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.
He’d started this two weeks earlier, when he had asked her to marry him, knowing all the while that theirs would need to be a hasty engagement. He’d started it with a kiss. Just a kiss. Just one little kiss.
Tonight he would show her just what a kiss could be.
All in all, Hyacinth thought as she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, it had gone rather well.
She would have preferred to stay home that night—all the more time to prepare for her outing to Clair House, but Gareth had pointed out that if he was going to send his regrets to the Mottrams, she had best attend. Otherwise, there might be speculation as to both of their whereabouts. But after spending three hours talking and laughing and dancing, Hyacinth had located her mother and pleaded a headache. Violet was having a fine time, as Hyacinth had known she would be, and did not wish to depart, so instead she’d sent Hyacinth home in the carriage by herself.
Perfect, perfect. Everything was perfect. The carriage had not encountered any traffic on the way home, so it had to be just about midnight, which meant that Hyacinth had fifteen minutes to change her clothing and creep down to the back stairs to await Gareth.
She could hardly wait.
She wasn’t certain if they would find the jewels that night. She wouldn’t be surprised if Isabella had instead left more clues. But they would be one step closer to their goal.
And it would be an adventure.
Had she always possessed this reckless streak, Hyacinth wondered. Had she always thrilled to danger? Had she only been waiting for the opportunity to be wild?
She moved quietly down the upper hall to her bedroom door. The house was silent, and she certainly didn’t wish to rouse any of the servants. She reached out and turned the well-oiled doorknob, then pushed the door open and slipped inside.
At last.
Now all she had to do was—
“Hyacinth.”
She almost shrieked.
“Gareth?” she gasped, her eyes nearly bugging out. Good God, the man was lounging on her bed.
He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She looked quickly around the room. How had he got inside? “What are you doing here?” she whispered frantically.
“I arrived early,” he said in a lazy voice. But his eyes were sharp and intense. “I thought I’d wait for you.”
“Here?”
He shrugged, smiled. “It was cold outside.”
Except it wasn’t. It was unseasonably warm. Everyone had been remarking on it.
“How did you get in?” Good God, did the servants know? Had someone seen him?
“Scaled the wall.”
“You scaled the—You what?” She ran to the window, peering out and down. “How did you—”