“It’s a secret, Lachlan, not a lie.”
But Ciaran didn’t meet his eyes, and Lachlan let out a short, hard laugh. “It’s the same thing.”
“We could still tell the truth.” Ciaran gave him a hopeful look. “Perhaps it’s not too late.”
“No, perhaps not.”
For the past few weeks Lachlan had been considering telling Finn everything, but he wasn’t going to discuss it with Ciaran in the middle of the Sedleys’ ballroom. “Isla looks happy tonight,” he said, to change the subject.
They both stood for a moment in silence, watching Isla as she twirled across the dance floor in Lord Sydney’s arms, her face wreathed in smiles. “She does. Do you think she cares for Sydney?”
“Who can tell with Isla? It would be damn convenient if she did care for him. He seems to admire her, and he’s a good sort.”
Ciaran nodded. “Sydney’s solid. Much better than all these other uptight English prigs.”
“Honorable, too, by all accounts, titled, and from a well-respected family. He’d be a good match for her, and a decent husband.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Lachlan. Isla won’t marry without love, and I’m not sure she’s in love with Sydney.”
Lachlan didn’t reply, but watched as Isla made her way through the set. Every now and then she darted a smile in Sydney’s direction, but it was a friendly smile only, and Lachlan sensed her attention was elsewhere. Damned if he knew where, though, or on who. Isla made as much sense to her brothers as hieroglyphics carved on a cave wall.
“Speaking of love, Lach, I believe Lady Joanna is looking for you, and I doubt she’ll be pleased to find you panting after Hyacinth Somerset. Shall I go and distract her while you, ah…guard Hyacinth?”
Damn it. He’d rather have a tooth pulled than spend another minute with Lady Joanna, but she was Sydney’s friend, and Lachlan didn’t want to offend her now—not when Sydney could be on the verge of asking to court Isla.
He glanced back at Hyacinth and Lord Dixon, who were chatting amiably with Lady Chase and Lady Atherton. Lachlan couldn’t ask for two more formidable chaperones than that pair, and it didn’t seem likely Hyacinth would leave their side for the rest of the evening. She couldn’t dance, so there was no chance of Dixon trying to manoeuver her onto a deserted terrace when Lady Chase wasn’t looking.
Meanwhile, Isla was perfectly mobile, and prone to mischief. There was no telling what scrape she’d get into if Lachlan wasn’t there to keep an eye on her.
“No, I’ll go. Why don’t you ask Miss Atkinson to dance? She’s a good lass. God knows the gentlemen pay her little enough attention, for reasons I don’t pretend to understand.”
“No money. An unforgiveable offense, I’m afraid.”
“You don’t need a woman’s money.”
“So I don’t, brother, and you’re right. She’s an agreeable lass, and so are all the other ladies banished to wallflower row. Perhaps I’ll dance with them all again tonight.” Ciaran ambled off in that direction, his mouth curved in an affable smile.
Lachlan started toward Lady Joanna, but before he’d taken a dozen steps his unwilling gaze was dragged back to Hyacinth. She had her hand on Dixon’s arm, and she was laughing at something he’d said, as if she found him utterly charming. A bitter taste coated Lachlan’s throat, but he forced himself to swallow it back down.
He hadn’t seen a smile on her face at a single ball this season. She’d had precious little reason to be pleased. If Dixon could change that—if he could give her something to smile about—well, only a selfish ass would begrudge her that.
Lachlan turned away, and headed to a far corner of the ballroom, to where Lady Joanna was holding court. He pasted a stiff smile on his face, and tried to forget he wasn’t the one who was making Hyacinth smile. He wasn’t the one who was making her laugh.
It didn’t work.
The next thing he knew, he’d turned around and was marching back the way he’d come, across the ballroom, and back to Hyacinth’s side. By the time he reached her, he was in no mood to bother with pleasantries. He took her by the wrist, and tugged her away from Lord Dixon. “A word, Miss Somerset.”
“Mr. Ramsey!” She tried to jerk free of his grasp. “What are you doing?”
Behaving like a selfish ass.
* * * *
“I, ah—I beg your pardon, my lord.” Hyacinth turned to Lord Dixon, her cheeks aflame. “Please do excuse me for a moment.”
Dixon’s gaze lingered on the place where Lachlan held Hyacinth’s wrist, then rose to Lachlan’s face, his blue eyes narrow and calculating. Lachlan tensed, but before he could assess the strange look, Dixon covered it with a charming smile. “Of course.”
He bowed to Hyacinth, but Lachlan didn’t give her a chance to return the courtesy before he tugged her off to a quiet corner on the other side of the ballroom.
