Julia Quinn - It’s In His Kiss

“Gareth,” she said, wondering if this ought to be a more serious conversation.

“No one said we had to spend every waking moment together,” he said, “but at the end of the day”-he leaned down and kissed each of her eyebrows, in turn-“and most of the time during, there is no one I would rather see, no one whose voice I would rather hear, and no one whose mind I would rather explore.”

He kissed her then. Once, slowly and deeply. “I love you, Hyacinth Bridgerton. And I always will.”

“Oh, Gareth.” She would have liked to have said something more eloquent, but his words would have to be enough for the both of them, because in that moment she was overcome, too full of emotion to do anything more than sigh his name.

And when he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed, all she could do was say, “Yes.”

Her dress fell away before she reached the mattress, and by the time his body covered hers, they were skin against skin. There was something thrilling about being beneath him, feeling his power, his strength. He could dominate her if he so chose, hurt her even, and yet in his arms she became the most priceless of treasures.

His hands roamed her body, searing a path across her skin. Hyacinth felt every touch to the core of her being. He stroked her arm, and she felt it in her belly; he touched her shoulder, and she tingled in her toes.

He kissed her lips, and her heart sang.

He nudged her legs apart, and his body cradled itself next to hers. She could feel him, hard and insistent, but this time there was no fear, no apprehension. Just an overwhelming need to have him, to take him within her and wrap herself around him.

She wanted him. She wanted every inch of him, every bit of himself that he was able to give.

“Please,” she begged, straining her hips toward his. “Please.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could hear his need in the roughness of his breath. He moved closer, positioning himself near her opening, and she arched herself closer to meet him.

She clutched at his shoulders, her fingers biting into his skin. There was something wild within her, something new and hungry. She needed him. She needed this. Now.

“Gareth,” she gasped, desperately trying to press herself against him.

He moved a little, changing the angle, and he began to slide in.

It was what she wanted, what she’d expected, but still, the first touch of him was a shock. She stretched, she pulled, and there was even a little bit of pain, but still, it felt good, and it felt right, and she wanted more.

“Hy…Hy…Hy…” he was saying, his breath coming in harsh little bursts as he moved forward, each thrust filling her more completely. And then, finally, he was there, pressed so fully within her that his body met hers.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, her head thrown back by the force of it all.

He moved, forward and back, the friction whipping her into insensibility. She reached, she clawed, she grasped-anything to bring him closer, anything to reach the tipping point.

She knew where she was going this time.

“Gareth!” she cried out, the noise captured by his mouth as he swooped in for a kiss.

Something within her began to tighten and coil, twisting and tensing until she was certain she’d shatter. And then, just when she couldn’t possibly bear it for one second longer, it all reached its peak, and something burst within her, something amazing and true.

And as she arched, as her body threatened to shatter with the force of it, she felt Gareth grow frenzied and wild, and he buried his face in her neck as he let out a primal shout, pouring himself into her.

For a minute, maybe two, all they could do was breathe. And then, finally, Gareth rolled off of her, still holding her close as he settled onto his side.

“Oh, my,” she said, because it seemed to sum up everything she was feeling. “Oh, my.”

“When are we getting married?” he asked, pulling her gently until they were curved like two spoons.

“Six weeks.”

“Two,” he said. “Whatever you have to tell your mother, I don’t care. Get it changed to two, or I’ll haul you off to Gretna.”

Hyacinth nodded, snuggling herself against him, reveling in the feel of him behind her. “Two,” she said, the word practically a sigh. “Maybe even just one.”

“Even better,” he agreed.

They lay together for several minutes, enjoying the silence, and then Hyacinth twisted in his arms, craning her neck so that she could see his face. “Were you going out to Clair House this evening?”

“You didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think you were going to go again.”

“I promised you I would.”

“Well, yes,” she said, “but I thought you were lying, just to be nice.”

Gareth swore under his breath. “You are going to be the death of me. I can’t believe you didn’t really mean for me to go.”

“Of course I meant for you to go,” she said. “I just didn’t think you would.” And then she sat up, so suddenly that the bed shook. Her eyes widened, and they took on a dangerous glow and sparkle. “Let’s go. Tonight.”

Easy answer. “No.”

“Oh, please. Please. As a wedding gift to me.”

“No,” he said.

“I understand your reluctance-”

“No,” he repeated, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. The sinking feeling that he was going to relent. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“But really,” she said, her eyes bright and convincing, “what do we have to lose? We’re getting married in two weeks-”

He lifted one brow.

“Next week,” she corrected. “Next week, I promise.”

He pondered that. It was tempting.

“Please,” she said. “You know you want to.”

“Why,” he wondered aloud, “do I feel like I am back at university, with the most degenerate of my friends convincing me that I must drink three more glasses of gin?”

“Why would you wish to be friends with a degenerate?” she asked. Then she smiled with wicked curiosity. “And did you do it?”

Gareth pondered the wisdom of answering that; truly, he didn’t wish for her to know the worst of his schoolboy excesses. But it would get her off the topic of the jewels, and-

“Let’s go,” she urged again. “I know you want to.”

“I know what I want to do,” he murmured, curving one hand around her bottom, “and it is not that.”

“Don’t you want the jewels?” she prodded.

He started to stroke her. “Mmm-hmmm.”

“Gareth!” she yelped, trying to squirm away.

“Gareth yes, or Gareth-”

“No,” she said firmly, somehow eluding him and wriggling to the other side of the bed. “Gareth, no. Not until we go to Clair House to look for the jewels.”

“Good Lord,” he muttered. “It’s Lysistrata, come home to me in human form.”

She tossed a triumphant smile over her shoulder as she pulled on her clothing.

He rose to his feet, knowing he was defeated. And besides, she did have a point. His main worry had been for her reputation; as long as she remained by his side, he was fully confident of his ability to keep her safe. If they were indeed going to marry in a week or two, their antics, if caught, would be brushed aside with a wink and a leer. But still, he felt like he ought to offer up at least a token of resistance, so he said, “Aren’t you supposed to be tired after all this bedplay?”

“Positively energized.”

He let out a weary breath. “This is the last time,” he said sternly.

Her reply was immediate. “I promise.”

He pulled on his clothing. “I mean it. If we do not find the jewels tonight, we don’t go again until I inherit. Then you may tear the place apart, stone by stone if you like.”

“It won’t be necessary,” she said. “We’re going to find them tonight. I can feel it in my bones.”

Gareth thought of several retorts, none of which was fit for her ears.

She looked down at herself with a rueful expression. “I’m not really dressed for it,” she said, fingering the folds of her skirt. The fabric was dark, but it was not the boy’s breeches she’d donned on their last two expeditions.

He didn’t even bother to suggest that they postpone their hunt. There was no point. Not when she was practically glowing with excitement.

And sure enough, she pointed one foot out from beneath the hem of her dress, saying, “But I am wearing my most comfortable footwear, and surely that is the most important thing.”

“Surely.”

She ignored his peevishness. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said with a patently false smile. But the truth was, she’d planted the seed of excitement within him, and he was already mapping his route in his mind. If he hadn’t wanted to go, if he weren’t convinced of his ability to keep her safe, he would have lashed her to the bed before allowing her to take one step out into the night.

He took her hand, lifted it to his mouth, kissed her. “Shall we be off?” he asked.

She nodded and tiptoed in front of him, out into the hall. “We’re going to find them,” she said softly. “I know we will.”

One half hour later.

“We’re not going to find them.”

Hyacinth had her hands planted on her hips as she surveyed the baroness’s bedchamber. They had spent fifteen minutes getting to Clair House, five sneaking in through the faulty window and creeping up to the bedchamber, and the last ten searching every last nook and corner.

The jewels were nowhere.

It was not like Hyacinth to admit defeat. In fact, it was so wholly out of character that the words, “We’re not going to find them,” had come out sounding more surprised than anything else.

It hadn’t occurred to her that they might not find the jewels. She’d imagined the scene a hundred times in her head, she’d plotted and planned, she’d thought the entire scheme to death, and not once had she ever pictured herself coming up empty-handed.