It's In His Kiss

“Good Lord,” he muttered. “It’s Lysistrata, come home to me in human form.”

She tossed a triumphant smile over her shoulder as she pulled on her clothing.

He rose to his feet, knowing he was defeated. And besides, she did have a point. His main worry had been for her reputation; as long as she remained by his side, he was fully confident of his ability to keep her safe. If they were indeed going to marry in a week or two, their antics, if caught, would be brushed aside with a wink and a leer. But still, he felt like he ought to offer up at least a token of resistance, so he said, “Aren’t you supposed to be tired after all this bedplay?”

“Positively energized.”

He let out a weary breath. “This is the last time,” he said sternly.

Her reply was immediate. “I promise.”

He pulled on his clothing. “I mean it. If we do not find the jewels tonight, we don’t go again until I inherit. Then you may tear the place apart, stone by stone if you like.”

“It won’t be necessary,” she said. “We’re going to find them tonight. I can feel it in my bones.”

Gareth thought of several retorts, none of which was fit for her ears.

She looked down at herself with a rueful expression. “I’m not really dressed for it,” she said, fingering the folds of her skirt. The fabric was dark, but it was not the boy’s breeches she’d donned on their last two expeditions.

He didn’t even bother to suggest that they postpone their hunt. There was no point. Not when she was practically glowing with excitement.

And sure enough, she pointed one foot out from beneath the hem of her dress, saying, “But I am wearing my most comfortable footwear, and surely that is the most important thing.”

“Surely.”

She ignored his peevishness. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said with a patently false smile. But the truth was, she’d planted the seed of excitement within him, and he was already mapping his route in his mind. If he hadn’t wanted to go, if he weren’t convinced of his ability to keep her safe, he would have lashed her to the bed before allowing her to take one step out into the night.

He took her hand, lifted it to his mouth, kissed her. “Shall we be off?” he asked.

She nodded and tiptoed in front of him, out into the hall. “We’re going to find them,” she said softly. “I know we will.”

Chapter 21

One half hour later.

“We’re not going to find them.”

Hyacinth had her hands planted on her hips as she surveyed the baroness’s bedchamber. They had spent fifteen minutes getting to Clair House, five sneaking in through the faulty window and creeping up to the bedchamber, and the last ten searching every last nook and corner.

The jewels were nowhere.

It was not like Hyacinth to admit defeat. In fact, it was so wholly out of character that the words, “We’re not going to find them,” had come out sounding more surprised than anything else.

It hadn’t occurred to her that they might not find the jewels. She’d imagined the scene a hundred times in her head, she’d plotted and planned, she’d thought the entire scheme to death, and not once had she ever pictured herself coming up empty-handed.

She felt as if she’d slammed into a brick wall.

Maybe she had been foolishly optimistic. Maybe she had just been blind. But this time, she’d been wrong.

“Do you give up?” Gareth asked, looking up at her. He was crouching next to the bed, feeling for panels in the wall behind the headboard. And he sounded…not pleased, exactly, but rather somewhat done, if that made any sense.

He’d known that they weren’t going to find anything. Or if he hadn’t known it, he had been almost sure of it. And he’d come tonight mostly just to humor her. Hyacinth decided she loved him all the more for that.

But now, his expression, his aspect, everything in his voice seemed to say one thing-We tried, we lost, can we please just move on?

There was no satisfied smirk, no “I told you so,” just a flat, matter-of-fact stare, with perhaps the barest hint of disappointment, as if a tiny corner of him had been hoping to be proven wrong.

“Hyacinth?” Gareth said, when she didn’t reply.

“I…Well…” She didn’t know what to say.

“We haven’t much time,” he cut in, his face taking on a steely expression. Clearly, her time for reflection was over. He rose to his feet, brushing his hands against each other to rid them of dust. The baroness’s bedchamber had been shut off, and it didn’t appear to be on a regular cleaning schedule. “Tonight is the baron’s monthly meeting with his hound-breeding club.”

“Hound-breeding?” Hyacinth echoed. “In London?”

“They meet on the last Tuesday of the month without fail,” Gareth explained. “They have been doing it for years. To keep abreast of pertinent knowledge while they’re in London.”

“Does pertinent knowledge change very often?” Hyacinth asked. It was just the sort of random tidbit of information that always interested her.

“I have no idea,” Gareth replied briskly. “It’s probably just an excuse to get together and drink. The meetings always end at eleven, and then they spend about two hours in social discourse. Which means the baron will be home”-he pulled out his pocket watch and swore under his breath-“now.”

Hyacinth nodded glumly. “I give up,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever uttered those words while not under duress, but I give up.”

Gareth chucked her softly under her chin. “It’s not the end of the world, Hy. And just think, you may resume your mission once the baron finally kicks off, and I inherit the house. Which,” he added thoughtfully, “I actually have some right to.” He shook his head. “Imagine that.”

“Do you think Isabella meant for anyone to find them?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Gareth replied. “One would think that if she had, she might have chosen a more accessible language for her final hint than Slovene.”

“We should go,” Hyacinth said, sighing. “I need to return home in any case. If I’m to pester my mother for a change in the wedding date, I want to do it now, while she’s sleepy and easy to sway.”

Gareth looked at her over his shoulder as he placed his hand on the doorknob. “You are diabolical.”

“You didn’t believe it before?”

He smiled, then gave her a nod when it was safe to creep out into the hall. Together they moved down the stairs to the drawing room with the faulty window. Swiftly and silently, they slipped outside and hopped down to the alley below.

Gareth walked in front, stopping at the alley’s end and stretching one arm behind him to keep Hyacinth at a distance while he peered out onto Dover Street.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, jerking his head toward the street. They had come over in a hansom cab-Gareth’s apartments were not quite close enough to walk-and they’d left it waiting two intersections away. It wasn’t really necessary to ride back to Hyacinth’s house, which was just on the other side of Mayfair, but Gareth had decided that as long as they had the cab, they might as well make use of it. There was a good spot where they could be let out, right around the corner from Number Five, that was set back in shadows and with very few windows looking out upon it.

“This way,” Gareth said, taking Hyacinth’s hand and tugging her along. “Come on, we can-”

He stopped, stumbled. Hyacinth had halted in her tracks.

“What is it?” he hissed, turning to look at her.

But she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her eyes were focused on something-someone-to the right.

The baron.