No, even she wasn’t crazy enough to threaten to go by herself.
“What were you going to say?” Gareth asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
He leaned forward, his blue eyes sharp and unwavering. “What were you going to say?”
“What makes you think I was going to say something?”
“I could see it in your face.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You know me that well?”
“Frightening though it may seem, apparently I do.”
She watched as he sat back in his seat. He reminded her of her brothers as he shifted in the too-small chair; they were forever complaining that her mother’s sitting room was decorated for tiny females. But that was where the resemblance ended. None of her brothers had ever possessed the daring to wear his hair back in such a rakish queue, and none of them ever looked at her with that blue-eyed intensity that made her forget her own name.
He seemed to be searching her face for something. Or maybe he was just trying to stare her down, waiting for her to crack under the pressure.
Hyacinth caught her lower lip between her teeth-she wasn’t strong enough to maintain the perfect picture of composure. But she did manage to keep her back straight, and her chin high, and perhaps most importantly, her mouth shut as he pondered his options.
A full minute went by. Very well, it was probably no more than ten seconds, but it felt like a minute. And then finally, because she could stand it no longer, she said (but very softly), “You need me.”
His gaze fell to the carpet for a moment before turning back to her face. “If I take you-”
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, just barely resisting the urge to jump to her feet.
“I said if I take you,” he said, his voice uncommonly stern.
Hyacinth silenced herself immediately, looking at him with an appropriately dutiful expression.
“If I take you,” he repeated, his eyes boring into hers, “I expect you to follow my orders.”
“Of course.”
“We will proceed as I see fit.”
She hesitated.
“Hyacinth.”
“Of course,” she said quickly, since she had a feeling that if she didn’t, he would call it off right then and there. “But if I have a good idea…”
“Hyacinth.”
“As pertains to the fact that I understand Italian and you don’t,” she added quickly.
The look he gave her was as exhausted as it was austere.
“You don’t have to do what I ask,” she finally said, “just listen.”
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “We will go Monday night.”
Hyacinth’s eyes widened with surprise. After all the fuss he’d made, she hadn’t expected him to elect to go so soon. But she wasn’t about to complain. “Monday night,” she agreed.
She could hardly wait.
Chapter 9
Monday night. Our hero, who has spent much of his life in reckless abandon, is discovering the rather odd sensation of being the more sensible member of a duo.
There were a number of reasons, Gareth decided as he stole around to the back of Hyacinth’s house, why he should question his sanity.
One: It was after midnight.
Two: They would be quite alone.
Three: They were going to the baron’s house to:
Four: Commit larceny.
As far as bad ideas went, this stole the prize.
But no, somehow she had talked him into it, and so here he was, against all better judgment, ready to lead a proper young miss out of her house, into the night, and quite possibly into danger.
Not to mention that if anyone caught wind of this, the Bridgertons would have him standing up before a priest before he could catch his breath, and they’d be shackled to each other for life.
He shivered. The thought of Hyacinth Bridgerton as his lifelong companion…He stopped for a moment, blinking in surprise. Well, it wasn’t horrible, actually, but at the same time, it did leave a man feeling very, very uneasy.
He knew she thought she’d talked him into doing this, and maybe she had contributed in some degree to his decision, but the truth was, a man in Gareth’s financial position couldn’t afford to turn his nose up when faced with an opportunity such as this. He’d been a little startled at Hyacinth’s frank assessment of his financial situation. Forget for a moment that such matters were not considered polite conversation (he wouldn’t have expected her to adhere to such normal notions of propriety in any case). But he’d had no idea that his state of affairs was such common knowledge.
It was disconcerting, that.
But what was even more compelling, and what was really egging him on to look for the jewels now, as opposed to waiting until Hyacinth could obtain a better translation of the diary, was the delicious thought that he might actually snatch the diamonds right from under his father’s nose.
It was difficult to pass up an opportunity like that.
Gareth edged along the back of Hyacinth’s house to the servants’ entrance, located in the rear, across from the mews. They had agreed to meet there at precisely half one, and he had no doubt that she would be ready and waiting for him, dressed as he had instructed, all in black.
And sure enough, there she was, holding the back door an inch ajar, peeking out through the crack.
“You’re right on time,” she said, slipping outside.
He stared at her in disbelief. She’d taken his order to heart and was dressed head to toe in unrelenting black. Except that no skirt swirled about her feet. Instead, she wore breeches and a waistcoat.
He’d known she was going to do this. He’d known it, and yet still, he couldn’t contain his surprise.
“It seemed more sensible than a dress,” Hyacinth said, correctly interpreting his silence. “And besides, I don’t own anything in pure black. Haven’t ever been in mourning, thank goodness.”
Gareth just stared. There was a reason, he was coming to realize, why women didn’t wear breeches. He didn’t know where she’d acquired her costume-it had probably belonged to one of her brothers in his youth. It hugged her body in a most scandalous fashion, outlining her curves in a manner Gareth would really rather not have seen.
He didn’t want to know that Hyacinth Bridgerton had a delectable figure. He didn’t want to know that her legs were quite long for her somewhat petite height or that her hips were gently rounded and that they twitched in the most mesmerizing fashion when they weren’t hidden beneath the silky folds of a skirt.
It was bad enough that he’d kissed her. He didn’t need to want to do it again.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head. Good God, he sounded like a stick, like all those sensible friends he’d dragged into mischief as a youth.
He was beginning to think they’d actually known what they were talking about.
Hyacinth looked at him with accusing eyes. “You cannot back out now.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a sigh. The woman would probably chase him down with a club if he did. “Come along, let’s be off before someone catches us right here.”
She nodded, then followed his lead down Barlow Place. Clair House was located less than a quarter mile away, and so Gareth had plotted a route for them to travel on foot, sticking, whenever they could, to the quiet side streets where they’d be less likely to be spotted by a member of the ton, traveling home via carriage from a party.
“How did you know your father wouldn’t be home this evening?” Hyacinth whispered as they approached the corner.
“I’m sorry?” He peered around the corner, making sure the coast was clear.
“How did you know your father wouldn’t be home?” she said again. “I was surprised that you would have knowledge of such a thing. I can’t imagine he makes you privy to his schedule.”
Gareth gritted his teeth, surprised by the bubble of irritation her question brought up inside of him. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just do.” It was damned annoying, actually, that he was always so aware of his father’s movements, but at least he could take some satisfaction in knowing that the baron was similarly afflicted.