Page 102 of More or Less a Temptress
With that, the meek, the timid, the reserved Hyacinth Somerset, who never dared breathe a cross word to anyone, turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, her back straight, and her chin thrust in the air.
The long, awkward silence that followed was broken by Ciaran, who flopped into a chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, and regarded his brother with a deep sigh. “Well done, Lach. You’ve just made the kindest, sweetest-tempered lass in all of London call you an ass.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Like many young ladies, Hyacinth had dreamed of the day when a gentleman would ask her to marry him. She’d imagined impassioned pleas, promises of undying love and devotion, and her suitor descending to his knees in supplication.
Very well, then. She was guilty of indulging in foolish romantic fancies, but the fact remained not once, in all her fevered daydreams, had she ever envisioned a proposal that included phrases like “tarnished reputation,” or “responsibility,” or “no other marriage prospects.” To be fair, she’d also never envisioned calling her suitor an ass, but, well…
“Insufferable, high-handed, overbearing ass!”
Suffering. Had he actually talked to her of suffering in the same breath he’d offered his hand? Though now she considered it, he hadn’t even offered his hand, or bothered to ask for hers, had he? He’d simply announced he would marry her, in the same way one would announce they were taking the last slice of beef at dinner, and then only because no one else wanted it.
That was precisely how she felt right now—like leftover beef. Surely a lady had a right to expect more thanthatfrom a marriage proposal?
“Argh! What an ass!” Hyacinth seized one of the pillows from the bed and hurled it across her bedchamber. It hit the door just as it was flung open, and it dropped to the floor at Isla’s feet.
“Well, I see there’s no reason to ask if you’re still angry.” Isla leaned down, fetched the pillow, and tossed it aside. She crossed the room and stood beside the bed for a moment, arms crossed, her stern gaze fixed on Hyacinth. “This is not how I imagined this moment would unfold.”
“Nor I, I assure you! I’m sorry to say so, Isla, but your brother is an ass!”
Isla perched on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Well, yes, but then he’s a man, isn’t he? He also happens to be an ass who’s madly in love with you, so there’s that to consider.”
“Love! I don’t recall any mention of the word ‘love’ in that dreadful proposal.”
Isla sighed again, and plopped down next to Hyacinth on the bed. “No, but perhaps youdorecall the way he looks at you when he calls youleannan? Or the stark panic on his face when he spoke of Lord Dixon hurting you? I know my brother, Hyacinth. He’s not the sort of man given to endearments, nor is he one who easily acknowledges helplessness or terror.”
Hyacinth peeked at Isla over the edge of a pillow she was clutching to her chest. “No, I suppose not, but he said—”
“Perhaps you also recall the way you leapt to Lachlan’s defense—not just when Lord Huntington accused him of failing to keep his promise, but also when Lord Dixon threatened to expose us. I know you, Hyacinth. You’re not the sort of lady given to reckless schemes, nor are you one who courts scandal on a whim.”
“The scheme with Lord Dixon was meant to protect all of you, not just Lachlan,” Hyacinth protested, but she couldn’t quite meet Isla’s eyes.
“Ah, yes. Of course, it was. Yet when you were alone in that dark library with Lord Dixon, coaxing him out of his waistcoat, you weren’t thinking of either me or Ciaran, were you?”
Hyacinth fiddled with the edge of the pillowcase, then tossed it aside with a sigh. “Oh, very well. No, I wasn’t. I was thinking of your gruff, hardheaded, oldest brother. You heard him just now, Isla. He didn’t make me an offer from an excess of tender feeling, but from a sense of failure, and grim obligation. He said—”
“Oh, never mind what he said! You should know better than to listen to what mensay. What they say is of far less importance than what theydo, Hyacinth.” There was a sharp edge to Isla’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Lachlan’s a man of few words, and most of those are gruff and abrupt, but if you wanted a gentleman with a silver tongue, one who would bombard you with empty flattery, you would have settled for Lord Dixon.”
“I don’t want that. Do you suppose I can’t see Lachlan is ten times the man Lord Dixon could ever be, Isla? Don’t you understand? IloveLachlan. I’ve loved him from the first moment…well, perhaps not the first moment Isawhim. I did mistake him for a murderer that first time, but certainly since then. His rough exterior, the way he growls deep in his chest, his enormous hands—I love everything about him.”
Isla reached over and seized Hyacinth’s hands. “Then I fail to see the problem. Tell him, and let’s get on with a wedding, shall we?”
“The problem is I want him to love me back, Isla.”
“He does. You may trust me on that.”
“He hasn’t said so. You’ve said so, yes, but…well, that’s not the same thing, is it?” Tears stung Hyacinth’s eyes. Even last night, when he’d held her in his arms and whispered she washis, he’d never said a word about love. “He’s gone to great lengthsnotto say it, Isla.”
Isla’s face softened. “Oh, my dear. Don’t you see? He’s afraid to say it, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve you, and only you can convince him he does. There’s a part of Lachlan that still blames himself for the tragedy we left behind us in Scotland. He might always have done so, but for you, Hyacinth. If you can forgive him his past, and love him in spite of it, then he can begin to forgive himself. Don’t you see? You’re his hope—hisaingeal.”
Hyacinth brushed away the tears on her cheeks. Oh, she wanted so badly to believe what Isla said was true, and that Lachlan really did love her. “Do you truly think so?”
Isla smiled. “With all my heart. Such a love as you and Lachlan have is rare, Hyacinth. Don’t toss away such a perfect chance at happiness.”
Hyacinth gave Isla a shaky smile. “I suppose the least I can do is give him another chance.” She slid off the bed and crossed the room, but hesitated at the door, Isla’s final words echoing in her head. “Isla? You never said what happened with Lord Pierce.”
“Didn’t I?” Isla shrugged, but her lower lip began to tremble. “I sent him a note last night, after Lady Entwhistle’s ball. He wrote back at once, and he…he asked me never to contact him again. He was very proper and courteous about it, but whatever was between us is now over. Ah, well. I never had much hope of him, in any case.”
