The Viscount Who Loved Me: Bridgerton (Bridgertons Book 2)
The Viscount Who Loved Me: Chapter 4

This Author was, sadly, unable to determine all the details, but there was a considerable to-do Thursday last near The Serpentine in Hyde Park involving Viscount Bridgerton, Mr. Nigel Berbrooke, both the Misses Sheffield, and an unnamed dog of indeterminate breed.

This Author was not an eyewitness, but all accounts seem to indicate that the unnamed dog emerged the victor.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 25 APRIL 1814

Kate stumbled back into the drawing room, knocking arms with Mary as they both squeezed through the doorway at the same time. Newton was seated happily in the middle of the room, shedding on the blue-and-white rug as he grinned up at the viscount.

“I think he likes you,” Mary said, somewhat accusingly.

“He likes you, too, Mary,” Kate said. “The problem is that you don’t like him.”

“I’d like him better if he didn’t try to accost me every time I come through the hall.”

“I thought you said Mrs. Sheffield and the dog didn’t get along,” Lord Bridgerton said.

“They don’t,” Kate replied. “Well, they do. Well, they don’t and they do.”

“That clears things up immeasurably,” he murmured.

Kate ignored his quiet sarcasm. “Newton adores Mary,” she explained, “but Mary doesn’t adore Newton.”

“I’d adore him a bit more,” Mary interrupted, “if he’d adore me a bit less.”

“So,” Kate continued determinedly, “poor Newton regards Mary as something of a challenge. So when he sees her…” She shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m afraid he simply adores her more.”

As if on cue, the dog caught sight of Mary and bounded straight over to her feet.

“Kate!” Mary exclaimed.

Kate rushed to her stepmother’s side, just as Newton rose on his hind legs and planted his front paws just above Mary’s knees. “Newton, down!” she scolded. “Bad dog. Bad dog.”

The dog sat back down with a little whine.

“Kate,” Mary said in an extremely no-nonsense voice, “that dog must be taken for a walk. Now.”

“I had been planning to when the viscount arrived,” Kate replied, motioning to the man across the room. Really, it was remarkable the number of things she could blame on the insufferable man if she put her mind to it.

“Oh!” Mary yelped. “I beg your pardon, my lord. How rude of me not to greet you.”

“It is of no concern,” he said smoothly. “You were a bit preoccupied upon your arrival.”

“Yes,” Mary grumbled, “that beastly dog…. Oh, but where are my manners? May we offer you tea? Something to eat? It is so kind of you to call upon us.”

“No, thank you. I’ve just been enjoying your daughter’s invigorating company while I await Miss Edwina’s arrival.”

“Ah, yes,” Mary answered. “Edwina’s off with Mr. Berbrooke, I believe. Isn’t that so, Kate?”

Kate nodded stonily, not sure she liked being called “invigorating.”

“Do you know Mr. Berbrooke, Lord Bridgerton?” Mary asked.

“Ah, yes,” he said, with what Kate thought was fairly surprising reticence. “Yes, I do.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should have allowed Edwina to go off with him for a ride. Those curricles are terribly difficult to drive, aren’t they?”

“I believe that Mr. Berbrooke has a steady hand with his horses,” Anthony replied.

“Oh, good,” Mary replied, letting out a much-relieved sigh. “You have surely set my mind at rest.”

Newton let out a staccato bark, simply to remind everyone of his presence.

“I had better replace his lead and take him for a walk,” Kate said hurriedly. She certainly could use a bit of fresh air. And it would be nice to finally escape the viscount’s fiendish company. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“But wait, Kate!” Mary called out. “You cannot leave Lord Bridgerton here with me. I’m sure I’ll bore him to tears.”

Kate slowly turned around, dreading Mary’s next words.

“You could never bore me, Mrs. Sheffield,” the viscount said, debonair rake that he was.

“Oh, but I could,” she assured him. “You’ve never been trapped in conversation with me for an hour. Which is about how long it will be before Edwina returns.”

Kate stared at her stepmother, her jaw actually hanging open with shock. What on earth did Mary think she was doing?

“Why don’t you go with Kate to take Newton for a walk?” Mary suggested.

“Oh, but I could never ask Lord Bridgerton to accompany me on a chore,” Kate said quickly. “It would be beyond rudeness, and after all, he is our esteemed guest.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mary answered, before the viscount could get even half of a word in. “I’m sure he wouldn’t look upon it as a chore. Would you, my lord?”

“Of course not,” he murmured, looking utterly sincere. But really, what else could he say?

“There. That settles it,” Mary said, sounding inordinately pleased with herself. “And who knows? You may stumble across Edwina in your travels. Wouldn’t that be convenient?”

“Indeed,” Kate said under her breath. It would be lovely to be rid of the viscount, but the last thing she wanted to do was deliver Edwina into his clutches. Her sister was still young and impressionable. What if she couldn’t resist one of his smiles? Or his glib tongue?

Even Kate was willing to admit that Lord Bridgerton exuded considerable charm, and she didn’t even like the man! Edwina, with her less suspicious nature, would surely be overwhelmed.

She turned to the viscount. “You shouldn’t feel you must accompany me while I walk Newton, my lord.”

“I’d be delighted,” he said with a wicked smile, and Kate had the distinct impression he was agreeing to go for the sole purpose of vexing her. “Besides,” he continued, “as your mother said, we might see Edwina, and wouldn’t that be a delightful coincidence?”

“Delightful,” Kate returned flatly. “Just delightful.”

“Excellent!” Mary said, clapping her hands together with joy. “I saw Newton’s lead on the hall table. Here, I’ll go and get it for you.”

Anthony watched Mary leave, then turned to Kate and said, “That was very neatly done.”

“I’ll say,” Kate muttered.

“Do you suppose,” he whispered, leaning toward her, “that her matchmaking is directed toward Edwina or you?”

“Me?” Kate all but croaked. “Surely you jest.”

Anthony rubbed his chin thoughtfully, gazing at the doorway through which Mary had just exited. “I’m not certain,” he mused, “but—” He closed his mouth upon hearing Mary’s footsteps drawing back near.

“Here you are,” Mary said, holding the lead out to Kate. Newton barked enthusiastically and drew back as if preparing to lunge at Mary—undoubtedly to shower her with all sorts of unpalatable love—but Kate kept a firm hold on his collar.

“Here,” Mary quickly amended, handing the lead instead to Anthony. “Why don’t you give this to Kate? I’d rather not get too close.”

Newton barked and gazed longingly at Mary, who inched farther away.

“You,” Anthony said forcefully to the dog. “Sit down and be quiet.”

Much to Kate’s surprise, Newton obeyed, settling his plump bottom onto the rug with almost comical alacrity.

“There,” Anthony said, sounding rather pleased with himself. He held out the lead toward Kate. “Shall you do the honors or shall I?”

“Oh, go right ahead,” she replied. “You seem to have such an affinity for canines.”

“Clearly,” he shot back, keeping his voice low so that Mary could not hear, “they are not so very different from women. Both breeds hang on my every word.”

Kate stepped on his hand as he knelt to fasten the lead to Newton’s collar. “Oops,” she said, rather insincerely. “I’m so sorry.”

“Your tender solicitude quite unmans me,” he returned, standing back up. “I might break into tears.”

Mary’s head bobbed back and forth between Kate and Anthony. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but was clearly fascinated. “Is something wrong?” she queried.

“Not at all,” Anthony replied, just as Kate gave a firm, “No.”

“Good,” Mary said briskly. “Then I’ll see you to the door.” At Newton’s enthusiastic bark, she added, “Then again, maybe not. I don’t really want to get within ten feet of that dog. But I’ll wave you off.”

“What would I do,” Kate said to Mary as she passed her, “without you to wave me off?”

Mary smiled slyly. “I surely don’t know, Kate. I surely don’t know.”

Which left Kate with a queasy feeling in her stomach and a vague suspicion that Lord Bridgerton might have been correct. Maybe Mary was playing matchmaker with more than just Edwina this time around.

It was a horrifying thought.

With Mary standing in the hall, Kate and Anthony exited out the doorway and headed west on Milner Street. “I usually stay to the smaller streets and make my way up to Brompton Road,” Kate explained, thinking that he might not be very familiar with this area of town, “then take that to Hyde Park. But we can walk straight up Sloane Street, if you prefer.”

“Whatever you wish,” he demurred. “I shall follow your direction.”

“Very well,” Kate replied, marching determinedly up Milner Street toward Lenox Gardens. Maybe if she kept her eyes ahead of her and moved briskly, he’d be discouraged from conversation. Her daily walks with Newton were supposed to be her time for personal reflection. She did not appreciate having to drag him along.

Her strategy worked quite well for several minutes. They walked in silence all the way to the corner of Hans Crescent and Brompton Road, and then he quite suddenly said, “My brother played us for fools last night.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you know what he told me about you before he introduced us?”

Kate stumbled a step before shaking her head, no. Newton hadn’t stopped in his tracks, and he was tugging on the lead like mad.

“He told me you couldn’t say enough about me.”

“Wellll,” Kate stalled, “if one doesn’t want to put too fine a point on it, that’s not entirely untrue.”

“He implied,” Anthony added, “that you could not say enough good about me.”

She shouldn’t have smiled. “That’s not true.”

He probably shouldn’t have smiled, either, but Kate was glad he did. “I didn’t think so,” he replied.

They turned up Brompton Road toward Knightsbridge and Hyde Park, and Kate asked, “Why would he do such a thing?”

Anthony shot her a sideways look. “You don’t have a brother, do you?”

“No, just Edwina, I’m afraid, and she’s decidedly female.”

“He did it,” Anthony explained, “purely to torture me.”

“A noble pursuit,” Kate said under her breath.

“I heard that.”

“I rather thought you would,” she added.

“And I expect,” he continued, “that he wanted to torture you as well.”

“Me?” she exclaimed. “Whyever? What could I possibly have done to him?”

“You might have provoked him ever so slightly by denigrating his beloved brother,” he suggested.

Her brows arched. “Beloved?”

“Much-admired?” he tried.

She shook her head. “That one doesn’t wash, either.”

Anthony grinned. Miss Sheffield the elder, for all her annoyingly managing ways, did have an admirable wit. They’d reached Knightsbridge, so he took her arm as they crossed over the thoroughfare and took one of the smaller pathways that led to South Carriage Road within Hyde Park. Newton, clearly a country dog at heart, picked up his pace considerably as they entered greener surroundings, although it would be difficult to imagine the portly canine moving with anything that might correctly be termed speed.

Still, the dog seemed rather jolly and certainly interested in every flower, small animal, or passerby that crossed their path. The spring air was crisp, but the sun was warm, and the sky was a surprisingly clear blue after so many typical London days of rain. And while the woman on his arm was not the woman he planned to take to wife, nor, in fact, was she a woman he planned to take to anything, Anthony felt a rather easy sense of contentment wash over him.

“Shall we cross over to Rotten Row?” he asked Kate.

“Hmmm?” was her distracted reply. She had her face tipped up to the sun and was basking in its warmth. And for one extremely disconcerting moment, Anthony felt a sharp stab of…something.

Something? He gave his head a little shake. It couldn’t possibly be desire. Not for this woman.

“Did you say something?” she murmured.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, hoping it would clear his head. Instead, he simply got an intoxicating whiff of her scent, which was an odd combination of exotic lilies and sensible soap. “You seem to be enjoying the sun,” he said.

She smiled, turning to face him with a clear-eyed gaze. “I know that’s not what you said, but yes, I am. It’s been so dreadfully rainy of late.”

“I thought young ladies were not supposed to let sun on their faces,” he teased.

She shrugged, looking only the slightest bit sheepish as she replied, “They’re not. That is to say, we’re not. But it does feel heavenly.” She let out a little sigh, and a look of longing crossed her face, so intense that Anthony almost ached for her. “I do wish I could remove my bonnet,” she said wistfully.

Anthony nodded his agreement, feeling much the same way about his hat. “You could probably push it back just a bit without anyone noticing,” he suggested.

“Do you think?” Her entire face lit up at the prospect, and that strange stab of something pierced his gut again.

“Of course,” he murmured, reaching up to adjust the rim of the bonnet. It was one of those bizarre confections women seemed to favor, all ribbons and lace, and tied in such a way that no reasonable man could ever make sense of it. “Here, just hold still for a moment. I’ll fix it.”

Kate held still, just as he’d gently ordered, but when his fingers accidentally brushed the skin on her temple she stopped breathing as well. He was so very close, and there was something very odd about it. She could feel the heat of his body, and smell the clean, soapy scent of him.

And it sent a prickle of awareness straight through her.

She hated him, or at least she heartily disliked and disapproved of him, and yet she had the most absurd inclination to lean forward slightly, until the space between their bodies was squeezed into nothingness, and…

She swallowed and forced herself to draw back. Good God, what had come over her?

“Hold for a moment,” he said. “I haven’t finished.”

Kate reached up with frantic fingers to adjust her bonnet. “I’m sure it’s just fine. You needn’t—you needn’t worry yourself.”

“Can you feel the sun any better?” he asked.

She nodded, even though she was so distracted she wasn’t even sure if it was true. “Yes, thank you. It’s lovely. I—Oh!”

Newton let out a loud stream of barks and yanked on the lead. Hard.

“Newton!” she called out, jerking forward with the lead. But the dog already had something in his sights—Kate had no idea what—and was bounding enthusiastically forward, pulling her along until she was stumbling over her feet, her entire body pulled into a diagonal line, with her shoulder decidedly in front of the rest of her. “Newton!” she called out again, rather helplessly. “Newton! Stop!”

Anthony watched with amusement as the dog barreled forward, moving with more speed than he would have ever guessed its short, pudgy legs could have managed. Kate was making a valiant attempt to keep her grip on the lead, but Newton was now barking like mad, and running with equal vigor.

“Miss Sheffield, allow me to take the lead,” he boomed, striding forward to aid her. It wasn’t the most glamorous manner in which to play the hero, but anything would do when one was trying to impress the sister of one’s future bride.

But just as Anthony caught up with her, Newton gave the lead a vicious tug, and it went flying from her grasp. Kate let out a shriek and dashed forward, but the dog was off and running, the lead snaking along the grass behind him.

Anthony didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. Newton clearly did not intend to be caught.

Kate froze for a moment, one hand clasped over her mouth. Then her eyes caught Anthony’s, and he had the worst sort of feeling that he knew what she intended to do.

“Miss Sheffield,” he said quickly, “I’m sure—”

But she was off and running, hollering, “Newton!” with a decided lack of decorum. Anthony let out a weary sigh and began running after her. He couldn’t very well let her chase the dog on her own and still presume to call himself a gentleman.

She had a bit of a head start on him, though, and when he caught up with her around the corner, she’d stopped. She was breathing hard, her hands on her hips as she scanned her surroundings.

“Where’d he go?” Anthony asked, trying to forget that there was something rather arousing about a woman who was panting.

“I don’t know.” She paused to catch her breath. “I think he’s chasing a rabbit.”

“Oh, now, well, that will make it easy to catch him,” he said. “Since rabbits always stick to the well-trod paths.”

She scowled at his sarcasm. “What are we to do?”

Anthony had half a mind to answer, “Go home and get a real dog,” but she looked so worried he bit his tongue. Actually, upon closer inspection she looked more irritated than worried, but there was definitely a bit of worry in the mix.

So instead he said, “I propose we wait until we hear someone shriek. Any minute now he’s bound to dash right across some young lady’s feet and scare her out of her very wits.”

“Do you think?” She didn’t look convinced. “Because he’s not the scariest dog to look at. He thinks he is, and it’s really quite sweet, actually, but the truth is, he’s—”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhk!”

“I believe we have our answer,” Anthony said dryly, and he took off in the direction of the anonymous lady’s scream.

Kate hurried after him, cutting right across the grass toward Rotten Row. The viscount was running in front of her, and all she could think was that he must really want to marry Edwina, because despite the fact that he was clearly a splendid athlete, he looked most undignified dashing through the park after a rotund corgi. Even worse, they were going to have to run right across Rotten Row, the ton’s favorite spot for riding and driving.

Everyone was going to see them. A less determined man would have given up ages ago.

Kate kept running on after them, but she was losing ground. She hadn’t spent much time in breeches, but she was fairly certain it was easier to run in them than in skirts. Especially when one was out in public and could not hitch them up above one’s ankles.

She tore across Rotten Row, refusing to make eye contact with any of the fashionable ladies and gentlemen out with their horses. There was always the chance she wouldn’t be recognized as the hoydenish miss racing through the park as if someone had set fire to her shoes. Not much of a chance, but a chance nonetheless.

When she reached the grass again, she stumbled for a second and had to pause to take a few deep breaths. Then horror dawned. They were almost to The Serpentine.

Oh, no.

There was little Newton liked better than to jump in a lake. And the sun was just warm enough that it might look tempting, especially if one happened to be a creature covered with thick, heavy fur, a creature who’d been running at breakneck speed for five minutes. Well, breakneck for an overweight corgi.

Which was still, Kate noted with some interest, fast enough to keep a six-foot-tall viscount at bay.

Kate hitched up her skirts an inch or so—hang the onlookers, she couldn’t afford to be fussy right now—and took off running again. There was no way she’d catch up with Newton, but maybe she could catch up with Lord Bridgerton before he killed Newton.

Murder had to be on his mind by now. The man would have to be a saint not to want to murder the dog.

And if one percent of what had been written about him in Whistledown was true, he was no saint.

Kate gulped. “Lord Bridgerton!” she called out, intending to tell him to call off the hunt. She’d simply have to wait for Newton to exhaust himself. With four-inch-tall legs, that had to come sooner rather than later. “Lord Bridgerton! We can just—”

Kate stumbled in her tracks. Was that Edwina over there by The Serpentine? She squinted. It was Edwina, standing gracefully with her hands clasped in front of her. And it appeared that the hapless Mr. Berbrooke was making some sort of repair to his curricle.

Newton stopped short for one moment, spying Edwina at the same moment Kate did, and abruptly changed his course, barking joyfully as he ran toward his beloved.

“Lord Bridgerton!” Kate called out again. “See, look! There’s—”

Anthony turned around at the sound of her voice, then followed her pointed finger toward Edwina. So that was why the damned dog spun on its heel and made a ninety-degree change of course. Anthony had nearly slipped on the mud and fallen on his bum trying to maneuver such a sharp turn.

He was going to kill that dog.

No, he was going to kill Kate Sheffield.

No, maybe—

Anthony’s gleeful thoughts of vengeance were broken by Edwina’s sudden shriek of, “Newton!”

Anthony liked to think of himself as a man of decisive action, but when he saw that dog launch himself in the air and hurtle himself toward Edwina, he was quite simply frozen with shock. Shakespeare himself could not have devised a more appropriate ending to this farce, and it was all playing out right before Anthony’s eyes as if at half speed.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

The dog was going to hit Edwina straight in the chest. Edwina was going to topple backward.

Straight into The Serpentine.

“Nooooooo!” he yelled, charging forward even though he knew all attempts at heroics on his part were utterly useless.

Splash!

“Dear God!” Berbrooke exclaimed. “She’s all wet!”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Anthony snapped, reaching the scene of the accident and charging forward into the waters. “Do something to help!”

Berbrooke clearly did not quite understand what that meant, because he just stood there, bug-eyed, as Anthony reached down, grasped Edwina’s hand, and hauled her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.

She nodded, sputtering and sneezing too hard to answer.

“Miss Sheffield,” he roared, seeing Kate skid to a halt on the banks. “No, not you,” he added, when he felt Edwina jerk to attention at his side. “Your sister.”

“Kate?” she asked, blinking the filthy water from her eyes. “Where’s Kate?”

“Dry as a bone on the embankment,” he muttered, followed by a holler in Kate’s direction of, “Rein in your bloody dog!”

Newton had cheerfully splashed back out of the Serpentine and was now sitting on the grass, his tongue hanging happily out of his mouth. Kate scurried to his side and grabbed the lead. Anthony noticed that she had no pithy comeback to his roared order. Good, he thought viciously. He wouldn’t have thought the bloody woman would have had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

He turned back to Edwina, who, astoundingly, still managed to look lovely even while dripping with pond water. “Let me get you out of here,” he said gruffly, and before she had a chance to react, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to dry ground.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Berbrooke said, shaking his head.

Anthony made no reply. He didn’t think he’d be able to speak without tossing the idiot into the water. What was he thinking, just standing there while Edwina was submerged by that pathetic excuse for a dog?

“Edwina?” Kate asked, walking forward as far as Newton’s lead would allow. “Are you all right?”

“I think you’ve done enough,” Anthony bit out, advancing upon her until they were barely a foot apart.

“Me?” she gasped.

“Look at her,” he snapped, thrusting a pointed finger in Edwina’s direction even while his full attention was focused on Kate. “Just look at her!”

“But it was an accident!”

“I’m really fine!” Edwina called out, sounding a little panicked by the level of anger simmering between her sister and the viscount. “Cold, but fine!”

“See?” Kate returned, swallowing convulsively as she took in the disheveled sight of her sister. “It was an accident.”

He merely crossed his arms and arched a brow.

“You don’t believe me,” she breathed. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me.”

Anthony said nothing. It was inconceivable to him that Kate Sheffield, for all her wit and intelligence, could not be jealous of her sister. And even if there was nothing she could have done to prevent this mishap, surely she must be taking a bit of pleasure in the fact that she was dry and comfortable while Edwina looked like a drowned rat. An attractive rat, to be sure, but certainly a drowned one.

But Kate clearly wasn’t done with the conversation. “Aside from the fact,” she scorned, “that I would never ever do anything to harm Edwina, how do you propose I managed this amazing feat?” She clapped her free hand to her cheek in an expression of mock discovery. “Oh, yes, I know the secret language of the corgis. I ordered the dog to yank the lead from my hand and then, since I have the second sight, I knew that Edwina was standing right here by the Serpentine, so then I said to the dog—through our powerful mind-to-mind connection, since he was much too far away to hear my voice at this point—to change his direction, head for Edwina, and topple her into the lake.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Miss Sheffield.”

“Nothing becomes you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony leaned forward, his chin jutting out in a most menacing manner. “Women should not keep pets if they cannot control them.”

“And men should not take women with pets for a walk in the park if they cannot control either,” she shot back.

Anthony could actually feel the tips of his ears turning red with barely leashed rage. “You, madam, are a menace to society.”

She opened her mouth as if to return the insult, but instead she just offered him an almost frighteningly devious smile and turned to the dog and said, “Shake, Newton.”

Newton looked up at her finger, pointed right at Anthony, and obediently trotted a few steps closer to him before allowing himself a full-body shake, spraying pond water everywhere.

Anthony went for her throat. “I…am…going…to…KILL YOU!” he roared.

Kate ducked nimbly out of the way, dashing over to Edwina’s side. “Now, now, Lord Bridgerton,” she taunted, seeking safety behind her sister’s dripping form. “It would not do to lose your temper in front of the fair Edwina.”

“Kate?” Edwina whispered urgently. “What is going on? Why are you being so mean to him?”

“Why is he being so mean to me?” Kate hissed back.

“I say,” Mr. Berbrooke suddenly said, “that dog got me wet.”

“He got all of us wet,” Kate replied. Including her. But it had been worth it. Oh, it had been worth it to see the look of surprise and rage on that pompous aristocrat’s face.

“You!” Anthony roared, jabbing a furious finger at Kate. “Be quiet.”

Kate held her silence. She wasn’t foolhardy enough to provoke him any further. He looked as if his head might explode at any moment. And he’d certainly lost whatever claim to dignity he’d had at the beginning of the day. His right sleeve was dripping wet from when he’d hauled Edwina out of the water, his boots looked to be ruined forever, and the rest of him was spotted with water, thanks to Newton’s expert shaking prowess.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he continued in a low, deadly voice.

“What I need to do,” Mr. Berbrooke said jovially, clearly unaware that Lord Bridgerton was likely to murder the first person who opened his mouth, “is finish repairing this curricle. Then I can take Miss Sheffield home.” He pointed at Edwina, just in case anyone didn’t understand to which Miss Sheffield he referred.

“Mr. Berbrooke,” Anthony ground out, “do you know how to fix a curricle?”

Mr. Berbrooke blinked a few times.

“Do you even know what is wrong with your curricle?”

Berbrooke’s mouth opened and closed a few more times, and then he said, “I have a few ideas. Shouldn’t take terribly long to figure out which is the actual problem.”

Kate stared at Anthony, fascinated by the vein leaping in his throat. She had never before seen a man so clearly pushed to his limit. Feeling not a little apprehensive at the impending explosion, she took a prudent half step behind Edwina.

She didn’t like to think herself a coward, but self-preservation was another matter entirely.

But the viscount somehow managed to keep himself under control, and his voice was terrifyingly even as he said, “This is what we’re going to do.”

Three pairs of eyes widened in expectation.

“I am going to walk over there”—he pointed at a lady and gentleman about twenty yards away who were trying not to stare but not succeeding—“and ask Montrose if I might borrow his carriage for a few minutes.”

“I say,” Berbrooke said, craning his neck, “is that Geoffrey Montrose? Haven’t seen him for an age.”

A second vein started leaping, this time on Lord Bridgerton’s temple. Kate grasped Edwina’s hand for moral support and held tight.

But Bridgerton, to his credit, ignored Berbrooke’s exceedingly inappropriate interjection and continued with, “Since he will say yes—”

“Are you sure?” Kate blurted out.

Somehow his brown eyes resembled icicles. “Am I sure of what?” he bit off.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, ready to kick herself. “Please continue.”

“As I was saying, since as a friend and a gentleman”—he glared at Kate—“he will say yes, I will take Miss Sheffield home and then I will return home and have one of my men return Montrose’s curricle.”

No one bothered to ask which Miss Sheffield he was talking about.

“What about Kate?” Edwina inquired. After all, the curricle could only seat two.

Kate gave her hand a squeeze. Dear, sweet Edwina.

Anthony looked straight at Edwina. “Mr. Berbrooke will escort your sister home.”

“But I can’t,” Berbrooke said. “Got to finish with the curricle, you know.”

“Where do you live?” Anthony snapped.

Berbrooke blinked with surprise but gave his address.

“I will stop by your house and fetch a servant to wait with your conveyance while you escort Miss Sheffield to her home. Is that clear?” He paused and looked at everyone—including the dog—with a rather hard expression. Except for Edwina, of course, who was the only person present who had not lit a fuse directly under his temper.

“Is that clear?” he repeated.

Everyone nodded, and his plan was set into motion. Minutes later, Kate found herself watching Lord Bridgerton and Edwina ride off into the horizon—the very two people she had vowed should never even be in the same room together.

Even worse, she was left alone with Mr. Berbrooke and Newton.

And it took only two minutes to discern that of the two, Newton was the finer conversationalist.