“Of course,” Gareth said gallantly, rising to his feet and offering her his arm. “I need to save Lord Somershall, after all,” he said, once they had moved several paces away.
Her eyes snapped to his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“If I were a betting man,” he said, “I’d lay the odds four-to-one in your favor.”
For about half a second she looked confused, and then her face slid into a satisfied smile. “You mean you’re not a betting man?” she asked.
He laughed. “I haven’t the blunt to be a betting man,” he said quite honestly.
“That doesn’t seem to stop most men,” she said pertly.
“Or most women,” he said, with a tilt of his head.
“Touché,” she murmured, glancing about the room. “We are a gambling people, aren’t we?”
“And what about you, Miss Bridgerton? Do you like to wager?”
“Of course,” she said, surprising him with her candor. “But only when I know I will win.”
He chuckled. “Strangely enough,” he said, guiding her toward the refreshment table, “I believe you.”
“Oh, you should,” she said blithely. “Ask anyone who knows me.”
“Wounded again,” he said, offering her his most engaging smile. “I thought I knew you.”
She opened her mouth, then looked shocked that she didn’t have a reply. Gareth took pity on her and handed her a glass of lemonade. “Drink up,” he murmured. “You look thirsty.”
He chuckled as she glowered at him over the rim of her glass, which of course only made her redouble her efforts to incinerate him with her glare.
There was something very amusing about Hyacinth Bridgerton, he decided. She was smart—very smart—but she had a certain air about her, as if she was used to always being the most intelligent person in the room. It wasn’t unattractive; she was quite charming in her own way, and he imagined that she would have to have learned to speak her own mind in order to be heard in her family—she was the youngest of eight, after all.
But it did mean that he rather enjoyed seeing her at a loss for words. It was fun to befuddle her. Gareth didn’t know why he didn’t make a point of doing it more often.
He watched as she set her glass down. “Tell me, Mr. St. Clair,” she said, “what did your grandmother say to you to convince you to attend this evening?”
“You don’t believe I came of my own free will?”
She lifted one brow. He was impressed. He’d never known a female who could do that.
“Very well,” he said, “there was a great deal of hand fluttering, then something about a visit to her physician, and then I believe she sighed.”
“Just once?”
He quirked a brow back at her. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that, Miss Bridgerton. It took a full half hour to break me.”
She nodded. “You are good.”
He leaned toward her and smiled. “At many things,” he murmured.
She blushed, which pleased him mightily, but then she said, “I’ve been warned about men like you.”
“I certainly hope so.”
She laughed. “I don’t think you’re nearly as dangerous as you’d like to be thought.”
He tilted his head to the side. “And why is that?”
She didn’t answer right away, just caught her lower lip between her teeth as she pondered her words. “You’re far too kind to your grandmother,” she finally said.