“Not just Isla’s season.” Lachlan’s voice was flat. “Yours, as well. Half of Lady Entwhistle’s guests saw Ciaran and I burst into the ballroom this evening, and they all witnessed our search for you and Isla. We’re not exactly dressed for a ball, and we attracted a lot of attention.”
Hyacinth’s gaze swept over Lachlan, and for the first time she noticed he was still in the same clothing he’d been wearing when she saw him this afternoon at her grandmother’s house. He and Ciaran had come to Lady Entwhistle’s in a hurry, then—so much so they hadn’t even stopped to change their clothes.
And the way Lachlan had burst into the library, the look of panic on his face…
Dread settled like a stone in Hyacinth’s chest. Somehow, Lachlan had found out something about this sordid business with Lord Dixon, and there was no question he’d demand she tell him the rest of it.
“By the end of the evening, every gossip in London will know some sort of scandal took place in Lady Entwhistle’s library. Your reputations are ruined.” Lachlan took a step toward her, his hazel eyes burning into her blue ones. “When we arrive at Huntington Lodge tomorrow afternoon, the two of you are going to explain to Finn how that happened.”
Hyacinth and Isla looked at each other, their eyes wide, but neither of them offered a word of argument. It was plain to see their seasons were, indeed, over. A pang of regret pierced Hyacinth’s breast for Isla, and any hopes she may have had of Lord Pierce.
For her own part, Hyacinth felt only relief, but as the heat of Lachlan’s gaze seared her, whatever courage had seen her through this evening withered away to nothing.
Chapter Twenty-one
By the time they reached Lady Entwhistle’s entryway, the gossip had spread throughout the ballroom. Like most gossip, the tiny grain of truth in every rumor was buried under dozens of lies.
Some had it Isla Ramsey had been stripped down to her corset when she’d been caught in the library with Lord Sydney. Others insisted she’d been fully clothed, but Lachlan Ramsey had fallen into a rage nonetheless, and beat Lord Dixon to within an inch of his life. Still others claimed the whole business was part of a complicated scheme hatched by Hyacinth Somerset to trap Lord Dixon into marriage.
But they all agreed on one thing. Both Isla Ramsey and Hyacinth Somerset were guilty of…well,something, and whatever it was, it was dreadfully shocking, and required immediate banishment from proper society.
By the time they reached the carriage, Hyacinth’s ears were burning, and she’d never been so grateful to leave a ball in her life. It wasn’t until the carriage door closed behind her that she realized there was one thing worse than whispered rumors.
Silence. Deep, profound, condemning silence.
No one said a single word the entire ride to Grosvenor Street. Isla’s gaze never strayed from the window. Lachlan sat next to Isla, his face as cold and hard as stone. Even Ciaran seemed at a loss for words, and remained quiet.
Hyacinth, who knew she’d be called upon to explain herself soon enough, spent the time inventing and then discarding explanations, and biting her lip bloody.
Sure enough, when they reached Grosvenor Square and Ciaran and Isla climbed down from the carriage, Lachlan remained where he was. Isla gave Hyacinth one last anxious look before Lachlan pulled the carriage door closed, and he and Hyacinth were on their way to Bedford Square.
They rode in silence. They abandoned the carriage, entered the house, and paused in the entryway, all in silence. Lachlan took her arm and led her down the hallway to the library, and still neither of them said a word.
He waited for her to enter, then closed the door behind them, brushed by her without a glance, and went to stand in front of the fireplace.
Hyacinth waited, breath held, for him to speak, but he stood silently, his back to her, and stared down at the empty grate.
The silence dragged on and on, until at last Hyacinth couldn’t stand another minute of it. “Lachlan, talk to me.”
“Did you put the wax in Dixon’s pocket?” His voice was tight, controlled.
Hyacinth hesitated. She had no intention of lying to him, but it was all so complicated—
“Answer me, Hyacinth. Did you put the wax in his pocket?”
“Yes.” She took an instinctive step toward him. “But it was his. I took it from him by mistake, that night on Lord Pomeroy’s terrace, and tonight I…I put it back.”
His hands clenched into fists. “You lured him to the library, slipped the wax in his pocket, got him out of his coat and waistcoat, then you…distractedhim until Isla could get Sydney down there to catch Dixon out.”
Hyacinth’s chin rose, and when she spoke, there wasn’t a trace of regret in her voice. “Yes, and I’d do it again if I had to.”
Lachlan’s back went rigid. “Did you ever think, for a single moment, of what he would have done to you if he’d figured out your scheme?” His voice rose with each word, his tight control slipping. “Did it ever occur to you he might havehurtyou?”
“But he didn’t. He didn’t hurt me.” She stepped closer to him, and laid her hand on his arm. “Look at me, Lachlan.”
The stark anguish on Lachlan’s face, when at last he turned to her, made Hyacinth’s heart splinter to pieces inside her chest.
“He ripped your gown.” He caught the torn bit of silk between his fingers. “He ripped your gown.”
