It's In His Kiss

For about half a second she looked confused, and then her face slid into a satisfied smile. “You mean you’re not a betting man?” she asked.

He laughed. “I haven’t the blunt to be a betting man,” he said quite honestly.

“That doesn’t seem to stop most men,” she said pertly.

“Or most women,” he said, with a tilt of his head.

“Touche,” she murmured, glancing about the room. “We are a gambling people, aren’t we?”

“And what about you, Miss Bridgerton? Do you like to wager?”

“Of course,” she said, surprising him with her candor. “But only when I know I will win.”

He chuckled. “Strangely enough,” he said, guiding her toward the refreshment table, “I believe you.”

“Oh, you should,” she said blithely. “Ask anyone who knows me.”

“Wounded again,” he said, offering her his most engaging smile. “I thought I knew you.”

She opened her mouth, then looked shocked that she didn’t have a reply. Gareth took pity on her and handed her a glass of lemonade. “Drink up,” he murmured. “You look thirsty.”

He chuckled as she glowered at him over the rim of her glass, which of course only made her redouble her efforts to incinerate him with her glare.

There was something very amusing about Hyacinth Bridgerton, he decided. She was smart-very smart-but she had a certain air about her, as if she was used to always being the most intelligent person in the room. It wasn’t unattractive; she was quite charming in her own way, and he imagined that she would have to have learned to speak her own mind in order to be heard in her family-she was the youngest of eight, after all.

But it did mean that he rather enjoyed seeing her at a loss for words. It was fun to befuddle her. Gareth didn’t know why he didn’t make a point of doing it more often.

He watched as she set her glass down. “Tell me, Mr. St. Clair,” she said, “what did your grandmother say to you to convince you to attend this evening?”

“You don’t believe I came of my own free will?”

She lifted one brow. He was impressed. He’d never known a female who could do that.

“Very well,” he said, “there was a great deal of hand fluttering, then something about a visit to her physician, and then I believe she sighed.”

“Just once?”

He quirked a brow back at her. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that, Miss Bridgerton. It took a full half hour to break me.”

She nodded. “You are good.”

He leaned toward her and smiled. “At many things,” he murmured.

She blushed, which pleased him mightily, but then she said, “I’ve been warned about men like you.”

“I certainly hope so.”

She laughed. “I don’t think you’re nearly as dangerous as you’d like to be thought.”

He tilted his head to the side. “And why is that?”

She didn’t answer right away, just caught her lower lip between her teeth as she pondered her words. “You’re far too kind to your grandmother,” she finally said.

“Some would say she’s too kind to me.”

“Oh, many people say that,” Hyacinth said with a shrug.

He choked on his lemonade. “You haven’t a coy bone in your body, do you?”

Hyacinth glanced across the room at Penelope and Lady Danbury before turning back to him. “I keep trying, but no, apparently not. I imagine it’s why I am still unmarried.”

He smiled. “Surely not.”

“Oh, indeed,” she said, even though it was clear he was funning her. “Men need to be trapped into marriage, whether they realize it or not. And I seem to be completely lacking in the ability.”

He grinned. “You mean you’re not underhanded and sly?”

“I’m both those things,” she admitted, “just not subtle.”

“No,” he murmured, and she couldn’t decide whether his agreement bothered her or not.

“But tell me,” he continued, “for I’m most curious. Why do you think men must be trapped into marriage?”

“Would you go willingly to the altar?”

“No, but-”

“You see? I am affirmed.” And somehow that made her feel a great deal better.

“Shame on you, Miss Bridgerton,” he said. “It’s not very sporting of you not to allow me to finish my statement.”

She cocked her head. “Did you have anything interesting to say?”

He smiled, and Hyacinth felt it down to her toes. “I’m always interesting,” he murmured.

“Now you’re just trying to scare me.” She didn’t know where this was coming from, this crazy sense of daring. Hyacinth wasn’t shy, and she certainly wasn’t as demure as she ought to have been, but nor was she foolhardy. And Gareth St. Clair was not the sort of man with whom one ought to trifle. She was playing with fire, and she knew it, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if each statement from his lips was a dare, and she had to use her every faculty just to keep up.

If this was a competition, she wanted to win.

And if any of her flaws was going to prove to be fatal, this was surely it.

“Miss Bridgerton,” he said, “the devil himself couldn’t scare you.”

She forced her eyes to meet his. “That’s not a compliment, is it?”

He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself,” he murmured.

To all who observed, he was the soul of propriety, but Hyacinth caught the daring gleam in his eye, and she felt the breath leave her body as tingles of electricity rushed across her skin. Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say, not a single word. There was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply.

And then he straightened as if nothing had happened and said, “Do let me know what you decide.”

She just stared at him.

“About the compliment,” he added. “I am sure you will wish to let me know how I feel about you.”

Her mouth fell open.

He smiled. Broadly. “Speechless, even. I’m to be commended.”

“You-”

“No. No,” he said, lifting one hand in the air and pointing toward her as if what he really wanted to do was place his finger on her lips and shush her. “Don’t ruin it. The moment is too rare.”

And she could have said something. She should have said something. But all she could do was stand there like an idiot, or if not that, then like someone completely unlike herself.

“Until next time, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured.

And then he was gone.

Chapter 3

Three days later, and our hero learns that one can never really escape one’s past.

“There is a woman to see you, sir.”

Gareth looked up from his desk, a huge mahogany behemoth that took up nearly half of his small study. “A woman, you say?”

His new valet nodded. “She said she is your brother’s wife.”

“Caroline?” Gareth’s attention snapped into sharp focus. “Show her in. Immediately.”

He rose to his feet, awaiting her arrival in his study. He hadn’t seen Caroline in months, only once since George’s funeral, truth be told. And Lord knew that hadn’t been a joyful affair. Gareth had spent the entire time