It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons 7)

“Exactly! Who in her right mind would want a madman?”

“It’s in his kiss,” Hyacinth whispered to herself.

“Enh?” Lady Danbury screeched. “I can’t hear you.”

“It’s nothing,” Hyacinth said quickly, giving her head a little shake as she forced her attention back to the countess. “I was merely woolgathering.”

“Pondering the intellectual dogmas laid out by Mother Butterworth?”

“Of course not.” She coughed. “Shall we read some more?”

“We’d better,” Lady D grumbled. “The sooner we finish this one, the sooner we can move on to another.”

“We don’t need to finish this one,” Hyacinth said, although if they didn’t, she was going to have to sneak it home and finish it herself.

“Don’t be silly. We can’t not finish it. I paid good money for that nonsense. And besides”—Lady D looked as sheepish as she was able when she said this, which, admittedly, wasn’t very sheepish—“I wish to know how it ends.”

Hyacinth smiled at her. It was as close to an expression of softheartedness as Lady Danbury was likely to display, and Hyacinth rather thought it should be encouraged. “Very well,” she said. “If you will allow me to find my place again…”

“Lady Danbury,” came the deep, even voice of the butler, who had entered the drawing room on silent feet, “Mr. St. Clair would like an audience.”

“And he’s asking for it?” Lady D inquired. “He usually just barges right in.”

The butler lifted an eyebrow, more expression than Hyacinth had ever seen on a butler’s face. “He has requested an audience with Miss Bridgerton,” he said.

“Me?” Hyacinth squeaked.

Lady Danbury’s jaw dropped. “Hyacinth!” she spluttered. “In my drawing room?”

“That is what he said, my lady.”

“Well,” Lady D declared, looking around the room even though there was no one present save Hyacinth and the butler. “Well.”

“Shall I escort him in?” the butler inquired.

“Of course,” Lady Danbury replied, “but I’m not going anywhere. Anything he has to say to Miss Bridgerton, he can say in front of me.”

“What?” Hyacinth demanded, finally tearing her eyes off the butler and turning toward Lady Danbury. “I hardly think—”

“It’s my drawing room,” Lady D said, “and he’s my grandson. And you’re—” She clamped her mouth together as sh

e regarded Hyacinth, her diatribe momentarily halted. “Well, you’re you,” she finally finished. “Hmmph.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” Gareth said, appearing in the doorway and filling it, to wax Butterworthian, with his marvelous presence. He turned to Lady Danbury. “Grandmother.”

“Anything you have to say to Miss Bridgerton, you can say in front of me,” she told him.

“I’m almost tempted to test that theory,” he murmured.

“Is something amiss?” Hyacinth asked, perching at the front of her chair. After all, they’d parted ways barely two hours earlier.

“Not at all,” Gareth replied. He crossed the room until he was at her side, or at least as close to it as the furniture would allow. His grandmother was staring at him with unconcealed interest, and he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming straight here from Bridgerton House.

But he had stepped out onto the pavement and realized that it was Tuesday. And somehow that had seemed auspicious. This had all started on a Tuesday, good heavens, was it just two weeks earlier?

Tuesdays were when Hyacinth read to his grandmother. Every Tuesday, without fail, at the same time, in the same place. Gareth had realized, as he walked down the street, pondering the new direction of his life, that he knew exactly where Hyacinth was in that moment. And if he wanted to ask her to marry him, he had only to walk the brief distance across Mayfair to Danbury House.

He probably should have waited. He probably should have picked a far more romantic time and place, something that would sweep her off her feet and leave her breathless for more. But he’d made his decision, and he didn’t want to wait, and besides, after all his grandmother had done for him over the years, she deserved to be the first to know.