“Not this kind of attention. I said I’d watch over you this season, if you recall. Shall I bloody the nose of every aristocrat who’s staring at you?”
Hyacinth threw her hands up in the air. “You’re being ridiculous, Lachlan! No one is staring. I daresay no one’s even noticed me—”
“Miss Somerset?”
Hyacinth broke off, and dropped into a hasty curtsey before the tall, fair-haired gentleman who’d addressed her. “Lord Dixon. How do you do?”
She’d met Lord Dixon once or twice before. He was a bit older than she was, and considered very handsome, charming and sophisticated by the ladies of theton. She’d never heard anything to his discredit, but he wasn’t the sort of gentleman who frequented debutante balls. Hyacinth couldn’t quite hide her surprise at his sudden appearance before her.
“I’m very well, thank you.” He nodded briefly to Lachlan, then turned and offered Hyacinth a polite bow. “Would you care to dance, Miss Somerset?”
“Miss Somerset isn’t dancing this evening,” Lachlan snapped, before Hyacinth had a chance to reply. “She’s injured.”
He didn’t make even the slightest pretense at politeness. Hyacinth shot him a glower that would have felled a lesser man, then turned back to Lord Dixon with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Ramsey is correct, my lord. I injured my foot a week ago, and I’m still unable to dance on it.”
“How unfortunate. Should you perhaps be sitting, then? Allow me to escort you to a chair.” Lord Dixon smiled again, and offered her his arm.
After a slight hesitation, Hyacinth took it. She couldn’t at all account for such sudden and pointed attention from Lord Dixon, but he was the first gentleman to offer her anything other than an insolent sneer since her season began, and she didn’t care to stand here and argue with Lachlan about Cyprians and bloody noses. If he wanted a lady to simper and fawn over him, let him go and find Lady Joanna.
“I wish you a pleasant evening, Mr. Ramsey.” Hyacinth’s eyes met his for a brief second, and a shiver rippled over her skin at the fierce possessiveness glittering in those hazel depths, but before he could offer a single word in response, she laid her hand on Lord Dixon’s arm, and let him lead her away.
Chapter Sixteen
“Oh, ah…pardon me. I mistook you for another gentleman.”
Ciaran had ambled all the way across the ballroom to speak to him, but as soon as he got close enough to see the murderous expression on Lachlan’s face, he turned on his heel to flee.
Lachlan stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“No place special.” Ciaran shrugged Lachlan’s hand off. “Just getting my face out of the way of your fist, that’s all. You look as if you’re about to bloody someone’s nose, and I’d just as soon it wasn’t mine. I’ve only just become pretty again after our last brawl.”
“It’s a ballroom, Ciaran. I’m not going to bloody anyone’s nose in the middle of a ballroom. Not yours, anyway.” He couldn’t say the same for that scoundrel who’d just led Hyacinth away.
“Who, then?” Ciaran turned to see who Lachlan was glaring at, and a knowing grin touched his lips. “Ah. I did wonder if it was like that.”
Lachlan snapped his gaze back to Ciaran, bristling. “What the devil does that mean? Likewhat?”
Ciaran rolled his eyes. “Oh come now, Lach. Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at Hyacinth Somerset? I’ve seen sheep wear that same pathetic expression, and do you know what always follows?”
“Damn it, I’m not staring at—”
“Lambs, Lachlan. Lambs are what follow.”
Lachlan gritted his teeth. Maybe he’d bloody Ciaran’s nose, after all. “I told you—I’m notstaringat Hyacin—that is, Miss Somerset. I told Lady Huntington I’d look out for her, and that’s what I’m doing.”
Ciaran snorted. “If you mean to look out for her, then you should have advised her to choose a different gown tonight. She looks utterly delicious. Dixon certainly seems to think so.”
Lachlan’s jaw tightened another notch. Jesus, that gown. How the devil had she gotten out the door without Lady Chase having an apoplexy? He wanted to start at her hems and nip his way up to her bare neck, then tear the gown from her luscious curves with his teeth, and start all over again.
And he wasn’t the only one. If Dixon stole another sneaky glance at Hyacinth’s bosom, Lachlan was going to bloody more than the man’s nose. “Dixon’s a blackguard. I don’t trust him.”
Ciaran shrugged. “Dixon’s not so bad. I’ve never heard any complaints about him, though the gossips have it he’s fond of cards, and plays rather deep. Besides, you don’t trust anyone, brother.”
Lachlan grunted at that. No, he bloody didn’t trust anyone, and he had damn good reason not to. He sure as hell didn’t trust Dixon, who was leering at Hyacinth as if he wanted to dive into her bodice and stay there for the rest of the night.
“Anyway, you can hardly blame Dixon for having a go,” Ciaran added. “She looks...that is, she’s very—”
“Tempting,” Lachlan said grimly.
