Neither Gareth nor Hyacinth said a word.
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Lady D said, hobbling to the door with suspiciously less agility than she’d displayed when she’d crossed the room to retrieve the cane just moments earlier. “But don’t you think,” she said, pausing in the doorway, “that I’m leaving you for long. I know you,” she said, jabbing her cane in the air toward Gareth, “and if you think I trust you with her virtue…”
“I’m your grandson.”
“Doesn’t make you a saint,” she announced, then slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Gareth regarded this with a quizzical air. “I rather think she wants me to compromise you,” he murmured. “She’d never have closed it all the way, otherwise.”
“Don’t be silly,” Hyacinth said, trying for a touch of bravado under her blush, which she could feel spreading across her cheeks.
“No, I think she does,” he said, taking both her hands in his and raising them to his lips. “She wants you for a granddaughter, probably more than she wants me for a grandson, and she’s just underhanded enough to facilitate your ruin to ensure the outcome.”
“I wouldn’t back out,” Hyacinth mumbled, disconcerted by his nearness. “I gave you my word.”
He took one of her fingers and placed the tip between his lips. “You did, didn’t you?” he murmured.
She nodded, transfixed by the sight of her finger against his mouth. “You didn’t answer my question,” she whispered.
His tongue found the delicate crease beneath her fingertip and flicked back and forth. “Did you ask me one?”
She nodded. It was hard to think while he was seducing her, and amazing to think that he could reduce her to such a breathless state with just one finger to his lips.
He moved, sitting beside her on the sofa, never once releasing her hand. “So lovely,” he murmured. “And soon to be mine.” He took her hand and turned it over, so that her palm was facing up. Hyacinth watched him watching her, watched him as he leaned over her and touched his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her breath seemed over-loud in the silent room, and she wondered what it was that was most responsible for her heightened state: the feel of his mouth on her skin or the sight of him, seducing her with only a kiss.
“I like your arms,” he said, holding one as if it were a precious treasure, in need of examination as much as safekeeping. “The skin first, I think,” he continued, letting his fingers slide lightly along the sensitive skin above her wrist. It had been a warm day, and she’d worn a summer frock under her pelisse. The sleeves were mere caps, and—she sucked in her breath—if he continued his exploration all the way up to her shoulder, she thought she might melt right there on the sofa.
“But I like the shape of them as well,” he said, gazing down at it as if it were an object of wonder. “Slim, but with just a hint of roundness and strength.” He looked up, lazy humor in his eyes. “You’re a bit of a sportswoman, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
He curved his lips into a half smile. “I can see it in the way you walk, the way you move. Even”—he stroked her arm one last time, his fingers coming to rest near her wrist—“the shape of your arm.”
He leaned in, until his face was near hers, and she felt kissed by his breath as he spoke. “You move differently than other women,” he said softly. “It makes me wonder.”
“What?” she whispered.
His hand was somehow on her hip, then on her leg, resting on the curve of her thigh, not quite caressing her, just reminding her of its p
resence with the heat and weight of it. “I think you know,” he murmured.
Hyacinth felt her body flush with heat as unbidden images filled her mind. She knew what went on between a man and a woman; she’d long since badgered the truth out of her older sisters. And she’d once found a scandalous book of erotic images in Gregory’s room, filled with illustrations from the East that had made her feel very strange inside.
But nothing had prepared her for the rush of desire that she felt upon Gareth’s murmured words. She couldn’t help but picture him—stroking her, kissing her.
It made her weak.
It made her want him.
“Don’t you wonder?” he whispered, the words hot against her ear.
She nodded. She couldn’t lie. She felt bare in the moment, her very soul laid open to his gentle onslaught.
“What do you think?” he pressed.
She swallowed, trying not to notice the way her breath seemed to fill her chest differently. “I couldn’t say,” she finally managed.
“No, you couldn’t,” he said, smiling knowingly, “could you? But that’s of no matter.” He leaned in and kissed her, once, slowly, on the lips. “You will soon.”