It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons 7)

“God help me, I do.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“No?”

“The next day?”

“No!”

“Please?” she tried.

He clamped his hands on her shoulders and spun her around until she faced the door. “I’m taking you home,” he announced.

She turned, trying to talk over her shoulder. “Pl—”

“No!”

Hyacinth shuffled along, allowing him to push her toward the door. When she could not put it off any longer, she grasped the doorknob, but before she turned it, she twisted back one last time, opened her mouth, and—

“NO!”

“I didn’t—”

“Very well,” he groaned, practically throwing his arms up in exasperation. “You win.”

“Oh, thank—”

“But you are not coming.”

She froze, her mouth still open and round. “I beg your pardon,” she said.

“I will go,” he said, looking very much as if he’d rather have all of his teeth pulled. “But you will not.”

She stared at him, trying to come up with a way to say, “That’s not fair,” without sounding juvenile. Deciding that was impossible, she set to work attempting to figure out how to ask how she would know he’d actually gone without sounding as if she didn’t trust him.

Botheration, that was a lost cause as well.

So she settled for crossing her arms and skewering him with a glare.

To no effect whatsoever. He just stared down at her and said, “No.”

Hyacinth opened her mouth one last time, then gave up, sighed, and said, “Well, I suppose if I could walk all over you, you wouldn’t be worth marrying.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re going to be a fine wife, Hyacinth Bridgerton,” he said, nudging her out of the room.

“Hmmph.”

He groaned. “Good God, but not if you turn into my grandmother.”

“It is my every aspiration,” she said archly.

“Pity,” he murmured, tugging at her arm so that she came to a halt before they reached his sitting room.

She turned to him, questioning with her eyes.

He curved his lips, all innocence. “Well, I can’t do this to my grandmother.”

“Oh!” she yelped. How had he gotten his hand there?