The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons 2) - Page 19

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 finding 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…

Tags: Julia Quinn Bridgertons Romance
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