And as she stood there, staring at his face as he lost himself in his thoughts, she realized that she desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.

“Mr. St. Clair?” she finally whispered, after a full minute had ticked away. “Gareth?”

She saw his lips move before she heard his voice. One corner tilted up in a mocking smile, and she had the strangest sense that he’d accepted his own bad luck, that he was ready to embrace it and revel in it, because if he tried to smash it, he was simply going to have his heart broken.

“I would give the world to have one more person for whom I would lay down my life,” he said.

And then Hyacinth realized that some things did come in a flash. And there were some things one simply knew without possessing the ability to explain them.

Because in that moment she knew that she was going to marry this man.

No one else would do.

Gareth St. Clair knew what was important. He was funny, he was dry, he could be arrogantly mocking, but he knew what was important.

And Hyacinth had never realized before just how important that was to her.

Her lips parted as she watched him. She wanted to say something, to do something. She’d finally realized just what it was she wanted in life, and it felt like she ought to leap in with both feet, work toward her goal and make sure she got it.

But she was frozen, speechless as she gazed at his profile. There was something in the way he was holding his jaw. He looked bleak, haunted. And Hyacinth had the most overpowering impulse to reach out and touch him, to let her fingers brush against his cheek, to smooth his hair where the dark blond strands of his queue rested against the collar of his coat.

But she didn’t. She wasn’t that courageous.

He turned suddenly, his eyes meeting hers with enough force and clarity to take her breath away. And she had the oddest sense that she was only just now seeing the man beneath the surface.

“Shall we return?” he asked, and his voice was light and disappointingly back to normal.

Whatever had happened between them, it had passed.

“Of course,” Hyacinth said. Now wasn’t the time to press him. “When do you wish to return to Clair…” Her words trailed off. Gareth had stiffened, and his eyes were focused sharply over her shoulder.

Hyacinth turned around to see what had grabbed his attention.

Her breath caught. His father was walking down the path, coming straight toward them.

She looked quickly around. They were on the less fashionable side of the park, and as such, it wasn’t terribly crowded. She could see a few members of the ton across the clearing, but none was close enough to overhear a conversation, provided that Gareth and his father were able to remain civil.

Hyacinth looked again from one St. Clair gentleman to the other, and she realized that she had never seen them together before.

Half of her wanted to pull Gareth to the side and avoid a scene, and half was dying of curiosity. If they stayed put, and she was finally able to witness their interaction, she might finally learn the cause of their estrangement.

But it wasn’t up to her. It had to be Gareth’s decision. “Do you want to go?” she asked him, keeping her voice low.

His lips parted slowly as his chin rose a fraction of an inch. “No,” he said, his voice strangely contemplative. “It’s a public park.”

Hyacinth looked from Gareth to his father and back, her head bobbing, she was sure, like a badly wielded tennis ball. “Are you certain?” she asked, but he didn’t hear her. She didn’t think he would have heard a cannon going off right by his ear, so focused was he on the man ambling too casually toward them.

“Father,” Gareth said, giving him an oily smile. “How pleasant to see you.”

A look of revulsion passed across Lord St. Clair’s face before he suppressed it. “Gareth,” he said, his voice even, correct, and in Hyacinth’s opinion, utterly bloodless. “How…odd…to see you here with Miss Bridgerton.”

Hyacinth’s head jerked with surprise. He had said her name too deliberately. She hadn’t expected to be drawn into their war, but it seemed that somehow it had already happened.

“Have you met my father?” Gareth drawled, directing the question to her even as his eyes did not leave the baron’s face.

“We have been introduced,” Hyacinth replied.

“Indeed,” Lord St. Clair said, taking her hand and bending over to kiss her gloved knuckles. “You are always charming, Miss Bridgerton.”

Which was enough to prove to Hyacinth that they were definitely talking about something else, because she knew she wasn’t always charming.

“Do you enjoy my son’s company?” Lord St. Clair asked her, and Hyacinth noticed that once again, someone was asking her a question without actually looking at her.

“Of course,” she said, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two men. “He is a most entertaining companion.” And then, because she couldn’t resist, she added, “You must be very proud of him.”

That got the baron’s attention, and he turned to her, his eyes dancing with something that wasn’t quite humor. “Proud,” he murmured, his lips curving into a half smile that she thought was rather like Gareth’s. “It’s an interesting adjective.”

“Rather straightforward, I would think,” Hyacinth said coolly.

“Nothing is ever straightforward with my father,” Gareth said.

The baron’s eyes went hard. “What my son means to say is that I am able to see the nuance in a situation…when one exists.” He turned to Hyacinth. “Sometimes, my dear Miss Bridgerton, the matters at hand are quite clearly black and white.”

Her lips parted as she glanced to Gareth and then back at his father. What the devil were they talking about?

Gareth’s hand on her arm tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was light and casual. Too casual. “For once my father and I are in complete agreement. Very often one can view the world with complete clarity.”

“Right now, perhaps?” the baron murmured.

Well, no, Hyacinth wanted to blurt out. As far as she was concerned, this was the most abstract and muddied conversation of her life. But she held her tongue. Partly because it really wasn’t her place to speak, but also partly because she didn’t want to do anything to halt the unfolding scene.

She turned to Gareth. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold. “I do believe my opinions right now are clear,” he said softly.

And then quite suddenly the baron shifted his attention to Hyacinth. “What about you, Miss Bridgerton?” he asked. “Do you see things in black and white, or is your world painted in shades of gray?”

“It depends,” she replied, lifting her chin until she was able to look him evenly in the eye. Lord St. Clair was tall, as tall as Gareth, and he looked to be healthy and fit. His face was pleasing and surprisingly youthful, with blue eyes and high, wide cheekbones.

But Hyacinth disliked him on sight. There was something angry about him, something underhanded and cruel.

And she didn’t like how he made Gareth feel.

Not that Gareth had said anything to her, but it was clear as day on his face, in his voice, even in the way he held his chin.

“A very politic answer, Miss Bridgerton,” the baron said, giving her a little nod of salute.

“How funny,” she replied. “I’m not often politic.”

“No, you’re not, are you?” he murmured. “You do have a rather…candid reputation.”

Hyacinth’s eyes narrowed. “It is well deserved.”

The baron chuckled. “Just make certain you are in possession of all of your information before you form your opinions, Miss Bridgerton. Or”-his head moved slightly, causing his gaze to angle onto her face in strange, sly manner-“before you make any decisions.”

Hyacinth opened her mouth to give him a stinging retort-one that she hoped she’d be able to make up as she went along, since she still had no idea just what he was warning her about. But before she could speak, Gareth’s grip on her forearm grew painful.

“It’s time to go,” he said. “Your family will be expecting you.”

“Do offer them my regards,” Lord St. Clair said, executing a smart little bow. “They are good ton, your family. I’m certain they want what’s best for you.”

Hyacinth just stared at him. She had no idea what the subtext was in this conversation, but clearly she did not have all the facts. And she hated being left in the dark.

Gareth yanked on her arm, hard, and she realized that he’d already started walking away. Hyacinth tripped over a bump in the path as she fell into place at his side. “What was that all about?” she asked, breathless from trying to keep up with him. He was striding through the park with a speed her shorter legs simply could not match.

“Nothing,” he bit off.

“It wasn’t nothing.” She glanced over her shoulder to see if Lord St. Clair was still behind them. He wasn’t, and the motion set her off-balance, in any case. She stumbled, falling against Gareth, who didn’t seem inclined to treat her with any exceptional tenderness and solicitude. He did stop, though, just long enough for her to regain her footing.

“It was nothing,” he said, and his voice was sharp and curt and a hundred other things she’d never thought it could be.

She shouldn’t have said anything else. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything else, but she wasn’t always cautious enough to heed her own warnings, and as he pulled her along beside him, practically dragging her east toward Mayfair, she asked, “What are we going to do?”

He stopped, so suddenly that she nearly crashed into him. “Do?” he echoed. “We?”

“We,” she confirmed, although her voice didn’t come out quite as firmly as she’d intended.