“No. I mean to say I’m going to put itbackin his pocket. It’s the only way to be certain he has it when we bring in Lord Sydney as witness.”
Isla was gaping at her, mouth open.
“Oh, come now, Isla. Don’t look so shocked. It’s not as if I’m doing anything dishonest. The waxbelongsto Lord Dixon. I’m only…giving it back to him.”
Isla still didn’t look convinced. “Too much could go wrong, Hyacinth. What if you can’t lure Lord Dixon to the library? What if I can’t get Lord Sydney there in time? What if it’s unusually warm, and the wax melts—”
“I thought I was supposed to be the timid one, Isla.”
“Timid? No, you’re not timid, but you may very well be mad.” Isla bit her lip, wrung her hands, and shook her head, but at last, after some final protests and dark predictions of impending doom, she threw her hands into the air. “Very well, then. Tell me what I need to do.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Your waistcoat is unbuttoned. Your shirt is untucked, and your cravat looks as if there’s a rodent nesting in it. It’s odd, Lach, but I don’t recall you being in a state of undress when we got into the carriage in Grosvenor Street.” Ciaran gave his brother a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Whatever could have happened between then and now, I wonder?”
Lachlan glanced down at himself, hastily shoved the tail of his shirt into his breeches, buttoned his waistcoat, and made a half-hearted effort to smooth his cravat. “I’m not in a state of undress.”
Not entirely, anyway.
Ciaran grinned, then leaned back in his seat and stretched his legs into the available space, crossing them at the ankles. “Not for lack of trying.”
Lachlan kicked his brother’s feet away with a glare, but he didn’t reply, because he and Ciaran werenotgoing to have this discussion, or any other discussion where Hyacinth’s name might be mentioned in the same breath as the word “undressed.”
“Well, I’ll say this for you, Lach.” Ciaran laced his fingers behind his head, flung his elbows wide, and offered Lachlan an idle grin. “I can’t fault your taste. Sweetest girl in London, and a beauty, as well.”
Lachlan’s jaw hardened, but he maintained a stubborn silence.
“But then you’ve always had a weakness for fair hair, blue eyes, and generous curves.”
Lachlan scowled. “Never mind her curves. They’re nothing to do with you.”
Ciaran shrugged. “To be sure, but then a man can’t help but notice them, can he? I’m not the only one who’s admired them.”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed on his brother’s face. “Careful, Ciaran.”
Ciaran wasn’t in a mood to be careful, and he dismissed Lachlan’s warning growl with a casual shrug. “Still, I’m a bit surprised. Hyacinth Somerset doesn’t look like the sort who’d rip your waistcoat from your back, but then it’s always the quiet ones who—”
In one quick leap, Lachlan lunged across the carriage and grabbed his brother by the cravat. “Don’t youevertalk about her as if she’s—”
“Iknewit!” Ciaran crowed. He pushed Lachlan off him with one mighty shove, and then pinned him in his seat with a booted foot against his chest. “You’re in love with her, and—oh, quit thrashing, will you? Hyacinth is as dear to me as Isla is. I would never insult her, and you bloody well know it.”
Lachlan did know it, and yet it still took a dozen deep breaths before he was calm, and could push Ciaran’s foot off his chest without leaping for his brother’s throat again. At this rate, he’d end up in a duel before the end of the season.
Ciaran was trying to pull the folds of his cravat back into order, but after a few fruitless tugs, he gave it up with a sigh. “Damn it, now you’ve ruinedmycravat, as well. You know, Lach, you might have just told me you’re in love with Hyacinth, instead of making me tease it out of you.”
Lachlan’s eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d confided in his brother. Despite their brawling, they’d always been close, but everything had changed after James Baird’s death. Isobel Campbell had turned on Ciaran. She’d broken his heart, and Ciaran, devastated by her betrayal, had turned his rage and despair on one of the only people left in his life he knew would never hold it against him.
His brother.
They’d left Scotland behind, and with it, whatever brotherly affection they’d once shared. It had been lost in a flood of anger and resentment.
On Ciaran’s part, that is.
Lachlan had feared their bond was broken for good, but Ciaran asking to share his confidence was a glimmer of hope, at least. Ciaran was a devil, no question. He was unpredictable and irritating, and he had a troublesome habit of planting his fist in Lachlan’s face, but Lachlan would just as soon have his brother back, all the same.
Lachlan met Ciaran’s eyes. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”
“Yes, well.” Ciaran looked away, as if he were suddenly riveted by something outside the carriage window. “I knew you were infatuated with her. Had I known it was more than that, it would have explained a few things.”
