It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons 7)

She hated when that happened.

“Hmmmph.” Hyacinth sat back in her chair and did it again. “Hmmmph.”

“You sound,” came an amused voice from over her shoulder, “exactly like my grandmother.”

Hyacinth looked up. There he was, Gareth St. Clair, inevitably at the moment of her greatest discomfiture. And, of course, the only empty seat was next to her.

“Doesn’t she, though?” Lady Danbury asked, looking up at her grandson as she thumped her cane against the floor. “She’s quickly replacing you as my pride and joy.”

“Tell me, Miss Bridgerton,” Mr. St. Clair asked, one corner of his lips curving into a mocking half smile, “is my grandmother remaking you in her image?”

Hyacinth had no ready retort, which she found profoundly irritating.

“Move over again, Hyacinth,” Lady D barked. “I need to sit next to Gareth.”

Hyacinth turned to say something, but Lady Danbury cut in with, “Someone needs to make sure he behaves.”

Hyacinth let out a noisy exhale and moved over another seat.

“There you go, my boy,” Lady D said, patting the empty chair with obvious glee. “Sit and enjoy.”

He looked at her for a long moment before finally saying, “You owe me for this, Grandmother.”

“Ha!” was her response. “Without me, you wouldn’t exist.”

“A difficult point to refute,” Hyacinth murmured.

Mr. St. Clair turned to look at her, probably only because it enabled him to turn away from his grandmother. Hyacinth smiled at him blandly, pleased with herself for showing no reaction.

He’d always reminded her of a lion, fierce and predatory, filled with restless energy. His hair, too, was tawny, hovering in that curious state between light brown and dark blond, and he wore it rakishly, defying convention by keeping it just long enough to tie in a short queue at the back of his neck. He was tall, although not overly so, with an athlete’s grace and strength and a face that was just imperfect enough to be handsome, rather than pretty.

And his eyes were blue. Really blue. Uncomfortably blue.

Uncomfortably blue? She gave her head a little shake. That had to be quite the most asinine thought that had ever entered her head. Her own eyes were blue, and there was certainly nothing uncomfortable about that.

“And what brings you here, Miss Bridgerton?” he asked. “I hadn’t realized you were such a lover of music.”

“If she loved music,” Lady D said from behind him, “she’d have already fled to France.”

“She does hate to be left out of a conversation, doesn’t she?” he murmured, without turning around. “Ow!”

“Cane?” Hyacinth asked sweetly.

“She’s a threat to society,” he muttered.

Hyacinth watched with interest as he reached behind him, and without even turning his head, wrapped his hand around the cane and wrenched it from his grandmother’s grasp. “Here,” he said, handing it to her, “you will look after this, won’t you? She won’t need it while she’s sitting down.”

Hyacinth’s mouth fell open. Even she had never dared to interfere with Lady Danbury’s cane.

“I see that I have finally impressed you,” he said, sitting back in his chair with the expression of one who is quite pleased with himself.

“Yes,” Hyacinth said before she could stop herself. “I mean, no. I mean, don’t be silly. I certainly haven’t been not impressed by you.”

“How gratifying,” he murmured.

“What I meant,” she said, grinding her teeth together, “was that I haven’t really thought about it one way or the other.”

He tapped his heart with his hand. “Wounded,” he said flippantly. “And right through the heart.”