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When he looked back at her, her mouth was twisted into a fetchingly disgruntled line. He couldn’t help but smile. She was so easy to read. His mother hadn’t let her buy such an unattractive cap, and it was killing her that she couldn’t offer a retort to his last statement.


"You beautiful thing," she said, lovingly fingering a fine orchid. "I think you belong right on my bedstand. And you" — she leaned forward and sniffed at a bouquet of perfect white roses-"you will look smashing on my dressing table." "Do you always talk to flowers?"


But bloody hell, the woman must have bewitched him. There could be no other explanation for the dream—no, make that a nightmare—and besides that, even now he could swear that he could smell her.


Her chin lifted a notch. “And I am certainly not going to marry you.” He planted his hands on the armrests and leaned forward until his face was only a few inches from hers. “I don’t recall asking.”


“You might have provoked him ever so slightly by denigrating his beloved brother,” he suggested. Her brows arched. “Beloved?” “Much-admired?” he tried. She shook her head. “That one doesn’t wash, either.”


Finally, Kate stepped down. And Anthony realized he'd been holding his breath.


She straightened immediately, her entire body reacting before she’d turned to see him. He could tell she’d recognized his voice, which left him feeling rather oddly satisfied.


"But wait, Kate!" Mary called out. "You cannot leave Lord Bridgerton here with me. I'm sure I'll bore him to tears." Kate slowly turned around, dreading Mary's next words. "You could never bore me, Mrs. Sheffield," the viscount said, debonair rake that he was.


There was something desperately erotic about the feel of her warm skin through the silk, and his hands roamed over her body, touching, squeezing, doing anything he could to bind her to him. If he could have drawn her within him, he would have done it and kept her there forever.


“Here you are,” she murmured, holding out his tea. “Be careful, it’s hot. I’ve never been one for lukewarm tea.” No, he thought with a smile, she wouldn’t be. Kate wasn’t the sort to do anything in half measures. It was one of the things he liked best about her.


Edmund had been everything to him. He’d always aspire to be as great a man as his father, knowing that was unlikely yet trying all the same.


“Maybe,” he whispered, so close now that his breath kissed her lips, “you desired something else altogether.” And that slow, swirling heat was there. He could see it in her face.


"Did you read what else she wrote in her column?" "That Whistledown woman?" She nodded. Anthony planted his hands on either side of his wife and leered down at her. "Was it about us?" Kate shook her head. "Then I don't care."


Even if she did fall in love with him —well, she'd simply have to keep it to herself. There was really nothing else to do.


Each day was richer and fuller than the last, and every day she was falling, falling, falling ... Was it possible to fall in love with the same man every single day? Kate sighed as she settled into the pillows, letting his wicked words wash over her. By God, she was going to try.


“You’re still awake,” she murmured, her voice scratchy and mellow with sleep. He nodded, wondering if he was holding her too tightly. He didn’t want to let go. He never wanted to let go.


Even now, nearly twelve years after Edmund Bridgerton’s death, Anthony still expected to see him come bounding around the corner, the smallest of the Bridgerton children screaming with delight as he rode on his father’s shoulders.


“Anthony, you’re pink.” “I’m pink and she”—he jabbed a finger toward Kate—“gets to have the mallet of death?” “I gave her first pick,” Colin said. “She is our guest, after all.”


"I am her older sister. I have always had to be strong for her. Whereas she has only had to be strong for herself." She brought her eyes back up to his, only to find that he was staring at her with an odd intensity, almost as if he could see past her skin and into her very soul.


Anthony said nothing, just watched her, and wondered if perhaps there was a great deal more to this woman than he’d originally estimated.


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