The Viscount Who Loved Me (10 page)

An awful lump rose in Kate’s throat, and she found herself nodding yet again, except this time every movement of her neck somehow brought pain to her heart.

“There are certain things I cannot give you,” Anthony said, “and love, I’m afraid, is one of them.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Of course,” she practically snapped. “You could not make it any plainer if you wrote it on my arm.”

“I had never planned to marry for love,” he said.

“That is not what you told me when you were courting Edwina.”

“When I was courting Edwina,” he returned, “I was trying to impress
you
.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are not impressing me now.”

He let out a long breath. “Kate, I did not come here to argue. I merely thought it best if we were honest with one another before the wedding on Saturday morning.”

“Of course,” she sighed, forcing herself to nod. His intention hadn’t been to insult her, and she shouldn’t have overreacted. She knew him well enough now to know that he was merely acting out of concern. He knew he would never love her; better to make that clear in the beginning.

But still it hurt. She didn’t know if she loved him, but she was fairly certain she
could
love him, and deathly afraid that after a few weeks of marriage, she
would
love him.

And it would be so nice if he could just love her back.

“It is best that we understand each other now,” he said softly.

Kate just kept nodding. A body in motion tended to
remain in motion, and she was afraid that if she stopped, she might do something really stupid, like cry.

He reached across the table and took her hand, which made her flinch. “I didn’t want you to enter this marriage with any delusions,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“Of course not, my lord,” she said.

He frowned. “I thought I told you to call me Anthony.”

“You did,” she said, “my lord.”

He withdrew his hand. Kate watched as he returned it to his own lap, feeling strangely bereft.

“Before I go,” he said, “I have something for you.” Without taking his eyes off of her face, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jeweler’s box. “I must apologize for being so delayed in presenting you with a betrothal ring,” he murmured, handing it to her.

Kate smoothed her fingers over the blue velvet covering before flipping the box open. Inside lay a rather simple gold ring, adorned by a single round-cut diamond.

“It’s a Bridgerton heirloom,” he said. “There are several betrothal rings in the collection, but I thought you’d like this one best. The others were rather heavy and fussy.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kate said, quite unable to take her eyes off of it.

He reached out and took the box from her. “May I?” he murmured, plucking the ring from its velvet nest.

She held out her hand, cursing at herself when she realized she was trembling—not a great deal, but surely enough for him to notice. He didn’t say a word, though, just steadied her hand with his as he used the other to slip the ring on her finger.

“Looks rather nice, don’t you think?” he asked, still holding the tips of her fingers with his.

Kate nodded, unable to take her eyes off of it. She’d never been one for rings; this would be the first she wore with any regularity. It felt strange on her finger, heavy and cold and very, very solid. It somehow made everything
that had happened in the past week seem more real. More final. It occurred to her as she was staring at the ring that she’d been half expecting a bolt of lightning to come down from heaven and stop the proceedings before they actually said their vows.

Anthony moved closer, then brought her newly adorned fingers to his lips. “Perhaps we should seal the bargain with a kiss?” he murmured.

“I’m not sure….”

He pulled her onto his lap and grinned devilishly. “I am.”

But as Kate tumbled onto him, she accidentally kicked Newton, who let out a loud, whiny bark, obviously distressed at having his nap so rudely interrupted.

Anthony raised a brow and peered over Kate at Newton. “I didn’t even see him here.”

“He was taking a nap,” Kate explained. “He’s a very sound sleeper.”

But once awake, Newton refused to be left out of the action, and with a slightly more awake bark, he leaped up onto the chair, landing on Kate’s lap.

“Newton!” she squealed.

“Oh, for the love of—” But Anthony’s mutterings were cut short by a big, sloppy kiss from Newton.

“I think he likes you,” Kate said, so amused by Anthony’s disgusted expression that she forgot to be self-conscious about her position on his lap.

“Dog,” Anthony ordered, “get down on the floor this instant.”

Newton hung his head and whined.

“Now!”

Letting out a big sigh, Newton turned about and plopped down onto the floor.

“My goodness,” Kate said, peering down at the dog, who was now moping under the table, his snout lying sorrowfully on the carpet, “I’m impressed.”

“It’s all in the tone of voice,” Anthony said archly,
snaking a viselike arm around her waist so that she could not get up.

Kate looked at his arm, then looked at his face, her brows arching in question. “Why,” she mused, “do I get the impression you find that tone of voice effective on women as well?”

He shrugged and leaned toward her with a heavy-lidded smile. “It usually is,” he murmured.

“Not this one.” Kate planted her hands on the arms of the chair and tried to wrench herself up.

But he was far too strong. “Especially this one,” he said, his voice dropping to an impossibly low purr. With his free hand, he cupped her chin and turned her face to his. His lips were soft but demanding, and he explored her mouth with a thoroughness that left her breathless.

His mouth moved along the line of her jaw to her neck, pausing only to whisper, “Where is your mother?”

“Out,” Kate gasped.

His teeth tugged at the edge of her bodice. “For how long?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a little squeal as his tongue dipped below the muslin and traced an erotic line on her skin. “Good heavens, Anthony, what are you doing?”

“How long?” he repeated.

“An hour. Maybe two.”

Anthony glanced up to make sure he’d shut the door when he had entered earlier. “Maybe two?” he murmured, smiling against her skin. “Really?”

“M-maybe just one.”

He hooked a finger under the edge of her bodice up near her shoulder, making sure to catch the edge of her chemise as well. “One,” he said, “is still quite splendid.” Then, pausing only to bring his mouth to hers so that she could not utter any protest, he swiftly pulled her dress down, taking the chemise along with it.

He felt her gasp into his mouth, but he just deepened
the kiss as he palmed the round fullness of her breast. She was perfect under his fingers, soft and pert, filling his hand as if she’d been made for him.

When he felt the last of her resistance melt away, he moved his kiss to her ear, nibbling softly on her lobe. “Do you like this?” he whispered, squeezing gently with his hand.

She nodded jerkily.

“Mmmm, good,” he murmured, letting his tongue do a slow sweep of her ear. “It would make things very difficult if you did not.”

“H-how?”

He fought the bubble of mirth that was rising in his throat. This absolutely wasn’t the time to laugh, but she was so damned innocent. He’d never made love to a woman like her before; he was finding it surprisingly delightful. “Let’s just say,” he said, “that I like it very much.”

“Oh.” She offered him the most tentative of smiles.

“There’s more, you know,” he whispered, letting his breath caress her ear.

“I’m sure there must be,” she replied, her voice mere breath.

“You are?” he asked teasingly, squeezing her again.

“I’m not so green that I think one can make a baby from what we’ve been doing.”

“I’d be happy to show you the rest,” he murmured.

“Not—Oh!”

He’d squeezed again, this time allowing his fingers to tickle her skin. He loved that she couldn’t think when he touched her breasts. “You were saying?” he prompted, nibbling on her neck.

“I—I was?”

He nodded, the faint stubble of his beard brushing her throat. “I’m sure you were. But then again, perhaps I’d rather not hear. You’d begun with the word ‘not.’ Surely,” he added with a flick of his tongue against the underside
of her chin, “not a word that belongs between us at a time like this. But”—his tongue moved down the line of her throat to the hollow above her collarbone—“I digress.”

“You—you do?”

He nodded. “I believe I was trying to determine what pleases you, as all good husbands should do.”

She said nothing, but her breathing quickened.

He smiled against her skin. “What, for example, about this?” He flattened his hand so that he was no longer cupping her, instead just letting his palm graze lightly over her nipple.

“Anthony!” she choked out.

“Good,” he said, moving to her neck, nudging her chin up so that she was more open to him. “I’m glad we’re back to Anthony. ‘My lord’ is so formal, don’t you think? Far too formal for
this
.”

And then he did what he’d been fantasizing about for weeks. He lowered his head to her breast and took her into his mouth, tasting, suckling, teasing, reveling in each gasp he heard spill forth from her lips, each spasm of desire he felt shivering across her body.

He loved that she reacted this way, thrilled that he did this to her. “So good,” he murmured, his breath hot and moist against her skin. “You taste so damn good.”

“Anthony,” she said, her voice hoarse, “Are you sure—”

He put a finger to her lips without even lifting his face to look at her. “I have no idea what you’re asking, but whatever it is”—he moved his attention to her other breast—“I’m sure.”

She made a soft little moaning sound, the sort that came from the very bottom of one’s throat. Her body arched under his ministrations, and with renewed fervor, he teased her nipple, grazing it gently between her teeth.

“Oh, my—oh, Anthony!”

He ran his tongue around the aureole. She was perfect, simply perfect. He loved the sound of her voice, hoarse and broken with desire, and his body tingled at the
thought of their wedding night, of her cries of passion and need. She’d be an inferno beneath him, and he relished the prospect of making her explode.

He pulled away so that he could see her face. She was flushed and her eyes were dazed and dilated. Her hair was starting to come undone from that hideous cap.

“This,” he said, plucking it from her head, “has got to go.”

“My lord!”

“Promise me you’ll never wear it again.”

She twisted in her seat—on his lap, actually, which did little to help the rather urgent state of his groin—to look over the edge of the chair. “I’ll do no such thing,” she retorted. “I quite like that cap.”

“You can’t possibly,” he said in all seriousness.

“I can and—Newton!”

Anthony followed her line of vision and broke out into loud laughter, shaking the both of them in their seats. Newton was happily munching away on Kate’s cap. “Good dog!” he said on a laugh.

“I would make you buy me another,” Kate muttered, yanking her dress back up, “except that you’ve already spent a fortune on me this week.”

This amused him. “I have?” he inquired mildly.

She nodded. “I’ve been shopping with your mother.”

“Ah. Good. I’m sure she didn’t let you pick out anything like
that
.” He motioned toward the now mangled cap in Newton’s mouth.

When he looked back at her, her mouth was twisted into a fetchingly disgruntled line. He couldn’t help but smile. She was so easy to read. His mother hadn’t let her buy such an unattractive cap, and it was killing her that she couldn’t offer a retort to his last statement.

He sighed rather contentedly. Life with Kate wasn’t going to be dull.

But it was getting late, and he should probably be going. Kate had said her mother wasn’t expected for at
least an hour, but Anthony knew better than to trust the female sense of time. Kate could be wrong, or her mother could have changed her mind, or any number of things might have happened, and even though he and Kate were due to be married in just two days, it didn’t seem particularly prudent to get caught in the drawing room in such a compromising position.

With great reluctance—sitting in the chair with Kate and doing nothing but hold her was surprisingly satisfying—he stood, lifting her in his arms as he did so, and then set her back in the chair.

“This has been a delightful interlude,” he murmured, leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead. “But I fear your mother’s early return. I shall see you Saturday morning?”

She blinked. “Saturday?”

“A superstition of my mother’s,” he said with a sheepish smile. “She thinks it’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see one another the day before the wedding.”

“Oh.” She rose to her feet, self-consciously smoothing her dress and hair. “And do you believe it as well?”

“Not at all,” he said with a snort.

She nodded. “It’s very sweet of you to indulge your mother, then.”

Anthony paused for a moment, well aware that most men of his reputation did not want to appear tied to apron strings. But this was Kate, and he knew that she valued devotion to family as much as he did, so he finally said, “There is little I would not do to keep my mother content.”

She smiled shyly. “It is one of the things I like best about you.”

He made some sort of gesture designed to change the subject, but she interrupted with, “No, it’s true. You’re far more caring a person than you’d like people to believe.”

Since he wasn’t going to be able to win the argument with her—and there was little point in contradicting a woman when she was being complimentary—he put a finger
to his lips and said, “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.” And then, with one last kiss to her hand and a murmured, “Adieu,” he made his way out the door and outside.

Once on his horse and on his way back to his small townhouse across town, he allowed himself to assess the visit. It went well, he thought. Kate had seemed to understand the limits he had set upon their marriage, and she’d reacted to his lovemaking with a desire that was sweet and fierce at the same time.