She wiped her nose rather inelegantly with the back of her hand. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she sniffled.
“I actually did it for Edwina,” he mumbled, never comfortable with weepy females. But inside, she was making him feel about eight feet tall.
“Oh, Anthony!” she practically wailed. And then, much to his extreme surprise, she jumped to her feet and leaped across the table and into his arms, the heavy hem of her afternoon dress sweeping three teacups, two saucers, and a spoon onto the floor.
“You are so sweet,” she said, wiping at her eyes as she landed rather solidly in his lap. “The nicest man in London.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he returned, sliding his arm around her waist. “The most dangerous, perhaps, or handsome—”
“Nicest,” she interrupted firmly, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “Definitely the nicest.”
“If you insist,” he murmured, not at all unhappy with the recent turn of events.
“It’s a good thing we finished that tea,” Kate said, eyeing the cups on the floor. “It would have made a dreadful mess.”
“Oh, indeed.” He smiled to himself as he pulled her closer. There was something warm and comfortable about holding Kate. Her legs were dangling over the arm of the chair and her back was resting against the curve of his arm. They fit together nicely, he realized. She was just the right size for a man of his proportions.
There were a lot of things about her that were just right. It was the sort of realization that usually terrified him, but at that moment he was so damned happy just sitting here with her in his lap that he simply refused to think about the future.
“You are so good to me,” she murmured.
Anthony thought of all the times he’d purposely stayed away, all the times he’d left her to her own devices, but he pushed away the guilt. If he was forcing a distance between them, it was for her own good. He didn’t want her to fall in love with him. It would make it that much harder for her when he died.
And if he fell in love with her…
He didn’t even want to think about how much harder it would be for him.
“Do we have any plans for this evening?” he whispered in her ear.
She nodded; the motion caused her hair to tickle his cheek. “A ball,” she said. “At Lady Mottram’s.”
Anthony couldn’t resist the soft silkiness of her hair, and he threaded two fingers through it, letting it slide across his hand and wrap around his wrist. “Do you know what I think?” he murmured.
He heard her smile as she asked, “What?”
“I think I’ve never cared that much for Lady Mottram. And do you know what else I think?”
Now he heard her trying not to giggle. “What?”
“I think we should go upstairs.”
“You do?” she asked, clearly feigning ignorance.
“Oh, indeed. This very minute, as a matter of fact.”
She wiggled her bottom, the minx, ascertaining for herself just how quickly he needed to go upstairs. “I see,” she murmured gravely.
He pinched her hip lightly. “I rather thought you felt.”
“Well, that, too,” she admitted. “It was quite enlightening.”
“I’m sure it was,” he muttered. Then, with a very wicked smile, he nudged her chin until they were nose to nose. “Do you know what else I think?” he said huskily.
Her eyes widened. “I’m sure I can’t imagine.”
“I think,” he said, one of his hands creeping under her dress and slithering up her leg, “that if we don’t go upstairs this instant, I might be content to remain right here.”
“Here?” she squeaked.
His hand found the edge of her stockings. “Here,” he affirmed.
“Now?”
His fingers tickled her soft thatch of hair, then sank into the very core of her womanhood. She was soft and wet and felt like heaven. “Oh, most definitely now,” he said.
“Here?”
He nibbled on her lips. “Didn’t I already answer that question?”
And if she had any further questions, she didn’t voice them for the next hour.
Or maybe it was just that he was trying his damnedest to rob her of speech.
And if a man could judge from the little squeals and mewls that slipped from her mouth, he was doing a ripping good job.
Chapter 19
Lady Mottram’s annual ball was a crush, as always, but society watchers could not fail to note that Lord and Lady Bridgerton did not make an appearance. Lady Mottram insists that they had promised to attend, and This Author can only speculate as to what kept the newlyweds at home…