He did want her, so desperately he wasn’t sure he could stay away from her. “I want you and your grandmother to go to Brighton.”
She started, and her face paled. “B-Brighton? But—”
“As soon as you can ready yourselves.” Lachlan forced his face into an expressionless mask, even as he dug new half-moon scars into his palms.
“No, Lachlan. I’m not going to Brighton. I told you—”
“Yes, you are. We’re only a few weeks into the season, and you’ve already been hurt.” He jerked his chin toward her feet. “It’s only a matter of time before something worse happens. Your sisters and grandmother were right. London, the season, Lady Joanna and theton—it’s too much for you.”
Too much for both of us.
If she was within his reach, and they lost control again as they’d done tonight, she’d be the one who paid for it. She’d be forced to marry him—to tie herself forever to man with nothing but ugly secrets and a dark past to offer her. A man she’d despise, once she knew the truth about him.
A scoundrel, a liar, a murderer…
“N-no, it’s not. I can do it, Lachlan. I can make it through—”
“No, you can’t.” Lachlan choked the words past the bitter regret lodged in his throat. God, he hated himself for hurting her, for making her doubt herself, but he’d sworn to protect her, and there was nothing but heartbreak for her in London. “It’s best this way, Hyacinth.”
She didn’t answer, only gazed up at him, her eyes two wide, dark blue pools of hurt.
Lachlan turned away, unable to bear the pain and betrayal on her face. “I’ll get Ciaran and have him carry you to the carriage.”
“All right,” she agreed, her voice dull.
He crossed the room and opened the door, but stopped before going out. He told himself not to look back, not to look at her, but if was as if his feet were frozen in place.
His head turned.
She was huddled on the sofa, half-buried in his coat, her cheek resting on her bent knees, and her shoulders hunched. Her face was turned away from him, but there was no mistaking the way she’d curled into herself, as if she could fight back the pain by making herself smaller.
Despair washed over Lachlan, but he didn’t linger.
There wasn’t any point. It was done.
Chapter Fifteen
The Fourth Ball
Lord and Lady Sedley
Request the honor of Miss Hyacinth Somerset’s presence
At an evening ball on Thursday, February 19th
At 6:00 o’clock, 40 Upper Brook Street
Grosvenor Square
Dancing to commence at 8:00 o’clock in the evening
Hyacinth stared at her reflection in the glass, her elbow propped on her dressing-table, and her chin resting on her hand.
Had it truly been only a matter of weeks since Lachlan had stood behind her at this very mirror, held the pale blue gown in front of her, and challenged her to face her reflection? Had it only been a matter of weeks since he’d insisted onlyshecould wear that gown? That onlyshecould dance in it?
It was astounding, how much could change in such a short time.
She no longer knew whether he’d meant the words he’d whispered in her ear that day, or indeed, any of the words he’d said to her since the night he arrived in London. His kisses, his promises, his murmured endearments—all thoseaingealsandleannans—perhaps it had all been a ploy from the start to coax her into a season, and smooth Isla’s way.
