The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)

by Julia Quinn

Anthony Bridgerton leaned back in his leather chair, regarded his scotch with a thoughtful expression as he swirled it about, and then announced, “I’m thinking about getting married.” Benedict Bridgerton, who had been indulging in a habit his mother detested—tipping his chair drunkenly on the back two legs—fell over. Colin Bridgerton started to choke. Luckily for Colin, Benedict regained his seat with enough time to smack him soundly on the back, sending a green olive sailing across the table. It narrowly missed Anthony’s ear.

Second, she couldn’t be stupid. This, Anthony mused, might be the most difficult of his requirements to fill.

Oh great

Anthony held himself still for several seconds, thinking he might like to murder all those men and women who had compared her to Edwina and found her lacking. Kate truly had no idea that she might be attractive and desirable in her own right.

“You have to live each hour as if it’s your last,” she said, “and each day as if you were immortal.

The day he’d fallen in love. Not that he’d realized it at the time. Nor had Kate, he imagined, but he was certain that that was the day they had been fated to be together—the day of the infamous Pall Mall match. She left him with the pink mallet. She had sent his ball into the lake. God, what a woman. It had been a most excellent fifteen years.