George Street, Mayfair
It would happen after the first dance of the evening.
Hyacinth and Isla had agreed on that this afternoon, and as it happened, fate approved their plan. They’d anticipated the most difficult part of the scheme would be escaping the ballroom without Lady Chase, Lachlan or Ciaran realizing they’d gone, so they’d come up with a rather complicated scheme involving a torn gown and the ladies’ retiring room. As luck would have it, Lady Chase had been obliged to remain at home in her bed nursing a chest cold, and for some mysterious reason, despite the late hour, Lachlan and Ciaran hadn’t yet made an appearance in Lady Entwhistle’s ballroom.
Now, seeing Lord Dixon’s smug expression when she invited him to accompany her to the library, Hyacinth decided it was just as well Lachlan wasn’t here. There was less chance of bloodshed if he didn’t see that smirk.
“May I assume your invitation tonight means you’ve agreed to accept my courtship, Miss Somerset?”
“Um, yes. If you like, my lord.” Hyacinth hardly spared him a glance. She caught Isla’s eye over Lord Dixon’s shoulder, and gave her friend a nearly imperceptible nod. Lord Sydney had been a trifle late to the ball this evening, which led to a brief panic on Hyacinth’s part. However, he’d arrived before the first dance and led Isla onto the floor, and all was in place, just as they’d planned it.
There was nothing left to do now but take Lord Dixon off to the library, get him to remove his coat and waistcoat, slip the wax into his pocket, then fend off his advances while she waited for Isla to burst in with Lord Sydney, and then reveal the wax to him. All this, while avoiding the notice of the several hundred guests now crowded into Lady Entwhistle’s ballroom, all of them on the alert for a delicious scandal.
Of course, this depended on whether Isla could even lure Lord Sydney to the library at all. He was, after all, a gentleman. He might refuse, leaving Hyacinth trapped—alone in the library with a coatless, waistcoat-less, amorous Lord Dixon.
Hyacinth’s heart was thrashing with such violence in her chest she was amazed Lord Dixon couldn’t hear it. Dear God, she must be mad to consider embarking on such a risky scheme. Under her skirts, her knees were shaking, and her tight corset seemed to have squeezed all the breath from her lungs. Perhaps this wasn’t such a grand idea, after all—
“I knew you’d see reason, my dear. It would be a great pity to see a lovely young lady like Isla Ramsey ruined, and I’m afraid theton’s disgust would be nothing compared to Lord Huntington’s. He’s not the sort of man one lies to, is he? Ah, well. Secrets are ugly things.”
Well, how kind of Lord Dixon to remind her how much was at stake, just when her courage threatened to fail her. Hyacinth’s spine snapped straight, and the smile she gave him was so cold she was certain frost must be drifting from her lips. “Indeed, there are a great many ugly things in London, my lord.”
“And a great many beautiful ones.” He trailed his fingertip from her wrist to the pale skin above her elbow length gloves, his avid gaze devouring the curves of her breasts. “I find myself eager to explore them.”
Hyacinth glanced over his shoulder again. Isla was fewer than ten paces away, her steady gaze fixed on Hyacinth. Very deliberately, Hyacinth reached out and took Lord Dixon’s arm. “The library then, my lord?”
Another satisfied smile curled his lips, and he led her with more haste than was proper to the edge of the ballroom. Within minutes, he’d hurried her down the staircase, and tugged her down a deserted hallway to the library.
The thud of the door closing behind them echoed in Hyacinth’s ears like a death knell. Lady Entwhistle’s library was on the ground floor, which suddenly seemed to be a very great distance from the ballroom. There wasn’t a chance anyone would hear her if she cried out.
Hyacinth shivered, and rubbed her hands over her arms. Lord Dixon noticed, and gave her a predatory leer. “Cold, my dear? I’ll soon have you warmed.”
Bile rose in her throat at his blatant insinuation, but she choked it down, and turned to him with what she hoped was a convincing smile. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to give me your coat, Lord Dixon.” It would take care of one item of his clothing, anyway, and without her having to touch him.
He chuckled. “Oh, you won’t need a coat for warmth.” To Hyacinth’s relief, however, he stripped his coat off eagerly enough, and tossed it over the back of the settee. “There’s no need to be shy, Miss Somerset. Join me over here, won’t you?”
Hyacinth swallowed, and cast a nervous glance at the door. Had it been five minutes since she left the ballroom? She and Isla had agreed Isla would wait for five minutes after Hyacinth and Lord Dixon left, but good heavens, five minutes suddenly felt like an eternity. Surely, she’d been gone for hours by now? Days, weeks—
“Ah, such a timid little mouse.” Lord Dixon beckoned her forward with a wriggle of his fingers, then patted the empty space beside him on the settee. “I won’t bite,” he added, with a wolfish leer.
Hyacinth shuffled forward and perched on the edge of the settee, her hands folded in her lap, and her back as rigid as a rod of iron. Lord Dixon slid closer, and his heavy hand landed on the back of her neck. It took every bit of Hyacinth’s self-control not to squirm away from him, but she gritted her teeth, and managed to remain where she was.
“Just relax, my dear.” He stroked her neck for a moment, then without warning his hand slid lower. He curled his fingers into the silk at her shoulder and yanked at her gown. Hyacinth heard a tearing sound as the delicate fabric of her sleeve gave way, and then a rush of cool air on her skin.
He drew in a harsh breath when her skin was bared to his gaze. “Oh, Miss Somerset, how wicked you are, to hide such bountiful treasures under those modest gowns of yours.”
Hyacinth squeezed her eyes closed and suppressed a shudder when his wet lips descended to her neck. She’d known these moments alone with him would be awful, and endless. She’d braced herself for it, but she never could have anticipated how wrong it would feel to have any man other than Lachlan whisper to her, touch her. Every inch of her skin was crawling to escape Lord Dixon’s pawing hands, every instinct screaming at her to get away from him.
Whereas with Lachlan…her body, her mind, and her heart were in perfect harmony when he touched her. Every part of her clamored for him. From the first moment his hands stroked her skin, she’d wanted to sink into him, drown in him.
Desire as powerful as that, a love so strong it surged through her with every beat of her heart…there was no refusing such a gift, and no going back from it, either. There was no place for doubt, and no room for hesitation.
Hyacinth turned toward Lord Dixon, braced her hands on his chest to steady herself, and slid her palms over the expensive embroidered silk until she found the slit of the pocket at the bottom of his waistcoat. She prodded at it with gloved fingers, the tremor in her hands making her clumsy, but at last she managed to open it just enough to get two fingertips inside. She had the wax ready, and she slid it carefully from the center of her palm to the ends of her fingers, and then, eyes closed and breath held, she gave it a little push with her thumb.
It tripped over the ends of her fingers, and fell into his pocket.
Hyacinth froze, her heart pounding, and waited. If he noticed her fumbling, and reached into his waistcoat pocket and found the wax, there would be no place for her to run—
“Unbutton it.” Lord Dixon, who’d clearly mistaken her sudden flurry of activity for an excess of passion, grasped her hands in a hard grip and forced her fingers to the top button of his waistcoat. “Take it off me.”
