She pulled his hand away from her face. “I don’t want any more help from you this season. You don’t need to worry about protecting me, or watching over me anymore. I’m releasing you from your promise to do so.”
Lachlan had withstood dozens of blows to his face in his lifetime, and any number of fists to his gut, but none of them had ever hurt him as much as hearing her say she didn’t need him anymore. Thousands of words rushed to his lips—questions, protests, and apologies—but he could only speak one of them. “Why?”
Her eyes were bright with tears, and he watched in horror as one spilled over and ran down her cheek. She didn’t bother wiping it away. “Because you lied. You told me if I went ahead with my season, you’d make sure no one hurt me. That was a lie.”
“Who hurt you,leannan?” But Lachlan already knew the answer.
“You did. The other night, when we were in Lord Hayhurst’s library, you told me I was brave. Do you remember that? No one’s ever said that to me before. I thought you meant it.” She let out a hollow little laugh. “But you didn’t, did you?”
He’d meant every word, but how did he tell her it wasn’t her bravery he questioned, but his own? How could he explain that for all her supposed timidity, for all her fragile nerves and innocence, and her delicate angel’s face, she was far stronger, far braver than he was?
He didn’t have the words to tell her that, so he did the only thing he could do. A strange sense of having been here with her before washed over him as his arm fell away from the column, and he stepped back to give her room to pass. They seemed to be always walking away from each other, with a thousand words left unspoken between them.
But he didn’t speak them now, and neither did she. She paused, her eyes searching his, but in his own way Lachlan was as good at hiding as she was, and whatever she saw there, it wasn’t what she wanted to see.
She slid away from the column, turned her back on him, and walked away.
Chapter Seventeen
The Fifth Ball
Miss Hyacinth Somerset’s company
Is requested at a ball at Lord Pomeroy’s townhouse,
On Monday, the 23rd of February
at 8:00 o’clock in the evening,
Bruton Street, Mayfair
“Lord Pierce kissed me.”
Hyacinth had been inspecting the red marks Isla’s fingertips had left on her upper arm when Isla had dragged her out to the terrace, but now she jerked her gaze to her friend’s face, her mouth falling open. “He did? Where?”
“Where? Why, on the lips, of course. Where else?”
“No, no. I mean, where could you have found enough privacy for a kiss?” Every time Hyacinth turned around she caught Lachlan’s eyes on her, burning with such intensity, she half-expected to find scorch marks on her gown. He’d kept his distance since their argument at the Sedleys’ ball, but he hardly suffered her to stir a step out of his sight. He was nearly as bad with Isla, so how had she managed to get out from under his eye?
“Lord Pierce followed me to the ladies’ retiring room, and when I came out he took my arm, and we ducked into the library.”
“Indeed?” Perhaps Lachlan had been right when he’d said the library was the first place a rogue intent on seduction would lure his innocent victim. Hyacinth had thought it nonsense at the time, but she’d kissed Lachlan in Lord Hayhurst’s library, and now here was Isla with her own tale of debauchery among the tomes.
Except Lord Pierce wasn’t a debaucher. If anything, he erred on the side of being too stiff and proper. For him to forget himself so thoroughly could only mean one thing.
Hyacinth grasped Isla’s hands, squeezing with excitement. “Oh my goodness, Isla. Lord Pierce isn’t at all the sort of gentleman who kisses young ladies in darkened libraries. He must be in love with you!”
She expected her friend to share her delight, but to Hyacinth’s surprise, Isla’s smile faded, and a troubled cloud passed over her pretty face. “No, he…I don’t think he does love me. He, ah…well, the truth is, most of the time he doesn’t even seem to like me much.”
“But he must, Isla. I tell you, he’s as far from a debaucher as any gentleman I’ve ever known. If he kissed you, it was because he couldn’t bear not to.” Hyacinth allowed herself a tiny, forlorn little sigh at the idea of a gentleman so smitten he couldn’t resist a kiss. What would it be like, to inspire such passion?
“It’s a reluctant affection, then. If he does care for me, I suspect he wishes he didn’t.”
“That’s nonsense,” Hyacinth said stoutly. “No man could wish such a thing in regards to you. Why, you’re lovely, Isla, and so clever and charming.”
Isla gave her a half-hearted smile, but she was shaking her head. “Not clever and charming enough to excuse my scandalous connections. As far as the Englishtonis concerned, my father is a scoundrel who stole the Marchioness of Huntington out from under the nose of her lawful husband, and my mother a disgrace to her name and family. Lord Pierce may not be a rogue, but he’s also not the sort of man who’s likely to overlook such things.”
“If he truly loves you, he will,” Hyacinth insisted, but there was a thread of doubt in her voice. She didn’t know Lord Pierce well, but she did know theton. They’d tolerated the Ramseys so far, but once the novelty of Lord Huntington’s Scottish siblings wore off, so might theton’s forbearance.
