And then he tasted her. She was sweet, and she was warm, and she was returning his kiss with the most devilish mix of innocence and experience he could ever have imagined. Innocence, because it was quite clear she didn’t know what she was doing. And experience, because despite all that, she drove him wild.
He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down the length of her back until one rested on the curve of her bottom and the other at the small of her back. He pulled her against him, against the rising evidence of his desire. This was insane. It was mad. They were standing in her mother’s drawing room, three feet from a door that could be opened at any moment, by a brother who certainly would feel no compunction at tearing Gareth apart limb from limb.
And yet he couldn’t stop.
He wanted her. He wanted all of her.
God help him, he wanted her now.
“Do you like this?” he murmured, his lips moving to her ear.
He felt her nod, heard her gasp as he took her lobe between his teeth. It emboldened him, fired him.
“Do you like this?” he whispered, taking one hand and bringing it around to the swell of her breast.
She nodded again, this time gasping a tiny little, “Yes!”
He couldn’t help but smile, nor could he do anything but slide his hand inside the folds of her coat, so that the only thing between his hand and her body was the thin fabric of her dress.
“You’ll like this even better,” he said wickedly, skimming his palm over her until he felt her nipple harden.
She let out a moan, and he allowed himself even greater liberties, catching the nub between his fingers, rolling it just a touch, tweaking it until she moaned again, and her fingers clutched frantically at his shoulders.
She would be good in bed, he realized with a primitive satisfaction. She wouldn’t know what she was doing, but it wouldn’t matter. She’d learn soon enough, and he would have the time of his life teaching her.
And she would be his.
His.
And then, as his lips found hers again, as his tongue slid into her mouth and claimed her as his own, he thought—
Why not?
Why not marry her? Why n—
He pulled back, still holding her face in his hands. Some things needed to be considered with a clear mind, and the Lord knew that his head wasn’t clear when he was kissing Hyacinth.
“Did I do something wrong?” she whispered.
He shook his head, unable to do anything but look at her.
“Then wh—”
He quieted her with a firm finger to her lips.
Why not marry her? Everybody seemed to want them to. His grandmother had been hinting about it for over a year, and her family was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Furthermore, he actually rather liked Hyacinth, which was more than he could say for most of the women he’d met during his years as a bachelor. Certainly she drove him mad half the time, but even with that, he liked her.
Plus, it was becoming increasingly apparent that he would not be able to keep his hands off her for very much longer. Another afternoon like this, and he’d ruin her.
He could picture it, see it in his mind. Not just the two of them, but all of the people in their lives—her family, his grandmother.
His father.
Gareth almost laughed aloud. What a boon. He could marry Hyacinth, which was shaping up in his mind to be an extremely pleasant endeavor, and at the same time completely show up the baron.
It would kill him. Absolutely kill him.
But, he thought, letting his fingers trail along the line of her jaw as he pulled away, he needed to do this right. He hadn’t always lived his life on the correct side of propriety, but there were some things a man had to do as a gentleman.
Hyacinth deserved no less.
“I have to go,” he murmured, taking one of her hands and lifting it to his mouth in a courtly gesture of farewell.
“Where?” she blurted out, her eyes still dazed with passion.
He liked that. He liked that he befuddled her, left her without her famous self-possession.
“There are a few things I need to think about,” he said, “and a few things I need to do.”
“But…what?”
He smiled down at her. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“When?”
He walked to the door. “You’re a bundle of questions this afternoon, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have to be,” she retorted, clearly regaining her wits, “if you’d actually say something of substance.”
“Until next time, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured, slipping out into the hall.
“But when?” came her exasperated voice.
He laughed all the way out.
One hour later, in the foyer of Bridgerton House.
Our hero, apparently, doesn’t waste any time.
“The viscount will see you now, Mr. St. Clair.”
Gareth followed Lord Bridgerton’s butler down the hall to a private section of the house, one which he had never seen during the handful of times he had been a guest at Bridgerton House.
“He is in his study,” the butler explained.
Gareth nodded. It seemed the right place for such an interview. Lord Bridgerton would wish to appear in command, in control, and this would be emphasized by their meeting in his private sanctuary.
When Gareth had knocked upon the front door of Bridgerton House five minutes earlier, he had not given the butler any indication as to his purpose there that day, but he had no doubt that Hyacinth’s brother, the almost infamously powerful Viscount Bridgerton, knew his intentions exactly.
Why else would Gareth come calling? He had never had any cause before. And after becoming acquainted with Hyacinth’s family—some of them, at least—he had no doubt that her mother had already met with her brother and discussed the possibility of their making a match.