It's in His Kiss

by Julia Quinn

“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.

  “Oh,” Hyacinth said. And it was all she said. Which was nice. Out of character, but nice.

  Gareth motioned for her to follow as they made their way the short distance up Hay Hill, and then finally they were on Dover Street, which led to the alleyway behind Clair House.

  “When was the last time you were here?” Hyacinth whispered as they crept up to the back wall.

  “On the inside?” he asked brusquely. “Ten years. But if we’re lucky, that window”—he pointed to a ground-floor aperture, only a little out of their reach—“will still have a broken latch.”

  She nodded appreciatively. “I was wondering how we were going to get in.”

  They both held silent for a moment, looking up at the window.

  “Higher than you remembered?” asked Hyacinth. But then, of course, she didn’t wait for an answer before adding, “It’s a good thing you brought me along. You can boost me up.”

  Gareth looked from her to the window and back. It somehow seemed wrong to send her into the house first. He hadn’t considered this, though, when planning his entry.

  “I’m not going to boost you up,” Hyacinth said impatiently. “So unless you’ve a crate hidden away somewhere, or perhaps a small ladder—”

  “Just go,” Gareth practically growled, making a step for her with his hands. He had done this before, plenty of times. But it was a far different thing with Hyacinth Bridgerton brushing alongside his body than one of his school-chums.

  “Can you reach?” he asked, hoisting her up.

  “Mmm-hmm,” was the reply.

  Gareth looked up. Right at her bottom. He decided to enjoy the view as long as she had no idea she was providing it.

  “I just need to get my fingers under the edge,” she whispered.

  “Go right ahead,” he said, smiling for the first time all night.

  She twisted immediately around. “Why do you suddenly sound so equable?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Just appreciating your usefulness.”

  “I—” She pursed her lips together. “Do you know, I don’t think I trust you.”

  “Absolutely you shouldn’t,” he agreed.

  He watched as she jiggled the window, then slid it up and open.

  “Did it!” she said, sounding triumphant even through her whisper.<
br />
  He gave her an appreciative nod. She was fairly insufferable, but it seemed only fair to give credit where credit was due. “I’m going to push you up,” he said. “You should be able to—”

  But she was already in. Gareth couldn’t help but stand back in admiration. Hyacinth Bridgerton was clearly a born athlete.

  Either that or a cat burglar.

  Her face appeared in the open window. “I don’t think anyone heard,” she whispered. “Can you get up by yourself?”

  He nodded. “As long as the window is already open, it’s no trouble.” He’d done this before, several times, when he’d been a schoolboy, home on holiday. The exterior wall was made of stone, and there were a few rough spots, with outcroppings just long enough to wedge his foot. Add that to the one knobby bit he could grasp with his hand…

  He was inside in under twenty seconds.

  “I’m impressed,” Hyacinth said, peering back out the window.

  “You’re impressed by strange things,” he said, brushing himself off.

  “Anyone can bring flowers,” she said with a shrug.

  “Are you saying all a man needs to do to win your heart is scale a building?”

  She looked back out the window. “Well, he’d have to do a bit more than this. Two stories, at the very least.”

  He shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. “You said that the diary mentioned a room decorated in shades of green?”

  She nodded. “I wasn’t entirely certain of the meaning. It could have been a drawing room. Or maybe a study. But she did mention a small, round window.”

  “The baroness’s office,” he decided. “It’s on the second floor, right off the bedroom.”

  “Of course!” She was whispering, but her excitement still rang through. “That would make perfect sense. Especially if she wanted to keep it from her husband. She wrote that he never visited her rooms.”

  “We’ll go up the main stairs,” Gareth said quietly. “We’ll be less likely to be heard. The back ones are too close to the servants’ quarters.”

  She nodded her agreement, and together they crept through the house. It was quiet, just as Gareth would have expected. The baron lived alone, and when he was out, the servants retired early.

  Except one. Gareth stopped short, needing a moment to reassess. The butler would be awake; he never went to bed when Lord St. Clair was still expected back and might require assistance.

  “This way,” Gareth mouthed to Hyacinth, doubling back to take a different route. They would still take the main stairs, but they would go the long way around to get there.

  Hyacinth followed his lead, and a minute later they were creeping up the stairs. Gareth pulled her to the side; the steps had always creaked in the center, and he rather doubted his father possessed the funds to have them repaired.

  Once in the upstairs hall, he led Hyacinth to the baroness’s office. It was a funny little room, rectangular with one window and three doors, one to the hall, one to the baroness’s bedroom, and the last to a small dressing room that was more frequently used for storage since there was a much more comfortable dressing area directly off the bedchamber.

  Gareth motioned Hyacinth inside, then stepped in behind her, closing the door carefully, his hand tight on the doorknob as it turned.

  It shut without a click. He let out a breath.

  “Tell me exactly what she wrote,” he whispered, pulling back the drapes to allow in a bit of moonlight.

  “She said it was in the armadio,” Hyacinth whispered back. “Which is probably a cabinet. Or maybe a set of drawers. Or—” Her eyes fell on a tall but narrow curio cabinet. It was triangular in shape, tucked into one of the rear corners. The wood was a dark, rich hue, and it stood on three spindly legs, leaving about two feet of space under its base. “This is it,” Hyacinth whispered excitedly. “It has to be.”

  She was across the room before Gareth even had a chance to move, and by the time he joined her, she had one of the drawers open and was searching through.

  “Empty,” she said, frowning. She knelt and pulled open the bottom drawer. Also empty. She looked up at Gareth and said, “Do you think someone removed her belongings after she passed away?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. He gave the cabinet door a gentle tug and pulled it open. Also empty.

  Hyacinth stood, planting her hands on her hips as she regarded the cabinet. “I can’t imagine what else…” Her words trailed off as she ran her fingers over the decorative carvings near the top edge.

  “Maybe the desk,” Gareth suggested, crossing the distance to the desk in two strides.

  But Hyacinth was shaking her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “She wouldn’t have called a desk an armadio. It would have been a scrivania.”

  “It still has drawers,” Gareth muttered, pulling them open to inspect the contents.

  “There’s something about this piece,” Hyacinth murmured. “It looks rather Mediterranean, don’t you think?”

  Gareth looked up. “It does,” he said slowly, coming to his feet.

  “If she brought this from Italy,” Hyacinth said, her head tilting slightly to the side as she eyed the cabinet assessingly, “or if her grandmother brought it on her visit…”

  “It would stand to reason that she would know if there was a secret compartment,” Gareth finished for her.

  “And,” Hyacinth said, her eyes alight with excitement, “her husband wouldn’t.”

  Gareth quickly set the desk to rights and returned to the curio cabinet. “Stand back,” he instructed, wrapping his fingers around the lower lip so that he could pull it away from the wall. It was heavy, though, much heavier than it looked, and he was only able to move it a few inches, just far enough so that he could run his hand along the back.

  “Do you feel anything?” Hyacinth whispered.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t reach very far in, so he dropped to his knees and tried feeling the back panel from underneath.

  “Anything there?” Hyacinth asked.

  He shook his head again. “Nothing. I just need to—” He froze as his fingers ran across a small, rectangular outcropping of wood.

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to peer around the back.

  “I’m not certain,” he said, stretching his arm a half inch farther. “It’s a knob of some sort, maybe a lever.”

  “Can you move it?”

  “I’m trying,” he nearly gasped. The knob was almost out of his reach, and he had to contort and twist just to catch it between his fingers. The lower front edge of the cabinet was digging painfully into the muscles of his upper arm, and his head was twisted awkwardly to the side, his cheek pressing up against the cabinet door.

  All in all, not the most graceful of positions.

  “What if I do this?” Hyacinth wedged herself next to the cabinet and slid her arm around back. Her fingers found the knob easily.

  Gareth immediately let go and pulled his arm out from under the cabinet.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, somewhat sympathetically, “you couldn’t have fit your arm back here. There isn’t much room.”

  “I don’t care which of us can reach the knob,” he said.

  “You don’t? Oh.” She shrugged. “Well, I would.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Not that it really matters, of course, but—”

  “Do you feel anything?” he cut in.

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to be moving. I’ve tried it up and down, and side to side.”

  “Push it in.”

  “That doesn’t do it, either. Unless I—” Her breath caught.

  “What?” Gareth asked urgently.

  She looked up at him, her eyes shining, even in the dim light of the moon. “It twisted. And I felt something click.”

  “Is there a drawer? Can you pull it out?”

  Hyacinth shook her head, her mouth scrunching into an expression of concentration as she moved her hand along the back panel of t
he cabinet. She couldn’t find any cracks or cutouts. Slowly, she slid down, bending at the knees until her hand reached the lower edge. And then she looked down. A small piece of paper lay on the floor.

  “Was this here before?” she asked. But the words were mere reflex; she knew it hadn’t been.

  Gareth dropped to his knees beside her. “What is it?”

  “This,” she said, unfolding the small piece of paper with trembling hands. “I think it fell from somewhere when I twisted the knob.” Still on hands and knees, she moved about two feet so that the paper caught the narrow shaft of moonlight flowing through the window. Gareth crouched beside her, his body warm and hard and overwhelmingly close as she smoothed the brittle sheet open.

  “What does it say?” he asked, his breath dancing across her neck as he leaned in.

  “I-I’m not sure.” She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on the words. The handwriting was clearly Isabella’s, but the paper had been folded and refolded several times, making it difficult to read. “It’s in Italian. I think it might be another clue.”

  Gareth shook his head. “Trust Isabella to turn this into a fancy hunt.”

  “Was she very crafty, then?”

  “No, but inordinately fond of games.” He turned back to the cabinet. “I’m not surprised she would have a piece like this, with a secret compartment.”

  Hyacinth watched as he ran his hand along the under-side of the cabinet. “There it is,” he said appreciatively.

  “Where?” she asked, moving beside him.

  He took her hand and guided it to a spot toward the back. A piece of wood seemed to have rotated slightly, just enough to allow a scrap of paper to slide through and float to the ground.

  “Do you feel it?” he murmured.

  She nodded, and she couldn’t be sure whether she was referring to the wood, or the heat of his hand over hers. His skin was warm, and slightly rough, as if he’d been out and about without his gloves. But mostly his hand was large, covering hers completely.

  Hyacinth felt enveloped, swallowed whole.

  And dear God, it was just his hand.

  “We should put this back,” she said quickly, eager for anything that forced her mind to focus on something else. Pulling her hand from his, she reached out and turned the wood back into place. It seemed unlikely that anyone would notice the change in the underside of the cabinet, especially considering that the secret compartment had gone undetected for over sixty years, but all the same, it seemed prudent to leave the scene as they had found it.