The Viscount Who Loved Me (18 page)

“That’s…good.”

He nodded. “I can’t be here,” he blurted out. “I have to go.”

She swallowed convulsively. “Yes,” she said, her voice achingly small, “you’ve said as much.”

And then, without a backward glance and without a clue as to where he was going, he left.

Kate walked slowly to the bed and stared at it. Somehow it seemed wrong to climb in alone, to pull the covers around her and make a little huddle of one. She thought she should cry, but no tears pricked her eyes. So finally she moved to the window, pushed aside the drapes, and stared out, surprising herself with a soft prayer for a storm.

Anthony was gone, and while she was certain he’d return in body, she was not so confident about his spirit. And she realized that she needed something—she needed the storm—to prove to herself that she could be strong, by herself and for herself.

She didn’t want to be alone, but she might not have a choice in that matter. Anthony seemed determined to maintain a distance. There were demons within him—demons she feared he would never choose to face in her presence.

But if she was destined to be alone, even with a husband at her side, then by God she’d be alone and strong.

Weakness, she thought as she let her forehead rest against the smooth, cool glass of her window, never got anyone anywhere.

Anthony had no recollection of his off-balance stumble through the house, but somehow he found himself tripping down the front steps, made slippery by the light fog that hung in the air. He crossed the street, not having a clue where he was going, only knowing that he needed to be
away
. But when he reached the opposite pavement, some devil within him forced his eyes upward toward his bedroom window.

He shouldn’t have seen her
was his rather inane thought. She should have been in bed or the drapes should have been pulled or he should have been halfway to his club by now.

But he did see her and the dull ache in his chest grew sharper, more viciously unrelenting. His heart felt as if it had been sliced wide open—and he had the most unsettling sensation that the hand wielding the knife had been his own.

He watched her for a minute—or maybe it was an hour. He didn’t think she saw him; nothing in her posture gave any indication that she was aware of his presence. She was too far away for him to see her face, but he rather thought her eyes were closed.

Probably hoping it doesn’t storm,
he thought, glancing up at the murky sky. She’d most likely be out of luck. The mist and fog were already coalescing into drops of moisture on his skin, and it seemed only a quick transition to out-and-out rain.

He knew he should leave, but some invisible cord kept him rooted to the spot. Even after she’d left her position at the window, he remained in place, staring up at the house. The pull back inside was nearly impossible to deny. He wanted to run back into the house, fall to his knees before her, and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and make love to her until the first streaks of dawn touched the sky. But he knew he couldn’t do any of those things.

Or maybe it was that he
shouldn’t
. He just didn’t know anymore.

And so, after standing frozen in place for nearly an hour, after the rain came, after the wind blew gusts of chilly air down the street, Anthony finally left.

He left, not feeling the cold, not feeling the rain, which had begun to fall with surprising force.

He left, not feeling anything.

I
t was strange, Kate thought as she looked at the morning repast laid upon the side table in the small dining room, how one could feel utterly famished and at the same time have no appetite. Her stomach was rumbling and churning, demanding food now, and yet everything—from the eggs to the scones to the kippers to the roast pork—looked awful.

With a dejected sigh, she reached for a solitary triangle of toast and sank into her chair with a cup of tea.

Anthony had not come home last night.

Kate took a nibble of the toast and forced it down. She’d been hoping that he might at least make an appearance in time for breakfast. She’d delayed the meal as long as she could—it was already nearly eleven in the morning and she usually ate at nine—but her husband was still absent.

“Lady Bridgerton?”

Kate looked up and blinked. A footman was standing
before her bearing a small cream-colored envelope.

“This arrived for you a few minutes ago,” he said.

Kate murmured her thanks and reached for the envelope, which had been secured with a neat dollop of pale pink sealing wax. Bringing it closer to her eyes, she made out the initials
EOB.
One of Anthony’s relations? The E would be Eloise, of course, since all of the Bridgertons had been named in alphabetical order.

Kate carefully broke the seal and slipped out the contents—a single piece of paper, neatly folded in half.

Kate stared at the note a few seconds longer, then shoved her chair back and stood. It was time she paid a call upon Bridgerton House.

Much to Kate’s surprise, when she knocked at Bridgerton House, the door was swung open not by the butler but by Eloise, who immediately said, “That was fast!”

Kate looked around the hall, half expecting another Bridgerton sibling or two to jump out at her. “Were you waiting for me?”

Eloise nodded. “And you don’t have to knock at the door, you know. Bridgerton House belongs to Anthony, after all. And you
are
his wife.”

Kate smiled weakly. She didn’t feel much like a wife this morning.

“I hope you don’t think me a hopeless meddler,” Eloise continued, linking her arm through Kate’s and guiding her down the hall, “but Anthony does look awful, and I had a sneaking suspicion you didn’t know he was here.”

“Why would you think that?” Kate couldn’t help asking.

“Well,” Eloise said, “he didn’t go to any great pains to tell any of
us
that he was here.”

Kate eyed her sister-in-law suspiciously. “Meaning?”

Eloise had the grace to blush a faint pink. “Meaning, ah, that the only reason I know he’s here is that I was spying upon him. I don’t think my mother even knows he’s in residence.”

Kate felt her eyelids blink in rapid succession. “You’ve been spying upon us?”

“No, of course not. But I happened to be up and about rather early this morning, and I heard someone come in, and so I went to investigate and I saw light coming from under the door in his study.”

“How, then, do you know he looks awful?”

Eloise shrugged. “I figured he’d have to emerge eventually to eat or relieve himself, so I waited on the steps for an hour or so—”

“Or so?” Kate echoed.

“Or three,” Eloise admitted. “It’s really not that long when one is interested in one’s subject, and besides, I had a book with me to while away the time.”

Kate shook her head in reluctant admiration. “What time did he come in last night?”

“Around four or so.”

“What were you doing up so late?”

Eloise shrugged again. “I couldn’t sleep. I often can’t. I’d gone down to get a book to read from the library. Finally, at around seven—well, I suppose it was a bit before seven, so it wasn’t quite three hours I waited—”

Kate began to feel dizzy.

“—he emerged. He didn’t head in the direction of the breakfast room, so I can only assume it was for other reasons. After a minute or two, he reemerged and headed back into his study. Where,” Eloise finished with a flourish, “he has been ever since.”

Kate stared at her for a good ten seconds. “Have you
ever considered offering your services to the War Department?”

Eloise grinned, a smile so like Anthony’s Kate almost cried. “As a spy?” she asked.

Kate nodded.

“I’d be brilliant, don’t you think?”

“Superb.”

Eloise gave Kate a spontaneous hug. “I’m so glad you married my brother. Now go and see what is wrong.”

Kate nodded, straightened her shoulders, and took a step toward Anthony’s study. Turning around, she pointed a finger at Eloise and said, “You will not be listening at the door.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eloise replied.

“I mean it, Eloise!”

Eloise sighed. “It’s time I went up to bed, anyway. I could use a nap after staying up all night.”

Kate waited until the younger girl had disappeared up the stairs, then made her way to Anthony’s study door. She put her hand on the knob, whispering, “Don’t be locked,” as she gave it a twist. To her extreme relief, it turned, and the door swung open.

“Anthony?” she called out. Her voice was soft and hesitant, and she found she didn’t like the sound of it. She wasn’t used to being soft and hesitant.

There was no reply, so Kate stepped farther into the room. The drapes were tightly closed, and the heavy velvet admitted little light. Kate scanned the room until her eyes fell on the figure of her husband, slouched over his desk, sound asleep.

Kate walked quietly across the room to the windows and pulled the drapes partway open. She didn’t want to blind Anthony when he woke up, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to conduct such an important conversation in the dark. Then she walked back over to his desk and gently shook his shoulder.

“Anthony?” she whispered. “Anthony?”

His reply was closer to a snore than anything else.

Frowning impatiently, she shook a little harder. “Anthony?” she said softly. “Anthon—”

“Yibbledeedad—!” He came awake in one sudden movement, an incoherent rush of speech bursting forth as his torso snapped upright.

Kate watched as he blinked himself into coherency, then focused on her. “Kate,” he said, his voice hoarse and husky with sleep and something else—maybe alcohol. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” she countered. “The last time I checked, we lived nearly a mile away.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he mumbled.

Kate didn’t believe that for one second, but she decided not to argue the point. Instead, she opted for the direct approach and asked, “Why did you leave last night?”

A long stretch of silence was followed by a weary, tired sigh, and Anthony finally said, “It’s complicated.”

Kate fought the urge to cross her arms. “I’m an intelligent woman,” she said in a purposefully even voice. “I’m generally able to grasp complex concepts.”

Anthony didn’t look pleased by her sarcasm. “I don’t want to go into this now.”

“When
do
you want to go into it?”

“Go home, Kate,” he said softly.

“Do you plan to come with me?”

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.”