The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)

by Julia Quinn

Edwina was truly a diamond of the first water, and Kate could never be more than average and unremarkable.

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.

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 just wanted to say thank you,” she said. “For helping me tonight. I—” She cleared her throat. “It would have been a great deal more difficult without you.” “I didn’t do anything,” he said gruffly. “No, you did everything.” And then, before she’d be tempted to stay, she hurried down the hall and up the stairs.

In the past few days he’d proven himself sensitive, caring, and principled. Even, she thought with a glimmer of a smile as she recalled the light in Penelope Featherington’s eyes when he’d saved her from the verbal talons of Cressida Cowper, heroic. He was devoted to family. He had used his social position and power not to lord over others but simply to spare another person insult. He had helped her through one of her phobic attacks with a grace and sensitivity that, now that she could view it with a clear head, stunned her. He might have been a rake and a rogue—he might still be a rake and a rogue—but clearly

his behavior to those ends did not define the man. And the only objection Kate had to his marrying Edwina was …

She swallowed painfully. There was a lump the size of a cannonball in her throat. Because deep in her hea...

It wasn’t as if he were going to ask her instead, so what would she have to gain by preventing a match between him and Edwina? Nothing except the agony of having to see him married to her sister. And that would fade in time, wouldn’t it? It had to; she herself had just said the night before that time truly did heal all wounds. Besides, it would probably hurt just as much to see him married to some other lady; the only difference

would be that she would not have to see him at holidays and christenings and the like.

Her heart aching.

Silly of her to dream—even for a moment—that there might be something more.

Her brown eyes, wise and warm and undeniably perceptive, focused on his. For one split moment he had the bizarre thought that she somehow knew everything about him, every last detail from the moment of his birth to his certainty of his own death. It seemed, in that second, with her face tipped up toward his and her lips slightly parted, that she, more than anyone else who would ever walk this earth, truly knew him. It was thrilling. But more than that, it was terrifying.

She chewed on her lip for a moment—a funny little movement with her teeth that he found oddly seductive.

She brought her eyes back up to his, only to find that he was staring at her with an odd intensity, almost as if he could see past her skin and into her very soul. “You are the oldest as well,” she said. “I’m sure you know what I mean.” He nodded, and his eyes looked amused and resigned at the same time. “Exactly.” She gave him an answering smile, the kind that passed between people who know similar experiences and trials. And as she felt herself growing more at ease next to him, almost as if she could sink into his side and bury herself against the warmth of his body, she knew that she could put off her task no longer.

His chest suddenly felt a bit hollow.

Anthony just stared at her, completely at a loss. There was, he realized dimly, something a bit deflating about her willingness to marry him off to her sister, since he’d spent the better part of the last two days fighting the urge to kiss her rather senseless.

She was giving him what he wanted—exactly, he reminded himself, what he wanted; with her sister’s blessing, Edwina would marry him next week if he so desired. Then why the devil did he want to grab her by the shoulders and shake and shake and shake until she took back every bloody little annoying word?

It was that spark. That damnable spark that never seemed to dim between them. That awful prickle of awareness that burned every time she entered a room, or took a breath, or pointed a toe. That sinking feeling that he could, if he let himself, love her.

And that was probably why, when Anthony finally reacted to her words, he didn’t yank her to him and kiss her until she was gasping, and he didn’t press his lips to her ear and burn his breath against her skin, making sure she understood that he was on fire for her, and not her sister. Never her sister.

With great reluctance—sitting in the chair with Kate and doing nothing but hold her was surprisingly satisfying—he stood, lifting her in his arms as he did so, and then set her back in the chair.

He nodded. “I came to— That is to say, I realized …” He swallowed convulsively. He’d never dreamed that the day would come when he’d say these words to a woman, and they’d grown so big in his heart he could barely squeeze them out. “I love you, Kate,” he said chokingly. “It took me a while to figure it out, but I do, and I had to tell you. Today.”

Anthony wound his arms around his wife’s waist and settled his chin on the top of her head. There was little that brought him more peace than simply holding her in his arms. He didn’t know how any man survived without a woman to love.

Mostly he adored that he had it in his possession, but he was still rather fond of it. When he was able to forget that he had brilliantly snatched it from under Kate’s nose, he actually recalled that it marked something else— The day he’d fallen in love.