The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)

by Julia Quinn

diamond of this season?”

And then there was Kate Sheffield. The bane of his existence. And the object of his desires. All at once.

He knew well the singularly strange sensation of loving one’s family to distraction, and yet not feeling quite able to share one’s deepest and most intractable fears. It brought on an uncanny sense of isolation, of being remarkably alone in a loud and loving crowd.

With every thought, every emotion, every piece of her being, she loved him.

He had fallen in love with his wife, and now the thought of dying, of leaving her, of knowing that their moments together would form a short poem and not a long and lusty novel—it was more than he could bear.

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