Chapter 4
After their dance, Hyacinth was floating.
As if gravity itself could not pull her down from the high of being in Tristan’s arms. She stood in front of Emma and didn’t remember the journey to reach her.
A smile, pleased and bright, brought out the dimples on each of Emma’s cheeks.
Apparently, her friend was proud of the maneuvering she'd done.
“I take it you enjoyed the dance,” Emma said, arching a brow.
“I did.” Were her cheeks as pink as they felt? Was the giddiness bubbling inside her clear enough for anyone to see?
“And Lord Litchfield seems to have been claimed by Miss Browning.” Emma pointed surreptitiously to a corner of the ballroom. “Her mama has had him cornered for over a quarter of an hour, and he’s already danced with the girl once this evening.”
Hyacinth couldn’t be bothered to glance over. Knowing the man was occupied was sufficient relief.
Emma eyed her, assessing. “Will you admit now that you enjoy dancing?”
A breath huffed out of Hyacinth that turned into a chuckle. “I only say I don’t enjoy it because I’m not terribly good at it. But that went…well.”
The tremor in her voice would surely give everything away. She prepared herself to admit she was utterly infatuated with Emma’s elder brother.
She couldn’t hide her happiness. Her hand still tingled from where they’d touched. If she’d been alone, she would have stripped off her glove and pressed her palm to her cheek, savoring the warmth lingering warmth of his hand.
His scent lingered too. Not an overwhelming scent, a light one. A bit of spice. A hint of juniper. His hands had been bare as he’d touched her so tenderly. One hand clasping hers, the other at her back, leading them expertly around the ballroom.
Emma was saying something to her.
“Forgive me. What did you say?” Hyacinth hadn’t heard a word of it.
Emma tipped her head, and took a step closer. “Are you unwell? You seem…a bit overwrought.”
Hyacinth wished she’d brought a fan. “I am a bit overheated.”
Emma laid a hand on her arm. “Stay here. I’ll go and fetch you some lemonade.”
“You needn’t.”
“I’m going to.” Stubbornly determined to help, Emma strode off toward the refreshments table.
Hyacinth found herself looking across the ballroom, hoping to find him again.
Other ladies would dance with him, of course. He was handsome and a man of some renown.
She reminded herself that he'd only danced with her because Emma asked him to, and a bit of her euphoria started to ebb.
A few moments later, Emma returned with lemonade.
Hyacinth dutifully took a few sips, and Emma nodded as if satisfied.
“How did Tristan do?” Emma asked after they’d situated themselves side by side to watch the other dancers. “I haven't danced with him myself in a long time, but Father was insistent we both learn. I recall him being quite passable.”
“More than passable.” Hyacinth hid her expression by taking another sip of lemonade.
“He tends to be too much in his head, and one has to be in one’s body to dance well, I think.” Emma seemed very certain of her assessment, and Hyacinth pushed down the urge to defend Tristan.
“I was the one who stumbled during dance.”
“You didn’t.” Emma looked as if she was trying to hold back a chuckle.
“He corrected us beautifully.” Hyacinth inhaled sharply at the memory of how he’d tightened his hold, his hand a heated weight against her back as he pulled her closer. “Thank you for arranging it, Em.”
“Of course.” Emma winked and gave her a cheeky smile. “I'm pleased to see you happy.”
Hyacinth scanned the ballroom. “And where is Lord Cartwright to claim his dance with you?”
Emma lowered her gaze, as if the parquet floor suddenly fascinated her. “He said he would be late this evening, but he promised me a dance.”
“You are fond of him.” Hyacinth considered sharing her own feelings about Tristan.
“Perhaps more than I should.” Emma bit her lip. “He has a bit of a reputation, but I want to invite him to the house party. Tristan won’t be easily convinced, I fear.”
“He wouldn’t approve?”
“My brother is overprotective.”
Hyacinth tucked away that detail, charmed by it. “Griffin is too. I believe Lord Cartwright is a member of the same club as Griffin. Perhaps he could speak to Tristan.”
Emma gripped Hyacinth’s hand, eyes wide. “Does that mean you’ll all come to the house party?”
“I’d like to.” Before the dance, she’d been uncertain. Now, she couldn’t imagine forfeiting any opportunity to spend time near Sir Tristan Brooke.
“We’ll have great fun, I promise. Tristan can be rather absorbed in his work, but we’ll draw him out.” Emma bounced on her toes as if she couldn’t contain her excitement. “Oh, it will be lovely to have you there.”
“And will I get an invitation to join the fun?” a gentleman’s voice drawled, causing both of them to turn his way.
Emma gasped.
Hyacinth offered Lord Cartwright a nod in greeting. He tipped his russet-haired head, and spared her a glance before focusing all of his attention on Emma.
“You’re not as late as I thought you’d be,” Emma said in a voice of forced composure.
“Does that mean we still have time for a dance?” He offered his bent arm, and Emma laid her gloved hand atop it.
“As it so happens, I saved you a spot on my dance card.”
Emma glanced at Hyacinth.
“Enjoy yourselves,” she urged, then watched as the two made their way to a spot closer to the dance floor, waiting for the current set to end.
Hyacinth searched the ballroom. She couldn’t help it. Now that Emma had departed, he was all she could think about.
Sir Tristan stood speaking with a gentleman on the far side of the room. But he kept looking out across the other guests, almost is they were searching for someone.
Then he suddenly broke from the other gentleman and beelined for the French doors. She suspected they led out to the Beckfords’ garden. He slipped outside, and Hyacinth had the immediate urge to follow him. Which was foolish. Impulsive.
Yet where was he going?
The current set had begun, and Emma beamed as Lord Cartwright held her in his arms.
Hyacinth told herself that it would be improper if she followed an unmarried gentleman out into the garden alone, but the prospect of spending another moment with Tristan was too tempting.
Giving in to impulse, she wove around other guests to make her way to the doors, stepped out onto the veranda, and scanned the broad stones for any sign of him.
Another lord and lady stood in the shadows, but the man was golden-haired. Definitely not Tristan.
Maybe he'd gone out for a stroll in the gardens.
A flash of movement caught her eye, and she spotted him not too far off on the main garden path. Lifting the edge of her skirt, she dashed down onto the pebbled pathway.
Tristan moved quickly, eating up the ground as he proceeded away from her. The garden extended farther than she imagined, and hedge rows taller than her, taller than both of them, stretched up along the pathway’s edges.
Ahead of her, Tristan cut into one of those tall hedge lines, turning left and disappearing from the path.
Hyacinth hesitated for only a moment, then followed, stepping from the pebbled walkway into the grass. Even under the clear moonlit sky, it was difficult to make out where she was going.
A spot of light shone from a tree with its long, low branches strung with lanterns. As she approached, she glimpsed a small fountain in the distance.
She couldn't see Tristan anymore, but she heard a sound that made her heart drop to her toes.
The titter of a lady's laughter carried on the night breeze.
Oh, God, he's come out here for a rendezvous.
Hyacinth told herself to turn back. No, she didn't want to see this. Didn't want to know which lady had caught his eye. It hurt already. Yet her curiosity knew no bounds. She couldn't scurry away. She had to know.
Taking a few more steps, she veered toward the lantern-lit tree. Just as she drew closer, a figure darted out from behind one of the hedges and nearly collided with her. His foot came down on hers and she stumbled forward. Two large hands gripped her arms to hold her upright.
“Good God. Are you all right?” he whispered.
Tristan. She could make out the broad-shouldered shape of him in the darkness, and his voice, his scent, were already familiar.
“I'm fine. I'm well,” she told him quietly.
“You're not well. I stumbled over you. Did I hurt your foot?”
“A little, but I'll be fine.” Her foot twinged and a rush of pain shot up her ankle, but she didn’t want admit it to him.
“I’m not certain I believe you,” he said softly.
He hadn’t let go of her, and she dreaded the moment he would. The heat from his hands on the bare skin of her upper arms was delicious.
He cocked his head toward the tree.
The voices of a man and a woman carried on the breeze, though in whispered tones.
“Is someone there?” a man called out. “Who is it?”
Tristan let out a strangled groan, reached down, and took Hyacinth’s elbow. Then he turned as if he intended to lead her back toward the house.
But the moment she put weight on the foot he’d stepped on, she cried out in pain.
Tristan clasped her hand with one of his and wrapped an arm around her waist with the other.
“Can you put any weight on it at all?” he murmured, half bent, his gaze focused on her slippered foot.
Hyacinth attempted to and found that she could, but with a bit of pain. She nodded at him.
“Then let us make our way back. Lean on me however much you need to,” he told her.
He led her slowly, hesitantly, seeming to sense her pain even when she tried to keep her reactions tamped down.
“I’m tempted to carry you,” he confessed as they took another step.
“I can manage.” Her voice emerged breathy and perspiration trickled down her neck, even in the cool night air.
They managed a few more awkward steps, but when she let out a gasp as her foot hit a particular large pebble, he led her immediately off the path and into the grass. He pointed at a bench against on of the hedgerows.
“Let’s sit for a moment.”