The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(30)

Thankfully, his sheets were clean, and so, with beating heart and heavy breath, he’d lain back against his pillows, his movements slow and careful, as if that would somehow prevent a recurrence of the dream.

He’d stared at the ceiling for hours, first conjugating Latin verbs, then counting to a thousand, all in an attempt to keep his brain on anything but Kate Sheffield.

And amazingly, he’d exorcised her image from his brain and fallen asleep.

But now she was back. Here. In his home.

It was a terrifying thought.

And where the hell was Edwina? Why hadn’t she accompanied her mother and sister?

The first strains of a string quartet drifted under his door, discordant and jumbled, no doubt the warm-up of the musicians his mother had hired to accompany Maria Rosso, the latest soprano to take London by storm.

Anthony certainly hadn’t told his mother, but he and Maria had enjoyed a pleasant interlude the last time she’d been in town. Maybe he ought to consider renewing their friendship. If the sultry Italian beauty didn’t cure what ailed him, nothing would.

Anthony stood and straightened his shoulders, aware that he probably looked as if he were girding himself for battle. Hell, that’s how he felt. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to avoid Kate Sheffield entirely. He couldn’t imagine she’d go out of her way to engage him in conversation. She’d made it abundantly clear that she held him in just as much esteem as he did her.

Yes, that’s exactly what he would do. Avoid her. How difficult could that be?





Chapter 6




Lady Bridgerton’s musicale proved to be a decidedly musical affair (not, This Author assures you, always the norm for musicales). The guest performer was none other than Maria Rosso, the Italian soprano who made her debut in London two years ago and has returned after a brief stint on the Vienna stage.

With thick, sable hair and flashing dark eyes, Miss Rosso proved as lovely in form as she did in voice, and more than one (indeed, more than a dozen) of society’s so-called gentlemen found it difficult indeed to remove their eyes from her person, even after the performance had concluded.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 27 APRIL 1814



Kate knew the minute he walked in the room.

She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with a heightened awareness of the man. He was excruciatingly handsome; that was fact, not opinion. She couldn’t imagine that every woman didn’t notice him immediately.

He arrived late. Not very—the soprano couldn’t have been more than a dozen bars into her piece. But late enough so that he tried to be quiet as he slipped into a chair toward the front near his family. Kate remained motionless in her position at the back, fairly certain that he didn’t see her as he settled in for the performance. He didn’t look her way, and besides, several candles had been snuffed, leaving the room bathed in a dim, romantic glow. The shadows surely obscured her face.

Kate tried to keep her eyes on Miss Rosso throughout the performance. Kate’s disposition was not improved, however, by the fact that the singer could not take her eyes off of Lord Bridgerton. At first Kate had thought she must be imagining Miss Rosso’s fascination with the viscount, but by the time the soprano was halfway done, there could be no doubt. Maria Rosso was issuing the viscount a sultry invitation with her eyes.

Why this bothered Kate so much, she didn’t know. After all, it was just another piece of proof that he was every bit the licentious rake she’d always known him to be. She should have felt smug. She should have felt vindicated.

Instead, all she felt was disappointment. It was a heavy, uncomfortable feeling around her heart, one that left her slumping slightly in her chair.

When the performance was done, she couldn’t help but notice that the soprano, after graciously accepting her applause, walked brazenly up to the viscount and offered him one of those seductive smiles—the sort Kate would never learn to do if she had a dozen opera singers trying to teach her. There was no mistaking what the singer meant by that smile.

Good heavens, the man didn’t even need to chase women. They practically dropped at his feet.

It was disgusting. Really, truly disgusting.

And yet Kate couldn’t stop watching.

Lord Bridgerton offered the opera singer a mysterious half-smile of his own. Then he reached out and actually tucked an errant lock of her raven hair behind her ear.

Kate shivered.

Now he was leaning forward, whispering something in her ear. Kate felt her own ears straining in their direction, even though it was quite obviously impossible for her to hear a thing from so far away.

But still, was it truly a crime to be ravenously curious? And—

Good heavens, did he just kiss her neck? Surely he wouldn’t do that in his mother’s home. Well, she supposed Bridgerton House was technically his home, but his mother lived here, as did many of his siblings. Truly, the man should know better than that. A little decorum in the company of his family would not be remiss.

“Kate? Kate?”

It may have been a small kiss, just a feather-light brush of his lips against the opera singer’s skin, but it was still a kiss.

“Kate!”

“Right! Yes?” Kate nearly jumped half a foot as she whirled around to face Mary, who was watching her with a decidedly irritated expression.

“Stop watching the viscount,” Mary hissed.