The Viscount Who Loved Me: Bridgerton (Bridgertons Book 2)
The Viscount Who Loved Me: Chapter 9

Men are contrary creatures. Their heads and their hearts are never in agreement. And as women know all too well, their actions are usually governed by a different aspect altogether.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 29 APRIL 1814

Or maybe not.

Just as Anthony was plotting the best course to her lips, he heard the perfectly awful sound of his younger brother’s voice.

“Anthony!” Colin shouted out. “There you are.”

Miss Sheffield, blissfully unaware of how close she’d come to having been kissed utterly senseless, turned to watch Colin approach.

“One of these days,” Anthony muttered, “I’m going to have to kill him.”

Kate turned back. “Did you say something, my lord?”

Anthony ignored her. It was probably his best option, since not ignoring her tended to leave him rather desperately lusting after her, which was, as he well knew, a short, straight road to utter disaster.

In all truth, he probably should have thanked Colin for his untimely interruption. A few more seconds, and he would have kissed Kate Sheffield, which would have been the greatest mistake of his life.

One kiss with Kate could probably be excused, especially considering how far she’d provoked him the other night in his study. But two…well, two would have required any man of honor to withdraw his courtship of Edwina Sheffield.

And Anthony wasn’t quite ready to give up on the concept of honor.

He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to tossing aside his plan to marry Edwina. What was he thinking? She was the perfect bride for his purposes. It was only when her meddlesome sister was around that his brain grew confused.

“Anthony,” Colin said again as he drew near, “and Miss Sheffield.” He eyed them curiously; he well knew they didn’t get along. “What a surprise.”

“I was just exploring your mother’s gardens,” Kate said, “and I stumbled upon your brother.”

Anthony gave a single nod of agreement.

“Daphne and Simon are here,” Colin said.

Anthony turned to Kate and explained, “My sister and her husband.”

“The duke?” she inquired politely.

“The very one,” he grumbled.

Colin laughed at his brother’s pique. “He was opposed to the marriage,” he said to Kate. “It kills him that they’re happy.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Anthony snapped, catching himself just before he blasphemed in front of Kate. “I’m very happy that my sister is happy,” he ground out, not sounding particularly happy. “It’s simply that I should have had one more opportunity to beat the tar out of that bas—bounder before they embarked on ‘happily ever after.’ ”

Kate choked on a laugh. “I see,” she said, fairly certain that she had not kept the straight face she’d been aiming for.

Colin shot her a grin before turning back to his brother. “Daff suggested a game of Pall Mall. What do you say? We haven’t played for ages. And, if we set off soon, we can escape the milksop misses Mother has invited for us.” He turned back to Kate with the sort of grin that could win forgiveness for anything. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

Colin leaned forward, his green eyes flashing with mischief. “No one would make the mistake of calling you a milksop miss,” he added.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked acerbically.

“Without a doubt.”

“Then I shall accept it with grace and good favor.”

Colin laughed and said to Anthony, “I like her.”

Anthony didn’t look amused.

“Have you ever played Pall Mall, Miss Sheffield?” Colin asked.

“I’m afraid not. I’m not even sure what it is.”

“It’s a lawn game. Brilliant fun. More popular in France than it is here, although they call it Paille Maille.”

“How does one play?” Kate asked.

“We set out wickets on a course,” Colin explained, “then hit wooden balls through them with mallets.”

“That sounds simple enough,” she mused.

“Not,” he said with a laugh, “when you’re playing with the Bridgertons.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means,” Anthony cut in, “that we’ve never seen the need to set out a regulation course. Colin sets out the wickets over tree roots—”

“And you aimed yours toward the lake,” Colin interrupted. “We never did replace the red ball after Daphne sank it.”

Kate knew she shouldn’t be committing herself to an afternoon in the company of Viscount Bridgerton, but dash it all, Pall Mall sounded fun. “Might there be room for one more player?” she inquired. “Since we’ve already excluded me from the ranks of the milksops?”

“Of course!” Colin said. “I suspect you’ll fit right in with the rest of us schemers and cheaters.”

“Coming from you,” Kate said with a laugh, “I know that was a compliment.”

“Oh, for certain. Honor and honesty has its time and place, but not in a game of Pall Mall.”

“And,” Anthony cut in, a smug expression on his face, “we shall have to invite your sister as well.”

“Edwina?” Kate choked out. Drat. She’d just played right into his hand. She’d been doing her best to keep the two of them apart, and now she’d practically arranged an afternoon out. There was no way she could exclude Edwina after all but inviting herself into the game.

“Do you have another sister?” he asked mildly.

She just scowled at him. “She might not wish to play. I think she was resting in her room.”

“I’ll instruct the maid to knock very lightly on her door,” Anthony said, obviously lying.

“Excellent!” Colin said brightly. “We shall be evenly matched. Three men and three women.”

“Does one play on teams?” Kate asked.

“No,” he replied, “but my mother has always been adamant that one must be evenly matched in all things. She’ll be quite disturbed if we go out in odd numbers.”

Kate couldn’t imagine the lovely and gracious woman she’d chatted with just an hour earlier getting upset over a game of Pall Mall, but she figured it wasn’t her place to comment.

“I’ll see to fetching Miss Sheffield,” Anthony murmured, looking insufferably smug. “Colin, why don’t you see this Miss Sheffield down to the field and I’ll meet you there in half an hour?”

Kate opened her mouth to protest the arrangements that would leave Edwina alone in the viscount’s company, even for so short a time as a walk down to the field, but in the end she remained silent. There was no reasonable excuse she could give to prevent it, and she knew it.

Anthony caught her fishlike spluttering and quirked one corner of his mouth in the most obnoxious manner before he said, “I’m pleased to see you agree with me, Miss Sheffield.”

She just grumbled. If she’d formed words, they wouldn’t have been polite ones.

“Excellent,” Colin said. “We’ll see you then.”

And then he looped his arm through hers and led her away, leaving Anthony smirking behind them.

Colin and Kate walked about a quarter of a mile from the house to a somewhat uneven clearing bordered on one side by a lake.

“Home of the prodigal red ball, I presume?” Kate queried, motioning to the water.

Colin laughed and nodded. “It’s a pity, because we used to have equipment enough for eight players; Mother had insisted on our purchasing a set that could accommodate all of her children.”

Kate wasn’t certain whether to smile or frown. “Yours is a very close family, isn’t it?”

“The best,” Colin said simply, walking over to a nearby shed.

Kate trailed after him, tapping her hand idly against her thigh. “Do you know what time it is?” she called out.

He paused, pulled out his pocket watch, and flipped it open. “Ten minutes past three.”

“Thank you,” Kate replied, making a mental note of it. They’d probably left Anthony at five to three, and he’d promised to deliver Edwina to the Pall Mall field within thirty minutes, so they should be down at twenty-five past the hour.

Half three at the very latest. Kate was willing to be generous and allow for unavoidable delays. If the viscount had Edwina down by half three, she wouldn’t quibble.

Colin resumed his trek to the shed, Kate watching with interest as he wrenched open the door. “It sounds rusty,” she commented.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been out here to play,” he said.

“Really? If I had a house like Aubrey Hall, I would never go to London.”

Colin turned around, his hand still on the half-open door to the shed. “You’re a lot like Anthony, did you know that?”

Kate gasped. “Surely you’re joking.”

He shook his head, a strange little smile on his lips. “Perhaps it’s because you’re both the eldest. The Lord knows I’m thankful every day I wasn’t born in Anthony’s shoes.”

“What do you mean?”

Colin shrugged. “I simply wouldn’t want his responsibilities, that’s all. The title, the family, the fortune—it’s a great deal to fit on one man’s shoulders.”

Kate didn’t particularly want to hear how well the viscount had assumed the responsibilities of his title; she didn’t want to hear anything that might change her opinion of him, although she had to confess that she’d been impressed by the apparent sincerity of his apology earlier that afternoon. “What has this to do with Aubrey Hall?” she inquired.

Colin stared at her blankly for a moment, as if he’d forgotten that the conversation had started with her innocent comment about how lovely his country home was. “Nothing, I suppose,” he said finally. “And everything as well. Anthony loves it here.”

“But he spends all his time in London,” Kate said. “Doesn’t he?”

“I know.” Colin shrugged. “Odd, isn’t it?”

Kate had no reply, so she just watched as he pulled the door to the shed all the way open. “Here we are,” he said, pulling out a wheeled cart that had been specially constructed to fit eight mallets and wooden balls. “A bit musty, but none the worse for the wear.”

“Except for the loss of the red ball,” Kate said with a smile.

“I blame that entirely on Daphne,” Colin replied. “I blame everything on Daphne. It makes my life much easier.”

“I heard that!”

Kate turned to see an attractive young couple approaching. The man was devastatingly handsome, with dark, dark hair and light, light eyes. The woman could only be a Bridgerton, with the same chestnut hair as both Anthony and Colin. Not to mention the same bone structure and smile. Kate had heard that all the Bridgertons looked rather alike, but she’d never fully believed it until now.

“Daff!” Colin called out. “You’re just in time to help us put out the wickets.”

She gave him an arch smile. “You didn’t think I’d let you set up the course yourself, do you?” She turned to her husband. “I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Colin said to Kate. “She’s very strong. I’d wager she could toss me clear into the lake.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and turned to Kate. “Since I’m sure my miserable brother won’t do the honors, I’ll introduce myself. I am Daphne, Duchess of Hastings, and this is my husband Simon.”

Kate bobbed a quick curtsy. “Your grace,” she murmured, then turned to the duke and said again, “Your grace.”

Colin waved his hand toward her as he bent down to retrieve the wickets from the Pall Mall cart. “This is Miss Sheffield.”

Daphne looked confused. “I just passed by Anthony at the house. I thought he said he was on his way to fetch Miss Sheffield.”

“My sister,” Kate explained. “Edwina. I am Katharine. Kate to my friends.”

“Well, if you are brave enough to play Pall Mall with the Bridgertons, I definitely want you as my friend,” Daphne said with a wide smile. “Therefore you must call me Daphne. And my husband Simon. Simon?”

“Oh, of course,” he said, and Kate had the distinct impression that he would have said the same had she just declared the sky orange. Not that he wasn’t listening to her, just that it was clear he adored her to distraction.

This, Kate thought, was what she wanted for Edwina.

“Let me take half of those,” Daphne said, reaching for the wickets in her brother’s hand. “Miss Sheffield andI…that is, Kate and I”—she flashed Kate a friendly grin—“will set up three of them, and you and Simon can do the rest.”

Before Kate could even venture an opinion, Daphne had taken her by the arm and was leading her toward the lake.

“We have to make absolutely certain that Anthony loses his ball in the water,” Daphne muttered. “I have never forgiven him for last time. I thought Benedict and Colin were going to die laughing. And Anthony was the worst. He just stood there smirking. Smirking!” She turned to Kate with a most beleaguered expression. “No one smirks quite like my eldest brother.”

“I know,” Kate muttered under her breath.

Thankfully, the duchess hadn’t heard her. “If I could have killed him, I vow I would have.”

“What will happen once all your balls are lost in the lake?” Kate couldn’t resist asking. “I haven’t played with you lot yet, but you do seem rather competitive, and it seems…”

“That it would be inevitable?” Daphne finished for her. She grinned. “You’re probably right. We have no sense of sportsmanship when it comes to Pall Mall. When a Bridgerton picks up a mallet, we become the worst sorts of cheaters and liars. Truly, the game is less about winning than making sure the other players lose.”

Kate fought for words. “It sounds…”

“Awful?” Daphne grinned. “It’s not. You’ll never have more fun, I guarantee it. But at the rate we’re going, the entire set will end up in the lake ere long. I suppose we’ll have to send to France for another set.” She jammed a wicket into the ground. “It seems a waste, I know, but worth it to humiliate my brothers.”

Kate tried not to laugh, but she didn’t succeed.

“Do you have any brothers, Miss Sheffield?” Daphne asked.

Since the duchess had forgotten to use her given name, Kate deemed it best to revert to formal manners. “None, your grace,” she replied. “Edwina is my only sibling.”

Daphne shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the area for a devilish wicket location. When she spied one—sitting right atop a tree root—she marched away, leaving Kate no choice but to follow.

“Four brothers,” Daphne said, shoving the wicket into the ground, “provide quite a marvelous education.”

“The things you must have learned,” Kate said, quite impressed. “Can you give a man a black eye? Knock him to the ground?”

Daphne grinned wickedly. “Ask my husband.”

“Ask me what?” the duke called out from where he and Colin were placing a wicket on a tree root on the opposite side of the tree.

“Nothing,” the duchess called out innocently. “I’ve also learned,” she whispered to Kate, “when it’s best just to keep one’s mouth shut. Men are much easier to manage once you understand a few basic facts about their nature.”

“Which are?” Kate prompted.

Daphne leaned forward and whispered behind her cupped hand, “They’re not as smart as we are, they’re not as intuitive as we are, and they certainly don’t need to know about fifty percent of what we do.” She looked around. “He didn’t hear that, did he?”

Simon stepped out from behind the tree. “Every word.”

Kate choked on a laugh as Daphne jumped a foot. “But it’s true,” Daphne said archly.

Simon crossed his arms. “I’ll let you think so.” He turned to Kate. “I’ve learned a thing or two about women over the years.”

“Really?” Kate asked, fascinated.

He nodded and leaned in, as if imparting a grave state secret. “They’re much easier to manage if one allows them to believe that they are smarter and more intuitive than men. And,” he added with a superior glance at his wife, “our lives are much more peaceful if we pretend that we’re only aware of about fifty percent of what they do.”

Colin approached, swinging a mallet in a low arc. “Are they having a spat?” he asked Kate.

“A discussion,” Daphne corrected.

“God save me from such discussions,” Colin muttered. “Let’s choose colors.”

Kate followed him back to the Pall Mall set, her fingers drumming against her thigh. “Do you have the time?” she asked him.

Colin pulled out his pocket watch. “A bit after half three, why?”

“I just thought that Edwina and the viscount would be down by now, that’s all,” she said, trying not to look too concerned.

Colin shrugged. “They should be.” Then, completely oblivious to her distress, he motioned to the Pall Mall set. “Here. You’re the guest. You choose first. What color do you want?”

Without giving it much thought, Kate reached in and grabbed a mallet. It was only when it was in her hand that she realized it was black.

“The mallet of death,” Colin said approvingly. “I knew she’d make a fine player.”

“Leave the pink one for Anthony,” Daphne said, reaching for the green mallet.

The duke pulled the orange mallet out of the set, turning to Kate as he said, “You are my witness that I had nothing to do with Bridgerton’s pink mallet, yes?”

Kate smiled wickedly. “I noticed that you didn’t choose the pink mallet.”

“Of course not,” he returned, his grin even more devious than hers. “My wife had already chosen it for him. I could not gainsay her, now, could I?”

“Yellow for me,” Colin said, “and blue for Miss Edwina, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Kate replied. “Edwina loves blue.”

The foursome stared down at the two mallets left: pink and purple.

“He’s not going to like either one,” Daphne said.

Colin nodded. “But he’ll like pink even less.” And with that, he picked up the purple mallet and tossed it into the shed, then reached down and sent the purple ball in after it.

“I say,” the duke said, “where is Anthony?”

“That’s a very good question,” Kate muttered, tapping her hand against her thigh.

“I suppose you’ll want to know what time it is,” Colin said slyly.

Kate flushed. She’d already asked him to check his pocket watch twice. “I’m fine, thank you,” she answered, lacking a witty retort.

“Very well. It’s just that I’ve learned that once you start moving your hand like that—”

Kate’s hand froze.

“—you’re usually about ready to ask me what time it is.”

“You’ve learned quite a lot about me in the past hour,” Kate said dryly.

He grinned. “I’m an observant fellow.”

“Obviously,” she muttered.

“But in case you wanted to know, it’s a quarter of an hour before four.”

“They’re past due,” Kate said.

Colin leaned forward and whispered, “I highly doubt that my brother is ravishing your sister.”

Kate lurched back. “Mr. Bridgerton!”

“What are you two talking about?” Daphne asked.

Colin grinned. “Miss Sheffield is worried that Anthony is compromising the other Miss Sheffield.”

“Colin!” Daphne exclaimed. “That isn’t the least bit funny.”

“And certainly not true,” Kate protested. Well, almost not true. She didn’t think the viscount was compromising Edwina, but he was probably doing his very best to charm her silly. And that was dangerous in and of itself.

Kate pondered the mallet in her hand and tried to figure out how she might bring it down upon the viscount’s head and make it look like an accident.

The mallet of death, indeed.

Anthony checked the clock on the mantel in his study. Almost half three. They were going to be late.

He grinned. Oh, well, nothing to do about it.

Normally he was a stickler for punctuality, but when tardiness resulted in the torture of Kate Sheffield, he didn’t much mind a late arrival.

And Kate Sheffield was surely writhing in agony by now, horrified at the thought of her precious younger sister in his evil clutches.

Anthony looked down at his evil clutches—hands, he reminded himself, hands—and grinned anew. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages, and all he was doing was loitering about his office, picturing Kate Sheffield with her jaw clenched together, steam pouring from her ears.

It was a highly entertaining image.

Not, of course, that this was even his fault. He would have left right on time if he hadn’t had to wait for Edwina. She’d sent word down with the maid that she would join him in ten minutes. That was twenty minutes ago. He couldn’t help it if she was late.

Anthony had a sudden image of the rest of his life—waiting for Edwina. Was she the sort who was chronically late? That might grow vexing after a while.

As if on cue, he heard the patter of footsteps in the hall, and when he looked up, Edwina’s exquisite form was framed by the doorway.

She was, he thought dispassionately, a vision. Utterly lovely in every way. Her face was perfection, her posture the epitome of grace, and her eyes were the most radiant shade of blue, so vivid that one could not help but be surprised by their hue every time she blinked.

Anthony waited for some sort of reaction to rise up within him. Surely no man could be immune to her beauty.

Nothing. Not even the slightest urge to kiss her. It almost seemed a crime against nature.

But maybe this was a good thing. After all, he didn’t want a wife with whom he’d fall in love. Desire would have been nice, but desire could be dangerous. Desire certainly had a greater chance of sliding into love than did disinterest.

“I’m terribly sorry I’m late, my lord,” Edwina said prettily.

“It was no trouble whatsoever,” he replied, feeling a bit brightened by his recent set of rationalizations. She’d still work just fine as a bride. No need to look elsewhere. “But we should be on our way. The others will have the course set up already.”

He took her arm and they strolled out of the house. He remarked on the weather. She remarked on the weather. He remarked on the previous day’s weather. She agreed with whatever he’d said (he couldn’t even remember, one minute later).

After exhausting all possible weather-related topics, they fell into silence, and then finally, after a full three minutes of neither of them having anything to say, Edwina blurted out, “What did you study at university?”

Anthony looked at her oddly. He couldn’t remember ever being asked such a question by a young lady. “Oh, the usual,” he replied.

“But what,” she ground out, looking most uncharacteristically impatient, “is the usual?”

“History, mostly. A bit of literature.”

“Oh.” She pondered that for a moment. “I love to read.”

“Do you?” He eyed her with renewed interest. He wouldn’t have taken her for a bluestocking. “What do you like to read?”

She seemed to relax as she answered the question. “Novels if I’m feeling fanciful. Philosophy if I’m in the mood for self-improvement.”

“Philosophy, eh?” Anthony queried. “Never could stomach the stuff myself.”

Edwina let out one of her charmingly musical laughs. “Kate is the same way. She is forever telling me that she knows perfectly well how to live her life and doesn’t need a dead man to give her instructions.”

Anthony thought about his experiences reading Aristotle, Bentham, and Descartes at university. Then he thought about his experiences avoiding reading Aristotle, Bentham, and Descartes at university. “I think,” he murmured, “that I would have to agree with your sister.”

Edwina grinned. “You, agree with Kate? I feel I should replace a notebook and record the moment. Surely this must be a first.”

He gave her a sideways, assessing sort of glance. “You’re more impertinent than you let on, aren’t you?”

“Not half as much as Kate.”

“That was never in doubt.”

He heard Edwina let out a little giggle, and when he looked over at her, she appeared to be trying her hardest to maintain a straight face. They rounded the final corner to the field, and as they came over the rise, they saw the rest of the Pall Mall party waiting for them, idly swinging their mallets to and fro as they waited.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Anthony swore, completely forgetting that he was in the company of the woman he planned to make his wife. “She’s got the mallet of death.”