It's In His Kiss

Chapter 10

The next morning. Hyacinth is still in an excellent mood. Unfortunately, her mother commented upon this so many times at breakfast that Hyacinth was finally forced to flee and barricade herself in her bedchamber.

Violet Bridgerton is an exceptionally canny woman, after all, and if anyone is going to guess that Hyacinth is falling in love, it would be her.

Probably before Hyacinth, even.

Hyacinth hummed to herself as she sat at the small desk in her bedchamber, tapping her fingers against the blotter. She had translated and retranslated the note they’d found the night before in the small green office, and she still wasn’t satisfied with her results, but even that could not dampen her spirits.

She’d been a little disappointed, of course, that they had not found the diamonds the night before, but the note in the curio cabinet seemed to indicate that the jewels might still be theirs for the taking. At the very least, no one else had reached any success with the trail of clues Isabella had left behind.

Hyacinth was never happier than when she had a task, a goal, some sort of quest. She loved the challenge of solving a puzzle, analyzing a clue. And Isabella Marinzoli St. Clair had turned what would surely have been a dull and ordinary season into the most exciting spring of Hyacinth’s life.

She looked down at the note, twisting her mouth to the side as she forced her mind back to the task at hand. Her translation was still only about seventy percent complete, in Hyacinth’s optimistic estimation, but she rather thought she’d managed enough of a translation to justify another attempt. The next clue-or the actual diamonds, if they were lucky-was almost certainly in the library.

“In a book, I imagine,” she murmured, gazing sightlessly out the window. She thought of the Bridgerton library, tucked away at her brother’s Grosvenor Square home. The room itself wasn’t terribly large, but the shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

And books filled the shelves. Every last inch of them.

“Maybe the St. Clairs aren’t much for reading,” she said to herself, turning her attention once again to Isabella’s note. Surely there had to be something in the cryptic words to indicate which book she had chosen as her hiding spot. Something scientific, she was fairly sure. Isabella had underlined part of her note, which led Hyacinth to think that perhaps she was referring to a book title, since it didn’t seem to make sense in context that she’d have been underlining for emphasis. And the part she’d underlined had mentioned water and “things that move,” which sounded a bit like physics, not that Hyacinth had ever studied it. But she’d four brothers who had attended university, and she’d overheard enough of their studies to have a vague knowledge of, if not the subject, at least what the subject meant.

Still, she wasn’t nearly as certain as she’d have liked about her translation, or what it meant. Maybe if she went to Gareth with what she’d translated thus far, he could read something into it that she didn’t see. After all, he was more familiar with the house and its contents than she was. He might know of an odd or interesting book, something unique or out of the ordinary.

Gareth.

She smiled to herself, a loopy, silly grin that she would have died before allowing anyone else to see.

Something had happened the night before. Something special.

Something important.

He liked her. He really liked her. They had laughed and chattered the entire way home. And when he had dropped her off at the servants’ entrance to Number Five, he had looked at her in that heavy-lidded, just a little bit intense way of his. He had smiled, too, one corner of his mouth lifting as if he had a secret.

She’d shivered. She’d actually forgotten how to speak. And she’d wondered if he might kiss her again, which of course he hadn’t done, but maybe…

Maybe soon.

She had no doubt that she still drove him a little bit mad. But she seemed to drive everyone a little bit mad, so she decided not to attach too much importance to that.

But he liked her. And he respected her intelligence as well. And if he was occasionally reluctant to demonstrate this as often as she would like…well, she had four brothers. She had long since learned that it took a fully formed miracle to get them to admit that a woman might be smarter than a man about anything other than fabrics, perfumed soaps, and tea.

She turned her head to look at the clock, which sat on the mantel over her small fireplace. It was already past noon. Gareth had promised that he would call on her this afternoon to see how she was faring with the note. That probably didn’t mean before two, but technically it was the afternoon, and-

Her ears perked up. Was that someone at the door? Her room was at the front of the house, so she could generally hear when someone was entering or exiting. Hyacinth got up and went to the window, peeking out from behind the curtains to see if she could see anyone on the front step.

Nothing.

She went to the door and opened it just enough to listen.

Nothing.

She stepped into the hall, her heart pounding with anticipation. Truly, there was no reason to be nervous, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Gareth, and the diamonds, and-

“Eh, Hyacinth, what’re you doing?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” said her brother Gregory, not sounding sorry at all. He was standing behind her, or rather he had been, before she’d whirled around in surprise. He looked slightly disheveled, his reddish brown hair windblown and cut just a touch too long.

“Don’t do that,” she said, placing her hand over her heart, as if that might possibly calm it down.

He just crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “It’s what I do best,” he said with a grin.

“Not something I’d brag about,” Hyacinth returned.

He ignored the insult, instead brushing an imaginary piece of lint off the sleeve of his riding coat. “What has you skulking about?”

“I’m not skulking.”

“Of course you are. It’s what you do best.”

She scowled at him, even though she ought to have known better. Gregory was two and a half years her elder, and he lived to vex her. He always had. The two of them were a bit cut off from the rest of the family, in terms of age. Gregory was almost four years younger than Francesca, and a full ten from Colin, the next youngest son. As a result, he and Hyacinth had always been a bit on their own, a bit of a duo.

A bickering, poking, frog-in-the-bed sort of duo, but a duo nonetheless, and even though they had outgrown the worst of their pranks, neither seemed able to resist needling the other.

“I thought I heard someone come in,” Hyacinth said.

He smiled blandly. “It was me.”

“I realize that now.” She placed her hand on the door-knob and pulled. “If you will excuse me.”

“You’re in a snit today.”

“I’m not in a snit.”

“Of course you are. It’s-”

“Not what I do best.” Hyacinth ground out.

He grinned. “You’re definitely in a snit.”

“I’m-” She clamped her teeth together. She was not going to descend to the behavior of a three-year-old. “I am going back into my room now. I have a book to read.”

But before she could make her escape, she heard him say, “I saw you with Gareth St. Clair the other night.”

Hyacinth froze. Surely he couldn’t have known…No one had seen them. She was sure of that.

“At Bridgerton House,” Gregory continued. “Off in the corner of the ballroom.”

Hyacinth let out a long, quiet breath before turning back around.

Gregory was looking at her with a casual, offhand smile, but Hyacinth could tell that there was something more to his expression, a certain shrewd look in his eye.

Most of his behavior to the contrary, her brother was not stupid. And he seemed to think it was his role in life to watch over his younger sister. Probably because he was the second youngest, and she was the only one with whom he could try to assume a superior role. The rest certainly would not have stood for it.

“I’m friends with his grandmother,” Hyacinth said, since it seemed nicely neutral and dull. “You know that.”

He shrugged. It was a gesture they shared, and sometimes Hyacinth felt she was looking in a mirror, which seemed mad, since he was a full foot taller than she was.

“You certainly looked to be in deep conversation about something,” he said.

“It was nothing in which you’d be interested.”

One of his brows arched annoyingly up. “I might surprise you.”

“You rarely do.”

“Are you setting your cap for him?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said tartly.

Gregory looked triumphant. “Then you are.”

Hyacinth lifted her chin, looking her brother squarely in the eye. “I don’t know,” she said, since despite their constant bickering, he probably knew her better than anyone else in the world. And he’d know it for certain if she were lying.

Either that, or he would torture her until the truth slipped out, anyway.

Gregory’s brows disappeared under the fringe of his hair, which, admittedly, was too long and constantly falling in his eyes. “Really?” he asked. “Well, that is news.”

“For your ears only,” Hyacinth warned, “and it’s not really news. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Still.”

“I mean this, Gregory,” Hyacinth said. “Don’t make me regret confiding in you.”

“Ye of little faith.”

He sounded far too flip for her comfort. Hands on hips, she said, “I only told you this because very occasionally you’re not a complete idiot and despite all common sense, I do love you.”

His face sobered, and she was reminded that despite her brother’s asinine (in her opinion) attempts to appear the jaunty wastrel, he was actually quite intelligent and in possession of a heart of gold.

A devious heart of gold.

“And don’t forget,” Hyacinth felt it was necessary to add, “that I said maybe.”

His brows came together. “Did you?”

“If I didn’t, then I meant to.”

He motioned magnanimously with his hand. “If there’s anything I can do.”

“Nothing,” she said firmly, horrifying visions of Gregory’s meddling floating through her mind. “Absolutely nothing. Please.”

“Surely a waste of my talents.”

“Gregory!”

“Well,” he said with an affected sigh, “you have my approval, at least.”

“Why?” Hyacinth asked suspiciously.

“It would be an excellent match,” he continued. “If nothing else, think of the children.”

She knew she’d regret it, but still she had to ask. “What children?”

He grinned. “The lovely lithping children you could have together. Garethhhh and Hyathinthhhh. Hyathinth and Gareth. And the thublime Thinclair tots.”

Hyacinth stared at him like he was an idiot.

Which he was, she was quite certain of it.

She shook her head. “How on earth Mother managed to give birth to seven perfectly normal children and one freak is beyond me.”

“Thith way to the nurthery.” Gregory laughed as she headed back into the room. “With the thcrumptious little Tharah and Thamuel Thinclair. Oh, yeth, and don’t forget wee little Thuthannah!”

Hyacinth shut the door in his face, but the wood wasn’t thick enough to block his parting shot.

“You’re such an easy mark, Hy.” And then: “Don’t forget to come down for tea.”

One hour later. Gareth is about to learn what it means to belong to a large family.

For better or for worthe.

“Miss Bridgerton is taking tea,” said the butler, once he’d allowed Gareth admittance to the front hall of Number Five.

Gareth followed the butler down the hall to same rose-and-cream sitting room in which he’d met Hyacinth the week before.

Good God, was it just one week? It felt a lifetime ago.

Ah, well. Skulking about, breaking the law, and very nearly ruining the reputation of a proper young lady did tend to age a man before his time.

The butler stepped into the room, intoned Gareth’s name, and moved to the side so that he could walk in.

“Mr. St. Clair!”

Gareth turned with surprise to face Hyacinth’s mother, who was sitting on a striped sofa, setting her teacup down in its saucer. He didn’t know why he was surprised to see Violet Bridgerton; it certainly stood to reason that she would be home at this time in the afternoon. But for whatever reason, he had only pictured Hyacinth on the way over.

“Lady Bridgerton,” he said, turning to her with a polite bow. “How lovely to see you.”

“Have you met my son?” she asked.

Son? Gareth hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the room.

“My brother Gregory,” came Hyacinth’s voice. She was sitting across from her mother, on a matching sofa. She tilted her head toward the window, where Gregory Bridgerton stood, assessing him with a scary little half smile.

The smirk of an older brother, Gareth realized. It was probably exactly how he would look if he’d had a younger sister to torture and protect.

“We’ve met,” Gregory said.

Gareth nodded. They had crossed paths from time to time about town and had, in fact, been students at Eton at the same time. But Gareth was several years older, so they had never known each other well. “Bridgerton,” Gareth murmured, giving the younger man a nod.

Gregory moved across the room and plopped himself down next to his sister. “It’s good to see you,” he said, directing his words at Gareth. “Hyacinth says you’re her special friend.”

“Gregory!” Hyacinth exclaimed. She turned quickly to Gareth. “I said no such thing.”

“I’m heartbroken,” Gareth said.

Hyacinth looked at him with a slightly peeved expression, then turned to her brother with a hissed, “Stop it.”

“Won’t you have tea, Mr. St. Clair?” Lady Bridgerton asked, glossing right over her children’s squabbling as if it wasn’t occurring right across from her. “It is a special blend of which I am particularly fond.”

“I would be delighted.” Gareth sat in the same chair he had chosen last time, mostly because it put the most room between him and Gregory, although in truth, he didn’t know which Bridgerton was most likely to accidentally spill scalding tea on his lap.

But it was an odd position. He was at the short end of the low, center table, and with all the Bridgertons on the sofas, it almost felt as if he were seated at its head.

“Milk?” Lady Bridgerton asked.

“Thank you,” Gareth replied. “No sugar, if you please.”

“Hyacinth takes hers with three,” Gregory said, reaching for a piece of shortbread.

“Why,” Hyacinth ground out, “would he care?”

“Well,” Gregory replied, taking a bite and chewing, “he is your special friend.”

“He’s not-” She turned to Gareth. “Ignore him.”

There was something rather annoying about being condescended to by a man of lesser years, but at the same time Gregory seemed to be doing an excellent job of vexing Hyacinth, an endeavor of which Gareth could only approve.

So he decided to stay out of it and instead turned back to Lady Bridgerton, who was, as it happened, the closest person to him, anyway. “And how are you this afternoon?” he asked.

Lady Bridgerton gave him a very small smile as she handed him his cup of tea. “Smart man,” she murmured.

“It’s self-preservation, really,” he said noncommittally.

“Don’t say that. They wouldn’t hurt you.”

“No, but I’m sure to be injured in the cross fire.”

Gareth heard a little gasp. When he looked over at Hyacinth, she was glaring daggers in his direction. Her brother was grinning.

“Sorry,” he said, mostly because he thought he should. He certainly didn’t mean it.

“You don’t come from a large family, do you, Mr. St. Clair?” Lady Bridgerton asked.

“No,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of his tea, which was of excellent quality. “Just myself and my brother.” He stopped, blinking against the rush of sadness that washed over him every time he thought of George, then finished with: “He passed on late last year.”

“Oh,” Lady Bridgerton said, her hand coming to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten completely. Please forgive me. And accept my deepest sympathies.”

Her apology was so artless, and her condolences so sincere, that Gareth almost felt the need to comfort her. He looked at her, right into her eyes, and he realized that she understood.

Most people hadn’t. His friends had all patted him awkwardly on the back and said they were sorry, but they hadn’t understood. Grandmother Danbury had, perhaps-she’d grieved for George, too. But that was somehow different, probably because he and his grandmother were so close. Lady Bridgerton was almost a stranger, and yet, she cared.

It was touching, and almost disconcerting. Gareth couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something to him and meant it.

Except for Hyacinth, of course. She always meant what she said. But at the same time, she never laid herself bare, never made herself vulnerable.

He glanced over at her. She was sitting up straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching him with a curious expression.

He couldn’t fault her, he supposed. He was the exact same way.

“Thank you,” he said, turning back to Lady Bridgerton. “George was an exceptional brother, and the world is poorer for his loss.”

Lady Bridgerton was silent for a moment, and then, as if she could read his mind, she smiled and said, “But you do not wish to dwell on this now. We shall speak of something else.”

Gareth looked at Hyacinth. She was holding herself still, but he could see her chest rise and fall in a long, impatient breath. She had worked on the translation, of that he had no doubt, and she surely wished to tell him what she’d learned.

Gareth carefully suppressed a smile. He was quite certain that Hyacinth would have feigned death if that would somehow have gotten them an interview alone.

“Lady Danbury speaks very highly of you,” Lady Bridgerton said.

Gareth turned back to her. “I am fortunate to be her grandson.”

“I have always liked your grandmother,” Lady Bridgerton said, sipping at her tea. “I know she scares half of London-”

“Oh, more than that,” Gareth said genially.

Lady Bridgerton chuckled. “So she would hope.”

“Indeed.”

“I, however, have always found her to be quite charming,” Lady Bridgerton said. “A breath of fresh air, really. And, of course, a very shrewd and sound judge of character.”

“I shall pass along your regards.”

“She speaks very highly of you,” Lady Bridgerton said.

She’d repeated herself. Gareth wasn’t sure if it was accidental or deliberate, but either way, she couldn’t have been more clear if she had taken him aside and offered him money to propose to her daughter.

Of course, she did not know that his father was not actually Lord St. Clair, or that he did not in fact know who his father was. As lovely and generous as Hyacinth’s mother was, Gareth rather doubted that she’d be working so hard to bring him up to scratch if she knew that he most probably carried the blood of a footman.

“My grandmother speaks highly of you as well,” Gareth said to Lady Bridgerton. “Which is quite a compliment, as she rarely speaks highly of anyone.”

“Except for Hyacinth,” Gregory Bridgerton put in.

Gareth turned. He’d almost forgotten the younger man was there. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “My grandmother adores your sister.”

Gregory turned to Hyacinth. “Do you still read to her each Wednesday?”

“Tuesday,” Hyacinth corrected.

“Oh. Thorry.”

Gareth blinked. Did Hyacinth’s brother have a lisp?

“Mr. St. Clair,” Hyacinth said, after what Gareth was quite certain was an elbow in her brother’s ribs.

“Yes?” he murmured, mostly just to be kind. She’d paused in her speech, and he had a feeling she’d uttered his name without first thinking of something to ask him.

“I understand that you are an accomplished swords-man,” she finally said.

He eyed her curiously. Where was she going with this? “I like to fence, yes,” he replied.

“I have always wanted to learn.”

“Good God,” Gregory grunted.

“I would be quite good at it,” she protested.

“I’m sure you would,” her brother replied, “which is why you should never be allowed within thirty feet of a sword.” He turned to Gareth. “She’s quite diabolical.”

“Yes, I’d noticed,” Gareth murmured, deciding that maybe there might be a bit more to Hyacinth’s brother than he had thought.

Gregory shrugged, reaching for a piece of shortbread. “It’s probably why we can’t seem to get her married off.”

“Gregory!” This came from Hyacinth, but that was only because Lady Bridgerton had excused herself and followed one of the footmen into the hall.

“It’s a compliment!” Gregory protested. “Haven’t you waited your entire life for me to agree that you’re smarter than any of the poor fools who have attempted to court you?”

“You might find it difficult to believe,” Hyacinth shot back, “but I haven’t been going to bed each night thinking to myself-Oh, I do wish my brother would offer me something that passes for a compliment in his twisted mind.”

Gareth choked on his tea.

Gregory turned to Gareth. “Do you see why I call her diabolical?”

“I refuse to comment,” Gareth said.

“Look who is here!” came Lady Bridgerton’s voice. And just in time, Gareth thought. Ten more seconds, and Hyacinth would have quite cheerfully murdered her brother.

Gareth turned to the doorway and immediately rose to his feet. Behind Lady Bridgerton stood one of Hyacinth’s older sisters, the one who had married a duke. Or at least he thought that was the one. They all looked vexingly alike, and he couldn’t be sure.

“Daphne!” Hyacinth said. “Come sit by me.”

“There’s no room next to you,” Daphne said, blinking in confusion.

“There will be,” Hyacinth said with cheerful venom, “as soon as Gregory gets up.”

Gregory made a great show of offering his seat to his older sister.

“Children,” Lady Bridgerton said with a sigh as she retook her seat. “I am never quite certain if I’m glad I had them.”

But no one could ever have mistaken the humor in her voice for anything other than love. Gareth found himself rather charmed. Hyacinth’s brother was a bit of a pest, or at least he was when Hyacinth was in the vicinity, and the few times he’d heard more than two Bridgertons in the same conversation, they had talked all over each other and rarely resisted the impulse to trade sly jibes.

But they loved each other. Beneath the noise, it was startlingly clear.

“It is good to see you, your grace,” Gareth said to the young duchess, once she’d seated herself next to Hyacinth.

“Please, call me Daphne,” she said with a sunny smile. “There is no need to be so formal if you are a friend of Hyacinth’s. Besides,” she said, taking a cup and pouring herself some tea, “I cannot feel like a duchess in my mother’s sitting room.”

“What do you feel like, then?”

“Hmmm.” She took a sip of her tea. “Just Daphne Bridgerton, I suppose. It’s difficult to shed the surname in this clan. In spirit, that is.”

“I hope that is a compliment,” Lady Bridgerton remarked.

Daphne just smiled at her mother. “I shall never escape you, I’m afraid.” She turned to Gareth. “There is nothing like one’s family to make one feel like one has never grown up.”

Gareth thought about his recent encounter with the baron and said, with perhaps more feeling than he ought to make verbal, “I know precisely what you mean.”

“Yes,” the duchess said, “I expect you do.”

Gareth said nothing. His estrangement from the baron was certainly common enough knowledge, even if the reason for it was not.

“How are the children, Daphne?” Lady Bridgerton asked.

“Mischievous as always. David wants a puppy, preferably one that will grow to the size of a small pony, and Caroline is desperate to return to Benedict’s.” She sipped at her tea and turned to Gareth. “My daughter spent three weeks with my brother and his family last month. He has been giving her drawing lessons.”

“He is an accomplished artist, is he not?”

“Two paintings in the National Gallery,” Lady Bridgerton said, beaming with pride.

“He rarely comes to town, though,” Hyacinth said.

“He and his wife prefer the quiet of the country,” her mother said. But there was a very faint edge to her voice. A firmness meant to indicate that she did not wish to discuss the matter any further.

At least not in front of Gareth.

Gareth tried to recall if he had ever heard some sort of scandal attached to Benedict Bridgerton. He didn’t think so, but then again, Gareth was at least a decade his junior, and if there was something untoward in his past, it would probably have occurred before Gareth had moved to town.

He glanced over at Hyacinth to see her reaction to her mother’s words. It hadn’t been a scolding, not exactly, but it was clear that she’d wanted to stop Hyacinth from speaking further.

But if Hyacinth took offense, she wasn’t showing it. She turned her attention to the window and was staring out, her brows pulled slightly together as she blinked.

“Is it warm out of doors?” she asked, turning to her sister. “It looks sunny.”

“It is quite,” Daphne said, sipping her tea. “I walked over from Hastings House.”

“I should love to go for a walk,” Hyacinth announced.

It took Gareth only a second to recognize his cue. “I would be delighted to escort you, Miss Bridgerton.”

“Would you?” Hyacinth said with a dazzling smile.

“I was out this morning,” Lady Bridgerton said. “The crocuses are in bloom in the park. A bit past the Guard House.”

Gareth almost smiled. The Guard House was at the far end of Hyde Park. It would take half the afternoon to get there and back.

He rose to his feet and offered her his arm. “Shall we see the crocuses then?”

“That would be delightful.” Hyacinth stood. “I just need to fetch my maid to accompany us.”

Gregory pushed himself off the windowsill, upon which he’d been leaning. “Perhaps I’ll come along, too,” he said.

Hyacinth threw him a glare.

“Or perhaps I won’t,” he murmured.

“I need you here, in any case,” Lady Bridgerton said.

“Really?” Gregory smiled innocently. “Why?”

“Because I do,” she ground out.

Gareth turned to Gregory. “Your sister will be safe with me,” he said. “I give you my vow.”

“Oh, I have no worries on that score,” Gregory said with a bland smile. “The real question is-will you be safe with her?”

It was a good thing, Gareth later reflected, that Hyacinth had already quit the room to fetch her coat and her maid. She probably would have killed her brother on the spot.