More or Less a Temptress

by Anna Bradley

A stunned silence followed this announcement, then Hyacinth squeaked, “You’re what?”

  “I was meant to protect you this season. I failed. Now you’re left without a proper suitor, your reputation is tarnished, and you’ve no marriage prospects.”

  “Tarnished! Well, you’re quite the hero to take me on then, aren’t you?” Hyacinth put her hands on her hips and glared at Lachlan, as if daring him to say another word.

  Ciaran glanced uneasily at her. “Um, Lach, I think what you mean to say is—”

  “This all came about because of our secret,” Lachlan insisted, oblivious to Ciaran’s warning. “It made you vulnerable to Dixon. I won’t let you suffer for my mistake, Hyacinth.”

  Hyacinth’s cheeks flushed a dull red. “I see. So you’ll suffer instead?”

  Lachlan blinked at her, surprised at her tone. “Well, yes.”

  Ciaran hissed out a low breath. “Oh, Christ. The correct answer to that question was no, Lach.”

  But he would suffer, because every single day, when he woke up beside her and basked in her smiles, a part of him would know he’d only won her because his lie had robbed her of every chance at a better husband than he could ever be. For a woman like her, to be forced to settle for a man like him was nothing short of criminal.

  Finn glanced between Lachlan and Hyacinth. “Ah, Lachlan, I think what Hyacinth means to ask is…the best marriages are built on…a guilty conscience isn’t a good reason to—”

  “She’s my responsibility now, Finn, and I’m not a man who shirks—”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, Lachlan! No.” Ciaran buried his face in his hands.

  “Damn it, man! Do you care for her, or not?” Finn threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

  Lachlan stared at Finn, baffled. “Care for her?” He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted her. He’d never loved anyone, or even ever hoped to love anyone, as much as he loved her. Wasn’t it obvious? “Of course I—”

  “You’re an ass.” Hyacinth’s voice ricocheted off the wall and echoed through the room like a gunshot.

  Lachlan turned to gape at her, his mouth hanging open. “I—what did you say?”

  “She said you’re an ass,” Ciaran offered helpfully.

  Hyacinth faced Lachlan, her hands on her hips. “You heard me. You’re an ass, and I’d rather end a spinster than marry you!”

  With that, the meek, the timid, the reserved Hyacinth Somerset, who never dared breathe a cross word to anyone, turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, her back straight, and her chin thrust in the air.

  The long, awkward silence that followed was broken by Ciaran, who flopped into a chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, and regarded his brother with a deep sigh. “Well done, Lach. You’ve just made the kindest, sweetest-tempered lass in all of London call you an ass.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Like many young ladies, Hyacinth had dreamed of the day when a gentleman would ask her to marry him. She’d imagined impassioned pleas, promises of undying love and devotion, and her suitor descending to his knees in supplication.

  Very well, then. She was guilty of indulging in foolish romantic fancies, but the fact remained not once, in all her fevered daydreams, had she ever envisioned a proposal that included phrases like “tarnished reputation,” or “responsibility,” or “no other marriage prospects.” To be fair, she’d also never envisioned calling her suitor an ass, but, well…

  “Insufferable, high-handed, overbearing ass!”

  Suffering. Had he actually talked to her of suffering in the same breath he’d offered his hand? Though now she considered it, he hadn’t even offered his hand, or bothered to ask for hers, had he? He’d simply announced he would marry her, in the same way one would announce they were taking the last slice of beef at dinner, and then only because no one else wanted it.

  That was precisely how she felt right now—like leftover beef. Surely a lady had a right to expect more than that from a marriage proposal?

  “Argh! What an ass!” Hyacinth seized one of the pillows from the bed and hurled it across her bedchamber. It hit the door just as it was flung open, and it dropped to the floor at Isla’s feet.

  “Well, I see there’s no reason to ask if you’re still angry.” Isla leaned down, fetched the pillow, and tossed it aside. She crossed the room and stood beside the bed for a moment, arms crossed, her stern gaze fixed on Hyacinth. “This is not how I imagined this moment would unfold.”

  “Nor I, I assure you! I’m sorry to say so, Isla, but your brother is an ass!”

  Isla perched on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Well, yes, but then he’s a man, isn’t he? He also happens to be an ass who’s madly in love with you, so there’s that to consider.”

  “Love! I don’t recall any mention of the word ‘love’ in that dreadful proposal.”

  Isla sighed again, and plopped down next to Hyacinth on the bed. “No, but perhaps you do recall the way he looks at you when he calls you leannan? Or the stark panic on his face when he spoke of Lord Dixon hurting you? I know my brother, Hyacinth. He’s not the sort of man given to endearments, nor is he one who easily acknowledges helplessness or terror.”

  Hyacinth peeked at Isla over the edge of a pillow she was clutching to her chest. “No, I suppose not, but he said—”

  “Perhaps you also recall the way you leapt to Lachlan’s defense—not just when Lord Huntington accused him of failing to keep his promise, but also when Lord Dixon threatened to expose us. I know you, Hyacinth. You’re not the sort of lady given to reckless schemes, nor are you one who courts scandal on a whim.”

  “The scheme with Lord Dixon was meant to protect all of you, not just Lachlan,” Hyacinth protested, but she couldn’t quite meet Isla’s eyes.

  “Ah, yes. Of course, it was. Yet when you were alone in that dark library with Lord Dixon, coaxing him out of his waistcoat, you weren’t thinking of either me or Ciaran, were you?”

  Hyacinth fiddled with the edge of the pillowcase, then tossed it aside with a sigh. “Oh, very well. No, I wasn’t. I was thinking of your gruff, hardheaded, oldest brother. You heard him just now, Isla. He didn’t make me an offer from an excess of tender feeling, but from a sense of failure, and grim obligation. He said—”

  “Oh, never mind what he said! You should know better than to listen to what men say. What they say is of far less importance than what they do, Hyacinth.” There was a sharp edge to Isla’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Lachlan’s a man of few words, and most of those are gruff and abrupt, but if you wanted a gentleman with a silver tongue, one who would bombard you with empty flattery, you would have settled for Lord Dixon.”

  “I don’t want that. Do you suppose I can’t see Lachlan is ten times the man Lord Dixon could ever be, Isla? Don’t you understand? I love Lachlan. I’ve loved him from the first moment…well, perhaps not the first moment I saw him. I did mistake him for a murderer that first time, but certainly since then. His rough exterior, the way he growls deep in his chest, his enormous hands—I love everything about him.”

  Isla reached over and seized Hyacinth’s hands. “Then I fail to see the problem. Tell him, and let’s get on with a wedding, shall we?”

  “The problem is I want him to love me back, Isla.”

  “He does. You may trust me on that.”

  “He hasn’t said so. You’ve said so, yes, but…well, that’s not the same thing, is it?” Tears stung Hyacinth’s eyes. Even last night, when he’d held her in his arms and whispered she was his, he’d never said a word about love. “He’s gone to great lengths not to say it, Isla.”

  Isla’s face softened. “Oh, my dear. Don’t you see? He’s afraid to say it, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve you, and only you can convince him he does. There’s a part of Lachlan that still blames himself for the tragedy we left behind us in Scotland. He might always have done s
o, but for you, Hyacinth. If you can forgive him his past, and love him in spite of it, then he can begin to forgive himself. Don’t you see? You’re his hope—his aingeal.”

  Hyacinth brushed away the tears on her cheeks. Oh, she wanted so badly to believe what Isla said was true, and that Lachlan really did love her. “Do you truly think so?”

  Isla smiled. “With all my heart. Such a love as you and Lachlan have is rare, Hyacinth. Don’t toss away such a perfect chance at happiness.”

  Hyacinth gave Isla a shaky smile. “I suppose the least I can do is give him another chance.” She slid off the bed and crossed the room, but hesitated at the door, Isla’s final words echoing in her head. “Isla? You never said what happened with Lord Pierce.”

  “Didn’t I?” Isla shrugged, but her lower lip began to tremble. “I sent him a note last night, after Lady Entwhistle’s ball. He wrote back at once, and he…he asked me never to contact him again. He was very proper and courteous about it, but whatever was between us is now over. Ah, well. I never had much hope of him, in any case.”

  Hyacinth’s hand fell away from the door. “I don’t understand. I was so certain he…did he find out what happened in Scotland, and was angry you’d kept it a secret from him?”

  Isla gave a cold laugh. “Oh, no. I don’t think he even knows about that. No, it seems my brief sojourn in the library with Lord Sydney shocked him back to his senses. He must have heard the gossip, and assumed the worst. After all, no proper young lady would ever wander off with a gentleman in such a scandalous manner.”

  “But—”

  “No, Hyacinth. I’m glad for it, truly.” Isla rose from the bed, looking wearier than Hyacinth had ever seen her. “He can’t have cared much for me, can he? Such a man as that would never have forgiven me my past, and since I had no intention of keeping it from him, this break was inevitable. It’s just as well it happened sooner rather than later, don’t you agree? Though I confess myself surprised Lord Pierce would credit idle gossip over my explanation.”

  This last was said with some bitterness, and Hyacinth could see Isla didn’t wish to discuss it further, but she couldn’t let it drop yet—not when Isla’s future hung in the balance. “I thought better of Lord Pierce than this. How shall we proceed, then? I’m afraid last night’s scandal is too recent to have any hopes for a match for you this season, but perhaps next year—”

  “Oh, there’s no need to fret on my account. I won’t end a spinster, despite Lord Pierce’s dismissal. I, ah…I’m going to marry Lord Sydney.”

  “Lord Sydney!” Hyacinth’s mouth dropped open. “When was that decided?”

  “He made me an offer several weeks ago, and I wrote him this morning, accepting his proposals. My brothers will have to approve it, of course, but they will, and gladly. Who could object to Lord Sydney? He’s a dear man, and a perfect gentleman.”

  Hyacinth didn’t argue that point. She’d always been fond of Lord Sydney, and there was no denying he’d make Isla an excellent match.

  But…

  “Do you love him, Isla?”

  Isla’s forlorn little sigh seemed to rise straight from her broken heart. “It’s not a love match on either side, but I care for him very much, and I know he feels the same for me. We get on well, and he’s…well, he’s a dear friend. It’s a great deal more than many ladies can claim upon marriage.”

  Once again, it wasn’t a point Hyacinth could argue. It all made perfect sense, and yet that didn’t stop her heart from sinking in her chest.

  Isla noticed her downcast expression, and let out a sad little laugh. “Oh, don’t look so grim, Hyacinth. I didn’t have much hope my season would end in a love match. First James Baird, and now Lord Pierce…well, I no longer believe in fairy-tale endings.”

  They were both quiet for a long while after that, but then Isla offered Hyacinth a wan smile. “Last night, in the library with Lord Dixon—Lord Sydney was marvelous, wasn’t he? Once he saw that bit of wax, he simply charged forward, without hesitation, and without question.”

  “Yes. He was quite heroic.”

  “Indeed. When he first offered his hand, I told him about my past—the entire awful story. I thought he’d regret his proposals once he knew, and I was prepared to release him, but do you know what he did, Hyacinth?”

  Hyacinth shook her head. “No. What?”

  “He took my hand, raised it to his lips, and said my past was of no consequence to him. He said he cared only for our future.” Isla had been looking off into space, her eyes cloudy as she recalled that moment, but when her gaze shifted back to Hyacinth, they were bright and clear. “What a man says is of far less importance than what he does.” Isla repeated her words from earlier, her voice soft. “Do you understand?”

  Isla’s words, and the brave tilt of her chin made Hyacinth want to burst into tears, but she choked them back, and smiled at her friend. “I do. I understand, Isla.”

  “Go and find my brother, then.” Isla made a shooing motion toward the door. “I daresay he’ll make an ass of himself again before it’s all settled, but I have great faith in your strength, Hyacinth. I always did.”

  * * * *

  “I don’t know why you’re still sitting here, Lach. After a proposal like that, I’d be in my bedchamber checking for poisonous snakes between my bedsheets.” Ciaran bounced his foot against his knee and studied his brother with an abstracted air.

  Lachlan, who was slumped on one of the settees with his head in his hands, didn’t bother to reply. He’d made a bloody mess of this, though even now, he couldn’t figure out how it had gone so wrong. He’d begun well enough, hadn’t he? But then he’d said something about suffering, and Hyacinth’s face had turned red…

  “Did I…did I really imply marriage to her would be a misery?” Lachlan raised his head from his hands and looked at Ciaran, then Finn.

  Ciaran snorted. “Imply it? Oh no, Lach. You didn’t imply a damn thing. It was more like a declaration, wasn’t it, Finn?”

  Finn had hurried Iris and Lady Chase from the room, then returned and resumed his post in front of the fireplace. He was standing there now, seemingly at a loss as to what to do next. “Well, it certainly wasn’t good, but if it makes you feel any better, Lachlan, I doubt Hyacinth would resort to poisonous snakes.”

  “Non-poisonous snakes, then?” Ciaran asked.

  Finn gave him a doubtful look. “I would say no, but then I never thought I’d hear her call anyone an ass, either.”

  Lachlan dropped his head back into his hands with a defeated groan.

  “Well, he was an ass. For God’s sake, Lachlan. Anyone can see you’re madly in love with Hyacinth, so why not just say it, and have done? Waffling on about mistakes, suffering, and tarnished reputations? Good Lord, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Poor Hyacinth.”

  Lachlan raised his head again. “Anyone can see I’m madly in love with her?”

  Ciaran rolled his eyes. “Look at yourself, man! You’re miserable, aren’t you? If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. I’d find it all vastly amusing if you weren’t so pathetic.”

  “And if you weren’t in love with her, you’d never have made such a mess of the proposal,” Finn added, nodding wisely. “Gentlemen in love always make a bloody mess of everything.”

  Ciaran raised an eyebrow at Finn. “Indeed? You speak as if you’ve had experience making a bloody mess of things. Should I be complimenting Lady Huntington on her forbearance?”

  “The proposal went well enough. It was everything that came before it.” Finn shuddered at the memory. “I had to chase her all over Hampshire, and then she jilted me before she finally agreed to marry me. Twice, in fact.”

  “Twice! And you a marquess, too!” Ciaran let out a shout of laughter. “Good God. Well, Lach, the Somerset sisters seem to be of a forgiving turn, so perhaps all hope isn’t lost. If Lady Huntington could forgive F
inn, then surely her sister can forgive you, despite your being such an inconsiderate ass.”

  Lachlan rose to his feet and began to pace from one end of the room to the other. “But what will I say to her?” He couldn’t recall ever feeling so unsure of himself in his life. Bloody noses, black eyes—they were easy enough to manage, but this? It was worse than the time he’d taken a blade a half inch into his chest during a brawl.

  Of course, the point hadn’t touched his heart, whereas Hyacinth held that surprisingly tender organ right in the palm of her hand.

  “Throw yourself at her feet, beg her forgiveness, and declare your undying love, of course.” Ciaran waved a careless hand toward the door. “For God’s sake, Lach, it isn’t that difficult.”

  “Right.” Lachlan wandered toward the door, muttering to himself. “Knees, forgiveness, undying love…”

  “Can we listen at the door while you grovel?” Ciaran asked, with a wink at Finn.

  “Certainly, if you want your eye blackened.”

  After Lachlan left, Ciaran and Finn regarded each other in silence for a moment, then Finn grinned. “Having brothers is far more entertaining than I thought it would be.”

  Ciaran grinned back. “You have no idea.”

  * * * *

  As it happened, Lachlan didn’t have to grovel.

  But he did sink to his knees. Not because Hyacinth demanded it, but because when he found her coming down the stairs in search of him, led her into the deserted library and looked into the sweetest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen, he could do nothing else.

  Anything less would have been a lie.

  She twined her fingers in his hair as he knelt before her. He buried his face against her belly, and tried to put into words how much he loved her. In the end, he said what was in his heart. Ciaran would have been in fits of laugher over his bumbling address, but Hyacinth seemed to like it, and she was the only one who mattered.

  “The first moment I saw you, leannan, I thought you looked like an angel. You were so beautiful in your white gown, I stopped in the middle of the ballroom to stare at you. Even then, before I’d spoken a single word to you, I knew I’d never seen a sweeter face than yours.”