The Viscount Who Loved Me (4 page)

Kate looked in surprise at Daphne, who had started to blush. She didn’t look the least bit pregnant.

“Very well,” Colin said. “I move we end the game and declare Miss Sheffield the winner.”

“I was two wickets behind the rest of you,” Kate demurred.

“Nevertheless,” Colin said, “any true aficionado of Bridgerton Pall Mall understands that sending Anthony into the lake is far more important than actually sending one’s ball through all the wickets. Which makes you our winner, Miss Sheffield.” He looked about, then straight at Anthony. “Does anyone disagree?”

No one did, although Anthony looked close to violence.

“Excellent,” Colin said. “In that case, Miss Sheffield is our winner, and Anthony,
you
are our loser.”

A strange, muffled sound burst from Kate’s mouth, half laugh and half choke.

“Well, someone has to lose,” Colin said with a grin. “It’s tradition.”

“It’s true,” Daphne agreed. “We’re a bloodthirsty lot, but we do like to follow tradition.”

“You’re all mad in the head is what you are,” the duke said affably. “And on that note, Daphne and I must bid you farewell. I do want to get her inside before it begins to rain. I trust no one will mind if we leave without helping to clear the course?”

No one minded, of course, and soon the duke and duchess were on their way back to Aubrey Hall.

Edwina, who had kept silent throughout the exchange (although she had been looking at the various Bridgertons as if they’d recently escaped from an asylum), suddenly cleared her throat. “Do you think we should try to retrieve the ball?” she asked, squinting down the hill toward the lake.

The rest of the party just stared at the calm waters as if they’d never considered such a bizarre notion.

“It’s not as if it landed in the middle,” she added. “It just rolled in. It’s probably right by the edge.”

Colin scratched his head. Anthony continued to glower.

“Surely you don’t want to lose another ball,” Edwina persisted. When no one had a reply, she threw down her mallet and threw up arms, saying, “Fine! I’ll get the silly old ball.”

That certainly roused the men from their stupor, and they jumped to help her.

“Don’t be silly, Miss Sheffield,” Colin said gallantly as he started to walk down the hill, “I’ll get it.”

“For the love of Christ,” Anthony muttered. “I’ll get the bloody ball.” He strode down the hill, quickly overtaking
his brother. For all his ire, he couldn’t really blame Kate for her actions. He would have done the very same thing, although he would have hit the ball with enough force to sink hers in the middle of the lake.

Still, it was damned humiliating to be bested by a female, especially
her
.

He reached the edge of the lake and peered in. The pink ball was so brightly colored that it ought to show through the water, provided it had settled at a shallow enough level.

“Do you see it?” Colin asked, coming to a halt beside him.

Anthony shook his head. “It’s a stupid color, anyway. No one ever wanted to be pink.”

Colin nodded his agreement.

“Even the purple was better,” Anthony continued, moving a few steps to the right so that he could inspect another stretch of shoreline. He looked up suddenly, glaring at his brother. “What the hell happened to the purple mallet, anyway?”

Colin shrugged. “I’m sure I have no idea.”

“And I’m sure,” Anthony muttered, “that it will miraculously reappear in the Pall Mall set tomorrow evening.”

“You might very well be right,” Colin said brightly, moving a bit past Anthony, keeping his eyes on the water the whole way. “Perhaps even this afternoon, if we’re lucky.”

“One of these days,” Anthony said matter-of-factly, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Colin scanned the water, then suddenly pointed with his index finger. “I say! There it is.”

Sure enough, the pink ball sat in the shallow water, about two feet out from the edge of the lake. It looked to be only a foot or so deep. Anthony swore under his breath. He was going to have to take off his boots and wade in. It seemed Kate Sheffield was forever forcing him to take off his boots and wade into bodies of water.

No, he thought wearily, he hadn’t had time to remove
his boots when he’d charged into The Serpentine to save Edwina. The leather had been completely ruined. His valet had nearly fainted from the horror of it.

With a groan he sat on a rock to pull off his footwear. To save Edwina he supposed it was worth a pair of good boots. To save a stupid pink Pall Mall ball—frankly, it didn’t even seem worth getting his feet wet.

“You seem to have this well in hand,” Colin said, “so I’m going to go help Miss Sheffield pull up the wickets.”

Anthony just shook his head in resignation and waded in.

“Is it cold?” came a feminine voice.

Good God, it was
her
. He turned around. Kate Sheffield was standing on the shore.

“I thought you were pulling up wickets,” he said, somewhat testily.

“That’s Edwina.”

“Too bloody many Miss Sheffields,” he muttered under his breath. There ought to be a law against letting sisters come out in the same season.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“I said it’s freezing,” he lied.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

That got his attention. “No, you’re not,” he finally said.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “Not for your losing, anyway. But I didn’t intend for you to freeze your toes off.”

Anthony was suddenly gripped by the most insane desire to see her toes. It was a horrible thought. He had no business lusting after this woman. He didn’t even like her.

He sighed. That wasn’t true. He supposed he did like her in an odd, paradoxical sort of way. And he thought, strangely enough, she might be beginning to like him in much the same manner.

“You would have done the same thing if you were me,” she called out.

He said nothing, just continued his slow wade.

“You would have!” she insisted.

He leaned down and scooped up the ball, getting his sleeve wet in the process. Damn. “I know,” he replied.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to admit it.

He waded back out, thankful that the ground by the shore was firmly packed, so that dirt didn’t stick to his feet.

“Here,” she said, holding out what looked like a blanket. “It was in the shed. I stopped by on my way down. I thought you might need something to dry your feet.”

Anthony opened his mouth, but oddly enough, no sound emerged. Finally, he managed, “Thank you,” and took the blanket from her hands.

“I’m not such a terrible person, you know,” she said with a smile.

“Neither am I.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, “but you shouldn’t have tarried so long with Edwina. I know you did it just to vex me.”

He lifted a brow as he sat on the rock so he could dry his feet, dropping the ball onto the ground next to him. “Don’t you think it’s possible that my delay had anything to do with my wanting to spend time with the woman I’m considering making my wife?”

She colored slightly, but then muttered, “This has to be the most self-centered thing I’ve ever said, but no, I think you just wanted to vex me.”

She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to tell her so. “As it happens,” he said, “Edwina was delayed. Why, I do not know. I deemed it impolite to seek her out in her room and demand that she hurry along, so I waited in my study until she was ready.”

There was a long moment of silence, then she said, “Thank you for telling me that.”

He smiled wryly. “I’m not such a terrible person, you know.”

She sighed. “I know.”

Something about her resigned expression made him grin. “But maybe a little terrible?” he teased.

She brightened, their return to levity obviously making her much more comfortable with the conversation. “Oh, for certain.”

“Good. I’d hate to be boring.”

Kate smiled, watching him as he pulled on his stockings and boots. She reached down and picked up the pink ball. “I’d better carry this back to the shed.”

“In case I’m overcome by an uncontrollable urge to toss it back in the lake?”

She nodded. “Something like that.”

“Very well.” He stood. “I’ll take the blanket, then.”

“A fair trade.” She turned to walk up the hill, then spied Colin and Edwina disappearing into the distance. “Oh!”

Anthony turned quickly around. “What is it? Oh, I see. It seems your sister and my brother have decided to head back without us.”

Kate scowled at their errant siblings, then shrugged in resignation as she started trudging up the hill. “I suppose I can tolerate your company for a few more minutes if you can tolerate mine.”

He didn’t say anything, which surprised her. It seemed just the sort of comment to which he’d have a witty and perhaps even cutting comeback. She looked up at him, then drew back slightly in surprise. He was staring at her in the
oddest
manner…

“Is—is everything all right, my lord?” she asked hesitantly.

He nodded. “Fine.” But he sounded rather distracted.

The rest of the trip to the shed was met with silence. Kate set the pink ball in its spot in the Pall Mall cart, noting that Colin and Edwina had cleared the course and put everything neatly away, including the errant purple mallet and ball. She stole a glance at Anthony and had to smile. It was obvious from his beleaguered frown that he’d noticed as well.

“The blanket goes in here, my lord,” she said with a hidden grin, stepping out of his way.

Anthony shrugged. “I’ll bring it up to the house. It probably needs a good cleaning.”

She nodded in agreement, and they shut the door and were off.

A
nthony whistled as they ambled up the path to the house, stealing glances at Kate when she wasn’t looking. She really was quite an attractive woman in her own right. He didn’t know why this always surprised him, but it did. His memory of her never quite lived up to the enchanting reality of her face. She was always in motion, always smiling or frowning or pursing her lips. She’d never master the placid, serene expression to which young ladies were meant to aspire.

He’d fallen into the same trap as had the rest of society—of thinking of her only in terms of her younger sister. And Edwina was so stunning, so amazingly, startlingly beautiful that anyone near to her couldn’t help but fade into the background. It was, Anthony allowed, difficult to look at anyone else when Edwina was in the room.

And yet…

He frowned. And yet he’d barely spared Edwina a glance through the entire Pall Mall game. This might have been understandable simply because it was Bridgerton
Pall Mall, and it brought out the worst in anyone named Bridgerton; hell, he probably wouldn’t have spared a glance for the Prince Regent if he’d deigned to join the game.

But that explanation wouldn’t wash, for his mind was filled with other images. Kate bending over her mallet, her face tense with concentration. Kate giggling as someone missed a shot. Kate cheering on Edwina when her ball rolled through the wicket—a very un-Bridgerton-like trait, that. And, of course, Kate smiling wickedly in that last second before she’d sent his ball flying into the lake.

Clearly, even if he hadn’t been able to spare a glance for Edwina, he’d been sparing plenty for Kate.

That ought to have been disturbing.

He glanced back over at her again. This time her face was tilted slightly toward the sky, and she was frowning.

“Is something wrong?” he inquired politely.

She shook her head. “Just wondering if it’s going to rain.”

He looked up. “Not anytime soon, I imagine.”

She nodded slowly in agreement. “I hate the rain.”

Something about the expression on her face—rather reminiscent of a frustrated three-year-old—made him laugh. “You live in the wrong country, then, Miss Sheffield.”

She turned to him with a sheepish smile. “I don’t mind a gentle rain. It’s just when it grows violent that I don’t like it.”

“I’ve always rather enjoyed thunderstorms,” he murmured.

She shot him a startled look but didn’t say anything, then returned her gaze to the pebbles at her feet. She was kicking one along the path as they walked, occasionally breaking her stride or stepping to the side just so she could give it a kick and keep it flying ahead of her. There was something charming about it, something rather sweet about the way her booted foot peeked out from under the
hem of her dress at such regular intervals and connected with the pebble.

Anthony watched her curiously, forgetting to pull his eyes off her face when she looked back up.

“Do you think—
Why
are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“Do I think what?” he returned, deliberately ignoring the second part of her question.

Her lips settled into a peevish line. Anthony felt his own quivering, wanting to smile with amusement.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked suspiciously.

He shook his head.

Her feet ground to a halt. “I think you are.”

“I assure you,” he said, sounding even to himself as if he wanted to laugh, “that I am not laughing at you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not—” He had to stop. If he spoke any further he knew he’d explode with laughter. And the strangest thing was—he hadn’t a clue why.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “What is the problem?”

Anthony sank against the trunk of a nearby elm, his entire body shaking with barely contained mirth.

Kate planted her hands on her hips, the expression in her eyes a little bit curious, a little bit furious. “What’s so funny?”

He finally gave in to the laughter and barely managed to lift his shoulders into a shrug. “I don’t know,” he gasped. “The expression on your face…it’s…”

He noticed that she smiled. He loved that she smiled.

“The expression on your face is not exactly unamusing yourself, my lord,” she remarked.

“Oh, I’m sure.” He took a few deep breaths and then, when he was satisfied that he had regained control, straightened. He caught sight of her face, still vaguely suspicious, and suddenly he realized that he had to know what she thought of him.

It couldn’t wait until the next day. It couldn’t wait until that evening.

He wasn’t sure how it had come about, but her good opinion meant a great deal to him. Of course he needed her approval in his much-neglected suit of Edwina, but there was more to it than that. She’d insulted him, she’d nearly dunked him in The Serpentine, she’d humiliated him at Pall Mall, and yet he craved her good opinion.

Anthony couldn’t remember the last time someone’s regard had meant so much, and frankly, it was humbling.

“I think you owe me a boon,” he said, pushing off the tree and standing straight. His mind was whirring. He needed to be clever about this. He had to know what she thought. And yet, he didn’t want her knowing how much it meant to him. Not until he understood
why
it meant so much to him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A boon. For the Pall Mall game.”

She let out a ladylike snort as she leaned against the tree and crossed her arms. “If anyone owes anyone else a boon, then you owe one to me. I did win, after all.”

“Ah, but I was the one humiliated.”

“True,” she acceded.

“You would not be yourself,” he said in an extremely dry voice, “if you resisted the urge to agree.”

Kate gave him a demure glance. “A lady should be honest in all things.”

When she raised her eyes to his face, one corner of his mouth was curved into a rather knowing smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured.

Kate felt immediately uneasy. “And why is that?”

“Because my boon, Miss Sheffield, is to ask you a question—any question of my choosing—and you must answer with the utmost honesty.” He planted one hand against the tree trunk, rather close to her face, and leaned forward. Kate suddenly felt trapped, even though it would be easy enough to dart away.

With a touch of dismay—and a shiver of excitement—she realized that she felt trapped by his eyes, which were burning rather dark and hot into hers.

“Do you think you can do that, Miss Sheffield?” he murmured.

“Wh-what is your question?” she asked, not realizing that she was whispering until she heard her voice, breathy and crackling like the wind.

He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Now, remember, you have to answer honestly.”

She nodded. Or at least she thought she nodded. She
meant
to nod. In all truth, she wasn’t entirely convinced of her ability to move.

He leaned forward, not so much that she could feel his breath, but close enough to make her shiver. “Here, Miss Sheffield, is my question.”

Her lips parted.

“Do you”—he moved closer—“still”—and another inch—“hate me?”

Kate swallowed convulsively. Whatever she’d been expecting him to ask, it hadn’t been this. She licked her lips, preparing to speak, even though she had no idea what she’d say, but not a sound emerged.

His lips curved into a slow, masculine smile. “I’ll take that as a no.”

And then, with an abruptness that left her head spinning, he pushed off the tree and said briskly, “Well, then, I do believe it’s time we went inside and prepared for the evening, don’t you?”

Kate sagged against the tree, completely devoid of energy.

“You wish to remain outside for a few moments?” He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky, his demeanor pragmatic and efficient—one hundred and eighty degrees changed from the slow, lazy seducer he’d been just ten seconds earlier. “You might as well. It
doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, after all. At least not in the next few hours.”

She just stared at him. Either he’d lost his mind or she’d forgotten how to talk. Or maybe both.

“Very well. I’ve always admired a woman who appreciates fresh air. I shall see you at supper, then?”

She nodded. She was surprised she even managed that.

“Excellent.” He reached out and took her hand, dropping a searing kiss on the inside of her wrist, upon the single band of bare flesh that peeked out between her glove and the hem of her sleeve. “Until tonight, Miss Sheffield.”

And then he strode off, leaving her with the oddest feeling that something rather important had just taken place.

But for the life of her, she had no idea what.

At half seven that night, Kate considered falling dreadfully ill. At quarter to eight, she’d refined her goal to an apoplectic fit. But at five minutes to the hour, as the dinner bell sounded, alerting guests that it was time to assemble in the drawing room, she squared her shoulders and walked into the hall outside her bedroom door to meet Mary.

She refused to be a coward.

She
wasn’t
a coward.

And she could make it through the evening. Besides, she told herself, she wasn’t likely to be seated anywhere near Lord Bridgerton. He was a viscount and the man of the house, and would therefore be at the head of the table. As the daughter of a baron’s second son, she held little rank compared to the other guests, and would most certainly be seated so far down the table that she wouldn’t even be able to see him without developing a crick in her neck.

Edwina, who was sharing a room with Kate, had already gone to Mary’s chamber to help her choose a necklace, and so Kate found herself alone in the hall. She
supposed she could enter Mary’s room and wait for the two of them there, but she didn’t feel terribly conversational, and Edwina had already noticed her odd, reflective mood. The last thing Kate needed was a round of “Whatever can be wrong’s” from Mary.

And the truth was—Kate didn’t even
know
what was wrong. All she knew was that that afternoon, something had changed between her and the viscount. Something was different, and she freely admitted (to herself, at least) that it frightened her.

Which was normal, right? People always feared what they didn’t understand.

And Kate
definitely
didn’t understand the viscount.

But just as she was beginning to truly enjoy her solitude, the door across the hall opened, and out walked another young lady. Kate recognized her instantly as Penelope Featherington, the youngest of the three famed Featherington sisters—well, the three who were out in society. Kate had heard that there was a fourth still in the schoolroom.

Unfortunately for the Featherington sisters, they were famed for their lack of success on the marriage mart. Prudence and Philippa had been out for three years now, without a single proposal between the two of them. Penelope was in the midst of her second season and could usually be found at social functions trying to avoid her mother and sisters, who were universally regarded as ninnies.

Kate had always liked Penelope. The two had formed a bond ever since they’d both been skewered by Lady Whistledown for wearing gowns of an unflattering color.

Kate noted with a sad sigh that Penelope’s current gown of lemon yellow silk made the poor girl look hopelessly sallow. And if that weren’t bad enough, it had been cut with far too many frills and flounces. Penelope wasn’t a tall girl, and the gown positively overwhelmed her.

It was a pity, because she might be quite attractive if
someone could convince her mother to stay away from the modiste and let Penelope choose her own clothing. She had a rather pleasing face, with the pale, pale skin of a redhead, except that her hair was truly more auburn than red, and if one really wanted to put a fine point on it, more brownish red than auburn.

Whatever you called it, Kate thought with dismay, it didn’t go with lemon yellow.

“Kate!” Penelope called out, after closing her door behind her. “What a surprise. I didn’t realize you were attending.”

Kate nodded. “I think we might have been issued a late invitation. We met Lady Bridgerton only just last week.”

“Well, I know I just said I was surprised, but I’m actually not surprised. Lord Bridgerton has been paying much attention to your sister.”

Kate flushed. “Er, yes,” she stammered. “He has.”

“That is what the gossips say, at least,” Penelope continued. “But then again, one can’t always trust the gossips.”

“I have rarely known Lady Whistledown to be incorrect,” Kate said.

Penelope just shrugged and then looked down at her gown with disgust. “She certainly is never incorrect about
me
.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Kate said quickly, but they both knew she was just being polite.

Penelope gave her head a weary shake. “My mother is convinced that yellow is a
happy
color and that a
happy
girl will snare a husband.”

“Oh, dear,” Kate said, snorting a giggle.

“What she doesn’t grasp,” Penelope continued wryly, “is that such a
happy
shade of yellow makes me look rather
un
happy and positively repels the gentlemen.”

“Have you suggested green?” Kate inquired. “I think you’d be smashing in green.”

Penelope shook her head. “She doesn’t like green. Says it’s melancholy.”

“Green?” Kate asked with disbelief.

“I don’t even try to understand her.”

Kate, who was wearing green, held up her sleeve near Penelope’s face, blocking the yellow as best as she could.

“Your whole face lights up,” she said.

“Don’t tell me that. It will only make the yellow more painful.”

Kate offered her a sympathetic smile. “I would loan you one of mine, but I’m afraid it would drag on the floor.”