The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(55)

He noticed that she smiled. He loved that she smiled.

“The expression on your face is not exactly unamusing yourself, my lord,” she remarked.

“Oh, I’m sure.” He took a few deep breaths and then, when he was satisfied that he had regained control, straightened. He caught sight of her face, still vaguely suspicious, and suddenly he realized that he had to know what she thought of him.

It couldn’t wait until the next day. It couldn’t wait until that evening.

He wasn’t sure how it had come about, but her good opinion meant a great deal to him. Of course he needed her approval in his much-neglected suit of Edwina, but there was more to it than that. She’d insulted him, she’d nearly dunked him in The Serpentine, she’d humiliated him at Pall Mall, and yet he craved her good opinion.

Anthony couldn’t remember the last time someone’s regard had meant so much, and frankly, it was humbling.

“I think you owe me a boon,” he said, pushing off the tree and standing straight. His mind was whirring. He needed to be clever about this. He had to know what she thought. And yet, he didn’t want her knowing how much it meant to him. Not until he understood why it meant so much to him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A boon. For the Pall Mall game.”

She let out a ladylike snort as she leaned against the tree and crossed her arms. “If anyone owes anyone else a boon, then you owe one to me. I did win, after all.”

“Ah, but I was the one humiliated.”

“True,” she acceded.

“You would not be yourself,” he said in an extremely dry voice, “if you resisted the urge to agree.”

Kate gave him a demure glance. “A lady should be honest in all things.”

When she raised her eyes to his face, one corner of his mouth was curved into a rather knowing smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured.

Kate felt immediately uneasy. “And why is that?”

“Because my boon, Miss Sheffield, is to ask you a question—any question of my choosing—and you must answer with the utmost honesty.” He planted one hand against the tree trunk, rather close to her face, and leaned forward. Kate suddenly felt trapped, even though it would be easy enough to dart away.

With a touch of dismay—and a shiver of excitement—she realized that she felt trapped by his eyes, which were burning rather dark and hot into hers.

“Do you think you can do that, Miss Sheffield?” he murmured.

“Wh-what is your question?” she asked, not realizing that she was whispering until she heard her voice, breathy and crackling like the wind.

He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Now, remember, you have to answer honestly.”

She nodded. Or at least she thought she nodded. She meant to nod. In all truth, she wasn’t entirely convinced of her ability to move.

He leaned forward, not so much that she could feel his breath, but close enough to make her shiver. “Here, Miss Sheffield, is my question.”

Her lips parted.

“Do you”—he moved closer—“still”—and another inch—“hate me?”

Kate swallowed convulsively. Whatever she’d been expecting him to ask, it hadn’t been this. She licked her lips, preparing to speak, even though she had no idea what she’d say, but not a sound emerged.

His lips curved into a slow, masculine smile. “I’ll take that as a no.”

And then, with an abruptness that left her head spinning, he pushed off the tree and said briskly, “Well, then, I do believe it’s time we went inside and prepared for the evening, don’t you?”

Kate sagged against the tree, completely devoid of energy.

“You wish to remain outside for a few moments?” He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky, his demeanor pragmatic and efficient—one hundred and eighty degrees changed from the slow, lazy seducer he’d been just ten seconds earlier. “You might as well. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, after all. At least not in the next few hours.”

She just stared at him. Either he’d lost his mind or she’d forgotten how to talk. Or maybe both.

“Very well. I’ve always admired a woman who appreciates fresh air. I shall see you at supper, then?”

She nodded. She was surprised she even managed that.

“Excellent.” He reached out and took her hand, dropping a searing kiss on the inside of her wrist, upon the single band of bare flesh that peeked out between her glove and the hem of her sleeve. “Until tonight, Miss Sheffield.”

And then he strode off, leaving her with the oddest feeling that something rather important had just taken place.

But for the life of her, she had no idea what.



At half seven that night, Kate considered falling dreadfully ill. At quarter to eight, she’d refined her goal to an apoplectic fit. But at five minutes to the hour, as the dinner bell sounded, alerting guests that it was time to assemble in the drawing room, she squared her shoulders and walked into the hall outside her bedroom door to meet Mary.

She refused to be a coward.

She wasn’t a coward.

And she could make it through the evening. Besides, she told herself, she wasn’t likely to be seated anywhere near Lord Bridgerton. He was a viscount and the man of the house, and would therefore be at the head of the table. As the daughter of a baron’s second son, she held little rank compared to the other guests, and would most certainly be seated so far down the table that she wouldn’t even be able to see him without developing a crick in her neck.