“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 avoiding his father, which had added stress on top of his already crushing grief.
Lord St. Clair had ordered George to cease all brotherly relations with Gareth, but George had never cut him off. In all else, George had obeyed his father, but never that. And Gareth had loved him all the more for it. The baron hadn’t wanted Gareth to attend the ceremony, but when Gareth had pushed his way into the church, even he hadn’t been willing to make a scene and have him evicted.
“Gareth?”