Hyacinth was at his side in an instant, and before she knew what was happening, he’d pulled her through a door into what seemed to be a large closet filled with clothes. The air was black as pitch, and there was little room to move about. Hyacinth was backed up against what felt like a brocaded gown, and Gareth was backed up against her.
She wasn’t sure she knew how to breathe.
His lips found her ear, and she felt more than she heard, “Don’t say a word.”
The door connecting the office to the hall clicked open, and heavy footsteps thudded across the floor.
Hyacinth held her breath. Was it Gareth’s father?
“That’s odd,” she heard a male voice say. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the window, and—
Oh, no. They’d left the drapes pulled back.
Hyacinth grabbed Gareth’s hand and squeezed hard, as if that might somehow impart this knowledge to him.
Whoever was in the room took a few steps, then stopped. Terrified at the prospect of being caught, Hyacinth reached carefully behind her with her hand, trying to gauge how far back the closet went. Her hand didn’t touch another wall, so she wiggled between two of the gowns and positioned herself behind them, giving Gareth’s hand a little tug before letting go so that he could do the same. Her feet were undoubtedly still visible, peeking out from under the hems of the dresses, but at least now, if someone opened the closet door, her face wouldn’t be right there at eye level.
Hyacinth heard a door opening and closing, but then the footsteps moved across the carpet again. The man in the room had obviously just peered into the baroness’s bedchamber, which Gareth had told her was connected to the small office.
Hyacinth gulped. If he’d taken the time to inspect the bedchamber, then the closet had to be next. She burrowed farther back, scooting herself until her shoulder connected with the wall. Gareth was right there next to her, and then he was pulling her against him, moving her to the corner before covering her body with his.
He was protecting her. Shielding her so that if the closet door was opened, his would be the only body seen.
Hyacinth heard the footsteps approach. The doorknob was loose and rattly, and it clattered when a hand landed on it.
She grabbed on to Gareth, clutching his coat along the side darts. He was close, scandalously close, with his back pressed up against her so tightly she could feel the entire length of him, from her knees to her shoulders.
And everything in between.
She forced herself to breathe evenly and quietly. There was something about her position, mixed with something about her circumstance—it was a combination of fear and awareness, and the hot proximity of his body. She felt strange, queer, almost as if she were somehow suspended in time, ready to lift off her toes and float away.
She had the strangest urge to press closer, to tip her hips forward and cradle him. She was in a closet—a stranger’s closet in the dead of night—and yet even as she froze with terror, she couldn’t help but feel something else…something more powerful than fright. It was excitement, a thrill, something heady and new that set her heart racing and her blood pounding, and…
And something else as well. Something she wasn’t quite ready to analyze or name.
Hyacinth caught her lip between her teeth.
The doorknob turned.
Her lips parted.
The door opened.
And then, amazingly, it closed again. Hyacinth felt herself sag against the back wall, felt Gareth sag against her. She wasn’t sure how it was they hadn’t been detected; probably Gareth had been better shielded by the clothing than she’d thought. Or maybe the light was too dim, or the man hadn’t thought to look down for feet peeking out from behind the gowns. Or maybe he’d had bad eyesight, or maybe…
Or maybe they were just damned lucky.
They waited in silence until it was clear that the man had left the baroness’s office, and then they waited for a good five minutes more, just to be sure. But finally, Gareth moved away from her, pushing through the clothes to the closet door. Hyacinth waited in back until she heard his whispered, “Let’s go.”
She followed him in silence, creeping through the house until they reached the window with the broken latch. Gareth leapt down ahead of her, then held out his hands so that she could balance against the wall and pull the window shut before hopping down to the ground.
“Follow me,” Gareth said, taking her hand and pulling her behind him as he ran through the streets of Mayfair. Hyacinth tripped along behind him, and with each step a sliver of the fear that had gripped her back in the closet was replaced by excitement.
Exhilaration.
By the time they reached Hay Hill, Hyacinth felt as if she was almost ready to bubble over with laughter, and finally, she had to dig in her heels and say, “Stop! I can’t breathe.”
Gareth stopped, but he turned with stern eyes. “I need to get you home,” he said.
“I know, I know, I—”
His eyes widened. “Are you laughing?”
“No! Yes. I mean”—she smiled helplessly—“I might.”
“You’re a madwoman.”
She nodded, still grinning like a fool. “I think so.”
He turned on her, hands on hips. “Have you no sense? We could have been caught back there. That was my father’s butler, and trust me, he has never been in possession of a sense of humor. If he had discovered us, my father would have thrown us in gaol, and your brother would have hauled us straight to a church.”
“I know,” Hyacinth said, trying to appear suitably solemn.