Those were his words, but his words didn’t matter. Her gown didn’t matter. What mattered were the words hidden between the ones he spoke, the fear and love tucked between each syllable.
Hyacinth heard the words he didn’t say.
I couldn’t bear to see you hurt…
She raised her hand to touch his face. “My gown, Lachlan. Nothing more.”
Something flickered in his eyes. She thought he’d take her in his arms then, and every part of her ached to be held by him, to let the steady beat of his heart against her cheek chase away the memory of Lord Dixon’s touch.
He didn’t. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, drew her hand away from his face, and stepped back. “I told you never to sacrifice yourself for me again.”
“Yes.” It was the truth. Hyacinth didn’t try to deny it.
His eyes grew darker, and his hands clenched into fists. “Why, then?”
Why. She wanted to say, because it wasn’t a sacrifice. She wanted to say, because I’d do anything to keep you from being hurt again. She wanted to say, because I didn’t have a choice.
She wanted to say,you already know why.
But in the end, she didn’t say any of those things. Or perhaps she said them all, just in far fewer words. “Because I love you, Lachlan.”
And oh, it was so easy to say it. She’d thought it would be difficult—she’d been afraid she’d hesitate, or stammer—but then those words had been hovering on her lips almost since the first moment she saw him. They’d been poised on her tongue, just waiting for her to speak them aloud.
His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but no sound emerged.
A tremor shot through her at his silence, but she’d said what was in her heart, and she wouldn’t take it back, even if she could. Hyacinth gathered her courage, stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face against his chest.
He smelled so good, like fresh air and the outdoors, and something else, something earthy, like…heather. Scottish heather, woody and mossy, with just a faint hint of honeysuckle. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaled deeply, and wondered if one could become drunk on a scent.
A scent, or a smile, or a man’s gentle hands…
“Go to bed, Hyacinth.” He reached behind him, grasped her wrists, and tugged her hands away. “Tomorrow, when we see Finn, you’ll tell him the truth, and answer every question he asks. Do you understand me? You won’t sacrifice yourself for me—or for Isla or Ciaran—again.”
He was staring down at her, his face so hard and still Hyacinth’s nerve nearly failed her. The other Hyacinth—the timid one—wanted to run from the room, but she could feel his struggle in the tremble of his body, in every harsh, labored breath he drew.
He wanted her as much as she wanted him, and tonight, that was enough.
“I’m not going to bed.” She slid her hands over his chest to his shoulders and worked his coat down his arms. His breath caught when it fell to the floor with a heavy thud, then it stopped in his chest when she loosened the buttons of his waistcoat, dragged it off him, and tossed it to the floor.
“Don’t.” His voice was harsh. He caught her wrists in his hands again to stop her, but Hyacinth heard the pleading note hidden in the gruff command, and she saw the way his eyes darkened as he stared down at her.
He held her fast, refusing to free her wrists, so Hyacinth leaned forward and pressed her mouth to the hollow of his throat. She felt his gasp, the convulsive movement of his throat against her lips as he tried to swallow back a moan.
“Let go of my hands, Lachlan,” she murmured against his heated skin.
“No, damn you.” He was fighting to catch his breath. “You’re not wasting yourself on me.”
His words were lost in another gasp as she opened her mouth and grazed her teeth lightly over his throat. “Waste myself? No, Lachlan. It’s not a waste to give myself to the man I love.”
“No. You can’t love me. I won’t let you.” But even as he protested, his body was straining toward her, every muscle tensed with need. “You can’t love me,leannan.”
She laughed softly as she dragged her tongue around the curve of his ear. She nipped his earlobe, then moved lower to trail hot kisses over the bare skin revealed by the open neck of his shirt. “It’s too late, you stubborn, foolish man.”
He threw his head back in helpless invitation, a low groan tearing loose from his chest, but a part of him was fighting her still. “No, it can’t be too late. I don’t…I can’t have you.”
The broken, despairing note in his voice threatened to tear Hyacinth’s heart in two. “You already do.”
“No.” His fingers tightened around her wrists. She knew he was going to try to push her away, and she knew she couldn’t let him. All at once, everything hinged on this moment, but she didn’t know what to do, or how to change his mind, to make him understand…
