The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons 2) - Page 62

Anthony let out a little groan as he raked a hand through his hair. Christ, she was like a dog with a bone. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like wool, all he really wanted to do was splash some water on his face and clean his teeth, and here his wife would not stop interrogating him….

“Anthony?” she persisted.

That was enough. He stood so suddenly that his chair tipped back and slammed into the floor with a resounding crash. “You will cease your questions this instant,” he bit off.

Her mouth settled into a flat, angry line. But her eyes….

Anthony swallowed against the acidic taste of guilt that flooded his mouth.

Because her eyes were awash with pain.

And the anguish in his own heart grew tenfold.

He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He didn’t know what to do with her. He didn’t know what to do with himself. All his life—or at least since his father had died—he’d known that certain things were true, that certain things had to be true. And now Kate had gone and turned his world upside down.

He hadn’t wanted to love her. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to love anyone. It was the one thing—the only thing—that could make him fear his own mortality. And what about Kate? He’d promised to love and protect her. How could he do that, all the while knowing he would leave her? He certainly couldn’t tell her of his odd convictions. Aside from the fact that she’d probably think he was crazy, all it would do was subject her to the same pain and fear that wracked him. Better to let her live in blissful ignorance.

Or was it even better if she didn’t love him at all?

Anthony just didn’t know the answer. And he needed more time. And he couldn’t think with her standing there before him, those pain-filled eyes raking his face. And—

“Go,” he choked out. “Just go.”

“No,” she said with a quiet determination that made him love her all the more. “Not until you tell me what is bothering you.”

He strode out from behind his desk and took her arm. “I can’t be with you right now,” he said hoarsely, his eyes avoiding hers. “Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“Anthony—”

“I need time to think.”

“About what?” she cried out.

“Don’t make this any harder than—” “How could it possibly get any harder?” she demanded.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I just need a few days,” he said, feeling like an echo. Just a few days to think. To figure out what he was going to do, how he was going to live his life.

But she twisted around until she was facing him, and then her hand was on his cheek, touching him with a tenderness that made his heart ache. “Anthony,” she whispered, “please…”

He couldn’t form a word, couldn’t make a sound.

Her hand slipped to the back of his head, and then she was drawing him closer…closer…and he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her so damned badly, wanted to feel her body pressed against his, to taste the faint salt of her skin. He wanted to smell her, to touch her, to hear the rasp of her breath in his ear.

Her lips touched his, soft and seeking, and her tongue tickled the corner of her mouth. It would be so easy to lose himself in her, to sink down to the carpet and…

“No!” The word was ripped from his throat, and by God, he’d had no idea it was there until it burst forth.

“No,” he said again, pushing her away. “Not now.”

“But—”

He didn’t deserve her. Not right now. Not yet. Not until he understood how he was meant to live out the rest of his life. And if it meant he had to deny himself the one thing that might bring him salvation, so be it.

“Go,” he ordered, his voice sounding a bit more harsh than he’d intended. “Go now. I’ll see you later.”

And this time, she did go.

She went, without looking back.

And Anthony, who’d only just learned what it was to love, learned what it was to die inside.

By the following morning, Anthony was drunk. By afternoon, he was hungover.

His head was pounding, his ears were ringing, and his brothers, who had been surprised to discover him in such a state at their club, were talking far too loudly.

Anthony put his hands over his ears and groaned. Everyone was talking far too loudly.

“Kate boot you out of the house?” Colin asked, grabbing a walnut from a large pewter dish in the middle their table and splitting it open with a viciously loud crack.

Anthony lifted his head just far enough to glare at him.

Benedict watched his brother with raised brows and the vaguest hint of a smirk. “She definitely booted him out,” he said to Colin. “Hand me one of those walnuts, will you?”

Colin tossed one across the table. “Do you want the crackers as well?”

Benedict shook his head and grinned as he held up a fat, leather-bound book. “Much more satisfying to smash them.”

“Don’t,” Anthony bit out, his hand shooting out to grab the book, “even think about it.”

“Ears a bit sensitive this afternoon, are they?”

If Anthony had had a pistol, he would have shot them both, hang the noise.

“If I might offer you a piece of advice?” Colin said, munching on his walnut.

“You might not,” Anthony replied. He looked up. Colin was chewing with his mouth open. As this had been strictly forbidden while growing up in their household, Anthony could only deduce that Colin was displaying such poor manners only to make more noise. “Close your damned mouth,” he muttered.

Colin swallowed, smacked his lips, and took a sip of his tea to wash it all down. “Whatever you did, apologize for it. I know you, and I’m getting to know Kate, and knowing what I know—”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Anthony grumbled.

“I think,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair, “that he’s telling you you’re an ass.”

“Just so!” Colin exclaimed.

Anthony just shook his head wearily. “It’s more complicated than you think.”

“It always is,” Benedict said, with sincerity so false it almost managed to sound sincere.

“When you two idiots find women gullible enough to actually marry you,” Anthony snapped, “then you may presume to offer me advice. But until then…shut up.”

Colin looked at Benedict. “Think he’s angry?”

Benedict quirked a brow. “That or drunk.”

Colin shook his head. “No, not drunk. Not anymore, at least. He’s clearly hungover.”

“Which would explain,” Benedict said with a philosophical nod, “why he’s so angry.”

Anthony spread one hand over his face and pressed hard against his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “God above,” he muttered. “What would it take to get you two to leave me alone?”

“Go home, Anthony,” Benedict said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Anthony closed his eyes and let out a long breath. There was nothing he wanted to do more, but he wasn’t sure what to say to Kate, and more importantly, he had no idea how he’d feel once he got there.

“Yes,” Colin agreed. “Just go home and tell her that you love her. What could be more simple?”

And suddenly it was simple. He had to tell Kate that he loved her. Now. This very day. He had to make sure she knew, and he vowed to spend every last minute of his miserably short life proving it to her.

It was too late to change the destiny of his heart. He’d tried not to fall in love, and he’d failed. Since he wasn’t likely to fall back out of love, he might as well make the best of the situation. He was going to be haunted by the premonition of his own death whether or not Kate knew of his love for her. Wouldn’t he be happier during these last few years if he spent them loving her openly and honestly?

He was fairly certain she’d fallen in love with him as well; surely she’d be glad to hear that he felt the same wa

y. And when a man loved a woman, truly loved her from the depths of her soul to the tips of her toes, wasn’t it his God-given duty to try to make her happy?

He wouldn’t tell her of his premonitions, though. What would be the point? He might suffer the knowledge that their time together would be cut short, but why should she? Better she be struck by sharp and sudden pain at his death than suffer the anticipation of it beforehand.

He was going to die. Everyone died, he reminded himself. He was just going to have to do it sooner rather than later. But by God, he was going to enjoy his last years with every breath of his being. It might have been more convenient not to have fallen in love, but now that he had, he wasn’t going to hide from it.

It was simple. His world was Kate. If he denied that, he might as well stop breathing right now.

“I have to go,” he blurted out, standing up so suddenly that his thighs hit the edge of the table, sending walnut shell shards skittering across the tabletop.

“I thought you might,” Colin murmured.

Benedict just smiled and said, “Go.”

Tags: Julia Quinn Bridgertons Romance
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