“No.”
Anthony appeared to consider this, then he asked, “Will he make trouble?”
“For me?”
“For Hyacinth.”
Gareth couldn’t lie. “He might.”
And that was the worst of it. That was what would keep him up at night. Gareth had no idea what the baron might do. Or what he might say.
Or how the Bridgertons might feel if they learned the truth.
And in that moment, Gareth realized that he needed to do two things. First, he had to marry Hyacinth as soon as possible. She—and her mother—would probably wish for one of those absurdly elaborate weddings that took months to plan, but he would need to put his foot down and insist that they wed quickly.
And second, as a sort of insurance, he was going to have to do something to make it impossible for her to back out, even if his father came forward with proof of Gareth’s parentage.
He was going to have to compromise her. As soon as possible. There was still the matter of Isabella’s diary. She might have known the truth, and if she’d written about it, Hyacinth would learn his secrets even without the intervention of the baron.
And while Gareth didn’t much mind Hyacinth learning the true facts of his birth, it was vital that it not happen until after the wedding.
Or after he’d secured its eventuality with seduction.
Gareth didn’t much like being backed into a corner. Nor was he especially fond of having to have to do anything.
But this…
This, he decided, would be pure pleasure.
Chapter 13
Only one hour later. As we have noted, when our hero puts his mind to something…
And did we mention that it’s a Tuesday?
“Enh?” Lady Danbury screeched. “You’re not speaking loudly enough!”
Hyacinth allowed the book from which she was reading to fall closed, with just her index finger stuck inside to mark her place. “Why,” she wondered aloud, “does it feel like I have heard this before?”
“You have,” Lady D declared. “You never speak loudly enough.”
“Funny, but my mother never makes that complaint.”
“Your mother’s ears aren’t of the same vintage as mine,” Lady Danbury said with a snort. “And where’s my cane?”
Ever since she’d seen Gareth in action, Hyacinth had felt emboldened when it came to encounters with Lady Danbury’s cane. “I hid it,” she said with an evil smile.
Lady Danbury drew back. “Hyacinth Bridgerton, you sly cat.”
“Cat?”
“I don’t like dogs,” Lady D said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Or foxes, for that matter.”
Hyacinth decided to take it as a compliment—always the best course of action when Lady Danbury was making no sense—and she turned back to Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron, chapter seventeen. “Let’s see,” she murmured, “where were we…”
“Where did you hide it?”
“It wouldn’t be hidden if I told you, now would it?” Hyacinth said, not even looking up.
“I’m trapped in this chair without it,” Lady D said. “You wouldn’t wish to deprive an old lady of her only means of transport, would you?”
“I would,” Hyacinth said, still looking down at the book. “I absolutely would.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with my grandson,” the countess muttered.
Hyacinth kept her attention diligently on the book, but she knew she wasn’t managing a completely straight face. She sucked in her lips, then pursed them, as she always did when she was trying not to look at someone, and if the temperature of her cheeks was any indication, she was blushing.
Dear God.
Lesson Number One in dealings with Lady Danbury: Never show weakness.
Lesson Number Two being, of course: When in doubt, refer to Lesson Number One.
“Hyacinth Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury said, too slowly for her to be up to anything but the most devious sort of mischief, “are your cheeks pink?”
Hyacinth looked up with her blankest expression. “I can’t see my cheeks.”
“They are pink.”
“If you say so.” Hyacinth flipped a page with a bit more purpose than was necessary, then looked down in dismay at the small rip near the binding. Oh dear. Well, nothing she could do about it now, and Priscilla Butter-worth had certainly survived worse.
“Why are you blushing?” Lady D asked.
“I’m not blushing.”
“I do believe you are.”
“I’m n—” Hyacinth caught herself before they started bickering like a pair of children. “I’m warm,” she said, with what she felt was an admirable display of dignity and decorum.
“It’s perfectly pleasant in this room,” Lady Danbury said immediately. “Why are you blushing?”
Hyacinth glared at her. “Do you wish for me to read this book or not?”
“Not,” Lady D said definitively. “I would much rather learn why you are blushing.”
“I’m not blushing!” Hyacinth fairly yelled.
Lady Danbury smiled, an expression that on anyone else might have been pleasant but on her was diabolical. “Well, you are now,” she said.
“If my cheeks are pink,” Hyacinth ground out, “it is from anger.”
“At me?” Lady D inquired, placing one, oh-so-innocent hand over her heart.
“I’m going to read the book now,” Hyacinth announced.
“If you must,” Lady D said with a sigh. She waited about a second before adding, “I believe Miss Butter-worth was scrambling up the hillside.”