“Then wh—”
He quieted her with a firm finger to her lips.
Why not marry her? Everyb
ody seemed to want them to. His grandmother had been hinting about it for over a year, and her family was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Furthermore, he actually rather liked Hyacinth, which was more than he could say for most of the women he’d met during his years as a bachelor. Certainly she drove him mad half the time, but even with that, he liked her.
Plus, it was becoming increasingly apparent that he would not be able to keep his hands off her for very much longer. Another afternoon like this, and he’d ruin her.
He could picture it, see it in his mind. Not just the two of them, but all of the people in their lives—her family, his grandmother.
His father.
Gareth almost laughed aloud. What a boon. He could marry Hyacinth, which was shaping up in his mind to be an extremely pleasant endeavor, and at the same time completely show up the baron.
It would kill him. Absolutely kill him.
But, he thought, letting his fingers trail along the line of her jaw as he pulled away, he needed to do this right. He hadn’t always lived his life on the correct side of propriety, but there were some things a man had to do as a gentleman.
Hyacinth deserved no less.
“I have to go,” he murmured, taking one of her hands and lifting it to his mouth in a courtly gesture of farewell.
“Where?” she blurted out, her eyes still dazed with passion.
He liked that. He liked that he befuddled her, left her without her famous self-possession.
“There are a few things I need to think about,” he said, “and a few things I need to do.”
“But…what?”
He smiled down at her. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“When?”
He walked to the door. “You’re a bundle of questions this afternoon, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have to be,” she retorted, clearly regaining her wits, “if you’d actually say something of substance.”
“Until next time, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured, slipping out into the hall.
“But when?” came her exasperated voice.
He laughed all the way out.
One hour later, in the foyer of Bridgerton House.
Our hero, apparently, doesn’t waste any time.
“The viscount will see you now, Mr. St. Clair.”
Gareth followed Lord Bridgerton’s butler down the hall to a private section of the house, one which he had never seen during the handful of times he had been a guest at Bridgerton House.
“He is in his study,” the butler explained.
Gareth nodded. It seemed the right place for such an interview. Lord Bridgerton would wish to appear in command, in control, and this would be emphasized by their meeting in his private sanctuary.
When Gareth had knocked upon the front door of Bridgerton House five minutes earlier, he had not given the butler any indication as to his purpose there that day, but he had no doubt that Hyacinth’s brother, the almost infamously powerful Viscount Bridgerton, knew his intentions exactly.