The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(103)

He watched her for a minute—or maybe it was an hour. He didn’t think she saw him; nothing in her posture gave any indication that she was aware of his presence. She was too far away for him to see her face, but he rather thought her eyes were closed.

Probably hoping it doesn’t storm, he thought, glancing up at the murky sky. She’d most likely be out of luck. The mist and fog were already coalescing into drops of moisture on his skin, and it seemed only a quick transition to out-and-out rain.

He knew he should leave, but some invisible cord kept him rooted to the spot. Even after she’d left her position at the window, he remained in place, staring up at the house. The pull back inside was nearly impossible to deny. He wanted to run back into the house, fall to his knees before her, and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and make love to her until the first streaks of dawn touched the sky. But he knew he couldn’t do any of those things.

Or maybe it was that he shouldn’t. He just didn’t know anymore.

And so, after standing frozen in place for nearly an hour, after the rain came, after the wind blew gusts of chilly air down the street, Anthony finally left.

He left, not feeling the cold, not feeling the rain, which had begun to fall with surprising force.

He left, not feeling anything.





Chapter 21




It has been whispered that Lord and Lady Bridgerton were forced to marry, but even if that is true, This Author refuses to believe that theirs is anything but a love match.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 15 JUNE 1814



It was strange, Kate thought as she looked at the morning repast laid upon the side table in the small dining room, how one could feel utterly famished and at the same time have no appetite. Her stomach was rumbling and churning, demanding food now, and yet everything—from the eggs to the scones to the kippers to the roast pork—looked awful.

With a dejected sigh, she reached for a solitary triangle of toast and sank into her chair with a cup of tea.

Anthony had not come home last night.

Kate took a nibble of the toast and forced it down. She’d been hoping that he might at least make an appearance in time for breakfast. She’d delayed the meal as long as she could—it was already nearly eleven in the morning and she usually ate at nine—but her husband was still absent.

“Lady Bridgerton?”

Kate looked up and blinked. A footman was standing before her bearing a small cream-colored envelope.

“This arrived for you a few minutes ago,” he said.

Kate murmured her thanks and reached for the envelope, which had been secured with a neat dollop of pale pink sealing wax. Bringing it closer to her eyes, she made out the initials EOB. One of Anthony’s relations? The E would be Eloise, of course, since all of the Bridgertons had been named in alphabetical order.

Kate carefully broke the seal and slipped out the contents—a single piece of paper, neatly folded in half.

Kate—

Anthony is here. He looks a wreck. It is, of course, none of my business, but I thought you might like to know.

Eloise



Kate stared at the note a few seconds longer, then shoved her chair back and stood. It was time she paid a call upon Bridgerton House.



Much to Kate’s surprise, when she knocked at Bridgerton House, the door was swung open not by the butler but by Eloise, who immediately said, “That was fast!”

Kate looked around the hall, half expecting another Bridgerton sibling or two to jump out at her. “Were you waiting for me?”

Eloise nodded. “And you don’t have to knock at the door, you know. Bridgerton House belongs to Anthony, after all. And you are his wife.”

Kate smiled weakly. She didn’t feel much like a wife this morning.

“I hope you don’t think me a hopeless meddler,” Eloise continued, linking her arm through Kate’s and guiding her down the hall, “but Anthony does look awful, and I had a sneaking suspicion you didn’t know he was here.”

“Why would you think that?” Kate couldn’t help asking.

“Well,” Eloise said, “he didn’t go to any great pains to tell any of us that he was here.”

Kate eyed her sister-in-law suspiciously. “Meaning?”

Eloise had the grace to blush a faint pink. “Meaning, ah, that the only reason I know he’s here is that I was spying upon him. I don’t think my mother even knows he’s in residence.”

Kate felt her eyelids blink in rapid succession. “You’ve been spying upon us?”

“No, of course not. But I happened to be up and about rather early this morning, and I heard someone come in, and so I went to investigate and I saw light coming from under the door in his study.”

“How, then, do you know he looks awful?”

Eloise shrugged. “I figured he’d have to emerge eventually to eat or relieve himself, so I waited on the steps for an hour or so—”

“Or so?” Kate echoed.

“Or three,” Eloise admitted. “It’s really not that long when one is interested in one’s subject, and besides, I had a book with me to while away the time.”

Kate shook her head in reluctant admiration. “What time did he come in last night?”

“Around four or so.”