“With pleasure, my lord.” Hyacinth couldn’t disguise the note of disgust in her voice, but Lord Dixon didn’t notice. He clamped his hands around her waist as she made quick work of his buttons, tugged the garment off him, then folded it with great care and draped it over the back of the settee. Another gentleman might have found her concern for his waistcoat odd, but Lord Dixon had long since stopped thinking of anything but satisfying his lust.
A surge of triumph shot through Hyacinth. By God, she’d done it, just as she’d planned, and the worst part was over. Now she simply had to hold Lord Dixon off until Isla and Lord Sydney discovered them. Once Lord Sydney found the wax, they’d be rid of Lord Dixon for good.
Relief poured through her, but as the moments ticked by, one after the next, and Lord Dixon grew more enflamed, and hence more determined to relieve her of her clothing, Hyacinth’s elation gave way to alarm.
Where was Isla? It had been ages since Hyacinth left the ballroom with Lord Dixon—years, centuries—a lifetime! Could something have happened to prevent Isla from coming? Dear God, what if she didn’t come, and Hyacinth found herself stranded in this remote corner of Lady Entwhistle’s house with an aroused lord, and—
Crash!The library door flew open with such force it slammed into the wall behind it, and sent a half-dozen heavy books tumbling to the floor. Hyacinth shoved Lord Dixon away from her and shot to her feet, but as soon as she saw who it was, her legs threatened to give way.
Looming in the doorway, his muscular frame filling every inch of space, stood Lachlan, his hands clenched into enormous fists, and his entire body quivering with rage.
Hyacinth reached up a shaking hand to cover her mouth. “Lachlan, I…this isn’t…what are you—”
Her words died in her throat as his gaze swung toward her. The library was dark, but a shaft of light from the open door fell on her, and Lachlan froze, his face going whiter than she’d ever seen it as he took in her disheveled hair, bared shoulder, and crumpled gown.
Very slowly, his head turned toward Dixon, and the look on his face then…
“Lachlan, wait.”
Someone grabbed Lachlan’s shoulder, and for the first time Hyacinth noticed Ciaran was there, behind his brother, trying to hold him back. Behind Ciaran were Isla and Lord Sydney, both of them peering over Ciaran’s shoulder, looking horrified.
“Get off, Ciaran.” Lachlan growled, his livid gaze still fixed on Lord Dixon.
“I’m not letting you go until I’m sure you won’t kill him.” Ciaran’s voice was calm, but he was glaring at Lord Dixon, his face twisted with anger and disgust.
“Yes, do calm down, Ramsey.” Lord Dixon got to his feet and casually tucked his shirt back into his breeches. “Whatever might happen in private between me and my betrothed is—”
“Betrothed!” Isla squeezed between her brother’s large bodies, which were still crowding the doorway, and darted to Hyacinth’s side. “That’s a lie! Hyacinth would never agree to—”
“…is none of your bloody business,” Dixon went on with a sneer, ignoring Isla entirely. “But as it happens, this little assignation was all Miss Somerset’s idea. Not quite as innocent as she looks, is she?”
Isla gasped with outrage, and Lord Sydney shoved past Ciaran into the library, his face flushed with fury. “Now see here, Dixon—”
“I changed my mind, Lach.” Ciaran’s low voice cut through the rising commotion. “Go ahead and kill him.”
He released his brother, and in the next breath Lachlan was across the room. Before Dixon could dodge him, Lachlan had wrapped one massive hand around his neck. “I warned you never to touch her again, Dixon.”
“You, warnme? You’re in no position to warn me about anything, Ramsey. Rather the other way around, I think, unless you want the secret of your murderous past revealed to Lord Huntington, along with the rest of London. Now, take your hands off me.”
Lord Dixon tried to jerk free, but Lachlan wrapped his lordship’s cravat around his fist and held him fast. “Go ahead and squeal, Dixon. Go to Lord Huntington, and fill his ears with rumors.” He gave Lord Dixon a chilling smile. “Provided you have the breath for it, that is,” he added, with another wrench of the cravat.
At last Lord Dixon seemed to realize the precariousness of his situation. His eyes bulged, and he clawed at Lachlan’s hand, but Lachlan twisted his fingers tighter around the length of linen, and with one heave, jerked Lord Dixon off his feet.
Dixon made a strangled, choking sound, and his gaze rolled to Hyacinth, then to Isla and Lord Sydney, panic filming his eyes when not a single one of them made a move to defend him.
“Tell Lord Huntington all you know, Dixon. Tell all of London, for that matter—I don’t give a bloody damn who you tell, but if youeverthreaten Miss Somerset again—” Lachlan twisted Lord Dixon’s cravat a notch tighter. “Or speak to her—” Tighter still… “Or evenlookat her, I’ll finish you.”
Lachlan gave Dixon one last hard shake, as if to emphasize his point, and then he released him. Dixon dropped to the floor, gasping and coughing, his hands at his throat.
Ciaran ambled forward, and prodded Dixon with the tip of his boot. “Well, I think that settles it, then. Shall we go? Before long we’ll have every gossip in London down here.”
Lachlan reached down and grabbed Lord Dixon by his ruined cravat. “Get up, you blackguard,” he snarled, hauling Lord Dixon roughly to his feet.
Hyacinth’s panicked gaze met Isla’s. They couldn’t let Lord Sydney leave until he’d found the wax—
“Now. Hurry,” Isla muttered, so softly no one but Hyacinth heard her.
“Wait, Lord Sydney.” Hyacinth skirted around Lord Dixon, who was still moaning and retching. She snatched his coat and waistcoat from the back of the settee and held them out to Lord Sydney, but before he could take them, Hyacinth let the waistcoat drop to the floor.
