The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(104)

“What were you doing up so late?”

Eloise shrugged again. “I couldn’t sleep. I often can’t. I’d gone down to get a book to read from the library. Finally, at around seven—well, I suppose it was a bit before seven, so it wasn’t quite three hours I waited—”

Kate began to feel dizzy.

“—he emerged. He didn’t head in the direction of the breakfast room, so I can only assume it was for other reasons. After a minute or two, he reemerged and headed back into his study. Where,” Eloise finished with a flourish, “he has been ever since.”

Kate stared at her for a good ten seconds. “Have you ever considered offering your services to the War Department?”

Eloise grinned, a smile so like Anthony’s Kate almost cried. “As a spy?” she asked.

Kate nodded.

“I’d be brilliant, don’t you think?”

“Superb.”

Eloise gave Kate a spontaneous hug. “I’m so glad you married my brother. Now go and see what is wrong.”

Kate nodded, straightened her shoulders, and took a step toward Anthony’s study. Turning around, she pointed a finger at Eloise and said, “You will not be listening at the door.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eloise replied.

“I mean it, Eloise!”

Eloise sighed. “It’s time I went up to bed, anyway. I could use a nap after staying up all night.”

Kate waited until the younger girl had disappeared up the stairs, then made her way to Anthony’s study door. She put her hand on the knob, whispering, “Don’t be locked,” as she gave it a twist. To her extreme relief, it turned, and the door swung open.

“Anthony?” she called out. Her voice was soft and hesitant, and she found she didn’t like the sound of it. She wasn’t used to being soft and hesitant.

There was no reply, so Kate stepped farther into the room. The drapes were tightly closed, and the heavy velvet admitted little light. Kate scanned the room until her eyes fell on the figure of her husband, slouched over his desk, sound asleep.

Kate walked quietly across the room to the windows and pulled the drapes partway open. She didn’t want to blind Anthony when he woke up, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to conduct such an important conversation in the dark. Then she walked back over to his desk and gently shook his shoulder.

“Anthony?” she whispered. “Anthony?”

His reply was closer to a snore than anything else.

Frowning impatiently, she shook a little harder. “Anthony?” she said softly. “Anthon—”

“Yibbledeedad—!” He came awake in one sudden movement, an incoherent rush of speech bursting forth as his torso snapped upright.

Kate watched as he blinked himself into coherency, then focused on her. “Kate,” he said, his voice hoarse and husky with sleep and something else—maybe alcohol. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” she countered. “The last time I checked, we lived nearly a mile away.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he mumbled.

Kate didn’t believe that for one second, but she decided not to argue the point. Instead, she opted for the direct approach and asked, “Why did you leave last night?”

A long stretch of silence was followed by a weary, tired sigh, and Anthony finally said, “It’s complicated.”

Kate fought the urge to cross her arms. “I’m an intelligent woman,” she said in a purposefully even voice. “I’m generally able to grasp complex concepts.”

Anthony didn’t look pleased by her sarcasm. “I don’t want to go into this now.”

“When do you want to go into it?”

“Go home, Kate,” he said softly.

“Do you plan to come with me?”

Anthony let out a little groan as he raked a hand through his hair. Christ, she was like a dog with a bone. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like wool, all he really wanted to do was splash some water on his face and clean his teeth, and here his wife would not stop interrogating him….

“Anthony?” she persisted.

That was enough. He stood so suddenly that his chair tipped back and slammed into the floor with a resounding crash. “You will cease your questions this instant,” he bit off.

Her mouth settled into a flat, angry line. But her eyes….

Anthony swallowed against the acidic taste of guilt that flooded his mouth.

Because her eyes were awash with pain.

And the anguish in his own heart grew tenfold.

He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He didn’t know what to do with her. He didn’t know what to do with himself. All his life—or at least since his father had died—he’d known that certain things were true, that certain things had to be true. And now Kate had gone and turned his world upside down.

He hadn’t wanted to love her. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to love anyone. It was the one thing—the only thing—that could make him fear his own mortality. And what about Kate? He’d promised to love and protect her. How could he do that, all the while knowing he would leave her? He certainly couldn’t tell her of his odd convictions. Aside from the fact that she’d probably think he was crazy, all it would do was subject her to the same pain and fear that wracked him. Better to let her live in blissful ignorance.