The Viscount Who Loved Me

Was it possible to fall in love with the same man over and over again, every single day?

“It means that love isn‟t about being afraid that it will all be snatched away. Love‟s about finding the one person who makes your heart complete, who makes you a better person than you ever dreamed you could be. It‟s about looking in the eyes of your wife and knowing, all the way to your bones, that she‟s simply the best person you‟ve ever known.”

I think,” she said dryly, “that she doesn’t want any lemonade.”

A sparkle of humor glinted in his emerald green eyes. “Either that or she’s planning to run all the way to Spain to pick the lemons herself.”

when Anthony had asked if she thought the weather was going to turn inclement, she’d replied, “I’m sure I don’t know. I’ve never been to Clement.”

And so in between Anthony’s rounds of parties and horse races, he’d sent his brothers to Eton and Oxford, gone to a mind-numbing number of piano recitals given by his sisters (no easy feat; three out of four of them were tone deaf), and kept a close and watchful eye on the family finances. With seven brothers and sisters, he saw it as his duty to make sure there was enough money to secure all of their futures.

she’d never be as pretty as Edwina.

Edwina was a beauty, while Kate was…

Kate was Kate.

Edmund Bridgerton had died at the age of thirty-eight. And Anthony simply couldn’t imagine ever surpassing his father in any way, even in years.

“I told him this had to be our last,” she gasped, sobbing onto his shoulder. “I told him I couldn’t carry another, and we’d have to be careful, and…Oh, God, Anthony, what I’d do to have him here and give him another child. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand….”

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.”

“It was about Colin.”

Anthony let out a little sigh. “She does seem to write about Colin a great deal.”

“Maybe she has a tendre for him,” Kate suggested.

“Lady Whistledown?” Anthony rolled his eyes. “That old biddy?”

“She might not be old.”

Anthony snorted derisively. “She’s a wrinkled old crone and you know it.”

“I don’t know,” Kate said, scooting out of his grasp and crawling under the covers. “I think she might be young.”