It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons 7)

“Well, he’s perfectly nice,” Lady Danbury muttered, not even trying to deny it, “and more than handsome.”

Hyacinth caught her lower lip between her teeth, trying not to remember how very strange she’d felt at the Smythe-Smith musicale with Mr. St. Clair at

her side. That was the problem with him, she realized. She didn’t feel like herself when he was near. And it was the most disconcerting thing.

“I see you don’t disagree,” Lady D said.

“About your grandson’s handsome visage? Of course not,” Hyacinth replied, since there was little point in debating it. There were some people for whom good looks were a fact, not an opinion.

“And,” Lady Danbury continued in grand fashion, “I’m happy to say that he inherited his brain from my side of the family, which, I might regretfully add, isn’t the case with all of my progeny.”

Hyacinth glanced up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid comment. Lady Danbury’s eldest son had famously gotten his head stuck between the bars of the front gate of Windsor Castle.

“Oh, go ahead and say it,” Lady D grumbled. “At least two of my children are half-wits, and heaven knows about their children. I flee in the opposite direction when they come to town.”

“I would never—”

“Well, you were thinking it, and rightly you should. Serves me right for marrying Lord Danbury when I knew he hadn’t two thoughts to bang together in his head. But Gareth is a prize, and you’re a fool if you don’t—”

“Your grandson,” Hyacinth cut in, “isn’t the least bit interested in me or any marriageable female, for that matter.”

“Well, that is a problem,” Lady Danbury agreed, “and for the life of me, I don’t know why the boy shuns your sort.”

“My sort?” Hyacinth echoed.

“Young, female, and someone he would actually have to marry if he dallied with.”

Hyacinth felt her cheeks burn. Normally this would be exactly the sort of conversation she relished—it was far more fun to be improper than otherwise, within reason, of course—but this time it was all she could do to say, “I hardly think you should be discussing such things with me.”

“Bah,” Lady D said, gesturing dismissively with her hand. “Since when have you become so missish?”

Hyacinth opened her mouth, but thankfully, Lady Danbury didn’t seem to desire an answer. “He’s a rogue, it’s true,” the countess sailed on, “but it’s nothing you can’t overcome if you put your mind to it.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Just yank your dress down a little when next you see him,” Lady D cut in, waving her hand impatiently in front of her face. “Men lose all sense at the sight of a healthy bosom. You’ll have him—”

“Lady Danbury!” Hyacinth crossed her arms. She did have her pride, and she wasn’t about to go chasing after a rake who clearly had no interest in marriage. That sort of public humiliation she could do without.

And besides, it would require a great deal of imagination to describe her bosom as healthy. Hyacinth knew she wasn’t built like a boy, thank goodness, but nor did she possess attributes that would cause any man to look twice in the area directly below her neck.

“Oh, very well,” Lady Danbury said, sounding exceedingly grumpy, which, for her, was exceeding indeed. “I won’t say another word.”

“Ever?”

“Until,” Lady D said firmly.

“Until when?” Hyacinth asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know,” Lady Danbury replied, in much the same tone.

Which Hyacinth had a feeling meant five minutes hence.

The countess was silent for a moment, but her lips were pursed, signaling that her mind was up to something that was probably devious in the extreme. “Do you know what I think?” she asked.

“Usually,” Hyacinth replied.

Lady D scowled. “You are entirely too mouthy.”