The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(54)

He didn’t say anything, which surprised her. It seemed just the sort of comment to which he’d have a witty and perhaps even cutting comeback. She looked up at him, then drew back slightly in surprise. He was staring at her in the oddest manner…

“Is—is everything all right, my lord?” she asked hesitantly.

He nodded. “Fine.” But he sounded rather distracted.

The rest of the trip to the shed was met with silence. Kate set the pink ball in its spot in the Pall Mall cart, noting that Colin and Edwina had cleared the course and put everything neatly away, including the errant purple mallet and ball. She stole a glance at Anthony and had to smile. It was obvious from his beleaguered frown that he’d noticed as well.

“The blanket goes in here, my lord,” she said with a hidden grin, stepping out of his way.

Anthony shrugged. “I’ll bring it up to the house. It probably needs a good cleaning.”

She nodded in agreement, and they shut the door and were off.





Chapter 11




There is nothing like a spot of competition to bring out the worst in a man—or the best in a woman.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 4 MAY 1814



Anthony whistled as they ambled up the path to the house, stealing glances at Kate when she wasn’t looking. She really was quite an attractive woman in her own right. He didn’t know why this always surprised him, but it did. His memory of her never quite lived up to the enchanting reality of her face. She was always in motion, always smiling or frowning or pursing her lips. She’d never master the placid, serene expression to which young ladies were meant to aspire.

He’d fallen into the same trap as had the rest of society—of thinking of her only in terms of her younger sister. And Edwina was so stunning, so amazingly, startlingly beautiful that anyone near to her couldn’t help but fade into the background. It was, Anthony allowed, difficult to look at anyone else when Edwina was in the room.

And yet…

He frowned. And yet he’d barely spared Edwina a glance through the entire Pall Mall game. This might have been understandable simply because it was Bridgerton Pall Mall, and it brought out the worst in anyone named Bridgerton; hell, he probably wouldn’t have spared a glance for the Prince Regent if he’d deigned to join the game.

But that explanation wouldn’t wash, for his mind was filled with other images. Kate bending over her mallet, her face tense with concentration. Kate giggling as someone missed a shot. Kate cheering on Edwina when her ball rolled through the wicket—a very un-Bridgerton-like trait, that. And, of course, Kate smiling wickedly in that last second before she’d sent his ball flying into the lake.

Clearly, even if he hadn’t been able to spare a glance for Edwina, he’d been sparing plenty for Kate.

That ought to have been disturbing.

He glanced back over at her again. This time her face was tilted slightly toward the sky, and she was frowning.

“Is something wrong?” he inquired politely.

She shook her head. “Just wondering if it’s going to rain.”

He looked up. “Not anytime soon, I imagine.”

She nodded slowly in agreement. “I hate the rain.”

Something about the expression on her face—rather reminiscent of a frustrated three-year-old—made him laugh. “You live in the wrong country, then, Miss Sheffield.”

She turned to him with a sheepish smile. “I don’t mind a gentle rain. It’s just when it grows violent that I don’t like it.”

“I’ve always rather enjoyed thunderstorms,” he murmured.

She shot him a startled look but didn’t say anything, then returned her gaze to the pebbles at her feet. She was kicking one along the path as they walked, occasionally breaking her stride or stepping to the side just so she could give it a kick and keep it flying ahead of her. There was something charming about it, something rather sweet about the way her booted foot peeked out from under the hem of her dress at such regular intervals and connected with the pebble.

Anthony watched her curiously, forgetting to pull his eyes off her face when she looked back up.

“Do you think—Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“Do I think what?” he returned, deliberately ignoring the second part of her question.

Her lips settled into a peevish line. Anthony felt his own quivering, wanting to smile with amusement.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked suspiciously.

He shook his head.

Her feet ground to a halt. “I think you are.”

“I assure you,” he said, sounding even to himself as if he wanted to laugh, “that I am not laughing at you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not—” He had to stop. If he spoke any further he knew he’d explode with laughter. And the strangest thing was—he hadn’t a clue why.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “What is the problem?”

Anthony sank against the trunk of a nearby elm, his entire body shaking with barely contained mirth.

Kate planted her hands on her hips, the expression in her eyes a little bit curious, a little bit furious. “What’s so funny?”

He finally gave in to the laughter and barely managed to lift his shoulders into a shrug. “I don’t know,” he gasped. “The expression on your face…it’s…”