It's in His Kiss

by Julia Quinn

  Hyacinth scowled at him, a look that he was coming to realize was quintessentially her. It was a frown, yes, but with a hint—no, make that three hints—of impatience. It was the look of a woman who had spent her life waiting for people to keep up with her.

  “In here,” she said, motioning toward an open doorway.

  “As you wish, my lady,” he murmured. Far be it for him to complain about not having to apologize.

  He followed her into what turned out to be a drawing room, tastefully decorated in shades of rose and cream. It was very delicate and very feminine, and Gareth half wondered if it had been designed for the sole purpose of making men feel overlarge and ill at ease.

  Hyacinth waved him over to a sitting area, so he went, watching her curiously as she carefully maneuvered the door until it was shut most of the way. Gareth eyed the four-inch opening with amusement. Funny how such a small space could mean the difference between propriety and disaster.

  “I don’t want to be overheard,” Hyacinth said.

  Gareth just lifted his brows in question, waiting for her to seat herself on the sofa. When he was satisfied that she wasn’t going to jump up and check behind the drapes for an eavesdropper, he sat in a Hepplewhite armchair that was catercorner to the sofa.

  “I need to tell you about the diary,” she said, her eyes alight with excitement.

  He blinked with surprise. “You’re not going to return it, then?”

  “Of course not. You don’t think I—” She stopped, and he noticed that her fingers were twisting spirals in the soft green fabric of her skirt. For some reason this pleased him. He was rather relieved that she was not furious with him for kissing her—like any man, he’d go to great lengths to avoid any sort of hysterical feminine scene. But at the same time, he didn’t wish for her to be completely unaffected.

  Good God, he was a better kisser than that.

  “I should return the diary,” she said, sounding rather like herself again. “Truly, I should force you to find someone else to translate it. You deserve no less.”

  “Absolutely,” he demurred.

  She gave him a look, saying that she didn’t appreciate such perfunctory agreement. “However,” she said, as only she could say it.

  Gareth leaned forward. It seemed expected.

  “However,” she said again, “I rather like reading your grandmother’s diary, and I see no reason to deprive myself of an enjoyable challenge simply because you have behaved recklessly.”

  Gareth held silent, since his last attempt at agreement had been so ill received. It soon became apparent, however, that this time he was expected to make a comment, so he quickly chimed in with, “Of course not.”

  Hyacinth nodded approvingly, then added, “And besides”—and here she leaned forward, her bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement—“it just got interesting.”

  Something turned over in Gareth’s stomach. Had Hyacinth discovered the secret of his birth? It hadn’t even occurred to him that Isabella might have known the truth; she’d had very little contact with her son, after all, and rarely visited.

  But if she did know, she very well might’ve written it down.

  “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

  Hyacinth picked up the diary, which had been sitting on a nearby end table. “Your grandmother,” she said, her entire bearing radiating excitement, “had a secret.” She opened the book—she’d marked a page with an elegant little bookmark—and held it out, pointing with her index finger to a sentence in the middle of the page as she said, “Diamanti. Diamanti.” She looked up, unable to contain an exhilarated grin. “Do you know what that means?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Diamonds, Gareth. It means diamonds.”

  He found himself looking at the page, even though he couldn’t possibly understand the words. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your grandmother had jewels, Gareth. And she never told your grandfather about them.”

  His lips parted. “What are you saying?”

  “Her grandmother came to visit shortly after your father was born. And she brought with her a set of jewels. Rings, I think. And a bracelet. And Isabella never told anyone.”

  “What did she do with them?”

  “She hid them.” Hyacinth was practically bouncing off the sofa now. “She hid them in Clair House, right here in London. She wrote that your grandfather didn’t much like London, so there would be less chance he’d discover them here.”

  Finally, some of Hyacinth’s enthusiasm began to seep into him. Not much—he wasn’t going to allow himself to get too excited by what was probably going to turn out to be a wild-goose chase. But her fervor was infectious, and before he realized it, he was leaning forward, his heart beginning to beat just a little bit faster. “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “I’m saying,” she said, as if she was repeating something she’d uttered five times already, in every possible permutation, “that those jewels are probably still there. Oh!” She stopped short, her eyes meeting his with an almost disconcerting suddenness. “Unless you already know about them. Does your father already have them in his possession?”

  “No,” Gareth said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. At least, not that I’ve ever been told.”

  “You see? We can—”

  “But I’m rarely told of anything,” he cut in. “My father has never considered me his closest confidant.”

  For a moment her eyes took on a sympathetic air, but that was quickly trampled by her almost piratical zeal. “Then they’re still there,” she said excitedly. “Or at least there is a very good chance that they are. We have to go get them.”

  “What—We?” Oh, no.

  But Hyacinth was too lost in her own excitement to have noticed his emphasis. “Just think, Gareth,” she said, clearly now perfectly comfortable with the use of his given name, “this could be the answer to all of your financial problems.”

  He drew back. “What makes you think I have financial problems?”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Everyone knows you have financial problems. Or if you don’t, you will. Your father has run up debts from here to Nottinghamshire and back.” She paused, possibly for air, then said, “Clair Hall is in Nottinghamshire, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “Right. Well. You’re going to inherit those debts, you know.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Then what better way to ensure your solvency than to secure your grandmother’s jewels before Lord St. Clair finds them? Because we both know that he will only sell them and spend the proceeds.”

  “You seem to know a great deal about my father,” Gareth said in a quiet voice.

  “Nonsense,” she said briskly. “I know nothing about him except that he detests you.”

  Gareth cracked a smile, which surprised him. It wasn’t a topic about which he usually possessed a great deal of humor. But then again, no one had ever dared broach it with such frankness before.

  “I could not speak on your behalf,” Hyacinth continued with a shrug, “but if I detested someone, you can be sure I would go out of my way to make certain he didn’t get a treasure’s worth of jewels.”

  “How positively Christian of you,” Gareth murmured.

  She lifted a brow. “I never said I was a model of goodness and light.”

  “No,” Gareth said, feeling his lips twitch. “No, you certainly did not.”

  Hyacinth clapped her hands together, then set them both palms down on her lap. She looked at him expectantly. “Well, then,” she said, once it was apparent that he had no further comment, “when shall we go?”

  “Go?” he echoed.

  “To look for the diamonds,” she said impatiently. “Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

  Gareth suddenly had a terrifying vision of what it must be like inside her mind. She was dressed in black, clearly, and—good God—almost certainly in men’s clothing as
well. She’d probably insist upon lowering herself out her bedroom window on knotted sheets, too.

  “We are not going anywhere,” he said firmly.

  “Of course we are,” she said. “You must get those jewels. You can’t let your father have them.”

  “I will go.”

  “You’re not leaving me behind.” It was a statement, not a question. Not that Gareth would have expected otherwise from her.

  “If I attempt to break into Clair House,” Gareth said, “and that is a rather large if, I will have to do so in the dead of night.”

  “Well, of course.”

  Good God, did the woman never cease talking? He paused, waiting to make sure that she was done. Finally, with a great show of exaggerated patience, he finished with, “I am not dragging you around town at midnight. Forget, for one moment, about the danger, of which I assure you there is plenty. If we were caught, I would be required to marry you, and I can only assume your desire for that outcome evenly matches mine.”

  It was an overblown speech, and his tone had been rather pompous and stuffy, but it had the desired effect, forcing her to close her mouth for long enough to sort through the convoluted structure of his sentences.

  But then she opened it again, and said, “Well, you won’t have to drag me.”

  Gareth thought his head might explode. “Good God, woman, have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

  “Of course I have. I have four older brothers. I can recognize a supercilious, pontificating male when I see one.”

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “You, Mr. St. Clair, aren’t thinking clearly.” She leaned forward, lifting one of her brows in an almost disconcertingly confident manner. “You need me.”

  “Like I need a festering abscess,” he muttered.

  “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Hyacinth said. Between her teeth. “Because if I did otherwise, I would not be inclined to aid you in your endeavors. And if I did not aid you—”

  “Do you have a point?”

  She eyed him coolly. “You are not nearly as sensible a person as I thought you.”

  “Strangely enough, you are exactly as sensible as I thought you.”

  “I will pretend I didn’t hear that as well,” she said, jabbing her index finger in his direction in a most unladylike manner. “You seem to forget that of the two of us, I am the only one who reads Italian. And I don’t see how you are going find the jewels without my aid.”

  His lips parted, and when he spoke, it was in a low, almost terrifyingly even voice. “You would withhold the information from me?”

  “Of course not,” Hyacinth said, since she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him, even if he did deserve it. “I do have some honor. I was merely trying to explain that you will need me there, in the house. My knowledge of the language isn’t perfect. There are some words that could be open to interpretation, and I might need to see the actual room before I can tell exactly what she was talking about.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “It’s the truth, I swear!” She quickly grabbed the book, flipping a page, then another, then going back to the original. “It’s right here, see? Armadio. It could mean cabinet. Or it could mean wardrobe. Or—” She stopped, swallowing. She hated to admit that she wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about, even if that deficiency was the only thing that was going to secure her a place by his side when he went to look for the jewels. “If you must know,” she said, unable to keep her irritation out of her voice, “I’m not precisely certain what it means. Precisely, that is,” she added, because the truth was, she did have a fairly good idea. And it just wasn’t in her character to admit to faults she didn’t have.

  Good gracious, she had a difficult enough time with faults she did possess.

  “Why don’t you look it up in your Italian dictionary?”

  “It’s not listed,” she lied. It wasn’t really such an egregious fib. The dictionary had listed several possible translations, certainly enough for Hyacinth to truthfully claim an imprecise understanding.

  She waited for him to speak—probably not as long as she should have done, but it seemed like an eternity. And she just couldn’t keep quiet. “I could, if you wish, write to my former governess and ask for a more exact definition, but she’s not the most reliable of correspondents—”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I haven’t written to her in three years,” Hyacinth admitted, “although I’m quite certain she would come to my aid now. It’s just that I have no idea how busy she is or when she might find the time to reply—the last I’d heard she’d given birth to twins—”

  “Why does this not surprise me?”

  “It’s true, and heaven only knows how long it will take her to respond. Twins are an uncommon amount of work, or so I’m told, and…” Her voice lost some of its volume as it became apparent he wasn’t listening to her. She stole a glance at his face and finished, anyway, mostly because she’d already thought of the words, and there wasn’t much point in not saying them. “Well, I don’t think she has the means for a baby nurse,” she said, but her voice had trailed off by the end of it.

  Gareth held silent for what seemed an interminably long time before finally saying, “If what you say is correct, and the jewels are still hidden—and that is no certainty, given that she hid them”—his eyes floated briefly up as he did the math—“over sixty years ago, then surely they will remain in place until we can get an accurate translation from your governess.”

  “You could wait?” Hyacinth asked, feeling her entire head move forward and down with disbelief. “You could actually wait?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re there. Because—” She cut herself off, unable to do anything other than stare at him as if he were mad. She knew that people’s minds did not work the same way. And she’d long since learned that hardly anyone’s mind worked the way hers did. But she couldn’t imagine that anyone could wait when faced with this.

  Good heavens, if it were up to her, they’d be scaling the wall of Clair House that night.

  “Think about this,” Hyacinth said, leaning forward. “If he finds those jewels between now and whenever you find the time to go look for them, you are never going to forgive yourself.”

  He said nothing, but she could tell that she’d finally got through to him.

  “Not to mention,” she continued, “that I would never forgive you were that to happen.”

  She stole a glance at him. He seemed unmoved by that particular argument.

  Hyacinth waited quietly while he thought about what to do. The silence was horrible. While she’d been going on about the diary, she’d been able to forget that he’d kissed her, that she’d enjoyed it, and that he apparently hadn’t. She’d thought that their next meeting would be awkward and uncomfortable, but with a goal and a mission, she’d felt restored to her usual self, and even if he didn’t take her along to find the diamonds, she supposed she still owed Isabella thanks for that.

  But all the same, she rather thought she’d die if he left her behind. Either that or kill him.

  She gripped her hands together, hiding them in the folds of her skirt. It was a nervous gesture, and the mere fact that she was doing it set her even more on edge. She hated that she was nervous, hated that he made her nervous, hated that she had to sit there and not say a word while he pondered her options. But contrary to popular belief, she did occasionally know when to keep her mouth shut, and it was clear that there was nothing more she could say that would sway him one way or the other. Except maybe…

  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.