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.”
Chapter 14
Two weeks have passed. All of London now knows that Hyacinth is to become Mrs. St. Clair. Gareth is enjoying his new status as an honorary Bridgerton, but still, he can’t help but wait for it all to fall apart.
The time is midnight. The place, directly below Hyacinth’s bedroom window.
He had planned for everything, plotted every last detail. He’d played it out in his mind, everything but the words he’d say, since those, he knew, would come in the heat of the moment.
It would be a thing of beauty.
It would be a thing of passion.
It would be that night.
Tonight, thought Gareth, with a strange mix of calculation and delight, he would seduce Hyacinth.
He had a few vague pangs about the degree to which he was plotting her downfall, but these were quickly dismissed. It wasn’t as if he was going to ruin her and leave her to the wolves. He was planning to marry the girl, for heaven’s sake.
And no one would know. No one but him and Hyacinth.
And her conscience, which would never allow her to pull out of a betrothal once she’d given herself to her fiancé.
They had made plans to search Clair House that night. Hyacinth had wanted to go the week before, but Gareth had put her off. It was too soon to set his plan in motion, so he had made up a story about his father having guests. Common sense dictated that they would wish to search the emptiest house possible, after all.
Hyacinth, being the practical girl she was, had agreed immediately.
But tonight would be perfect. His father would almost certainly be at the Mottram Ball, on the off chance that they actually made it to Clair House to conduct their search. And more importantly, Hyacinth was ready.
He’d made sure she was ready.
The past two weeks had been surprisingly delightful. He’d been forced to attend an astounding number of parties and balls. He had been to the opera and the theatre. But he had done it all with Hyacinth at his side, and if he’d had any doubts about the wisdom of marrying her, they were gone now. She was sometimes vexing, occasionally infuriating, but always entertaining.
She would make a fine wife. Not for most men, but for him, and that was all that mattered.
But first he had to make sure she could not back out. He had to make their agreement permanent.
He’d begun her seduction slowly, tempting her with glances, touches, and stolen kisses. He’d teased her, always leaving a hint of what might transpire next. He’d left her breathless; hell, he’d left himself breathless.