“He might not have known,” Hyacinth said quietly, “or he might have thought you were better off with the St. Clairs, as a child of nobility.”

“I know all that,” Gareth said bitterly, “and yet somehow it doesn’t make it feel any better.”

“Your grandmother might know more.”

His eyes flew to her face.

“Isabella,” she clarified. “In her diary.”

“She wasn’t really my grandmother.”

“Did she ever act that way? As if you weren’t hers?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said, losing himself to the memories. “She loved me. I don’t know why, but she did.”

“It might be,” Hyacinth said, her voice catching in the oddest manner, “because you’re slightly lovable.”

His heart leapt. “Then you don’t wish to end the engagement,” he said, somewhat cautiously.

She looked at him with an uncommonly direct gaze. “Do you?”

He shook his head.

“Then why,” she said, her lips forming the barest of smiles, “would you think that I would?”

“Your family might object.”

“Pffft. We’re not so high in the instep as that. My brother’s wife is the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Penwood and an actress of God knows what provenance, and any one of us would lay down our lives for her.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But you are not illegitimate.”

He shook his head. “To my father’s everlasting despair.”

“Well, then,” she said, “I don’t see a problem. My brother and Sophie like to live quietly in the country, in part because of her past, but we shan’t be forced to do the same. Unless of course, you wish to.”

“The baron could raise a huge scandal,” he warned her.

She smiled. “Are you trying to talk me out of marrying you?”

“I just want you to understand-”

“Because I would hope by now you’ve learned that it’s a tiresome endeavor to attempt to talk me out of anything.”

Gareth could only smile at that.

“Your father won’t say a word,” she stated. “What would be the point? You were born in wedlock, so he can’t take away the title, and revealing you as a bastard would only reveal him as a cuckold.” She waved her hand through the air with great authority. “No man wants that.”

His lips curved, and he felt something changing inside of him, as if he were growing lighter, more free. “And you can speak for all men?” he murmured, moving slowly in her direction.

“Would you wish to be known as a cuckold?”

He shook his head. “But I don’t have to worry about that.”

She started to look just a little unnerved-but also excited-as he closed the distance between them. “Not if you keep me happy.”

“Why, Hyacinth Bridgerton, is that a threat?”

Her expression turned coy. “Perhaps.”

He was only a step away now. “I can see that I have my work cut out for me.”

Her chin lifted, and her chest began to rise and fall more rapidly. “I’m not a particularly easy woman.”

He found her hand and lifted her fingers to his mouth. “I do enjoy a challenge.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re-”

He took one of her fingers and slid it into his mouth, and she gasped.

“-marrying me,” she somehow finished.

He moved to another finger. “Mmm-hmm.”

“I-Ah-I-Ah-”

“You do like to talk,” he said with a chuckle.

“What do you-Oh!-”

He smiled to himself as he moved to the inside of her wrist.

“-mean by that?” But there wasn’t much punch left in her question. She was quite literally melting against the wall, and he felt like king of the world.

“Oh, nothing much,” he murmured, tugging her close so that he could move his lips to the side of her throat. “Just that I’m looking forward to actually marrying you so that you can make as much noise as you’d like.”

He couldn’t see her face-he was much too busy attending to the neckline of her dress, which clearly had to be brought down-but he knew she blushed. He felt the heat beneath her skin.

“Gareth,” she said in feeble protest. “We should stop.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said, sliding his hand under the hem of her skirt once it became clear that the bodice wasn’t going to budge.

“No”-she sighed-“not really.”

He smiled. “Good.”

She let out a moan as his fingers tickled up her leg, and then she must have grasped onto one last shred of sanity, because she said, “But we can’t…oh.”

“No, we can’t,” he agreed. The desk wouldn’t be comfortable, there was no room on the floor, and heaven only knew if Phelps had shut the outer door to his bedroom. He pulled back and gave her a devilish smile. “But we can do other things.”

Her eyes opened wide. “What other things?” she asked, sounding delightfully suspicious.

He wound his fingers in hers and then pulled both her hands over her head. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” she said, “but I don’t care.”

Still holding her hands aloft, he leaned her against the door and came in for a kiss. She tasted like tea, and like…

Her.

He could count the number of times he’d kissed her on one hand, and yet he still knew, still understood, that this was the essence of her. She was unique in his arms, beneath his kiss, and he knew that no one else would ever do again.

He let go of one of her hands, stroking his way softly down the line of her arm to her shoulder…neck…jaw. And then his other hand released her and found its way back to the hem of her dress.

She moaned his name, gasping and panting as his fingers moved up her leg.

“Relax,” he instructed, his lips hot against her ear.

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No,” she said, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. “I can’t.”

Gareth laughed aloud, enchanted by her bossiness. “Very well,” he said, “don’t relax.” And then, before she had a chance to respond, he slid his finger past the edge of her underthings and touched her.

“Oh!”

“No relaxing now,” he said with a chuckle.

“Gareth,” she gasped.

“Oh, Gareth, No Gareth, or More Gareth?” he murmured.

“More,” she moaned. “Please.”

“I love a woman who knows when to beg,” he said, redoubling his efforts.

Her head, which had been thrown back, came down so that she could look him in the eye. “You’ll pay for that,” she said.

He quirked a brow. “I will?”

She nodded. “Just not now.”

He laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

He rubbed her gently, using soft friction to bring her to a quivering peak. She was breathing erratically now, her lips parted and her eyes glazed. He loved her face, loved every little curve of it, the way the light hit her cheekbones and the shape of her jaw.

But there was something about it now, when she was lost in her own passion, that took his breath away. She was beautiful-not in a way that would launch a thousand ships, but in a more private fashion.

Her beauty was his and his alone.

And it humbled him.

He leaned down to kiss her, tenderly, with all the love he felt. He wanted to catch her gasp when she climaxed, wanted to feel her breath and her moan with his mouth. His fingers tickled and teased, and she tensed beneath him, her body trapped between his and the wall, grinding against them both.

“Gareth,” she gasped, breaking free of the kiss for just long enough to say his name.

“Soon,” he promised. He smiled. “Maybe now.”

And then, as he captured her for one last kiss, he slid one finger inside of her, even as another continued its caress. He felt her close tight around him, felt her body practically lift off the floor with the force of her passion.

And it was only then that he realized the true measure of his own desire. He was hard and hot and desperate for her, and even so, he’d been so focused on her that he hadn’t noticed.

Until now.

He looked at her. She was limp, breathless, and as near to insensible as he’d ever seen her.

Damn.

That was all right, he told himself unconvincingly. They had their whole lives ahead of them. One encounter with a tub of cold water wasn’t going to kill him.

“Happy?” he murmured, gazing down at her indulgently.

She nodded, but that was all she managed.

He dropped a kiss on her nose, then remembered the papers he’d left on his desk. They weren’t quite complete, but still, it seemed a good time to show them to her.

“I have a present for you,” he said.

Her eyes lit up. “You do?”

He nodded. “Just keep in mind that it’s the thought that counts.”

She smiled, following him to his desk, then taking a seat in the chair in front of it.

Gareth pushed aside some books, then carefully lifted a piece of paper. “It’s not done.”

“I don’t care,” she said softly.

But still, he didn’t show it to her. “I think it’s rather obvious that we are not going to find the jewels,” he said.

“No!” she protested. “We can-”

“Shhh. Let me finish.”

It went against her every last impulse, but she managed to shut her mouth.

“I am not in possession of a great deal of money,” he said.

“That doesn’t matter.”

He smiled wryly. “I’m glad you feel that way, because while we shan’t want for anything, nor will we live like your brothers and sisters.”

“I don’t need all that,” she said quickly. And she didn’t. Or at least she hoped she didn’t. But she knew, down to the tips of her toes, that she didn’t need anything as much as she needed him.

He looked slightly grateful, and also, maybe, just a little bit uncomfortable. “It’ll probably be even worse once I inherit the title,” he added. “I think the baron is trying to fix it so that he can beggar me from beyond the grave.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of marrying you again?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “You’re most definitely stuck with me now. But I did want you to know that if I could, I would give you the world.” He held out the paper. “Starting with this.”