“Yes, Hyacinth?” Was it wrong of him to experience a sudden urge to spend every night just like this, wrapped up in a cocoon of intimacy with this extraordinary woman? If it was, he would proudly be wrong. Again and again and again.
Of course it was. The both of them had sworn off marriage. Their time together was limited. He had already done enough damage to his family name by pursuing Nell. The last thing any of them needed was more scandal and upheaval. Not Hyacinth, and certainly not Tom.
“Will you hold me just like this, until I fall asleep again?” she asked, her tone hesitant.
Sweet.
So bloody sweet.
He did not hesitate. “Of course.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, a sigh escaping her, and he held her close, staring into the shadows of the chamber as her breathing grew steady and even once more. But for Tom, sleep was not a state so easily reached.
Because he was beginning to fear the affaire which had been meant to be temporary could fast turn into something far more.
And that would be dangerous indeed.
Hyacinth was in need of distraction.
Which was why, at half past three in the afternoon, she was not paying a call to Lottie as she had planned but instead organizing the shelves of her library with Lady slumbering on a pillow nearby. The even, rhythmic breaths of her companion ordinarily calmed Hyacinth on the worst of days. Days when the past returned to her like the waters of a flood, threatening to pull her under and drown her. Just as her nightmare had last night.
She exhaled on a long sigh as she glared at the wall of books before her, embarrassment washing over her anew at the manner in which she had clung to Tom. She had revealed too much to him. What had she been thinking? She had known him for scarcely any time at all.
One moment, he had been her reclusive neighbor, and the next, he was her tender lover. Meanwhile, she was giving in to the nightmares she had kept at bay for the last few months, clinging to him as if he were the banks of a flooded river.
A knock at the door interrupted her frustrated musings.
“Come,” she called.
The door to her library opened to reveal her butler, Pennington.
“The Duchess of Arrington to see you, my lady.”
The Duchess of Arrington was unknown to Hyacinth. Her butler’s announcement took her aback. “The duchess?”
“Yes, my lady.” Pennington’s expression was disapproving as ever, even for a personage as august as a duchess. “I have ensconced her in the salon.”
She paused for a moment, considering. “Thank you, Pennington. I will join her directly.”
Lady rose from her pillow with an excited yip, and Hyacinth scooped the pup into her arms. The books would have to wait, which was just as well. She made her way to the salon, where her guest awaited her.
The Duchess of Arrington was performing a slow ambulatory inspection of the salon, aided by a golden-handled cane. She wore a navy gown that was in the style of a previous era—large, belled crinoline skirts rather than a crinolette or tournure. Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight chignon.
The look she cast in Hyacinth’s direction brimmed with disapproval.
Oh dear.
“Your Grace.” Hyacinth dipped into a curtsy, still holding Lady. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The duchess pursed her lips. “I expect you are, Lady Southwick.”
The woman’s dislike for her was palpable, but Hyacinth could think of no reason for it. “To what do I owe the honor of your unexpected call?” she asked hesitantly.
The duchess approached, cutting a formidable figure. There was something familiar about her. Something Hyacinth could not quite put her finger upon.
“Lord Sidmouth,” the duchess clipped. “My grandson. His lordship is the reason for my call.”
Good heavens. The commanding matron before her was Tom’s grandmother. That certainly explained the sense of familiarity haunting Hyacinth. It did nothing, however, to justify the call.
Hyacinth offered a tentative smile. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I cannot think of a reason why you would call on me because of his lordship.”
“Can you not?” The duchess’ gaze was shrewd. “Do not play games with me, Lady Southwick. Coyness ill suits you.”
What had Tom said about his grandmother? That she was a dragon? Hyacinth could see the resemblance quite plainly. Her countenance was grim, her air one of determination. There was no doubt about it; the woman before her was laying siege.