by Julia Quinn
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 expect
ation.
“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.
Chapter 5
It has come to This Author’s attention that Miss Katharine Sheffield took offense at the labeling of her beloved pet, “an unnamed dog of indeterminate breed.”
This Author is, to be sure, prostrate with shame at this grievous and egregious error and begs of you, dear reader, to accept this abject apology and pay attention to the first ever correction in the history of this column.
Miss Katharine Sheffield’s dog is a corgi. It is called Newton, although it is difficult to imagine that England’s great inventor and physicist would have appreciated being immortalized in the form of a short, fat canine with poor manners.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 27 APRIL 1814
By that evening, it had become apparent that Edwina had not come through her (albeit brief) ordeal unscathed. Her nose turned red, her eyes began to water, and it was apparent to anyone who glimpsed her puffy face for even a second that, while not seriously ill, she’d caught a bad cold.
But even while Edwina was tucked into bed with a hot water bottle between her feet and a therapeutic potion brewed up by the cook in a mug on her bedside table, Kate was determined to have a conversation with her.
“What did he say to you on the ride home?” Kate demanded, perching on the edge of her sister’s bed.
“Who?” Edwina replied, sniffing fearfully at the remedy. “Look at this,” she said, holding it forward. “It’s giving off fumes.”
“The viscount,” Kate ground out. “Who else would have spoken to you on the ride home? And don’t be a ninny. It’s not giving off fumes. That’s just steam.”
“Oh.” Edwina took another sniff and pulled a face. “It doesn’t smell like steam.”
“It’s steam,” Kate ground out, gripping the mattress until her knuckles hurt. “What did he say?”
“Lord Bridgerton?” Edwina asked blithely. “Oh, just the usual sort of things. You know what I mean. Polite conversation and all that.”
“He made polite conversation while you were dripping wet?” Kate asked doubtfully.
Edwina took a hesitant sip, then nearly gagged. “What is in this?”
Kate leaned over and sniffed at the contents. “It smells a bit like licorice. And I think I see a raisin at the bottom.” But as she sniffed, she thought she heard rain pattering against the glass of the window, and so she sat back up. “Is it raining?”
“I don’t know,” Edwina said. “It might be. It was rather cloudy when the sun set earlier.” She gave the glass one more dubious look, then set it back on the table. “If I drink that, I know it will make me sicker,” she stated.
“But what else did he say?” Kate persisted, getting up to check out the window. She pushed the curtain aside and peered out. It was raining, but only lightly, and it was too early to tell whether the precipitation would be accompanied by any thunder or lightning.
“Who, the viscount?”
Kate thought herself a saint for not shaking her sister senseless. “Yes, the viscount.”
Edwina shrugged, clearly not as interested in the conversation as Kate. “Not much. He asked for my welfare, of course. Which was only reasonable, considering that I had just been dunked in The Serpentine. Which, I might add, was perfectly wretched. Aside from being cold, the water was most certainly not clean.”
Kate cleared her throat and sat back down, preparing to ask a most scandalous question, but one which, in her opinion, simply had to be asked. Trying to keep her voice devoid of the complete and total fascination that was coursing through her veins, she asked, “Did he make any untoward advances?”
Edwina lurched back, her eyes growing round with shock. “Of course not!” she exclaimed. “He was a perfect gentleman. Really, I don’t see what has you so excited. It wasn’t a very interesting conversation. I can’t even remember half of what was said.”
Kate just stared at her sister, unable to fathom that she could have been trapped in conversation with that odious rake for a good ten minutes and it didn’t make an indelible impression on her. Much to her own everlasting dismay, every single awful word he’d said to her was etched permanently on her brain.
“By the way,” Edwina added, “how was your time with Mr. Berbrooke? It took you nearly an hour to return.”
Kate shuddered visibly.
“That bad?”
“I’m sure he will make some woman a good husband,” Kate said. “Just not one with a brain.”
Edwina let out a little giggle. “Oh, Kate, you are awful.”
Kate sighed. “I know. I know. That was terribly cruel of me. The poor man hasn’t an unkind bone in his body. It’s just that—”
“He hasn’t an intelligent bone, either,” Edwina finished.
Kate raised her brows. It was most unlike Edwina to make such a judgmental comment.
“I know,” Edwina said with a sheepish smile. “Now I am the unkind one. I really shouldn’t have said a word, but truly, I thought I would perish on our curricle ride.”
Kate straightened with concern. “Was he a dangerous driver?”
“Not at all. It was his conversation.”
“Boring?”
Edwina nodded, her blue eyes slightly bewildered. “He was so hard to follow it was almost fascinating to try to figure out how his mind works.” She let out a stream of coughs, then added, “But it made my brain hurt.”
“So he’s not to be your perfect scholar-husband?” Kate said with an indulgent smile.
Edwina coughed some more. “I’m afraid not.”
“Maybe you should try a bit more of that brew,” Kate suggested, motioning to the lonely mug sitting on Edwina’s bedside table. “Cook swea
rs by it.”
Edwina shook her head violently. “It tastes like death.”
Kate waited a few moments, then had to ask, “Did the viscount say anything about me?”
“You?”
“No, some other me,” Kate practically snapped. “Of course me. How many other people may I correctly refer to as ‘me’?”
“No need to get upset about it.”
“I’m not upset—”
“But actually, no, he didn’t mention you.”
Kate suddenly felt upset.
“He had a lot to say about Newton, though.”
Kate’s lips parted with dismay. It was never flattering to be passed over for a dog.
“I assured him that Newton is truly the perfect pet, and that I was not at all angry with him, but he was rather charmingly upset on my behalf.”
“How charming,” Kate muttered.
Edwina grabbed a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I say, Kate, you’re rather interested in the viscount.”
“I did spend practically the entire afternoon trapped in conversation with him,” Kate replied, as if that ought to explain everything.
“Good. Then you’ve had a chance to see how polite and charming he can be. He’s very wealthy, too.” Edwina let out a loud sniffle, then fumbled around for a fresh handkerchief. “And while I don’t think that one can choose a husband based entirely on finances, given our lack of funds, I would be remiss not to consider it, don’t you think?”
“Well . . .” Kate hedged, knowing that Edwina was absolutely correct but not wanting to say anything that might be construed as approval of Lord Bridgerton.
Edwina brought the handkerchief to her face and gave her nose a rather unfeminine blow. “I think we should add him to our list,” she said, snuffling over the words.
“Our list,” Kate echoed, her voice strangled.
“Yes, of possible matches. I think he and I would suit very well.”
“But I thought you wanted a scholar!”
“I did. I do. But you yourself pointed out the unlikelihood of my finding a true scholar. Lord Bridgerton seems intelligent enough. I’ll just have to devise a way to discover if he likes to read.”
“I’d be surprised if that boor can read,” Kate muttered.
