“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.”