The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(106)

Anthony spread one hand over his face and pressed hard against his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “God above,” he muttered. “What would it take to get you two to leave me alone?”

“Go home, Anthony,” Benedict said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Anthony closed his eyes and let out a long breath. There was nothing he wanted to do more, but he wasn’t sure what to say to Kate, and more importantly, he had no idea how he’d feel once he got there.

“Yes,” Colin agreed. “Just go home and tell her that you love her. What could be more simple?”

And suddenly it was simple. He had to tell Kate that he loved her. Now. This very day. He had to make sure she knew, and he vowed to spend every last minute of his miserably short life proving it to her.

It was too late to change the destiny of his heart. He’d tried not to fall in love, and he’d failed. Since he wasn’t likely to fall back out of love, he might as well make the best of the situation. He was going to be haunted by the premonition of his own death whether or not Kate knew of his love for her. Wouldn’t he be happier during these last few years if he spent them loving her openly and honestly?

He was fairly certain she’d fallen in love with him as well; surely she’d be glad to hear that he felt the same way. And when a man loved a woman, truly loved her from the depths of her soul to the tips of her toes, wasn’t it his God-given duty to try to make her happy?

He wouldn’t tell her of his premonitions, though. What would be the point? He might suffer the knowledge that their time together would be cut short, but why should she? Better she be struck by sharp and sudden pain at his death than suffer the anticipation of it beforehand.

He was going to die. Everyone died, he reminded himself. He was just going to have to do it sooner rather than later. But by God, he was going to enjoy his last years with every breath of his being. It might have been more convenient not to have fallen in love, but now that he had, he wasn’t going to hide from it.

It was simple. His world was Kate. If he denied that, he might as well stop breathing right now.

“I have to go,” he blurted out, standing up so suddenly that his thighs hit the edge of the table, sending walnut shell shards skittering across the tabletop.

“I thought you might,” Colin murmured.

Benedict just smiled and said, “Go.”

His brothers, Anthony realized, were a bit smarter than they let on.

“We’ll speak to you in a week or so?” Colin asked.

Anthony had to grin. He and his brothers had met at their club every day for the past fortnight. Colin’s oh-so-innocent query could only imply one thing—that it was obvious that Anthony had completely lost his heart to his wife and planned to spend at least the next seven days proving it to her. And that the family he was creating had grown as important as the one he’d been born into.

“Two weeks,” Anthony replied, yanking on his coat. “Maybe three.”

His brothers just grinned.



But when Anthony pushed through the door of his home, slightly out of breath from taking the front steps three at a time, he discovered that Kate was not in.

“Where did she go?” he asked the butler. Stupidly, he’d never once considered that she might not be at home.

“Out for a ride in the park,” the butler replied, “with her sister and a Mr. Bagwell.”

“Edwina’s suitor,” Anthony muttered to himself. Damn. He supposed he ought to be happy for his sister-in-law, but the timing was bloody annoying. He’d just made a life-altering decision regarding his wife; it would have been nice if she’d been home.

“Her creature went as well,” the butler said with a shudder. He’d never been able to tolerate what he considered the corgi’s invasion into his home.

“She took Newton, eh?” Anthony murmured.

“I imagine they’ll be back within an hour or two.”

Anthony tapped his booted toe against the marble floor. He didn’t want to wait an hour. Hell, he didn’t want to wait even a minute. “I’ll find them myself,” he said impatiently. “It can’t be that difficult.”

The butler nodded and motioned through the open doorway to the small carriage in which Anthony had ridden home. “Will you be needing another carriage?”

Anthony gave his head a single shake. “I’ll go on horseback. It’ll be quicker.”

“Very well.” The butler bent into a small bow. “I’ll have a mount brought ’round.”

Anthony watched the butler make his slow and sedate way toward the rear of the house for about two seconds before impatience set in. “I’ll take care of it myself,” he barked.

And the next thing he knew, he was dashing out of the house.



Anthony was in jaunty spirits by the time he reached Hyde Park. He was eager to find his wife, to hold her in his arms and watch her face as he told her he loved her. He prayed that she would offer words returning the sentiment. He thought she would; he’d seen her heart in her eyes on more than one occasion. Perhaps she was just waiting for him to say something first. He couldn’t blame her if that was the case; he’d made a rather big fuss about how theirs would not be a love match right before their wedding.

What an idiot he’d been.