“I thought you might be. But it’s curious. Didn’t you say your grandmother and sisters worry for your health when you become overwrought? Because you look very well at the moment.” His gaze roamed over her face, lingering on her eyes and mouth. “Sparkling eyes, pink cheeks…perhaps you should become overwrought more often.”
Hyacinth gaped at him. Well. She hadn’t the faintest idea what to say tothat.
He didn’t seem to expect her to say anything, because he shifted his attention back to the gown. “I agree with Ciaran about the white scraps.” He shook it a bit, as if he could force it to explain itself. “But no matter. Choose another gown for Isla. You said yourself you have dozens of them.”
“Butwhy? We went through my ball gowns already, Mr. Ramsey, and your sister chose this one.” By this point, Hyacinth was truly baffled. “Why shouldn’t she have it?”
He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Because it’s yours.”
“Strictly speaking, they’reallmine.”
“No. Not like this one.”
“This one’s no different than any of the others.” She tried not to sneak a last look at the gown, but it was no use. Her eyes darted toward it, and her heart sank in her chest.
He noticed, and his eyes narrowed to dark green slits. “Yes, it is. You care about this one.”
Hyacinth fell back a step, closing her hands into fists to stop their sudden trembling. He’d been watching her all afternoon—every time she turned around she found his gaze on her, studying her, assessing every fleeting expression on her face.
He’d seen her.
All she had to do was glance at his face, into his eyes, and she knew he’d seen it all. The yearning she kept hidden. The regret and the disappointment. Not at losing the gown, but the disappointment in herself. How had it happened, that he should be the one to strip away all her protective layers? It made her feel…
Exposed.
Panic curled in her stomach, and as any frightened animal would, she lashed out. “This is absurd. I gave that gown to your sister, and I don’t intend to take it back now.”
“I’ll explain it to Isla. She’ll understand.”
Hyacinth knew very well Isla already understood, but she stubbornly held her tongue. “There’s no time to do another fitting before Lady Bagshot’s ball, so…Mr. Ramsey! Stop that!”
He’d laid the gown over his arm, and now he was pulling all the pins out, one by one.
“No!” She leapt forward to snatch the gown away from him, but of course, it was no use. She might as well have tried tackling a tree. He easily held it out of her reach. Once he’d pulled every pin free, he reached around her and placed them carefully on her dressing-table, then draped the blue gown over the chair.
“It looks as if we’ll have to make time for another fitting. Another gown, Miss Somerset?”
Hyacinth gazed at the blue gown for a moment, then turned to look up at him. He stared calmly back at her, his face composed. Someone who didn’t know him might even think he was bored, but she’d seen that determined glint in his eyes before—yesterday, when he’d told her Isla needed her, and asked her to help his sister.
He promised he’d take care of her.
But she didn’t want to think of all the ways she was disappointing Isla, and disappointing herself. She’d already packed her trunks for Brighton, and they would leave the day after tomorrow. It was too late to change her mind.
Now, all she wanted was to be done—with talk of her season, with these blasted ball gowns, and with Lachlan Ramsey. The easiest way to rid herself of him was to give him what he wanted. She could argue with the man for the rest of the afternoon, but it wouldn’t do a bit of good, and in the meantime, her grandmother would be wondering where he was.
She crossed the room to her closet and began snatching down ball gowns. “Isla likes this pale yellow one, and I thought this ice pink looked very well on her.” She tried to hand the gowns to him, but to her surprise, he was staring at the array of gowns with a frown.
“Why are they all so pale? Don’t English ladies like bold colors?”
Hyacinth sighed. She was partial to bright colors, but even if they were proper, she still wouldn’t have worn them. A lady couldn’t disappear behind a white marble column if she were wearing a bright green gown. “Bold colors aren’t proper for young ladies just coming out.”
Lachlan grunted. “What about this one? It’s bold enough.” He pulled out a gown of a deep violet color, and held it up for Hyacinth to see.
“Oh, I forgot about that gown.” Hyacinth caught a fold of the bright silk between her fingers. It was a glorious gown, but between the color and the low-cut bodice, it was far too daring for an unmarried young lady. “It belongs to Iris. She intended to wear it this season—it’s proper for a married lady to wear such a color—but now she’s, ah,enceinte,it no longer fits her. She knew I admired it, so she left it with me. Silly of her, since I’ll never wear it.”
He assessed the gown, his gaze lingering on the low-cut neckline, then he glanced at her. “Pity. It would suit you.”
Something about his expression and the husky pitch of his voice made Hyacinth’s face and chest explode with heat. She stared up at him, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her breastbone.
