The Viscount Who Loved Me: Bridgerton (Bridgertons Book 2)
The Viscount Who Loved Me: Chapter 6

Lady Bridgerton’s musicale proved to be a decidedly musical affair (not, This Author assures you, always the norm for musicales). The guest performer was none other than Maria Rosso, the Italian soprano who made her debut in London two years ago and has returned after a brief stint on the Vienna stage.

With thick, sable hair and flashing dark eyes, Miss Rosso proved as lovely in form as she did in voice, and more than one (indeed, more than a dozen) of society’s so-called gentlemen found it difficult indeed to remove their eyes from her person, even after the performance had concluded.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 27 APRIL 1814

Kate knew the minute he walked in the room.

She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with a heightened awareness of the man. He was excruciatingly handsome; that was fact, not opinion. She couldn’t imagine that every woman didn’t notice him immediately.

He arrived late. Not very—the soprano couldn’t have been more than a dozen bars into her piece. But late enough so that he tried to be quiet as he slipped into a chair toward the front near his family. Kate remained motionless in her position at the back, fairly certain that he didn’t see her as he settled in for the performance. He didn’t look her way, and besides, several candles had been snuffed, leaving the room bathed in a dim, romantic glow. The shadows surely obscured her face.

Kate tried to keep her eyes on Miss Rosso throughout the performance. Kate’s disposition was not improved, however, by the fact that the singer could not take her eyes off of Lord Bridgerton. At first Kate had thought she must be imagining Miss Rosso’s fascination with the viscount, but by the time the soprano was halfway done, there could be no doubt. Maria Rosso was issuing the viscount a sultry invitation with her eyes.

Why this bothered Kate so much, she didn’t know. After all, it was just another piece of proof that he was every bit the licentious rake she’d always known him to be. She should have felt smug. She should have felt vindicated.

Instead, all she felt was disappointment. It was a heavy, uncomfortable feeling around her heart, one that left her slumping slightly in her chair.

When the performance was done, she couldn’t help but notice that the soprano, after graciously accepting her applause, walked brazenly up to the viscount and offered him one of those seductive smiles—the sort Kate would never learn to do if she had a dozen opera singers trying to teach her. There was no mistaking what the singer meant by that smile.

Good heavens, the man didn’t even need to chase women. They practically dropped at his feet.

It was disgusting. Really, truly disgusting.

And yet Kate couldn’t stop watching.

Lord Bridgerton offered the opera singer a mysterious half-smile of his own. Then he reached out and actually tucked an errant lock of her raven hair behind her ear.

Kate shivered.

Now he was leaning forward, whispering something in her ear. Kate felt her own ears straining in their direction, even though it was quite obviously impossible for her to hear a thing from so far away.

But still, was it truly a crime to be ravenously curious? And—

Good heavens, did he just kiss her neck? Surely he wouldn’t do that in his mother’s home. Well, she supposed Bridgerton House was technically his home, but his mother lived here, as did many of his siblings. Truly, the man should know better than that. A little decorum in the company of his family would not be remiss.

“Kate? Kate?”

It may have been a small kiss, just a feather-light brush of his lips against the opera singer’s skin, but it was still a kiss.

“Kate!”

“Right! Yes?” Kate nearly jumped half a foot as she whirled around to face Mary, who was watching her with a decidedly irritated expression.

“Stop watching the viscount,” Mary hissed.

“I wasn’t—well, all right, I was, but did you see him?” Kate whispered urgently. “He’s shameless.”

She looked back over at him. He was still flirting with Maria Rosso, and he obviously didn’t care who saw them.

Mary’s lips pursed into a tight line before she said, “I’m sure his behavior isn’t any of our business.”

“Of course it’s our business. He wants to marry Edwina.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Kate thought back over her conversations with Lord Bridgerton. “I’d say it’s a very, very good bet.”

“Well, stop watching him. I’m certain he wants nothing to do with you after that fiasco in Hyde Park. And besides, there are any number of eligible gentlemen here. You’d do well to stop thinking of Edwina all the time and start looking around for yourself.”

Kate felt her shoulders sag. The mere thought of trying to attract a suitor was exhausting. They were all interested in Edwina, anyway. And even though she wanted nothing to do with the viscount, it still stung when Mary said she was certain he wanted nothing to do with her.

Mary grasped her arm with a grip that brooked no protest. “Come now, Kate,” she said quietly. “Let us go forward to greet our hostess.”

Kate swallowed. Lady Bridgerton? She had to meet Lady Bridgerton? The viscount’s mother? It was hard enough to believe that a creature such as he even had a mother.

But manners were manners, and no matter how much Kate would have liked to slip out into the hall and depart, she knew she must thank her hostess for staging such a lovely performance.

And it had been lovely. Much as Kate was loath to admit it, especially while the woman in question was hanging all over the viscount, Maria Rosso did possess the voice of an angel.

With Mary’s arm firmly guiding her, Kate reached the front of the room and waited her turn to meet the viscountess. She seemed a lovely woman, with fair hair and light eyes, and rather petite to have mothered such large sons. The late viscount must have been a tall man, Kate decided.

Finally they reached the front of the small crowd, and the viscountess grasped Mary’s hand. “Mrs. Sheffield,” she said warmly, “what a delight to see you again. I so enjoyed our meeting at the Hartside ball last week. I am very glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

“We would not dream of spending the evening anywhere else,” Mary replied. “And may I present my daughter?” She motioned to Kate, who stepped forward and bobbed a dutiful curtsy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sheffield,” Lady Bridgerton said.

“And I am likewise honored,” Kate replied.

Lady Bridgerton motioned to a young lady at her side. “And this is my daughter, Eloise.”

Kate smiled warmly at the girl, who looked to be about the same age as Edwina. Eloise Bridgerton had the exact same color hair as her older brothers, and her face was lit by a friendly, wide smile. Kate liked her instantly.

“How do you do, Miss Bridgerton,” Kate said. “Is this your first season?”

Eloise nodded. “I’m not officially out until next year, but my mother has been allowing me to attend functions here at Bridgerton House.”

“How lucky for you,” Kate replied. “I should have loved to have attended a few parties last year. Everything was so new when I arrived in London this spring. The mind boggles at the simple attempt to remember everyone’s name.”

Eloise grinned. “Actually, my sister Daphne came out two years ago, and she always described everyone and everything to me in such detail, I feel as if I already recognize almost everyone.”

“Daphne is your eldest daughter?” Mary asked Lady Bridgerton.

The viscountess nodded. “She married the Duke of Hastings last year.”

Mary smiled. “You must have been delighted.”

“Indeed. He is a duke, but more importantly, he is a good man and loves my daughter. I only hope the rest of my children make such excellent matches.” Lady Bridgerton cocked her head slightly to the side and turned back to Kate. “I understand, Miss Sheffield, that your sister was not able to attend this evening.”

Kate fought a groan. Clearly Lady Bridgerton was already pairing up Anthony and Edwina for a walk down the aisle. “I’m afraid she caught a chill last week.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” the viscountess said to Mary, in a rather mother-to-mother sort of tone.

“No, not at all,” Mary replied. “In fact, she is nearly back to sorts. But I thought she should have one more day of recuperation before venturing out. It would not do for her to suffer a relapse.”

“No, of course not.” Lady Bridgerton paused, then smiled. “Well, that is too bad. I was so looking forward to meeting her. Edwina is her name, yes?”

Kate and Mary both nodded.

“I’ve heard she is lovely.” But even as Lady Bridgerton said the words, she was glancing at her son—who was flirting madly with the Italian opera singer—and frowning.

Kate felt something very uneasy in her stomach. According to recent issues of Whistledown, Lady Bridgerton was on a mission to get her son married off. And while the viscount didn’t seem the sort of man to bend to his mother’s will (or anyone’s, for that matter), Kate had a feeling that Lady Bridgerton would be able to exert quite a bit of pressure if she so chose.

After a few more moments of polite chatter, Mary and Kate left Lady Bridgerton to greet the rest of her guests. They were soon accosted by Mrs. Featherington, who, as the mother of three unmarried young women herself, always had a lot to say to Mary on a wide variety of topics. But as the stout woman bore down on them, her eyes were focused firmly on Kate.

Kate immediately began to assess possible escape routes.

“Kate!” Mrs. Featherington boomed. She had long since declared herself on a first-name basis with the Sheffields. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“And why is that, Mrs. Featherington?” Kate asked, puzzled.

“Surely you read Whistledown this morning.”

Kate smiled weakly. It was either that or wince. “Oh, you mean that little incident involving my dog?”

Mrs. Featherington’s brows rose a good half inch. “From what I hear, it was more than a ‘little incident.’ ”

“It was of little consequence,” Kate said firmly, although truth be told, she was replaceing it difficult not to growl at the meddlesome woman. “And I must say I resent Lady Whistledown referring to Newton as a dog of indeterminate breed. I’ll have you know he is a full-blooded corgi.”

“It was truly of no matter,” Mary said, finally coming to Kate’s defense. “I’m surprised it even warranted a mention in the column.”

Kate offered Mrs. Featherington her blandest smile, fully aware that both she and Mary were lying through their teeth. Dunking Edwina (and nearly dunking Lord Bridgerton) in The Serpentine was not an incident of “little consequence,” but if Lady Whistledown hadn’t seen fit to report the full details, Kate certainly wasn’t about to fill the gap.

Mrs. Featherington opened her mouth, a sharp intake of breath telling Kate that she was preparing to launch into a lengthy monologue on the topic of the importance of good deportment (or good manners, or good breeding, or good whatever the day’s topic was), so Kate quickly blurted out, “May I fetch you two some lemonade?”

The two matrons said yes and thanked her, and Kate slipped away. Once she returned, however, she smiled innocently and said, “But I have only two hands, so now I must return for a glass for myself.”

And with that, she took her leave.

She stopped briefly at the lemonade table, just in case Mary was looking, then darted out of the room and into the hall, where she sank onto a cushioned bench about ten yards from the music room, eager to get a bit of air. Lady Bridgerton had left the music room’s French doors open to the small garden at the back of the house, but it was such a crush that the air was stifling, even with the slight breeze from outside.

She remained where she sat for several minutes, more than pleased that the other guests had not chosen to spill out into the hall. But then she heard one particular voice rise slightly above the low rumble of the crowd, followed by decidedly musical laughter, and Kate realized with horror that Lord Bridgerton and his would-be mistress were leaving the music room and entering the hall.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, trying to keep her voice to herself. The last thing she wanted was for the viscount to stumble across her sitting alone in the hall. She knew she was by herself by choice, but he’d probably think she’d fled the gathering because she was a social failure and all the ton shared his opinion of her—that she was an impertinent, unattractive menace to society.

Menace to society? Kate’s teeth clamped together. It would take a long, long time before she’d forgive him that insult.

But still, she was tired, and she didn’t feel like facing him just then, so she hitched up her skirts by a few inches to save her from tripping and ducked into the doorway next to her bench. With any luck, he and his paramour would walk on by, and she could scoot back into the music room, no one being the wiser.

Kate looked around quickly as she shut the door. There was a lighted lantern on a desk, and as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized she was in some sort of office. The walls were lined with books, although not enough for this to be the Bridgertons’ library, and the room was dominated by a massive oak desk. Papers lay on top in neat piles, and a quill and inkpot still sat on the blotter.

Clearly this office was not just for show. Someone actually worked here.

Kate wandered toward the desk, her curiosity getting the better of her, and idly ran her fingers along the wooden rim. The air still smelled faintly of ink, and maybe the slightest hint of pipe smoke.

All in all, she decided, it was a lovely room. Comfortable and practical. A person could spend hours here in lazy contemplation.

But just as Kate leaned back against the desk, savoring her quiet solitude, she heard an awful sound.

The click of a doorknob.

With a frantic gasp, she dove under the desk, squeezing herself into the empty cube of space and thanking the heavens that the desk was completely solid, rather than the sort that rested on four spindly legs.

Barely breathing, she listened.

“But I had heard this would be the year we would finally see the notorious Lord Bridgerton fall into the parson’s mousetrap,” came a lilting feminine voice.

Kate bit her lip. It was a lilting feminine voice with an Italian accent.

“And where did you hear that?” came the unmistakable voice of the viscount, followed by another awful click of the doorknob.

Kate shut her eyes in agony. She was trapped in the office with a pair of lovers. Life simply could not get any worse than this.

Well, she could be discovered. That would be worse. Funny how that didn’t make her feel much better about her present predicament, though.

“It is all over town, my lord,” Maria replied. “Everyone is saying you have decided to settle down and choose a bride.”

There was a silence, but Kate could swear she could hear him shrug.

Some footsteps, most probably drawing the lovers closer together, then Bridgerton murmured, “It is probably past time.”

“You are breaking my heart, did you know that?”

Kate thought she might gag.

“Now, now, my sweet signorina”—the sound of lips on skin—“we both know that your heart is impervious to any of my machinations.”

Next came a rustling sound, which Kate took to be Maria pulling coyly away, followed by, “But I am not inclined for a dalliance, my lord. I do not look for marriage, of course—that would be most foolish. But when I next choose a protector, it shall be for, shall we say, the long term.”

Footsteps. Perhaps Bridgerton was closing the distance between them again?

His voice was low and husky as he said, “I fail to see the problem.”

“Your wife may see a problem.”

Bridgerton chuckled. “The only reason to give up one’s mistress is if one happens to love one’s wife. And as I do not intend to choose a wife with whom I might fall in love, I see no reason to deny myself the pleasures of a lovely woman like you.”

And you want to marry Edwina? It was all Kate could do not to scream. Truly, if she weren’t squatting like a frog with her hands wrapped around her ankles, she probably would have emerged like a Fury and tried to murder the man.

Then followed a few unintelligible sounds, which Kate dearly prayed were not the prelude to something considerably more intimate. After a moment, though, the viscount’s voice emerged clearly. “Would you care for something to drink?”

Maria murmured her assent, and Bridgerton’s forceful stride echoed along the floor, growing closer and closer, until…

Oh, no.

Kate spied the decanter, sitting on the windowsill, directly opposite her hiding spot under the desk. If he just kept his face to the window as he poured, she might escape detection, but if he turned so much as halfway…

She froze. Utterly froze. Completely stopped breathing.

Eyes wide and unblinking (could eyelids make a sound?) she watched with utter and complete horror as Bridgerton came into view, his athletic frame displayed to surprising benefit from her vantage point on the floor.

The tumblers clinked slightly together as he set them down, then he pulled the stopper from the decanter and poured two fingers of amber liquid into each glass.

Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out.

“Perfect,” Bridgerton answered, although he sounded vaguely distracted. He lifted the glasses, humming slightly to himself as his body slowly began to turn.

Keep walking. Keep walking. If he walked away from her while he turned, he’d go back to Maria and she’d be safe. But if he turned, and then walked, Kate was as good as dead.

And she had no doubt that he would kill her. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t made an attempt last week at The Serpentine.

Slowly, he turned. And turned. And didn’t walk.

And Kate tried to think of all the reasons why dying at the age of twenty-one was really not such a bad thing.

Anthony knew quite well why he’d brought Maria Rosso back to his study. Surely no warm-blooded man could be immune to her charms. Her body was lush, her voice was intoxicating, and he knew from experience that her touch was equally potent.

But even as he took in that silky sable hair and those full, pouting lips, even as his muscles tightened at the memory of other full, pouting parts of her body, he knew that he was using her.

He felt no guilt that he would be using her for his own pleasure. In that regard, she was using him as well. And she at least would be compensated for it, whereas he would be out several jewels, a quarterly allowance, and the rent on a fashionable townhouse in a fashionable (but not too fashionable) part of town.

No, if he felt uneasy, if he felt frustrated, if he felt like he wanted to put his damned fist through a brick wall, it was because he was using Maria to banish the nightmare that was Kate Sheffield from his mind. He never wanted to wake up hard and tortured again, knowing that Kate Sheffield was the cause. He wanted to drown himself in another woman until the very memory of the dream dissolved and faded into nothingness.

Because God knew he was never going to act on that particular erotic fantasy. He didn’t even like Kate Sheffield. The thought of bedding her made him break out in a cold sweat, even as it swirled a ripple of desire right through his gut.

No, the only way that dream was going to come true was if he were delirious with fever…and maybe she’d have to be delirious as well…and perhaps they would both have to be stranded on a desert isle, or sentenced to be executed in the morning, or…

Anthony shuddered. It simply wasn’t going to happen.

But bloody hell, the woman must have bewitched him. There could be no other explanation for the dream—no, make that a nightmare—and besides that, even now he could swear that he could smell her. It was that maddening combination of lilies and soap, that beguiling scent that had washed over him while they were out in Hyde Park last week.

Here he was, pouring a glass of the finest whiskey for Maria Rosso, one of the few women of his acquaintance who knew how to appreciate both a fine whiskey and the devilish intoxication that followed, and all he could smell was the damned scent of Kate Sheffield. He knew she was in the house—and he was half ready to kill his mother for that—but this was ridiculous.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out.

“Perfect,” Anthony said, his voice sounding tight to his ears. He began to hum, something he’d always done to relax himself.

He turned and started to take a step forward. Maria was waiting for him, after all.

But there was that damned scent again. Lilies. He could swear it was lilies. And soap. The lilies were intriguing, but the soap made sense. A practical sort of woman like Kate Sheffield would scrub herself clean with soap.

His foot hesitated in midair, and his step forward proved to be a small one instead of his usual long stride. He couldn’t quite escape the smell, and he kept turning, his nose instinctively twisting his eyes toward where he knew there couldn’t be lilies, and yet the scent was, impossibly, there.

And then he saw her.

Under his desk.

It was impossible.

Surely this was a nightmare. Surely if he closed his eyes and opened them again, she’d be gone.

He blinked. She was still there.

Kate Sheffield, the most maddening, irritating, diabolical woman in all England, was crouching like a frog under his desk.

It was a wonder he didn’t drop the whiskey.

Their eyes met, and he saw hers widen with panic and fright. Good, he thought savagely. She should be frightened. He was going to tan her bloody hide until her hide was bloody well bloody.

What the hell was she doing here? Wasn’t dousing him with the filthy water of The Serpentine enough for her bloodthirsty spirit? Wasn’t she satisfied with her attempts to stymie his courtship of her sister? Did she need to spy on him as well?

“Maria,” he said smoothly, moving forward toward the desk until he was stepping on Kate’s hand. He didn’t step hard, but he heard her squeak.

This gave him immense satisfaction.

“Maria,” he repeated, “I have suddenly remembered an urgent matter of business that must be dealt with immediately.”

“This very night?” she asked, sounding quite dubious.

“I’m afraid so. Euf!”

Maria blinked. “Did you just grunt?”

“No,” Anthony lied, trying not to choke on the word. Kate had removed her glove and wrapped her hand around his knee, digging her nails straight through his breeches and into his skin. Hard.

At least he hoped it was her nails. It could have been her teeth.

“Are you sure there is nothing amiss?” Maria inquired.

“Nothing…at”—whatever body part Kate was sinking into his leg sank a little farther—“all!” The last word came out as more of a howl, and he kicked his foot forward, connecting with something he had a sneaking suspicion was her stomach.

Normally, Anthony would die before striking a woman, but this truly seemed to be an exceptional case. In fact, he took not a little bit of pleasure in kicking her while she was down.

She was biting his leg, after all.

“Allow me to walk you to the door,” he said to Maria, shaking Kate off his ankle.

But Maria’s eyes were curious, and she took a few steps forward. “Anthony, is there an animal under your desk?”

Anthony let out a bark of laughter. “You could say that.”

Kate’s fist came down on his foot.

“Is it a dog?”

Anthony seriously considered answering in the affirmative, but even he was not that cruel. Kate obviously appreciated his uncharacteristic tact, because she let go of his leg.

Anthony took advantage of his release to quickly step out from behind the desk. “Would I be unforgivably rude,” he asked, striding to Maria’s side and taking her arm, “if I merely walked you to the door and not back to the music room?”

She laughed, a low, sultry sound that should have seduced him. “I am a grown woman, my lord. I believe I can manage the short distance.”

“Forgive me?”

She stepped through the door he held open for her. “I suspect there isn’t a woman alive who could deny you forgiveness for that smile.”

“You are a rare woman, Maria Rosso.”

She laughed again. “But not, apparently, rare enough.”

She floated out, and Anthony shut the door with a decisive click. Then, some devil on his shoulder surely prodding him, he turned the key in the lock and pocketed it.

“You,” he boomed, eliminating the distance to the desk in four long strides. “Show yourself.”

When Kate didn’t scramble out quickly enough, he reached down, clamped his hand around her upper arm, and hauled her to her feet.

“Explain yourself,” he hissed.

Kate’s legs nearly buckled as the blood rushed back to her knees, which had been bent for nearly a quarter of an hour. “It was an accident,” she said, grabbing on to the edge of the desk for support.

“Funny how those words seem to emerge from your mouth with startling frequency.”

“It’s true!” she protested. “I was sitting in the hall, and—” She gulped. He had stepped forward and was now very, very close. “I was sitting in the hall,” she said again, her voice sounding crackly and hoarse, “and I heard you coming. I was just trying to avoid you.”

“And so you invaded my private office?”

“I didn’t know it was your office. I—” Kate sucked in her breath. He’d moved even closer, his crisp, wide lapels now only inches from the bodice of her dress. She knew his proximity was deliberate, that he sought to intimidate rather than seduce, but that didn’t do anything to quell the frantic beating of her heart.

“I think perhaps you did know that this was my office,” he murmured, letting his forefinger trail down the side of her cheek. “Perhaps you did not seek to avoid me at all.”

Kate swallowed convulsively, long past the point of trying to maintain her composure.

“Mmmm?” His finger slid along the line of her jaw. “What do you say to that?”

Kate’s lips parted, but she couldn’t have uttered a word if her life had depended on it. He wore no gloves—he must have removed them during his tryst with Maria—and the touch of his skin against hers was so powerful it seemed to control her body. She breathed when he paused, stopped when he moved. She had no doubt that her heart was beating in time to his pulse.

“Maybe,” he whispered, so close now that his breath kissed her lips, “you desired something else altogether.”

Kate tried to shake her head, but her muscles refused to obey.

“Are you sure?”

This time, her head betrayed her and gave a little shake.

He smiled, and they both knew he had won.