“I didn’t know,” she said.
“Neither did I,” he somehow managed.
“Is it always—”
He squeezed her hand, and when he heard her turn to him, he shook his head.
“Oh.” There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Well, it’s a good thing we’re getting married, then.”
Gareth started to shake with laughter.
“What is it?” she demanded.
He couldn’t speak. All he could do was lie there, his body shaking the entire bed.
“What’s so funny?”
He caught his breath, turned and rolled until he was back on top of her, nose to nose. “You,” he said.
She started to frown, but then melted into a smile.
A wicked smile.
Good Lord, but he was going to enjoy being married to this woman.
“I think we might need to move up the wedding date,” she said.
“I’m willing to drag you off to Scotland tomorrow.” And he was serious.
“I can’t,” she said, but he could tell she half wished she could.
“It would be an adventure,” he said, sliding one hand along her hip to sweeten the deal.
“I’ll talk to my mother,” she promised. “If I’m sufficiently annoying, I’m sure I can get the engagement period cut in half.”
“It makes me wonder,” he said. “As your future husband, should I be concerned by your use of the phrase if I’m sufficiently annoying?”
“Not if you accede to all of my wishes.”
“A sentence that concerns me even more,” he murmured.
She did nothing but smile.
And then, just when he was starting to feel quite comfortable in every way, she let out an, “Oh!” and wriggled out from beneath him.
“What is it?” he asked, the question muffled by his inelegant landing in the pillows.
“The jewels,” she said, clutching the sheet to her chest as she sat up. “I completely forgot about them. Good heavens, what time is it? We have to get going.”
“You can move?”
She blinked. “You can’t?”
“If I didn’t have to vacate this bed before morning, I’d be quite content to snore until noon.”
“But the jewels! Our plans!”
He closed his eyes. “We can go tomorrow.”
“No,” she said, batting him on the shoulder with the heel of her hand, “we can’t.”
“Why not?’
“Because I already have plans for tomorrow, and my mother will grow suspicious if I keep pleading headaches. And besides, we planned on this evening.”
He opened one eye. “It’s not as if anyone’s expecting us.”
“Well, I’m going,” she stated, pulling the bedsheet around her body as she climbed from the bed.
Gareth’s brows rose as he pondered his naked form. He looked at Hyacinth with a masculine smile, which spread even farther when she blushed and turned away.
“I…ah…just need to wash myself,” she mumbled, scooting away to her dressing room.
With a great show of reluctance (even though Hyacinth had her back to him) Gareth began to pull on his clothing. He couldn’t believe she would even ponder heading out that evening. Weren’t virgins supposed to be stiff and sore after their first time?
She stuck her head out of the dressing room door. “I purchased better shoes,” she said in a stage whisper, “in case we have to run.”
He shook his head. She was no ordinary virgin.
“Are you certain you wish to do this tonight?” he asked, once she reemerged in her black men’s clothing.
“Absolutely,” she said, pulling her hair into a queue at her neck. She looked up, her eyes shining with excitement. “Don’t you?”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Really?” She looked at him with open curiosity. “I feel quite the opposite. Energized, really.”
“You will be the death of me, you do realize that.”
She grinned. “Better me than someone else.”
He sighed and headed for the window.
“Would you like me to wait for you at the bottom,” she asked politely, “or would you prefer to go down the back stairs with me?”
Gareth paused, one foot on the windowsill. “Ah, the back stairs will be quite acceptable,” he said.
And he followed her out.
Chapter 15
Inside the Clair House library. There is little reason to chronicle the journey across Mayfair, other than to make note of Hyacinth’s wellspring of energy and enthusiasm, and Gareth’s lack thereof.
“Do you see anything?” Hyacinth whispered.
“Only books.”
She gave him a frustrated glare but decided not to chastise him for his lack of enthusiasm. Such an argument would only distract them from the task at hand. “Do you see,” she said, with as much patience as she could muster, “any sections which seem to be composed of scientific titles?” She glanced at the shelf in front of her, which contained three novels, two works of philosophy, a three-volume history of ancient Greece, and The Care and Feeding of Swine. “Or are they in any order at all?” she sighed.
“Somewhat,” came the reply from above. Gareth was standing on a stool, investigating the upper shelves. “Not really.”
Hyacinth twisted her neck, glancing up until she had a fairly good view of the underside of his chin. “What do you see?”
“Quite a bit on the topic of early Britain. But look what I found, tucked away on the end.” He plucked a small book from the shelf and tossed it down.