“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?”
Mr. Berbrooke blinked a few times.
“Do you even know what is wrong with your curricle?”
Berbrooke’s mouth opened and closed a few more times, and then he said, “I have a few ideas. Shouldn’t take terribly long to figure out which is the actual problem.”
Kate stared at Anthony, fascinated by the vein leaping in his throat. She had never before seen a man so clearly pushed to his limit. Feeling not a little apprehensive at the impending explosion, she took a prudent half step behind Edwina.
She didn’t like to think herself a coward, but self-preservation was another matter entirely.
But the viscount somehow managed to keep himself under control, and his voice was terrifyingly even as he said, “This is what we’re going to do.”
Three pairs of eyes widened in expectation.
“I am going to walk over there”—he pointed at a lady and gentleman about twenty yards away who were trying not to stare but not succeeding—“and ask Montrose if I might borrow his carriage for a few minutes.”
“I say,” Berbrooke said, craning his neck, “is that Geoffrey Montrose? Haven’t seen him for an age.”
A second vein started leaping, this time on Lord Bridgerton’s temple. Kate grasped Edwina’s hand for moral support and held tight.
But Bridgerton, to his credit, ignored Berbrooke’s exceedingly inappropriate interjection and continued with, “Since he will say yes—”
“Are you sure?” Kate blurted out.
Somehow his brown eyes resembled icicles. “Am I sure of what?” he bit off.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, ready to kick herself. “Please continue.”
“As I was saying, since as a friend and a gentleman”—he glared at Kate—“he will say yes, I will take Miss Sheffield home and then I will return home and have one of my men return Montrose’s curricle.”