It's In His Kiss

Chapter 13

Only one hour later. As we have noted, when our hero puts his mind to something…

And did we mention that it’s a Tuesday?

“Enh?” Lady Danbury screeched. “You’re not speaking loudly enough!”

Hyacinth allowed the book from which she was reading to fall closed, with just her index finger stuck inside to mark her place. “Why,” she wondered aloud, “does it feel like I have heard this before?”

“You have,” Lady D declared. “You never speak loudly enough.”

“Funny, but my mother never makes that complaint.”

“Your mother’s ears aren’t of the same vintage as mine,” Lady Danbury said with a snort. “And where’s my cane?”

Ever since she’d seen Gareth in action, Hyacinth had felt emboldened when it came to encounters with Lady Danbury’s cane. “I hid it,” she said with an evil smile.

Lady Danbury drew back. “Hyacinth Bridgerton, you sly cat.”

“Cat?”

“I don’t like dogs,” Lady D said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Or foxes, for that matter.”

Hyacinth decided to take it as a compliment-always the best course of action when Lady Danbury was making no sense-and she turned back to Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron, chapter seventeen. “Let’s see,” she murmured, “where were we…”

“Where did you hide it?”

“It wouldn’t be hidden if I told you, now would it?” Hyacinth said, not even looking up.

“I’m trapped in this chair without it,” Lady D said. “You wouldn’t wish to deprive an old lady of her only means of transport, would you?”

“I would,” Hyacinth said, still looking down at the book. “I absolutely would.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with my grandson,” the countess muttered.

Hyacinth kept her attention diligently on the book, but she knew she wasn’t managing a completely straight face. She sucked in her lips, then pursed them, as she always did when she was trying not to look at someone, and if the temperature of her cheeks was any indication, she was blushing.

Dear God.

Lesson Number One in dealings with Lady Danbury: Never show weakness.

Lesson Number Two being, of course: When in doubt, refer to Lesson Number One.

“Hyacinth Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury said, too slowly for her to be up to anything but the most devious sort of mischief, “are your cheeks pink?”

Hyacinth looked up with her blankest expression. “I can’t see my cheeks.”

“They are pink.”

“If you say so.” Hyacinth flipped a page with a bit more purpose than was necessary, then looked down in dismay at the small rip near the binding. Oh dear. Well, nothing she could do about it now, and Priscilla Butter-worth had certainly survived worse.

“Why are you blushing?” Lady D asked.

“I’m not blushing.”

“I do believe you are.”

“I’m n-” Hyacinth caught herself before they started bickering like a pair of children. “I’m warm,” she said, with what she felt was an admirable display of dignity and decorum.

“It’s perfectly pleasant in this room,” Lady Danbury said immediately. “Why are you blushing?”

Hyacinth glared at her. “Do you wish for me to read this book or not?”

“Not,” Lady D said definitively. “I would much rather learn why you are blushing.”

“I’m not blushing!” Hyacinth fairly yelled.

Lady Danbury smiled, an expression that on anyone else might have been pleasant but on her was diabolical. “Well, you are now,” she said.

“If my cheeks are pink,” Hyacinth ground out, “it is from anger.”

“At me?” Lady D inquired, placing one, oh-so-innocent hand over her heart.

“I’m going to read the book now,” Hyacinth announced.

“If you must,” Lady D said with a sigh. She waited about a second before adding, “I believe Miss Butter-worth was scrambling up the hillside.”

Hyacinth turned her attention resolutely to the book in her hands.

“Well?” Lady Danbury demanded.

“I have to find my place,” Hyacinth muttered. She scanned the page, trying to find Miss Butterworth and the correct hillside (there were more than one, and she’d scrambled up them all), but the words swam before her eyes, and all she saw was Gareth.

Gareth, with those rakish eyes and perfect lips. Gareth, with a dimple she was sure he’d deny if she ever pointed it out to him. Gareth…

Who was making her sound as foolish as Miss Butter-worth. Why would he deny a dimple?

In fact…

Hyacinth flipped back a few pages. Yes, indeed, there it was, right in the middle of chapter sixteen:

His eyes were rakish and his lips perfectly molded. And he possessed a dimple, right above the left corner of his mouth, that he would surely deny if she were ever brave enough to point it out to him.

“Good God,” Hyacinth muttered. She didn’t think Gareth even had a dimple.

“We’re not that lost, are we?” Lady D demanded. “You’ve gone back three chapters, at least.”

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Hyacinth said. She was going mad. That had to be it. She’d clearly lost her wits if she was now unconsciously quoting from Miss Butterworth.

But then again…

He’d kissed her.

He’d really kissed her. The first time, back in the hall at Bridgerton House-that had been something else entirely. Their lips had touched, and in truth quite a few other things had touched as well, but it hadn’t been a kiss.

Not like this one.

Hyacinth sighed.

“What are you huffing about?” Lady Danbury demanded.

“Nothing.”

Lady D’s mouth clamped into a firm line. “You are not yourself this afternoon, Miss Bridgerton. Not yourself at all.”

Not a point Hyacinth wished to argue. “Miss Butter-worth,” she read with more force than was necessary, “scrambled up the hillside, her fingers digging deeper into the dirt with each step.”

“Can fingers step?” Lady D asked.

“They can in this book.” Hyacinth cleared her throat and continued: “She could hear him behind her. He was closing the distance between them, and soon she would be caught. But for what purpose? Good or evil?”

“Evil, I hope. It’ll keep things interesting.”

“I am in complete agreement,” Hyacinth said. “How would she know?” she read on. “How would she know? HowWOULD she know?” She looked up. “Emphasis mine.”

“Allowed,” Lady D said graciously.

“And then she recalled the advice given to her by her mother, before the blessed lady had gone to her reward, pecked to death by pigeons-”

“This can’t be real!”

“Of course it can’t. It’s a novel. But I swear to you, it’s right here on page 193.”

“Let me see that!”

Hyacinth’s eyes widened. Lady Danbury frequently accused Hyacinth of embellishment, but this was the first time she had actually demanded verification. She got up and showed the book to the countess, pointing to the paragraph in question.

“Well, I’ll be,” Lady Danbury said. “The poor lady did get done in by pigeons.” She shook her head. “It’s not how I’d like to go.”

“You probably don’t need to worry on that score,” Hyacinth said, resuming her seat.

Lady D reached for her cane, then scowled when she realized it was gone. “Continue,” she barked.

“Right,” Hyacinth said to herself, looking back down at the book. “Let me see. Ah, yes…gone to her reward, pecked to death by pigeons.” She looked up, spluttering. “I’m sorry. I can’t read that without laughing.”

“Just read!”

Hyacinth cleared her throat several times before resuming. “She had been only twelve, far too young for such a conversation, but perhaps her mother had anticipated her early demise. I’m sorry,” she cut in again, “but how on earth could someone anticipate something like that?”

“As you said,” Lady D said dryly, “it’s a novel.”

Hyacinth took a breath and read on: “Her mother had clutched her hand, and with sad, lonely eyes had said, ‘Dearest, dearest Priscilla. There is nothing in this world more precious than love.’”

Hyacinth stole a peek at Lady Danbury, who she fully expected to be snorting with disgust. But to her great surprise, the countess was rapt, hanging on her every word.

Quickly returning her attention to the book, Hyacinth read, “‘But there are deceivers, darling Priscilla, and there are men who will attempt to take advantage of you without a true meeting of the hearts.’”

“It’s true,” Lady Danbury said.

Hyacinth looked up, and it was immediately apparent that Lady Danbury had not realized that she’d spoken aloud.

“Well, it is,” Lady D said defensively, when she realized that Hyacinth was looking at her.

Not wishing to embarrass the countess any further, Hyacinth turned back to the book without speaking. Clearing her throat, she continued: “ ‘You will need to trust your instincts, dearest Priscilla, but I will give you one piece of advice. Hold it to your heart and remember it always, for I vow it is true.’ ”

Hyacinth turned the page, a little embarrassed to realize that she was as captured by the book as she’d ever been.

“Priscilla leaned forward, touching her mother’s pale cheek. ‘What is it, Mama?’she asked.

“‘If you want to know if a gentleman loves you,’ her mother said, ‘there is only one true way to be sure.’ ”

Lady Danbury leaned forward. Even Hyacinth leaned forward, and she was holding the book.

“‘It’s in his kiss,’ her mother whispered. ‘It’s all there, in his kiss.’ ”

Hyacinth’s lips parted, and one hand come up to touch them, without her even realizing it.

“Well,” Lady Danbury declared. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

It’s in his kiss. Could it be true?

“I would think,” Lady D continued officiously, “that it’s in his actions or his deeds, but I suppose that wouldn’t have sounded romantic enough for Miss Butterworth.”

“And the Mad Baron,” Hyacinth murmured.

“Exactly! Who in her right mind would want a madman?”

“It’s in his kiss,” Hyacinth whispered to herself.

“Enh?” Lady Danbury screeched. “I can’t hear you.”

“It’s nothing,” Hyacinth said quickly, giving her head a little shake as she forced her attention back to the countess. “I was merely woolgathering.”

“Pondering the intellectual dogmas laid out by Mother Butterworth?”

“Of course not.” She coughed. “Shall we read some more?”

“We’d better,” Lady D grumbled. “The sooner we finish this one, the sooner we can move on to another.”

“We don’t need to finish this one,” Hyacinth said, although if they didn’t, she was going to have to sneak it home and finish it herself.

“Don’t be silly. We can’t not finish it. I paid good money for that nonsense. And besides”-Lady D looked as sheepish as she was able when she said this, which, admittedly, wasn’t very sheepish-“I wish to know how it ends.”

Hyacinth smiled at her. It was as close to an expression of softheartedness as Lady Danbury was likely to display, and Hyacinth rather thought it should be encouraged. “Very well,” she said. “If you will allow me to find my place again…”

“Lady Danbury,” came the deep, even voice of the butler, who had entered the drawing room on silent feet, “Mr. St. Clair would like an audience.”

“And he’s asking for it?” Lady D inquired. “He usually just barges right in.”

The butler lifted an eyebrow, more expression than Hyacinth had ever seen on a butler’s face. “He has requested an audience with Miss Bridgerton,” he said.

“Me?” Hyacinth squeaked.

Lady Danbury’s jaw dropped. “Hyacinth!” she spluttered. “In my drawing room?”

“That is what he said, my lady.”

“Well,” Lady D declared, looking around the room even though there was no one present save Hyacinth and the butler. “Well.”

“Shall I escort him in?” the butler inquired.

“Of course,” Lady Danbury replied, “but I’m not going anywhere. Anything he has to say to Miss Bridgerton, he can say in front of me.”

“What?” Hyacinth demanded, finally tearing her eyes off the butler and turning toward Lady Danbury. “I hardly think-”

“It’s my drawing room,” Lady D said, “and he’s my grandson. And you’re-” She clamped her mouth together as she regarded Hyacinth, her diatribe momentarily halted. “Well, you’re you,” she finally finished. “Hmmph.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” Gareth said, appearing in the doorway and filling it, to wax Butterworthian, with his marvelous presence. He turned to Lady Danbury. “Grandmother.”

“Anything you have to say to Miss Bridgerton, you can say in front of me,” she told him.

“I’m almost tempted to test that theory,” he murmured.

“Is something amiss?” Hyacinth asked, perching at the front of her chair. After all, they’d parted ways barely two hours earlier.

“Not at all,” Gareth replied. He crossed the room until he was at her side, or at least as close to it as the furniture would allow. His grandmother was staring at him with unconcealed interest, and he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming straight here from Bridgerton House.

But he had stepped out onto the pavement and realized that it was Tuesday. And somehow that had seemed auspicious. This had all started on a Tuesday, good heavens, was it just two weeks earlier?

Tuesdays were when Hyacinth read to his grandmother. Every Tuesday, without fail, at the same time, in the same place. Gareth had realized, as he walked down the street, pondering the new direction of his life, that he knew exactly where Hyacinth was in that moment. And if he wanted to ask her to marry him, he had only to walk the brief distance across Mayfair to Danbury House.

He probably should have waited. He probably should have picked a far more romantic time and place, something that would sweep her off her feet and leave her breathless for more. But he’d made his decision, and he didn’t want to wait, and besides, after all his grandmother had done for him over the years, she deserved to be the first to know.

He hadn’t, however, expected to have to make his proposal in the old lady’s presence.

He glanced over at her.

“What is it?” she barked.

He should ask her to leave. He really should, although…

Oh, hell. She wouldn’t quit the room if he got down on his knees and begged her. Not to mention that Hyacinth would have an extremely difficult time refusing him with Lady Danbury in attendance.

Not that he thought she’d say no, but it really did make sense to stack the deck in his favor.

“Gareth?” Hyacinth said softly.

He turned to her, wondering how long he’d been standing there, pondering his options. “Hyacinth,” he said.

She looked at him expectantly.

“Hyacinth,” he said again, this time with a bit more certitude. He smiled, letting his eyes melt into hers. “Hyacinth.”

“We know her name,” came his grandmother’s voice.

Gareth ignored her and pushed a table aside so that he could drop to one knee. “Hyacinth,” he said, relishing her gasp as he took her hand in his, “would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

Her eyes widened, then misted, and her lips, which he’d been kissing so deliciously mere hours earlier, began to quiver. “I…I…”

It was unlike her to be so without words, and he was enjoying it, especially the show of emotion on her face.

“I…I…”

“Yes!” his grandmother finally yelled. “Yes! She’ll marry you!”

“She can speak for herself,” he said.

“No,” Lady D said, “she can’t. Quite obviously.”

“Yes,” Hyacinth said, nodding through her sniffles. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “Good.”

“Well,” his grandmother declared. “Well.” Then she muttered, “I need my cane.”

“It’s behind the clock,” Hyacinth said, never taking her eyes off Gareth’s.

Lady Danbury blinked with surprise, then actually got up and retrieved it.

“Why?” Hyacinth asked.

Gareth smiled. “Why what?”

“Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I should think that was clear.”

“Tell her!” Lady D bellowed, thumping her cane against the carpet. She gazed down at the stick with obvious affection. “That’s much better,” she murmured.

Gareth and Hyacinth both turned to her, Hyacinth somewhat impatiently and Gareth with that blank stare of his that hinted of condescension without actually rubbing the recipient’s face in it.

“Oh very well,” Lady Danbury grumbled. “I suppose you’d like a bit of privacy.”

Neither Gareth nor Hyacinth said a word.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Lady D said, hobbling to the door with suspiciously less agility than she’d displayed when she’d crossed the room to retrieve the cane just moments earlier. “But don’t you think,” she said, pausing in the doorway, “that I’m leaving you for long. I know you,” she said, jabbing her cane in the air toward Gareth, “and if you think I trust you with her virtue…”

“I’m your grandson.”

“Doesn’t make you a saint,” she announced, then slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Gareth regarded this with a quizzical air. “I rather think she wants me to compromise you,” he murmured. “She’d never have closed it all the way, otherwise.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hyacinth said, trying for a touch of bravado under her blush, which she could feel spreading across her cheeks.

“No, I think she does,” he said, taking both her hands in his and raising them to his lips. “She wants you for a granddaughter, probably more than she wants me for a grandson, and she’s just underhanded enough to facilitate your ruin to ensure the outcome.”

“I wouldn’t back out,” Hyacinth mumbled, disconcerted by his nearness. “I gave you my word.”

He took one of her fingers and placed the tip between his lips. “You did, didn’t you?” he murmured.

She nodded, transfixed by the sight of her finger against his mouth. “You didn’t answer my question,” she whispered.

His tongue found the delicate crease beneath her fingertip and flicked back and forth. “Did you ask me one?”

She nodded. It was hard to think while he was seducing her, and amazing to think that he could reduce her to such a breathless state with just one finger to his lips.

He moved, sitting beside her on the sofa, never once releasing her hand. “So lovely,” he murmured. “And soon to be mine.” He took her hand and turned it over, so that her palm was facing up. Hyacinth watched him watching her, watched him as he leaned over her and touched his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her breath seemed over-loud in the silent room, and she wondered what it was that was most responsible for her heightened state: the feel of his mouth on her skin or the sight of him, seducing her with only a kiss.

“I like your arms,” he said, holding one as if it were a precious treasure, in need of examination as much as safekeeping. “The skin first, I think,” he continued, letting his fingers slide lightly along the sensitive skin above her wrist. It had been a warm day, and she’d worn a summer frock under her pelisse. The sleeves were mere caps, and-she sucked in her breath-if he continued his exploration all the way up to her shoulder, she thought she might melt right there on the sofa.

“But I like the shape of them as well,” he said, gazing down at it as if it were an object of wonder. “Slim, but with just a hint of roundness and strength.” He looked up, lazy humor in his eyes. “You’re a bit of a sportswoman, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

He curved his lips into a half smile. “I can see it in the way you walk, the way you move. Even”-he stroked her arm one last time, his fingers coming to rest near her wrist-“the shape of your arm.”

He leaned in, until his face was near hers, and she felt kissed by his breath as he spoke. “You move differently than other women,” he said softly. “It makes me wonder.”

“What?” she whispered.

His hand was somehow on her hip, then on her leg, resting on the curve of her thigh, not quite caressing her, just reminding her of its presence with the heat and weight of it. “I think you know,” he murmured.

Hyacinth felt her body flush with heat as unbidden images filled her mind. She knew what went on between a man and a woman; she’d long since badgered the truth out of her older sisters. And she’d once found a scandalous book of erotic images in Gregory’s room, filled with illustrations from the East that had made her feel very strange inside.

But nothing had prepared her for the rush of desire that she felt upon Gareth’s murmured words. She couldn’t help but picture him-stroking her, kissing her.

It made her weak.

It made her want him.

“Don’t you wonder?” he whispered, the words hot against her ear.

She nodded. She couldn’t lie. She felt bare in the moment, her very soul laid open to his gentle onslaught.

“What do you think?” he pressed.

She swallowed, trying not to notice the way her breath seemed to fill her chest differently. “I couldn’t say,” she finally managed.

“No, you couldn’t,” he said, smiling knowingly, “could you? But that’s of no matter.” He leaned in and kissed her, once, slowly, on the lips. “You will soon.”

He rose to his feet. “I fear I must leave before my grandmother attempts to spy on us from the house across the way.”

Hyacinth’s eyes flew to the window in horror.

“Don’t worry,” Gareth said with a chuckle. “Her eyes aren’t that good.”

“She owns a telescope,” Hyacinth said, still regarding the window with suspicion.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Gareth murmured, walking to the door.

Hyacinth watched him as he crossed the room. He had always reminded her of a lion. He still did, only now he was hers to tame.

“I shall call upon you tomorrow,” Gareth said, honoring her with a small bow.

She nodded, watching as he took his leave. Then, when he was gone, she untwisted her torso so that she was once again facing front.

“Oh. My-”

“What did he say?” Lady Danbury demanded, reentering the room a scant thirty seconds after Gareth’s departure.

Hyacinth just looked at her blankly.

“You asked him why he asked you to marry him,” Lady D reminded her. “What did he say?”

Hyacinth opened her mouth to reply, and it was only then that she realized he had never answered her question.

“He said he couldn’t not marry me,” she lied. It was what she wished he’d said; it might as well be what Lady Danbury thought had transpired.

“Oh!” Lady D sighed, clasping a hand to her chest. “How lovely.”

Hyacinth regarded her with a new appreciation. “You’re a romantic,” she said.

“Always,” Lady D replied, with a secret smile that Hyacinth knew she didn’t often share. “Always.”