It's In His Kiss

There were plenty of aristocrats running about who got their blood and their names from two different men, but the ton didn’t like to talk about it. Not publicly, anyway.

Just when one thought there was no possible way to make a deeper mockery of Mozart, a new set of Smythe-Smith cousins appeared on the scene, and proved that yes, it could be done.

The scene is the annual Smythe- Smith musicale, about ten minutes before Mr. Mozart begins to rotate in his grave.

He was her first, and she was his last.

“Hyacinth,” he said again, this time with a bit more certitude. He smiled, letting his eyes melt into hers. “Hyacinth.”

then he would offer himself in return.

a man of twenty-eight

There was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply

Excellent work,” he said, “and if I haven’t said so, thank you.”

Hyacinth almost stumbled, so unexpected was his compliment. “You’re welcome,” she replied, once she’d gotten over her initial surprise. “I’m happy to do it. To be honest, I don’t know what I will do with myself when this is all over. The diary is truly a lovely distraction.”

“What is it you need to be distracted from?” he asked.

Hyacinth thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know,” she finally said. She looked up at him, feeling her brows come together as her eyes found his. “Isn’t that sad?”

He shook his head, and this time when he smiled, it wasn’t condescending, and it wasn’t even dry. It was just a smile. “I suspect it’s rather normal,” he said.

“The two of you together are a menace,” Penelope remarked.

“My aim in life,” Lady Danbury announced, “is to be a menace to as great a number of people as possible, so I shall take that as the highest of compliments,