“Are you really as bad as they say?” Hyacinth asked.

He started in surprise. He hadn’t expected that. “No,” he admitted, “but don’t tell anyone.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said thoughtfully.

Something about her tone scared him. He didn’t want Hyacinth Bridgerton thinking so hard about him. Because he had the oddest feeling that if she did, she might see right through him.

And he wasn’t sure what she’d find.

“Your grandmother is coming this way,” she said.

“So she is,” he said, glad for the distraction. “Shall we attempt an escape?”

“It’s far too late for that,” Hyacinth said, her lips twisting slightly. “She’s got my mother in tow.”

“Gareth!” came his grandmother’s strident voice.

“Grandmother,” he said, gallantly kissing her hand when she reached his side. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

“Of course it is,” she replied pertly.

Gareth turned to face an older, slightly fairer, version of Hyacinth. “Lady Bridgerton.”

“Mr. St. Clair,” said Lady Bridgerton warmly. “It has been an age.”

“I don’t often attend such recitations,” he said.

“Yes,” Lady Bridgerton said frankly, “your grandmother told me she was forced to twist your arm to attend.”

He turned to his grandmother with raised brows. “You are going to ruin my reputation.”

“You’ve done that all on your own, m’dear boy,” Lady D said.

“I think what he means,” Hyacinth put in, “is that he’s not likely to be thought dashing and dangerous if the world knows how well he dotes upon you.”

A slightly awkward silence fell over the group as Hyacinth realized that they had all understood his remark. Gareth found himself taking pity on her, so he filled the gap by saying, “I do have another engagement this evening, however, so I’m afraid I must take my leave.”

Lady Bridgerton smiled. “We will see you Tuesday evening, however, yes?”

“Tuesday?” he queried, realizing that Lady Bridgerton’s smile was nowhere near as innocent as it looked.

“My son and his wife are hosting a large ball. I’m sure you received an invitation.”

Gareth was sure he had, too, but half the time he tossed them aside without looking at them.

“I promise you,” Lady Bridgerton continued, “there will be no unicorns.”

Trapped. And by a master, too. “In that case,” he said politely, “how could I refuse?”

“Excellent. I’m sure Hyacinth will be delighted to see you.”

“I am quite beside myself with glee,” Hyacinth murmured.

“Hyacinth!” Lady Bridgerton said. She turned to Gareth. “She doesn’t mean that.”

He turned to Hyacinth. “I’m crushed.”

“Because I’m beside myself, or because I’m not?” she queried.

“Whichever you prefer.” Gareth turned to the group at large. “Ladies,” he murmured.

“Don’t forget the shepherdess,” Hyacinth said, her smile sweet and just a little bit wicked. “You did promise her mother.”

Damn. He’d forgotten. He glanced across the room. Little Bo Peep had begun to point her crook in his direction, and Gareth had the unsettling feeling that if he got close enough, she might loop it round and reel him in.

“Aren’t the two of you friends?” he asked Hyacinth.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I hardly know her.”

“Wouldn’t you like to meet her?” he ground out.

She tapped her finger against her jaw. “I…No.” She smiled blandly. “But I will watch you from afar.”

“Traitor,” he murmured, brushing past her on the way to the shepherdess.

And for the rest of the night, he couldn’t quite forget the smell of her perfume.

Or maybe it was the soft sound of her chuckle.

Or maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe it was just her.

Chapter 6

The following Tuesday, in the ballroom at Bridgerton House. The candles are lit, music fills the air, and the night seems made for romance

But not, however, for Hyacinth, who is learning that friends can be just as vexing as family

Sometimes more so.

“Do you know whom I think you should marry? I think you should marry Gareth St. Clair.”

Hyacinth looked at Felicity Albansdale, her closest friend, with an expression that hovered somewhere between disbelief and alarm. She absolutely, positively, was not prepared to say that she should marry Gareth St. Clair, but on the other hand, she had begun to wonder if perhaps she ought to give it just a touch of consideration.

But still, was she so transparent?

“You’re mad,” she said, since she wasn’t about to tell anyone that she might be developing a bit of a tendre for the man. She didn’t like to do anything if she didn’t do it well, and she had a sinking feeling that she did not know how to pursue a man with anything resembling grace or dignity.

“Not at all,” Felicity said, eyeing the gentleman in question from across the ballroom. “He would be perfect for you.”

As Hyacinth had spent the last several days thinking of nothing but Gareth, his grandmother, and his other grandmother’s diary, she had no choice but to say, “Nonsense. I hardly know the man.”

“No one does,” Felicity said. “He’s an enigma.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Hyacinth muttered. Enigma sounded far too romantic, and—