It's In His Kiss
By: Julia Quinn | Other books by Julia Quinn
Published By: HarperCollins e-books
Published: Oct 13, 2009
ISBN # 9780060531249
Available in: Secure Adobe Epub eBook
Meet Our Hero . . .
Gareth St. Clair is in a bind. His father, who detests him, is determined to beggar the St. Clair estates and ruin his inheritance. Gareth's sole bequest is an old family diary, which may or may not contain the secrets of his past . . . and the key to his future. The problem is--it's written in Italian, of which Gareth speaks not a word.
Meet Our Heroine . . .
All the ton agreed: there was no one quite like Hyacinth Bridgerton. She's fiendishly smart, devilishly outspoken, and according to Gareth, probably best in small doses. But there's something about her--something charming and vexing--that grabs him and won't quite let go . . .
Meet Poor Mr. Mozart . . .
Or don't. But rest assured, he's spinning in his grave when Gareth and Hyacinth cross paths at the annual--and annually discordant--Smythe-Smith musicale. To Hyacinth, Gareth's every word seems a dare, and she offers to translate his diary, even though her Italian is slightly less than perfect. But as they delve into the mysterious text, they discover that the answers they seek lie not in the diary, but in each other . . . and that there is nothing as simple--or as complicated--as a single, perfect kiss.
Ten years have passed, and we meet our heroine, who, it must be said, has never been known as a shy and retiring flower. The scene is the annual Smythe- Smith musicale, about ten minutes before Mr. Mozart begins to rotate in his grave.
"Why do we do this to ourselves?" Hyacinth Bridgerton wondered aloud.
"Because we are good, kind people," her sister-in-law replied, sitting in -- God help them -- a front-row seat.
"One would think," Hyacinth persisted, regarding the empty chair next to Penelope with the same excitement she might show a sea urchin, "that we would have learned our lesson last year. Or perhaps the year before that. Or maybe even -- "
"Hyacinth?" Penelope said.
Hyacinth swung her gaze to Penelope, lifting one brow in question.
Hyacinth sighed. But she sat.
The Smythe-Smith musicale. Thankfully, it came around just once per year, because Hyacinth was quite certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to recover.
Hyacinth let out another sigh, this one louder than the last. "I'm not entirely certain that I'm either good or kind."
"I'm not certain, either," Penelope said, "but I have decided to have faith in you nevertheless."
"Rather sporting of you," Hyacinth said.
"I thought so."
Hyacinth glanced at her sideways. "Of course you did not have any choice in the matter."
Penelope turned in her seat, her eyes narrowing. "Meaning?"
"Colin refused to accompany you, didn't he?" Hyacinth said with a sly look. Colin was Hyacinth's brother, and he'd married Penelope a year earlier.
Penelope clamped her mouth into a firm line.
"I do love it when I am right," Hyacinth said triumphantly. "Which is fortunate, since I so often am."
Penelope just looked at her. "You do know that you are insufferable."
"Of course." Hyacinth leaned toward Penelope with a devilish smile. "But you love me, anyway, admit it." "I admit nothing until the end of the evening."
"After we have both gone deaf?"
"After we see if you behave yourself."
Hyacinth laughed. "You married into the family. You have to love me. It's a contractual obligation."
"Funny how I don't recall that in the wedding vows."
"Funny," Hyacinth returned, "I remember it perfectly." Penelope looked at her and laughed. "I don't know how you do it, Hyacinth," she said, "but exasperating as you are, you somehow always manage to be charming."
"It's my greatest gift," Hyacinth said demurely.
"Well, you do receive extra points for coming with me tonight," Penelope said, patting her on the hand.
"Of course," Hyacinth replied. "For all my insufferable ways, I am in truth the soul of kindness and amiability." And she'd have to be, she thought, as she watched the scene unfolding on the small, makeshift stage. Another year, another Smythe-Smith musicale. Another opportunity to learn just how many ways one could ruin a perfectly good piece of music. Every year Hyacinth swore she wouldn't attend, then every year she somehow found herself at the event, smiling encouragingly at the four girls on the stage.
"At least last year I got to sit in the back," Hyacinth said.
"Yes, you did," Penelope replied, turning on her with suspicious eyes. "How did you manage that? Felicity, Eloise, and I were all up front."
Hyacinth shrugged. "A well-timed visit to the ladies' retiring room. In fact -- "
"Don't you dare try that tonight," Penelope warned. "If you leave me up here by myself . . ."
"Don't worry," Hyacinth said with a sigh. "I am here for the duration. But," she added, pointing her finger in what her mother would surely have termed a most unladylike manner, "I want my devotion to you to be duly noted."