It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons 7)

She had no doubt that she still drove him a little bit mad. But she seemed to drive everyone a little bit mad, so she decided not to attach too much importance to that.

But he liked her. And he respected her intelligence as well. And if he was occasionally reluctant to demonstrate this as often as she would like…well, she had four brothers. She had long since learned that it took a fully formed miracle to get them to admit that a woman might be smarter than a man about anything other than fabrics, perfumed soaps, and tea.

She turned her head to look at the clock, which sat on the mantel over her small fireplace. It was already past noon. Gareth had promised that he would call on her this afternoon to see how she was faring with the note. That probably didn’t mean before two, but technically it was the afternoon, and—

Her ears perked up. Was that someone at the door? Her room was at the front of the house, so she could generally hear when someone was entering or exiting. Hyacinth got up and went to the window, peeking out from behind the curtains to see if she could see anyone on the front step.

Nothing.

She went to the door and opened it just enough to listen.

Nothing.

She stepped into the hall, her heart pounding with anticipation. Truly, there was no reason to be nervous, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Gareth, and the diamonds, and—

“Eh, Hyacinth, what’re you doing?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” said her brother Gregory, not sounding sorry at all. He was standing behind her, or rather he had been, before she’d whirled around in surprise. He looked slightly disheveled, his reddish brown hair windblown and cut just a touch too long.

“Don’t do that,” she said, placing her hand over her heart, as if that might possibly calm it down.

He just crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “It’s what I do best,” he said with a grin.

“Not something I’d brag about,” Hyacinth returned.

He ignored the insult, instead brushing an imaginary piece of lint off the sleeve of his riding coat. “What has you skulking about?”

“I’m not skulking.”

“Of course you are. It’s what you do best.”

She scowled at him, even though she ought to have known better. Gregory was two and a half years her elder, and he lived to vex her. He always had. The two of them were a bit cut off from the rest of the family, in terms of age. Gregory was almost four years younger than Francesca, and a full ten from Colin, the next youngest son. As a result, he and Hyacinth had always been a bit on their own, a bit of a duo.

A bickering, poking, frog-in-the-bed sort of duo, but a duo nonetheless, and even though they had outgrown the worst of their pranks, neither seemed able to resist needling the other.

“I thought I heard someone come in,” Hyacinth said.

He smiled blandly. “It was me.”

“I realize that now.” She placed her hand on the door-knob and pulled. “If you will excuse me.”

“You’re in a snit today.”

“I’m not in a snit.”

“Of course you are. It’s—”

“Not what I do best.” Hyacinth ground out.

He grinned. “You’re definitely in a snit.”

“I’m—” She clamped

her teeth together. She was not going to descend to the behavior of a three-year-old. “I am going back into my room now. I have a book to read.”

But before she could make her escape, she heard him say, “I saw you with Gareth St. Clair the other night.”