. All that mattered was getting to Hyacinth before Dixon did, because if he’d go so far as to threaten her, then he’d do worse, as well.
So much worse.
And Hyacinth…oh God, she’d fight to protect them. Even if she was furious at him for lying to her, she’d never let Dixon tell their secret if she thought she could do something to stop him.
Before the season started, after their call on Lady Bagshot all those weeks ago, he’d begged Hyacinth never to sacrifice herself for his sake again. He hadn’t known her well enough then to realize such a plea would fall on deaf ears, but he knew her now. She’d never let someone she cared for be hurt. Not if she thought she could prevent it. It was simply who she was.
How could he ever have thought she wasn’t strong? How could he ever have believed, for a single moment that her rare, pure kindness wasn’t the only kind of strength worth having?
An image rose in Lachlan’s mind then, of her determined smile as she danced with Lord Chester at the Hayhurst’s ball. Then later, her bruised and battered feet, resting in his lap…
Aingeal.
After what felt like the longest drive of his life, their carriage at last rolled to a stop in front of Lady Chase’s house. Lachlan knocked, then waited in an agony of impatience for Lady Chase’s ancient butler, Eddesley, to open the door.
“Lady Chase.” Lachlan didn’t stand on ceremony, but pushed past Eddesley and into the entryway. “Is she here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lachlan closed his eyes as a relief so profound it nearly dropped him to his knees surged through him. They hadn’t left yet.
“But I’m afraid she’s ill, and isn’t receiving, Mr. Ramsey.”
“Ill? Then where are Miss Somerset and Miss Ramsey? Are they here?”
“No, my lady insisted they attend Lady Entwhistle’s ball without her.”
“What, you mean they’ve gone by themselves?” Ciaran’s voice was sharp with alarm. “What the devil? Lady Chase sent them off alone?”
Eddesley gave a faint sniff of disapproval. “Certainly not, sir. Lady Atherton is to chaperone them. She fetched them in her carriage a half hour ago.”
Eddesley said something else, but Lachlan didn’t stay to hear it. He and Ciaran were back in the carriage before the old butler finished speaking, and careening over the crowded London streets to Mayfair, and Lady Entwhistle’s ball.
Chapter Twenty
The Sixth, and Final Ball
Lady Entwhistle requests
Miss Hyacinth Somerset’s company,
At a ball to be held on Saturday, February 28,
At 6:00 o’clock in the evening,
George Street, Mayfair
It would happen after the first dance of the evening.
Hyacinth and Isla had agreed on that this afternoon, and as it happened, fate approved their plan. They’d anticipated the most difficult part of the scheme would be escaping the ballroom without Lady Chase, Lachlan or Ciaran realizing they’d gone, so they’d come up with a rather complicated scheme involving a torn gown and the ladies’ retiring room. As luck would have it, Lady Chase had been obliged to remain at home in her bed nursing a chest cold, and for some mysterious reason, despite the late hour, Lachlan and Ciaran hadn’t yet made an appearance in Lady Entwhistle’s ballroom.
Now, seeing Lord Dixon’s smug expression when she invited him to accompany her to the library, Hyacinth decided it was just as well Lachlan wasn’t here. There was less chance of bloodshed if he didn’t see that smirk.
“May I assume your invitation tonight means you’ve agreed to accept my courtship, Miss Somerset?”
“Um, yes. If you like, my lord.” Hyacinth hardly spared him a glance. She caught Isla’s eye over Lord Dixon’s shoulder, and gave her friend a nearly imperceptible nod. Lord Sydney had been a trifle late to the ball this evening, which led to a brief panic on Hyacinth’s part. However, he’d arrived before the first dance and led Isla onto the floor, and all was in place, just as they’d planned it.
There was nothing left to do now but take Lord Dixon off to the library, get him to remove his coat and waistcoat, slip the wax into his pocket, then fend off his advances while she waited for Isla to burst in with Lord Sydney, and then reveal the wax to him. All this, while avoiding the notice of the several hundred guests now crowded into Lady Entwhistle’s ballroom, all of them on the alert for a delicious scandal.
Of course, this depended on whether Isla could even lure Lord Sydney to the library at all. He was, after all, a gentleman. He might refuse, leaving Hyacinth trapped—alone in the library with a coatless, waistcoat-less, amorous Lord Dixon.
Hyacinth’s heart was thrashing with such violence in her chest she was amazed Lord Dixon couldn’t hear it. Dear God, she must be mad to consider embarking on such a risky scheme. Under her skirts, her knees were shaking, and her tight corset seemed to have squeezed all the breath from her lungs. Perhaps this wasn’t such a grand idea, after all—
“I knew you’d see reason, my dear. It would be a great pity to see a lovely young lady like Isla Ramsey ruined, and I’m afraid the ton’s disgust would be nothing compared to Lord Huntington’s. He’s not the sort of man one lies to, is he? Ah, well. Secrets are ugly things.”
Well, how kind of Lord Dixon to remind her how much was at stake, just when her courage threatened to fail her. Hyacinth’s spine snapped straight, and the smile she gave him was so cold she was certain frost must be drifting from her lips. “Indeed, there are a great many ugly things in London, my lord.”
“And a great many beautiful ones.” He trailed his fingertip from her wrist to the pale skin above her elbow length gloves, his avid gaze devouring the curves of her breasts. “I find myself eager to explore them.”
Hyacinth glanced over his shoulder again. Isla was fewer than ten paces away, her steady gaze fixed on Hyacinth. Very deliberately, Hyacinth reached out and took Lord Dixon’s arm. “The library then, my lord?”
Another satisfied smile curled his lips, and he led her with more haste than was proper to the edge of the ballroom. Within minutes, he’d hurried her down the staircase, and tugged her down a deserted hallway to the library.
The thud of the door closing behind them echoed in Hyacinth’s ears like a death knell. Lady Entwhistle’s library was on the ground floor, which suddenly seemed to be a very great distance from the ballroom. There wasn’t a chance anyone would hear her if she cried out.
Hyacinth shivered, and rubbed her hands over her arms. Lord Dixon noticed, and gave her a predatory leer. “Cold, my dear? I’ll soon have you warmed.”
Bile rose in her throat at his blatant insinuation, but she choked it down, and turned to him with what she hoped was a convincing smile. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to give me your coat, Lord Dixon.” It would take care of one item of his clothing, anyway, and without her having to touch him.
He chuckled. “Oh, you won’t need a coat for warmth.” To Hyacinth’s relief, however, he stripped his coat off eagerly enough, and tossed it over the back of the settee. “There’
s no need to be shy, Miss Somerset. Join me over here, won’t you?”
Hyacinth swallowed, and cast a nervous glance at the door. Had it been five minutes since she left the ballroom? She and Isla had agreed Isla would wait for five minutes after Hyacinth and Lord Dixon left, but good heavens, five minutes suddenly felt like an eternity. Surely, she’d been gone for hours by now? Days, weeks—
“Ah, such a timid little mouse.” Lord Dixon beckoned her forward with a wriggle of his fingers, then patted the empty space beside him on the settee. “I won’t bite,” he added, with a wolfish leer.
Hyacinth shuffled forward and perched on the edge of the settee, her hands folded in her lap, and her back as rigid as a rod of iron. Lord Dixon slid closer, and his heavy hand landed on the back of her neck. It took every bit of Hyacinth’s self-control not to squirm away from him, but she gritted her teeth, and managed to remain where she was.
“Just relax, my dear.” He stroked her neck for a moment, then without warning his hand slid lower. He curled his fingers into the silk at her shoulder and yanked at her gown. Hyacinth heard a tearing sound as the delicate fabric of her sleeve gave way, and then a rush of cool air on her skin.
He drew in a harsh breath when her skin was bared to his gaze. “Oh, Miss Somerset, how wicked you are, to hide such bountiful treasures under those modest gowns of yours.”
Hyacinth squeezed her eyes closed and suppressed a shudder when his wet lips descended to her neck. She’d known these moments alone with him would be awful, and endless. She’d braced herself for it, but she never could have anticipated how wrong it would feel to have any man other than Lachlan whisper to her, touch her. Every inch of her skin was crawling to escape Lord Dixon’s pawing hands, every instinct screaming at her to get away from him.
Whereas with Lachlan…her body, her mind, and her heart were in perfect harmony when he touched her. Every part of her clamored for him. From the first moment his hands stroked her skin, she’d wanted to sink into him, drown in him.
Desire as powerful as that, a love so strong it surged through her with every beat of her heart…there was no refusing such a gift, and no going back from it, either. There was no place for doubt, and no room for hesitation.
Hyacinth turned toward Lord Dixon, braced her hands on his chest to steady herself, and slid her palms over the expensive embroidered silk until she found the slit of the pocket at the bottom of his waistcoat. She prodded at it with gloved fingers, the tremor in her hands making her clumsy, but at last she managed to open it just enough to get two fingertips inside. She had the wax ready, and she slid it carefully from the center of her palm to the ends of her fingers, and then, eyes closed and breath held, she gave it a little push with her thumb.
It tripped over the ends of her fingers, and fell into his pocket.
Hyacinth froze, her heart pounding, and waited. If he noticed her fumbling, and reached into his waistcoat pocket and found the wax, there would be no place for her to run—
“Unbutton it.” Lord Dixon, who’d clearly mistaken her sudden flurry of activity for an excess of passion, grasped her hands in a hard grip and forced her fingers to the top button of his waistcoat. “Take it off me.”
“With pleasure, my lord.” Hyacinth couldn’t disguise the note of disgust in her voice, but Lord Dixon didn’t notice. He clamped his hands around her waist as she made quick work of his buttons, tugged the garment off him, then folded it with great care and draped it over the back of the settee. Another gentleman might have found her concern for his waistcoat odd, but Lord Dixon had long since stopped thinking of anything but satisfying his lust.
A surge of triumph shot through Hyacinth. By God, she’d done it, just as she’d planned, and the worst part was over. Now she simply had to hold Lord Dixon off until Isla and Lord Sydney discovered them. Once Lord Sydney found the wax, they’d be rid of Lord Dixon for good.
Relief poured through her, but as the moments ticked by, one after the next, and Lord Dixon grew more enflamed, and hence more determined to relieve her of her clothing, Hyacinth’s elation gave way to alarm.
Where was Isla? It had been ages since Hyacinth left the ballroom with Lord Dixon—years, centuries—a lifetime! Could something have happened to prevent Isla from coming? Dear God, what if she didn’t come, and Hyacinth found herself stranded in this remote corner of Lady Entwhistle’s house with an aroused lord, and—
Crash! The library door flew open with such force it slammed into the wall behind it, and sent a half-dozen heavy books tumbling to the floor. Hyacinth shoved Lord Dixon away from her and shot to her feet, but as soon as she saw who it was, her legs threatened to give way.
Looming in the doorway, his muscular frame filling every inch of space, stood Lachlan, his hands clenched into enormous fists, and his entire body quivering with rage.
Hyacinth reached up a shaking hand to cover her mouth. “Lachlan, I…this isn’t…what are you—”
Her words died in her throat as his gaze swung toward her. The library was dark, but a shaft of light from the open door fell on her, and Lachlan froze, his face going whiter than she’d ever seen it as he took in her disheveled hair, bared shoulder, and crumpled gown.
Very slowly, his head turned toward Dixon, and the look on his face then…
“Lachlan, wait.”
Someone grabbed Lachlan’s shoulder, and for the first time Hyacinth noticed Ciaran was there, behind his brother, trying to hold him back. Behind Ciaran were Isla and Lord Sydney, both of them peering over Ciaran’s shoulder, looking horrified.
“Get off, Ciaran.” Lachlan growled, his livid gaze still fixed on Lord Dixon.
“I’m not letting you go until I’m sure you won’t kill him.” Ciaran’s voice was calm, but he was glaring at Lord Dixon, his face twisted with anger and disgust.
“Yes, do calm down, Ramsey.” Lord Dixon got to his feet and casually tucked his shirt back into his breeches. “Whatever might happen in private between me and my betrothed is—”
“Betrothed!” Isla squeezed between her brother’s large bodies, which were still crowding the doorway, and darted to Hyacinth’s side. “That’s a lie! Hyacinth would never agree to—”
“…is none of your bloody business,” Dixon went on with a sneer, ignoring Isla entirely. “But as it happens, this little assignation was all Miss Somerset’s idea. Not quite as innocent as she looks, is she?”
Isla gasped with outrage, and Lord Sydney shoved past Ciaran into the library, his face flushed with fury. “Now see here, Dixon—”
“I changed my mind, Lach.” Ciaran’s low voice cut through the rising commotion. “Go ahead and kill him.”
He released his brother, and in the next breath Lachlan was across the room. Before Dixon could dodge him, Lachlan had wrapped one massive hand around his neck. “I warned you never to touch her again, Dixon.”
“You, warn me? You’re in no position to warn me about anything, Ramsey. Rather the other way around, I think, unless you want the secret of your murderous past revealed to Lord Huntington, along with the rest of London. Now, take your hands off me.”
Lord Dixon tried to jerk free, but Lachlan wrapped his lordship’s cravat around his fist and held him fast. “Go ahead and squeal, Dixon. Go to Lord Huntington, and fill his ears with rumors.” He gave Lord Dixon a chilling smile. “Provided you have the breath for it, that is,” he added, with another wrench of the cravat.
At last Lord Dixon seemed to realize the precariousness of his situation. His eyes bulged, and he clawed at Lachlan’s hand, but Lachlan twisted his fingers tighter around the length of linen, and with one heave, jerked Lord Dixon off his feet.
Dixon made a strangled, choking sound, and his gaze rolled to Hyacinth, then to Isla and Lord Sydney, panic filming his eyes when not a single one of them made a move to defend him.
“Tell Lord Huntington all you know, Dixon. Tell all of London, fo
r that matter—I don’t give a bloody damn who you tell, but if you ever threaten Miss Somerset again—” Lachlan twisted Lord Dixon’s cravat a notch tighter. “Or speak to her—” Tighter still… “Or even look at her, I’ll finish you.”
Lachlan gave Dixon one last hard shake, as if to emphasize his point, and then he released him. Dixon dropped to the floor, gasping and coughing, his hands at his throat.
Ciaran ambled forward, and prodded Dixon with the tip of his boot. “Well, I think that settles it, then. Shall we go? Before long we’ll have every gossip in London down here.”
Lachlan reached down and grabbed Lord Dixon by his ruined cravat. “Get up, you blackguard,” he snarled, hauling Lord Dixon roughly to his feet.
Hyacinth’s panicked gaze met Isla’s. They couldn’t let Lord Sydney leave until he’d found the wax—
“Now. Hurry,” Isla muttered, so softly no one but Hyacinth heard her.
“Wait, Lord Sydney.” Hyacinth skirted around Lord Dixon, who was still moaning and retching. She snatched his coat and waistcoat from the back of the settee and held them out to Lord Sydney, but before he could take them, Hyacinth let the waistcoat drop to the floor.
“I-I beg your p-pardon.” She leaned down and grabbed the waistcoat, taking care to hold it upside down and give it a good shake before offering it to Lord Sydney again.
The bit of wax rolled obligingly from the pocket, and landed near the tip of Lord Sydney’s boot.
Neither Isla or Hyacinth moved, or even dared draw a breath.
“What’s this?” Lord Sydney reached down and picked up the wax. He studied it for a moment, puzzled, then held it up to the light to get a closer look. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He turned on Lord Dixon, his face dark with rage. “Not just a debaucher, Dixon, but a cheat as well?”
Lord Dixon made some sort of gurgling noise—a protest, Hyacinth assumed—but it was already too late.
“A cheat?” Ciaran took the piece of wax from Lord Sydney and squinted at it, his brow creased. “What the devil is this?”