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I thinned myself and followed Horatio across the final stretch of sand before the medallion entrance. He opened it and we drifted down the bejeweled staircase into the entrance hall adorned with diamond chandeliers. He began drawing us deeper into the palace, along a route that I’d passed a few times by now. He headed toward his mother’s apartment, stopping outside a door a dozen feet before it. Looking up and down the hallway to check that nobody was around, he pressed his ear against the door. Then he murmured beneath his breath, They’re both inside. I suggest you go now, in case he decides to leave early.

Hyacinth turned, then felt her breath stop short in surprise. She hadn’t realized he was standing so close. I…ah…It was his eyes, she realized. So blue and clear she ought to have felt she could read his thoughts, but instead she rather thought he could read hers.

Yes? he murmured, placing her hand on his elbow.She shook her head. It’s nothing.Why, Miss Bridgerton, he said, guiding her into the hall. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words. Except for the other night, he added, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side.

She looked at him, narrowing her eyes.At the musicale, he supplied helpfully. It was lovely. He smiled, most annoyingly. Wasn’t it lovely?

Hyacinth clamped her lips together. You barely know me, Mr. St. Clair, she said.

Your reputation precedes you.Hyacinth turned back to her embroidery, frowning as she realized that she’d put the beak too high. Oh, very well, it was a chick in a party hat.

Perhaps, her mother persisted, Mr. St. Clair is the one who finds it difficult to—I know how he feels, Hyacinth cut in.

Ah. Violet pursed her lips and let out a short little exhale through her nose. Perhaps he is not sure how to proceed. How he ought to go about approaching you.He knows where I live.