The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(13)

She was not at all what he’d expected, Anthony realized as he watched her pick her way through the crowds. She was certainly no ape-leading amazon; it was only when compared to Edwina, who barely touched five feet, that she would appear so tall. In fact, Miss Katharine Sheffield was quite pleasant-looking, with thick, medium brown hair and dark eyes. Her skin was pale, her lips pink, and she held herself with an air of confidence he could not help but find attractive.

She would certainly never be considered a diamond of the first water like her sister, but Anthony didn’t see why she shouldn’t be able to find a husband of her own. Perhaps after he married Edwina he’d provide a dowry for her. It seemed the very least a man could do.

Beside him, Colin strode forward, pushing through the crowd. “Miss Sheffield! Miss Sheffield!”

Anthony swept along in Colin’s wake, mentally preparing himself to charm Edwina’s older sister. An underappreciated spinster, was she? He’d have her eating out of his hand in no time.

“Miss Sheffield,” Colin was saying, “what a delight to see you again.”

She looked a bit perplexed, and Anthony didn’t blame her. Colin was making it sound as if they’d bumped into each other accidentally, when they all knew he’d trampled at least a half dozen people to reach her side.

“And it’s lovely to see you again as well, sir,” she replied wryly. “And so unexpectedly soon after our last encounter.”

Anthony smiled to himself. She had a sharper wit than he’d been led to believe.

Colin grinned winningly, and Anthony had the distinct and unsettling impression that his brother was up to something. “I can’t explain why,” Colin said to Miss Sheffield, “but it suddenly seemed imperative that I introduce you to my brother.”

She looked abruptly to Colin’s right and stiffened as her gaze settled on Anthony. In fact, she rather looked as if she’d just swallowed an antidote.

This, Anthony thought, was odd.

“How kind of you,” Miss Sheffield murmured—between her teeth.

“Miss Sheffield,” Colin continued brightly, motioning to Anthony, “my brother Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton. Anthony, Miss Katharine Sheffield. I believe you made the acquaintance of her sister earlier this evening.”

“Indeed,” Anthony said, becoming aware of an overwhelming desire—no, need—to strangle his brother.

Miss Sheffield bobbed a quick, awkward curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton,” she said, “it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Colin made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. Or maybe a laugh. Or maybe both.

And Anthony suddenly knew. One look at his brother’s face should have given it all away. This was no shy, retiring, underappreciated spinster. And whatever she had said to Colin earlier that evening, it had contained no compliments about Anthony.

Fratricide was legal in England, wasn’t it? If not, it damn well should have been.

Anthony belatedly realized that Miss Sheffield had held out her hand to him, as was only polite. He took it and brushed a light kiss across her gloved knuckles. “Miss Sheffield,” he murmured unthinkingly, “you are as lovely as your sister.”

If she had seemed uncomfortable before, her bearing now turned downright hostile. And Anthony realized with a mental slap that he’d said exactly the wrong thing. Of course he should not have compared her to her sister. It was the one compliment she could never have believed.

“And you, Lord Bridgerton,” she replied in a tone that could have frozen champagne, “are almost as handsome as your brother.”

Colin snorted again, only this time it sounded as if he were being strangled.

“Are you all right?” Miss Sheffield asked.

“He’s fine,” Anthony barked.

She ignored him, keeping her attention on Colin. “Are you certain?”

Colin nodded furiously. “Tickle in my throat.”

“Or perhaps a guilty conscience?” Anthony suggested.

Colin turned deliberately from his brother to Kate. “I think I might need another glass of lemonade,” he gasped.

“Or maybe,” said Anthony, “something stronger. Hemlock, perhaps?”

Miss Sheffield clapped a hand over her mouth, presumably to stifle a burst of horrified laughter.

“Lemonade will do just fine,” Colin returned smoothly.

“Would you like me to fetch you a glass?” she asked. Anthony noticed that she’d already stepped out with one foot, looking for any excuse to flee.

Colin shook his head. “No, no, I’m quite capable. But I do believe I had reserved this next dance with you, Miss Sheffield.”

“I shall not hold you to it,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, but I could not live with myself were I to leave you unattended,” he replied.

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.

“Anthony,” Colin said, sounding so deucedly innocent and earnest that it was all Anthony could do not to kill him on the spot, “you’re not engaged for this dance, are you?”