“Columns?” She leaned against the pillar at her back, and raised an eyebrow at Lachlan. “Are you making a joke, Mr. Ramsey? Or are you being intentionally ironic?”
Lachlan didn’t answer. He was staring down at her, his throat dry, with only one thought echoing over and over in his head.
Do you know how beautiful you are?
She looked like a butterfly, in her purple gown with the white column at her back, the gauzy silk of her skirts fluttering in a draft of air from a nearby open terrace door. A butterfly or a flower—a hyacinth, like her namesake—slender and vibrant, and with that sweet scent, like wild honey—
“What do you want, Lachlan? You dragged me over here, and now you don’t have a single word to say to me?”
He blinked down at her. Damn it, whyhadhe dragged her over here? He hadn’t thought it out, or considered what excuse he’d offer when he got her alone. He just knew he couldn’t bear to see her smile at Dixon again.
She frowned up at him when he didn’t answer. “You were terribly rude to Lord Dixon, you know. I’ll have to beg his pardon on your behalf now.”
Dixon’s name on her lips made Lachlan want to slam his fist into the marble column until he’d reduced it to a powder. “What’s Dixon want with you?” he growled at last. “I haven’t seen him at a single ball so far this season, and yet here he is, come out of nowhere, and he’s looking at you as if he’s one snap of his jaws away from devouring you.”
She glared at him, her color rising. “How should I know what he wants? Oh, wait. Idoknow. He must have seen my gown, and mistaken me for a Cyprian.”
Lachlan winced. That had been the wrong thing to say. “I beg your pardon. I never should have said that. You don’t look like a Cyprian. You look…very well.”
You’re far too beautiful, and seeing all these greedy male gazes on you is driving me mad—
“I lookvery well?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Is that what you just said?”
Itwaswhat he’d said. It wasn’t what he thought, but damn it, what was he supposed to say? He’d wasn’t the sort of man who could get away with poetic ramblings about butterflies and flowers and honey. He was too big and rough, and…scowlish. “Well, yes. You look very well.”
This only seemed to incense her further, so Lachlan tried again. “What I mean is, you look…nice.”
So tempting, so delicious I can hardly keep my hands or mouth off you…
Her face fell, and she let out a long, weary sigh. “You’re reallyfartoo kind, Mr. Ramsey. May I go back to my grandmother now?”
Back to her grandmother, or back to Dixon? “No. You still haven’t answered my question. I was under the impression you were on your way to Brighton, yet here you are. I can’t imagine how I could have misunderstood. Can you explain it?”
She shrugged, but her eyes darted guiltily away. “I recall you suggesting a trip to Brighton, but I don’t recall ever agreeing to it.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Hyacinth.” He leaned in closer, and rested his arm against the column above her head. His mouth was a scant inch from her temple, and he wanted to press his lips to the tiny cluster of curls there. “It was a command. I believe that was perfectly clear.”
“The part that isn’t clear to me, Mr. Ramsey, is how you can think I’m in any way obliged to follow your commands. I answer to my grandmother, not to you.” She lifted her chin, and despite his frustration with her, Lachlan had to restrain a smile. He’d seen both her sisters make that same gesture when they were piqued, but he’d never yet seen Hyacinth do it. It was oddly endearing.
“I see. And what did Lady Chase say, when you told her IsuggestedBrighton? Since you’re here tonight, I assume she refused to go. Is that right,aingeal?”
She didn’t answer, but the guilty flush on her cheek was answer enough for Lachlan. “You never said a word to her about it, did you?” Unable to stop himself, he reached for one of the long, loose curls framing her face, and stroked it with his fingertips. “So devious, Hyacinth. But never mind. I’ll speak to her myself.”
He started to pull away, but Hyacinth’s low, calm voice stopped him. “No, you won’t, Lachlan.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll do it yourself, then?”
“No. There’s no need to speak to her at all, because I’m not going to Brighton. I’m going to stay in London and finish my season, just as I promised Isla I would.”
“Isla will understand if you can’t keep your promise—”
“Perhaps she would, but I’ve a promise to keep to myself, as well, and I won’t break it. Not even for you.”
He stared down at her, shaken by her sudden intensity. Her face was pale and set, but there was a telltale quiver in her lower lip, and it hit Lachlan right in the center of his chest. He reached for her without thinking, and cupped her face in his hand. “Do you think I want to see you go,leannan? I don’t. I’ll miss you.” To Lachlan’s shock, his hand was shaking. “But you’ll be better off in Brighton. You have to go, for your own good—”
“Stop it, Lachlan.”
Lachlan froze. She spoke calmly, but he’d never before heard such aching disappointment in her voice, and it silenced him at once.
