“What things?” Lachlan’s tone was wary.
Ciaran made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Well, for one it would explain why you’ve been skulking about after Dixon, looking as if you’re about to plunge a claymore between his ribs. You’re making sure he doesn’t lay a hand on your woman.”
“Damn right I don’t want him touching her, but that’s not the whole of it. She’s afraid of him, Ciaran. She won’t tell me why, but he’s said something, done something—something worse than insulting her on Pomeroy’s terrace the other night. He deserves a bloody claymore through his ribs for that alone.”
“He bloody well does.” Ciaran was quiet for a moment, his forehead creased in thought, then he asked, “What do you hope to gain from this meeting with Sydney today, Lach? Sydney’s lost a few thousand to Dixon, yes, but he claims he doesn’t know the man well. No one does, it seems. Aside from the gaming, Sydney says Dixon keeps to himself.”
“Sydney knows more about him than we do.” It was true enough, but even so, a bleak sort of exhaustion descended on Lachlan. God, it had seemed a simple enough thing—a London season, to lift Isla’s spirits—but somehow it had taken on a sinister cast. Lachlan couldn’t shake his dread Hyacinth was going to get hurt.
He and Ciaran passed the rest of the drive to Lord Sydney’s townhouse in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lachlan’s were grim, indeed, but his spirits rose a bit when they arrived at Sydney’s house in Hanover Square.
“How d’ye do, Ramsey? Ciaran?” Sydney welcomed them with hearty slaps on the back, then led them to a comfortable study, and waved them toward some chairs placed in front of a roaring fire. He brought them each a tumbler of brandy, then poured one for himself.
“Damn good brandy, that.” Lord Sydney flopped into a chair, then held his glass up to the firelight to admire the rich color. “So, Ramsey. Your brother tells me you’re on the hunt for some information about Dixon.”
Lachlan nodded. “I promised Lord Huntington I’d keep my eye on Miss Somerset while she’s in London for her season, and Dixon’s been hanging about her lately.” Lachlan took a healthy swallow of his brandy to chase the taste of Dixon’s name from his mouth.
“Yes, I noticed that myself. Can’t say I blame him. I’ve always thought her a beauty, but I keep my distance from her on account of my friendship with Lady Joanna. Don’t know what she has against Miss Somerset, come to that. Some foolish nonsense, no doubt, but who knows when it comes to women, eh?”
Lachlan took another deep swallow from his tumbler, and let the warmth pool in his stomach before replying. “Who, indeed? So, what can you tell us about Dixon?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve known him since he arrived in London several years ago. Even so, I can’t say I know much about him, aside from the fact he’s got a good deal more of my damn money than I’d like him to. Lucky at cards, that one, and he turns it to account with careful wagering.”
“You mentioned he plays deep,” Ciaran prompted. “Five-card loo for the most part, isn’t it?”
“Loo, whist,vingt-et-un—whatever’s on at the time, really. He plays deep, and he always plays—don’t often see a cards table in London without Dixon sitting at it. He’s smart about it, though. Cautious, I mean. Careful with his bets. Methodical. I suppose I could take a lesson from him.” Sydney chuckled with the careless amusement of a gentleman who needn’t concern himself much with gaming losses.
Lachlan sipped at his brandy, considering. From what Sydney said, it didn’t sound as if Dixon was a reckless man, so why was he trying to rush Hyacinth into a courtship? Why was the scoundrel so bloody sure of her? Hyacinth had been polite to Dixon, but she hadn’t encouraged him. Yet Dixon seemed damned confident he’d have her in the end. “I noticed he didn’t appear until the season was well underway. Is that his habit?”
Sydney frowned. “No, now you mention it. Never known Dixon to give a toss about the season before. He’s not much for debutantes—prefers more sophisticated female company, if you know what I mean. I suppose we all fall into the parson’s mousetrap at some point, don’t we?”
“Not me.” Ciaran took a deep swallow of his brandy.
Sydney laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that. One of those little wallflowers you’ve been flirting with may catch your eye yet. Always thought it a shame no one’s offered for Miss Atkinson. She’s a sweet girl.”
“I don’t flirt with the wallflowers, Sydney. I dance with them, and nothing more.”
“We’ll see.” Sydney chuckled again. “Quite their hero, aren’t you? All of them are besotted with you. Not a bad game, really.”
“Do you think Miss Somerset could be the reason for Dixon’s sudden foray into the marriage mart?” Lachlan asked, bringing them back to the matter at hand. “He singled her out at once, the moment he entered the Sedleys’ ballroom.”
“Well, yes, but she was wearing that purple gown that night, remember? Good Lord, was she wearing that gown.” Sydney sighed, a dreamy look on his face. “More than one gentleman noticed her, and quite right, too. Aside from your sister, I’ve never seen a prettier young lady in my life.”
Lachlan’s lips pressed together at the reminder that every single lecherous rake in London had been gawking at Hyacinth in that damn gown. “Had Dixon ever mentioned he admired her, before that night? Had he singled her out in any way?”
“Not to me, and not that I ever noticed. They’d been introduced before, of course, but…” Sydney trailed off into silence, his brow furrowing. “It was rather odd, now you ask, Ramsey. I’d seen Dixon the night before at White’s—lost several hundred to him, damn his eyes—and I happened to mention Miss Somerset, though I can’t quite recall what…oh, yes. It was about her dance with Lord Chester at the Hayhursts’ ball.” Sydney shook his head. “Bad business, that. I haven’t seen Miss Somerset dance since then.”
“What did Dixon say, when you mentioned the Hayhursts’ ball?” Lachlan took care to keep his tone bland, but something was niggling at him. He didn’t know what yet, but he felt certain they were circling closer to whatever it was Dixon was hiding.
“Not much.” Sydney shrugged. “Just that he thought Miss Somerset had cancelled her season, and gone to Brighton instead.”
“What did you tell him?” Lachlan was leaning forward in his chair now, his brandy forgotten.
“Told him she changed her mind, and that she’s been at every ball this season so far, with the two of you, and Miss Ramsey. I, ah…” Sydney paused, flushing a little. “I might have said something about Lord Huntington claiming you as his family, and you, Ramsey, being Lord Lachlan now, though you don’t go by the title. Not in a gossiping way,” he hastened to add, “But more matter-of-fact. Anyway, Dixon turned up at the Sedleys’ ball the very next evening. I looked over, and there he was, bowing over Miss Somerset’s hand. Curious timing, that.”
Ciaran and Lachlan glanced at each other.
“Yes, very curious,” Lachlan muttered, finishing the rest of his brandy in one swallow. It was even more curious when one considered Dixon was pressing for a courtship a mere few weeks later, and a secret courtship, at that. If Dixon’s intentions were honorable, he would have approached Lady Chase or Finn about a courtship first, before he spoke to Hyacinth.
