“You are always looking at people like this.” And then she made a face, one he couldn’t possibly begin to describe.“If I ever look like that,” he said dryly, “precisely like that, to be more precise, I give you leave to shoot me.”

“I am going to kill you," he hissed.She gulped. "Don't you want to lecture me first?"He stared at her with a heavy dose of stupefaction."I take that back," he said with precisely clippedwords. "First I am going to strangle you, and then I am going to kill you.""Here?" she asked doubtfully, looking around. "Won't my dead body look suspicious in the morning?”

“He said he loved me,” she whispered.Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent.Someday, God willing, he’d have a daughter, and that daughter would look like the woman standing in front of him, and if ever she looked at him with that bewildered expression, whispering, “He said he loved me . . .”Nothing short of murder would be an acceptable response.”

“You’ll be seeing him tomorrow night, anyway.”“I am?” Hyacinth asked, at precisely the moment Mr. St. Clair said, “She will?”“You’re accompanying me to the Pleinsworth poetry reading,” Lady D told her grandson. “Or have you forgotten?”Hyacinth sat back, enjoying the sight of Gareth St. Clair’s mouth opening and closing in obvious distress. He looked a bit like a fish, she decided. A fish with the features of a Greek god, but still, a fish.“I really…” he said. “That is to say, I can’t—”“You can, and you will be there,” Lady D said. “You promised.”He regarded her with a stern expression. “I cannot imagine—”“Well, if you didn’t promise, you should have done, and if you love me…”Hyacinth coughed to cover her laugh, then tried not to smirk when Mr. St. Clair shot a dirty look in her direction.“When I die,” he said, “surely my epitaph will read, ‘He loved his grandmother when no one else would.’”“And what’s wrong with that?” Lady Danbury asked.”

“I love you, too,” she said.He took her face in his hands and kissed her, once,deeply, on the mouth. “I mean,” he said, “I really loveyou.”She quirked a brow. “Is this a contest?”“It is anything you want,” he promised.She grinned, that enchanting, perfect smile that was soquintessentially hers. “I feel I must warn you, then,” shesaid, cocking her head to the side. “When it comes tocontests and games, I always win.”“Always?”Her eyes grew sly. “Whenever it matters.”He felt himself smile, felt his soul lighten and his worriesslip away. “And what, precisely, does that mean?”“It means,” she said, reaching up and undoing the buttonsof her coat, “that I really really love you.”

“He looks like a man.' 'How descriptive,' Susan said in a droll tone. 'Remind me never to advise you to seek work as a novelist.”

“Do I look like a mess?” she asked.He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.”