The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(82)

Indeed, Violet had mentioned the possibility of a huge wedding as a method by which to combat the rumors that were circulating about Kate, Anthony, and their rather sudden engagement. Mrs. Featherington was, true to her word, remaining mostly silent on the details of the matter, but she’d let enough innuendo slip that everyone knew that the betrothal had not come about in the usual matter.

As a result, everyone was talking, and Kate knew it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Featherington could no longer restrain herself and everyone learned the true story of her downfall at the hands—or rather, the stinger—of a bee.

But in the end Violet had decided that a quick marriage was best, and since one couldn’t throw together a grand party in one week, the guest list had been limited to family. Kate was attended by Edwina, Anthony by his brother Benedict, and in due course they were man and wife.

It was strange, Kate thought later that afternoon as she stared at the gold band that had joined the diamond on her left hand, how quickly one’s life could change. The ceremony had been brief, rushing by in a crazy blur, and yet her life was forever altered. Edwina had been correct. Everything was different. She was a married woman now, a viscountess.

Lady Bridgerton.

She chewed on her lower lip. It sounded like someone else. How long would it take before someone said, “Lady Bridgerton,” and she actually thought they were talking to her, and not Anthony’s mother?

She was a wife now, with a wife’s responsibilities.

It terrified her.

Now that the wedding was done, Kate reflected upon Mary’s words from the previous night and knew that she was right. In many respects, she was the luckiest woman alive. Anthony would treat her well. He would treat any woman well. And that was the problem.

And now she was in a carriage, traveling the short distance between Bridgerton House, where the reception had been held, and Anthony’s private residence, which she supposed could no longer be referred to as “bachelor’s lodgings.”

She stole a glance at her new husband. He was facing straight ahead, his face oddly serious.

“Do you plan to move into Bridgerton House now that you are married?” she inquired quietly.

Anthony started, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Yes,” he replied, turning to face her, “although not for several months. I thought we could do with a bit of privacy at the start of our marriage, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Kate murmured. She looked down at her hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. She tried to still them, but it was impossible. It was a wonder she had not burst out of her gloves.

Anthony followed the line of her gaze and placed one of his large hands over both of hers. She went still instantly.

“Are you nervous?” he inquired.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” she replied, trying to keep her voice dry and ironic.

He smiled in response. “There is nothing to fear.”

Kate nearly burst out in jittery laughter. It seemed she was destined to hear that platitude over and over again. “Perhaps,” she allowed, “but still much about which to be nervous.”

His smile broadened. “Touché, my dear wife.”

Kate swallowed convulsively. It was strange to be someone’s wife, especially strange to be this man’s wife. “And are you nervous?” she countered.

He leaned in toward her, his dark eyes hot and heavy with the promise of things to come. “Oh, desperately,” he murmured. He closed the rest of the distance between them, his lips finding the sensitive hollow of her ear. “My heart is pounding,” he whispered.

Kate’s body seemed to stiffen and melt at the same time. And then she blurted out, “I think we should wait.”

He nibbled on her ear. “Wait for what?”

She tried to wiggle away. He didn’t understand. If he’d understood, he’d be furious, and he didn’t seem particularly upset.

Yet.

“F-for the marriage,” she stammered.

That seemed to amuse him, and he playfully wiggled the rings that now rested on her gloved fingers. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“For the wedding night,” she clarified.

He drew back, his dark brows flattening into a straight, and perhaps a little bit angry, line. “No,” he said simply. But he did not move to embrace her again.

Kate tried to think of words that would make him understand, but it wasn’t easy; she wasn’t so sure that she understood herself. And she was rather certain that he would not believe her if she told him that she’d not intended to make this request; it had just burst forth from within her, born of a panic she hadn’t even known was there until that very moment.

“I’m not asking for forever,” she said, hating the tremor that shook her words. “Just a week.”

This caught his attention, and one of his brows rose in ironic query. “And what, pray tell, do you hope to gain by a week?”

“I don’t know,” she answered quite honestly.

His eyes focused onto hers, hard, hot, and sardonic. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said.

Kate didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want the intimacy he forced upon her when she was caught in his dark gaze. It was easy to hide her feelings when she could keep her focus on his chin or his shoulder, but when she had to look straight into his eyes…