The Viscount Who Loved Me (23 page)

And it sent a prickle of awareness straight through her.

She hated him, or at least she heartily disliked and disapproved of him, and yet she had the most absurd inclination to lean forward slightly, until the space between their bodies was squeezed into nothingness, and…

She swallowed and forced herself to draw back. Good God, what had come over her?

“Hold for a moment,” he said. “I haven’t finished.”

Kate reached up with frantic fingers to adjust her bonnet. “I’m sure it’s just fine. You needn’t—you needn’t worry yourself.”

“Can you feel the sun any better?” he asked.

She nodded, even though she was so distracted she wasn’t even sure if it was true. “Yes, thank you. It’s lovely. I—Oh!”

Newton let out a loud stream of barks and yanked on the lead. Hard.

“Newton!” she called out, jerking forward with the lead. But the dog already had something in his sights—Kate had no idea what—and was bounding enthusiastically forward, pulling her along until she was stumbling over her feet, her entire body pulled into a diagonal line, with her shoulder decidedly in front of the rest of her. “Newton!” she called out again, rather helplessly. “Newton! Stop!”

Anthony watched with amusement as the dog barreled forward, moving with more speed than he would have ever guessed its short, pudgy legs could have managed.
Kate was making a valiant attempt to keep her grip on the lead, but Newton was now barking like mad, and running with equal vigor.

“Miss Sheffield, allow me to take the lead,” he boomed, striding forward to aid her. It wasn’t the most glamorous manner in which to play the hero, but anything would do when one was trying to impress the sister of one’s future bride.

But just as Anthony caught up with her, Newton gave the lead a vicious tug, and it went flying from her grasp. Kate let out a shriek and dashed forward, but the dog was off and running, the lead snaking along the grass behind him.

Anthony didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. Newton clearly did not intend to be caught.

Kate froze for a moment, one hand clasped over her mouth. Then her eyes caught Anthony’s, and he had the worst sort of feeling that he knew what she intended to do.

“Miss Sheffield,” he said quickly, “I’m sure—”

But she was off and running, hollering, “Newton!” with a decided lack of decorum. Anthony let out a weary sigh and began running after her. He couldn’t very well let her chase the dog on her own and still presume to call himself a gentleman.

She had a bit of a head start on him, though, and when he caught up with her around the corner, she’d stopped. She was breathing hard, her hands on her hips as she scanned her surroundings.

“Where’d he go?” Anthony asked, trying to forget that there was something rather arousing about a woman who was panting.

“I don’t know.” She paused to catch her breath. “I think he’s chasing a rabbit.”

“Oh, now, well,
that
will make it easy to catch him,” he said. “Since rabbits always stick to the well-trod paths.”

She scowled at his sarcasm. “What are we to do?”

Anthony had half a mind to answer, “Go home and get
a
real
dog,” but she looked so worried he bit his tongue. Actually, upon closer inspection she looked more irritated than worried, but there was definitely a bit of worry in the mix.

So instead he said, “I propose we wait until we hear someone shriek. Any minute now he’s bound to dash right across some young lady’s feet and scare her out of her very wits.”

“Do you think?” She didn’t look convinced. “Because he’s not the scariest dog to look at. He thinks he is, and it’s really quite sweet, actually, but the truth is, he’s—”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhk!”

“I believe we have our answer,” Anthony said dryly, and he took off in the direction of the anonymous lady’s scream.

Kate hurried after him, cutting right across the grass toward Rotten Row. The viscount was running in front of her, and all she could think was that he must really want to marry Edwina, because despite the fact that he was clearly a splendid athlete, he looked most undignified dashing through the park after a rotund corgi. Even worse, they were going to have to run right across Rotten Row, the
ton
’s favorite spot for riding and driving.

Everyone
was going to see them. A less determined man would have given up ages ago.

Kate kept running on after them, but she was losing ground. She hadn’t spent much time in breeches, but she was fairly certain it was easier to run in them than in skirts. Especially when one was out in public and could not hitch them up above one’s ankles.

She tore across Rotten Row, refusing to make eye contact with any of the fashionable ladies and gentlemen out with their horses. There was always the chance she wouldn’t be recognized as the hoydenish miss racing through the park as if someone had set fire to her shoes. Not much of a chance, but a chance nonetheless.

When she reached the grass again, she stumbled for a second and had to pause to take a few deep breaths. Then horror dawned. They were almost to The Serpentine.

Oh,
no
.

There was little Newton liked better than to jump in a lake. And the sun was just warm enough that it might look tempting, especially if one happened to be a creature covered with thick, heavy fur, a creature who’d been running at breakneck speed for five minutes. Well, breakneck for an overweight corgi.

Which was still, Kate noted with some interest, fast enough to keep a six-foot-tall viscount at bay.

Kate hitched up her skirts an inch or so—hang the onlookers, she couldn’t afford to be fussy right now—and took off running again. There was no way she’d catch up with Newton, but maybe she could catch up with Lord Bridgerton before he killed Newton.

Murder
had
to be on his mind by now. The man would have to be a saint not to want to murder the dog.

And if one percent of what had been written about him in
Whistledown
was true, he was no saint.

Kate gulped. “Lord Bridgerton!” she called out, intending to tell him to call off the hunt. She’d simply have to wait for Newton to exhaust himself. With four-inch-tall legs, that had to come sooner rather than later. “Lord Bridgerton! We can just—”

Kate stumbled in her tracks. Was that Edwina over there by The Serpentine? She squinted. It
was
Edwina, standing gracefully with her hands clasped in front of her. And it appeared that the hapless Mr. Berbrooke was making some sort of repair to his curricle.

Newton stopped short for one moment, spying Edwina at the same moment Kate did, and abruptly changed his course, barking joyfully as he ran toward his beloved.

“Lord Bridgerton!” Kate called out again. “See, look! There’s—”

Anthony turned around at the sound of her voice, then
followed her pointed finger toward Edwina. So that was why the damned dog spun on its heel and made a ninety-degree change of course. Anthony had nearly slipped on the mud and fallen on his bum trying to maneuver such a sharp turn.

He was going to kill that dog.

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?”