It wouldn’t be one finger, either. No, it would be all his fingers, and fingers would lead to other appendages, because once he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Hyacinth wasn’t Mary Mackenzie, and he was no longer a twelve-year old boy. He was a man, well past the point of an innocent flirtation, and God knew there was nothing about Hyacinth that made him feel innocent.
Christ. He’dkissedher, and she needed to be kissed more than any woman he’d ever known. Kissed and stroked and treasured, until she saw herself as he saw her.
Perfect. Beautiful.
He wasn’t the scoundrel for that job, either, but the thought of anyone else kissing her made him want to rip a gaping hole in the sky.
In every way in which it was possible for a woman to be untouchable, Hyacinth Somerset was untouchable to him, and yet he couldn’t just avoid her. No, in a vicious twist of fate that was no doubt a punishment for his many sins, the only lady he couldn’t touch—the one lady who tempted him more than any other lady ever had—was the same lady he’d vowed to protect.
Even if it meant protecting her from himself.
For an entire season. Weeks of dancing with her at balls, and riding with her in close carriages. Weeks of gazing into those dark blue eyes, and weeks of trying not to gaze at those maddening lips.
Weeks of sensual torture.
And he’d bear it. He suppress every lustful urge, and he’d do it without a word of complaint. She’d been forced to put up with Lady Joanna’s insults tonight because ofhim.He’d coaxed her into going ahead with her season, and he wasn’t going to abandon her now.
“Lachlan? My grandmother is still in the carriage.”
Lachlan jerked his attention back to Hyacinth, suddenly aware he hadn’t said a single word in more than five minutes. He ached to take her in his arms again. Even now his eyes refused to leave her face, and his body wouldn’t obey his command to back further away from her. Jesus, at this rate he’d tip over into madness before the end of the season. “No more hiding in the library, Hyacinth, and no more surrendering to Lady Joanna. Promise it.”
Lachlan winced at the hard edge in his voice. He hadn’t meant to sound so severe, but there was safety in retreating into the roughness he knew so well.
Her eyes went wide, but then she dropped her gaze entirely. When she spoke, her voice sounded small. “I promise. I-I think we’d better fetch my g-grandmother from the carriage now.”
Lachlan dragged a hand down his face, remorse washing through him when he heard her stammer. She’d had a miserable evening, and he wasn’t sure how he’d prevent it from happening again. He understood fists and blood, and how to bring a man to his knees with a single blow, but whispers and sneers, and theton’s sophisticated malice? He hadn’t any idea how to protect her from that sort of cruelty.
“I’ll go at once.” He strode outside to the carriage, roused Lady Chase and escorted her into the entryway.
“Oh, there you are, dear.” Lady Chase released Lachlan’s arm and took Hyacinth’s elbow. “Well, well. I don’t know how Lady Bagshot always contrives to have such exhausting balls, but there it is. Good night, Mr. Ramsey.”
“Good night, Lady Chase, Miss Somerset.”
Hyacinth didn’t reply, and when he straightened from his bow, she’d already turned away, and was leading her grandmother up the stairs. She looked smaller to him, as if the massive staircase were swallowing her, and her frame seemed too slight to bear Lady Chase’s weight. A surge of sudden, fierce protectiveness shot through him, and before he was aware of what he was doing, he’d climbed half a dozen stairs after her. He made it to the first landing before he came back to his senses, and trudged back down to the entryway, and outside into the cold.
It was late. A fine, wet mist hung over the drive, and the coachman was waiting to take him back to Grosvenor Street, but Lachlan took a moment to lean back against the closed door, and draw a few cold breaths of air into his lungs.
He’d never felt anything like that sudden, mindless stab of emotion in his stomach when he’d charged up the stairs after Hyacinth. Reason had abandoned him, pushed aside by pure instinct.
Whatever he’d been feeling in that moment, it wasn’t brotherly.
But it would be. He’d make it be, no matter what he had to do.
Only a devil ripped the wings off an angel.
Chapter Twelve
The Third Ball
Lord and Lady Hayhurst
Request Miss Hyacinth Somerset’s company
At a pleasure ball on Tuesday, February 10th
At 7:00 o’clock in the evening
33 Charles Street
