“Yes. Indeed. And Emma tells me you have an interest yourself.”
“I do. But nothing like yours, of course.”
“We should discuss it next time you visit.” He looked momentarily abashed. “If you wish to, of course. I won’t steal you away from Emma unless it’s something you’d enjoy.”
I would. And you could, Hyacinth’s heart immediately whispered.Please steal me away.
“I would like that very much.” Her voice was too breathy, her tone too eager.
He grinned down at her. “Good. I shall look forward to it.”
Heat swept up into her cheeks, across her throat, and every place their bodies were connected. Everything felt suddenly brighter, more vivid, as he turned her around the dance floor.
At one point, he looked across the room.
“Oh no.” His voice had dipped low, and his jaw tightened.
“What is it?” Hyacinth tried to follow the direction of his gaze, but he was already turning her. She was afraid if she lost her concentration, she’d stumble.
“Litchfield is watching us. The man seems quite set on you, Miss Bridewell.”
Hyacinth huffed out a garbled laugh. “I don’t know why. I want nothing to do with the man.”
“Did he offend you somehow?” What seemed like real concern put an adorable furrow in the middle of Sir Tristan’s dark brows.
“He pursued my sister quite avidly,” Hyacinth told him. “And when she would not accept his suit, he opted for her twin.”
Tristan’s brows shot up at that. “That’s a bit distasteful.”
“Just a bit.” Hyacinth returned a rueful grin. “But I’m used to it.”
“How so?”
“Well, you’ve no doubt seen my sister. She’s…” Hyacinth considered a word that could adequately encompass Marigold’s appeal. “Extraordinary. Beautiful. People are drawn to her, and rightly so.”
He regarded her thoughtfully, so intently that Hyacinth felt her cheeks burn.
What did he see?
“You and your sister look remarkably alike, do you not?” The amused look he wore caused his eyes to glitter and his distractingly appealing mouth to purse.
“Yes…” Hyacinth’s voice pitched lower than she intended as she admitted, “But we are quite different.”
He blinked at that. “In what regard?”
A gusty laugh rushed out. “In almost every regard.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, almost dubious. “List a few for me.”
“Well, she is artistic, and I am drawn to science. She paints in vivid colors, and I prefer pencil sketches. If she had her way, she would sleep until noon, and I cannot manage to rest beyond the sunrise.”
He smiled. “Anything else?”
Hyacinth didn’t want to list all their differences because they seemed silly when she spoke them aloud. He didn’t need to know that Mari loathed lemon tarts, and Hyacinth adored them.
The real difference, the one that caused people to treat the two of them differently, was something less tangible. For him, for this man holding her so gently and listening so carefully, she attempted to put it into words.
“She glitters somehow in ways I do not. People all look her way the moment she steps into a room. It is as if she draws the light to her.”
