More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Mary would have liked to have waited until Edwina was eighteen, and a bit more mature, but that would have made Kate nearly twenty-two, and heavens, but who would marry her then?
He might be able to avoid conversation with a wife who was less than brilliant, but he did not want stupid children.
Colin grinned winningly, and Anthony had the distinct and unsettling impression that his brother was up to something.
“Indeed,” Anthony said, becoming aware of an overwhelming desire—no, need—to strangle his brother.
Fratricide was legal in England, wasn’t it? If not, it damn well should have been.
“And you, Lord Bridgerton,” she replied in a tone that could have frozen champagne, “are almost as handsome as your brother.”
Anthony could see Miss Sheffield growing worried at the devilish gleam in Colin’s eye. He took a rather uncharitable pleasure in this. His reaction was, he knew, a touch out of proportion. But something about this Miss Katharine Sheffield sparked his temper and made him positively itch to do battle with her. And win. That much went without saying.
“No,” she said, sounding deliberately thoughtful, “I don’t think regrets were in my future.” “They will be,” he said ominously. And then he grabbed her arm and practically dragged her onto the ballroom floor.
Kate looked down to see if there was some way she might discreetly step on his foot again. “I have very thick boots, Miss Sheffield,” he said.
Kate nodded stonily, not sure she liked being called “invigorating.”
Anthony let out a weary sigh and began running after her. He couldn’t very well let her chase the dog on her own and still presume to call himself a gentleman.
Kate sighed. “I know. I know. That was terribly cruel of me. The poor man hasn’t an unkind bone in his body. It’s just that—” “He hasn’t an intelligent bone, either,” Edwina finished.
Kate did have certain standards, and they included not arguing with closed doors.
Mary didn’t even bother to look at her as she answered, “Edwina has a novel to read. The latest by that Austen woman. She won’t even notice we’re gone.”
That much was also true. Edwina probably wouldn’t notice if her bed caught on fire while she was reading a book.
And Anthony’s breath was sucked right out of him.
Bloody hell. He didn’t even like the woman. She was too bossy, too opinionated, too quick to jump to conclusions.
And yet … Anthony collapsed in a chair. And yet he’d dreamed about her.
Oh, she hadn’t agreed to marry him. He hadn’t even asked. But she fit his requirements for a wife in every possible way; he’d already decided that she would be the one to whom he would finally propose marriage. She was beautiful, intelligent, and even-tempered. Attractive without making his blood rush. They would spend enjoyable years together, but he’d never fall in love with her. She was exactly what he needed. And yet … Anthony reached for his drink and downed the rest of its contents in one gasping gulp. And yet he’d dreamed about her sister.
The mere thought of trying to attract a suitor was exhausting.
Anthony watched her closely, his eyes trained on her face, somehow rendered beautiful by the force of her anger. Her cheeks were high with color, her eyes shone with tears she was fighting hard to keep off her face, and he was beginning to feel like he might be the worst sort of cad.
“If you are attempting to convince me that reformed rakes make the best husbands, you will meet with no success. It was in this very room, not fifteen minutes ago, that you told Miss Rosso that you saw no reason to give up a mistress for a wife.”
She shook her head, disappointment in her eyes. Disappointment that somehow made him feel less of a man. “I hadn’t thought you a liar, either,” she said softly. “A rake and a rogue, and perhaps a whole host of other things, but not a liar.”
Men are contrary creatures. Their heads and their hearts are never in agreement. And as women know all too well, their actions are usually governed by a different aspect altogether. Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers,
“I blame that entirely on Daphne,” Colin replied. “I blame everything on Daphne. It makes my life much easier.”
“No one smirks quite like my eldest brother.”
Men are much easier to manage once you understand a few basic facts about their nature.”
“They’re not as smart as we are, they’re not as intuitive as we are, and they certainly don’t need to know about fifty percent of what we do.”
“They’re much easier to manage if one allows them to believe that they are smarter and more intuitive than men. And,” he added with a superior glance at his wife, “our lives are much more peaceful if we pretend that we’re only aware of about fifty percent of what they do.”
Anthony had a sudden image of the rest of his life—waiting for Edwina. Was she the sort who was chronically late? That might grow vexing after a while.
She is forever telling me that she knows perfectly well how to live her life and doesn’t need a dead man to give her instructions.”
Daphne looped her arm through hers. “I do believe I adore you, Kate Sheffield,” she announced.
Colin turned and looked at his sister with disdain. “One never cheers one’s opponents in Pall Mall,” he said archly. “He’s never played before,” she said. “He’s not likely to win.” “Doesn’t matter.” Daphne turned to Kate and Edwina and explained, “Bad sportsmanship is a requirement in Bridgerton Pall Mall, I’m afraid.”
“We’re a bloodthirsty lot, but we do like to follow tradition.”
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),
A man with charm is an entertaining thing, and a man with looks is, of course, a sight to behold, but a man with honor—ah, he is the one, dear reader, to which the young ladies should flock. Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers,
And then there was Kate Sheffield. The bane of his existence. And the object of his desires. All at once.
“Well!” Mrs. Featherington huffed. “I never!” “No,” Anthony replied. “You always.”
Which then leaves you, Mrs. Featherington, as the only member of our cozy little group who might prove herself a gossipy, loudmouthed fishwife over this.”
But as he stood there, watching Kate howl in protest (not, he thought, the most flattering of reactions, but he supposed she was allowed her pride as well), a strange sense of satisfaction washed over him.
There were worse fates than finding oneself married to an intelligent, entertaining woman whom one happened to lust after around the clock.
“If you do not remove her from my presence within the next ten seconds, I shall murder her on the spot.”
“It was obvious to me that he was smitten. I do not know why no one else saw it.”
Anthony paused for a moment, well aware that most men of his reputation did not want to appear tied to apron strings. But this was Kate, and he knew that she valued devotion to family as much as he did, so he finally said, “There is little I would not do to keep my mother content.”
“I’m just asking for a reprieve. A brief, temporary, brief”—she repeated the word, just in case his brain was too dulled by single-minded male pride to have understood her the first time—“reprieve. Surely you would not deny me such a simple request.”
Falling in love with one’s husband—who would have thought it could be such a disaster?
Kate was different, special, his wife. He wanted no other memories to intrude upon this or any night.
desire you. I burn for you. I can’t sleep at night for wanting you. Even when I didn’t like you, I lusted for you. It’s the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is. And if I hear one more word of nonsense from your lips, I’m going to have to tie you to the bloody bed and have my way with you a hundred different ways, until you finally get it through your silly skull that you are the most beautiful and desirable woman in England, and if everyone else doesn’t see that, then they’re all bloody fools.”
He had fallen in love with his wife.
“Stop looking like you’re enjoying this,” he ground out. “Ah, but that would be a lie, and it’s a sin to lie to one’s husband.” Strange choking sounds began to emanate from his throat. Kate smiled. “Didn’t I pledge honesty at some point?” “That was obedience,” he growled. “Obedience? Surely not.”
