Bridgerton Collection Volume 1 (Bridgertons)

by Julia Quinn

  For a moment it looked as if she were afraid that she’d insulted him, then her mouth quivered into a small smile. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “you’ve been making love to the wrong women.”

  “Perhaps so,” he replied, moving forward yet another inch.

  “May I tell you a secret?” she asked.

  He nudged farther. “Of course,” he murmured.

  “When I first saw you . . . tonight, I mean . . .”

  “In all my glory?” he teased, lifting his brows into an arrogant arch.

  She shot him a rather enchanting scowl. “I didn’t think this could possibly work.”

  He moved forward. He was close, so close to embedding himself fully within her. “May I tell you a secret?” he returned.

  “Of course.”

  “Your secret”—one more little thrust and he was resting against her maidenhead—”wasn’t very much of a secret.”

  Her brows drew together in question.

  He grinned. “It was written all over your face.”

  She scowled again, and it made him want to explode in laughter. “But now,” he said, keeping a scrupulously straight face, “I have a question for you.”

  She gazed at him in response, clearly waiting for him to elucidate further.

  He leaned down, brushed his lips against her ear, and whispered, “What do you think now?”

  For a moment she didn’t respond in any way, then he felt her start in surprise when she finally figured out what he was asking. “Are we done?” she asked in clear disbelief.

  This time he did burst out in laughter. “Far from it, my dear wife,” he gasped, wiping his eyes with one hand as he tried to hold himself up with the other. “Far, far from it.” His eyes growing serious, he added, “This is where it might hurt a little, Kate. But I promise you, the pain will never be repeated.”

  She nodded, but he could feel her body tense up, which he knew would only make it worse. “Shhh,” he crooned. “Relax.”

  She nodded, her eyes shut. “I am relaxed.”

  He was glad she couldn’t see him smile. “You are most definitely not relaxed.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Yes, I am.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Anthony said, as if there were someone else in the room to hear him. “She’s arguing with me on our wedding night.”

  “I’m—”

  He cut her off with a finger to her lips. “Are you ticklish?”

  “Am I ticklish?”

  He nodded. “Ticklish.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

  “That sounds like a yes to me,” he said with a grin.

  “Not at—Oooohhh!” She let out a squeal as one of his hands found a particularly sensitive spot under arm. “Anthony, stop!” she gasped, squirming desperately beneath him. “I can’t bear it! I—”

  He plunged forward.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, my.”

  He groaned, barely able to believe just how good it felt to be buried completely within her. “Oh, my, indeed.”

  “We’re not done now, are we?”

  He shook his head slowly as his body began to move in an ancient rhythm. “Not even close,” he murmured.

  His mouth took hers as one of his hands snaked up to caress her breast. She was utter perfection beneath him, her hips rising to meet his, moving tentatively at first, then with a vigor that matched her rising passion.

  “Oh, God, Kate,” he moaned, his ability to form flowery sentences completely lost in the primitive heat of the moment. “You’re so good. So good.”

  Her breath was coming faster and faster, and each little wispy gasp inflamed his passion even more. He wanted to possess her, to own her, to hold her beneath him and never let her go. And with each thrust it was getting more difficult to put her needs before his. His mind screamed that this was her first time and he had to have a care for her, but his body demanded release.

  With a ragged groan, he forced himself to stop thrusting and catch his breath. “Kate?” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. It sounded hoarse, detached, desperate.

  Her eyes, which had been closed as her head tossed from side to side, flew open. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, “please don’t stop. I’m so close to something . . . I don’t know what.”

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, plunging back in to the hilt, throwing his head back as his spine arched. “You’re so beautiful, so unbelievably—Kate?”

  She’d stiffened beneath him, and not in climax.

  He froze. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  He saw a brief flash of pain—the emotional sort, not the physical—flash across her face before she hid it and whispered, “Nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” he said in a low voice. His arms were straining from holding himself above her, but he barely noticed. Every fiber of his being was focused on her face, which was shuttered and pained, despite her obvious attempts to hide it.

  “You called me beautiful,” she whispered.

  For a good ten seconds he just stared at her. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how that was a bad thing. But then again, he’d never professed to understand the female mind. He thought he should simply reaffirm the statement, that she was beautiful, and what the hell was the problem, but a little voice inside warned him that this was one of those moments, and no matter what he said, it would be the wrong thing, so he decided to tread very, very carefully, and he just murmured her name, which he had a feeling might be the only word guaranteed not to get him into trouble.

  “I’m not beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. She looked shattered and broken, but before he could contradict her, she asked, “Who were you picturing?”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Who do you think of when you make love to me?”

  Anthony felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. The breath whooshed from his body. “Kate,” he said slowly. “Kate, you’re mad, you’re—”

  “I know a man doesn’t have to feel desire for a woman to find pleasure with her,” she cried out.

  “You think I don’t desire you?” he choked out. God in heaven, he was ready to explode right now within her and he hadn’t even moved for the last thirty seconds.

  Her lower lip trembled between her teeth, and a muscle spasmed in her neck. “Do you—do you think of Edwina?”

  Anthony froze. “How could I possibly confuse the two of you?”

  Kate felt her face crumple, felt hot tears stinging at her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, oh, God, especially not now, but it hurt, it hurt so much, and—

  His hand grasped her cheeks with stunning speed, forcing her to look up at him.

  “Listen to me,” he said, his voice even and intense, “and listen well, because I’m only going to say this once. I desire you. I burn for you. I can’t sleep at night for wanting you. Even when I didn’t like you, I lusted for you. It’s the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is. And if I hear one more word of nonsense from your lips, I’m going to have to tie you to the bloody bed and have my way with you a hundred different ways, until you finally get it through your silly skull that you are the most beautiful and desirable woman in England, and if everyone else doesn’t see that, then they’re all bloody fools.”

  Kate wouldn’t have thought it possible for her mouth to fall open while she was lying down, but somehow it did.

  One of his brows arched into what had to be the most arrogant expression ever to grace a face. “Is that understood?”

  She just stared at him, not quite able to form a response.

  He leaned down until his nose was a mere inch from hers. “Is that understood?”

  She nodded.

  “Good,” he grunted, and then, before she had a moment even to catch her breath, his lips were devouring hers in a kiss so fierce she was clutching the bed just to keep from screaming. His hips ground into hers, frenzied in their power, thrusting, rotating, stroking he
r until she was certain she must be on fire.

  She clutched at him, not certain whether she was trying to bind him to her or tear him away. “I can’t do this,” she moaned, certain she would shatter. Her muscles were stiff, tense, and it was getting hard to breathe.

  But if he’d heard her, he didn’t care. His face was a harsh mask of concentration, sweat beading on his brow.

  “Anthony,” she gasped, “I can—”

  One of his hands slipped between them and touched her intimately, and she screamed. He slammed forward one last time, and her world simply fell apart. She was stiff, then shaking, then she thought she must be falling. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even gasp. Her throat had to be closing, and her head fell back as her hands grabbed at the mattress with a ferocity she’d never have believed she possessed.

  He went utterly still above her, his mouth open in a silent scream, and then he collapsed, the weight of him pressing her farther into the mattress.

  “Oh, my God,” he gasped, his body now shaking. “Never . . . it’s never . . . so good . . . it’s never been so good.”

  Kate, who’d had a few seconds longer to recover, smiled as she smoothed his hair. A wicked thought came to her, a perfectly wonderful wicked thought. “Anthony?” she murmured.

  How he lifted his head she would never know, because it looked like it took a Herculean effort just to open his eyes and grunt his response.

  She smiled, slowly, and with a womanly seductiveness she’d learned just that evening. Letting one of her fingers trail down the angular edge of his jaw, she whispered, “Are we done yet?”

  For a second he made no response, then his lips broke into a smile far more devilish than she could ever have imagined. “For now,” he murmured huskily, rolling onto his side and pulling her along with him. “But only for now.”

  Chapter 18

  Although gossip still surrounds the hasty marriage of Lord and Lady Bridgerton (formerly Miss Katharine Sheffield, for those of you who have been in hibernation for these past few weeks), This Author is of the firm opinion that theirs was a love match. Viscount Bridgerton does not escort his wife to every society function (but then again, what husband does?), but when he is present, This Author cannot fail to note that he always seems to be murmuring something in his lady’s ear, and that something always seems to make her smile and blush.

  Furthermore, he always dances with her one more time than is considered de rigueur. Considering how many husbands don’t like to dance with their wives at all, this is romantic stuff, indeed.

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 10 JUNE 1814

  The next few weeks flew by in a delirious rush. After a brief stay in the country at Aubrey Hall, the newlyweds returned to London, where the season was in full swing. Kate had hoped to use her afternoons to resume her flute lessons, but she quickly discovered that she was in great demand, and her days were filled with social calls, shopping excursions with her family, and the occasional ride in the park. Her evenings were a whirlwind of balls and parties.

  But her nights were for Anthony alone.

  Marriage, she decided, agreed with her. She saw less of Anthony than she would have liked, but she understood and accepted that he was a very busy man. His many concerns, both in Parliament and on his estates, took up a great deal of his time. But when he returned home at night and met her in the bedroom (no separate bedchambers for Lord and Lady Bridgerton!) he was marvelously attentive, asking about her day, telling her of his, and making love to her until the wee hours of the night.

  He’d even taken the time to listen to her practice her flute. She’d managed to hire a musician to come and tutor her two mornings a week. Considering the (not very expert) level of play which Kate had achieved, Anthony’s willingness to sit through an entire thirty minutes of rehearsal could only be interpreted as a sign of great affection.

  Of course, it did not escape her notice that he’d never repeated the gesture.

  Hers was a fine existence, a far better marriage than most women of her station could expect. If her husband did not love her, if he would never love her, then at least he did a good job of making her feel cared for and appreciated. And for now Kate was able to content herself with that.

  And if he seemed distant during the day, well, he certainly wasn’t distant at night.

  The rest of society, however, and Edwina in particular, had gotten it into their heads that Lord and Lady Bridgerton’s marriage was a love match. Edwina had taken to visiting in the afternoons, and this day was no exception. She and Kate were sitting in the drawing room, sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits, enjoying a rare moment of privacy now that Kate had bidden farewell to her daily swarm of visitors.

  Everyone, it seemed, wanted to see how the new viscountess was getting along, and Kate’s drawing room was almost never empty in the afternoon.

  Newton had hopped up onto the sofa beside Edwina, and she was idly stroking his fur as she said, “Everyone is talking about you today.”

  Kate didn’t even pause as she lifted her tea to her lips and took a sip. “Everyone is always talking about me,” she said with a shrug. “They’ll soon find another topic.”

  “Not,” Edwina replied, “as long as your husband keeps looking at you the way he did last night.”

  Kate felt her cheeks grow warm. “He did nothing out of the ordinary,” she murmured.

  “Kate, he was positively smoldering!” Edwina shifted her position as Newton shifted his, letting her know with a little whine that he wanted his belly rubbed. “I personally saw him push Lord Haveridge out of the way in his haste to reach your side.”

  “We arrived separately,” Kate explained, although her heart was filling with a secret—and most probably foolish—joy. “I’m sure he just had something he needed to tell me.”

  Edwina looked dubious. “And did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Tell you something,” Edwina said with palpable exasperation. “You just said you were sure he just had something he needed to tell you. If that were the case, wouldn’t he have told you whatever it was? And then you’d know he had something to tell you, right?”

  Kate blinked. “Edwina, you’re making me dizzy.”

  Edwina’s lips smooshed together in a disgruntled frown. “You never tell me anything.”

  “Edwina, there’s nothing to tell!” Kate reached forward, grabbed a biscuit, and took a large, extremely uncouth bite so that her mouth would be too full to speak. What was she supposed to say to her sister—that before they’d even wed, her husband had informed her in a most matter-of-fact and straightforward manner that he would never love her?

  That would make for charming conversation over tea and biscuits.

  “Well,” Edwina finally announced, after watching Kate chew for an improbable full minute, “I actually had another reason for coming here today. I have something I wish to tell you.”

  Kate swallowed gratefully. “Really?”

  Edwina nodded, then blushed.

  “What is it?” Kate implored, sipping at her tea. Her mouth was awfully dry after all that chewing.

  “I think I’m in love.”

  Kate nearly spit out her tea. “With whom?”

  “Mr. Bagwell.”

  Try as she might, Kate could not for the life of her recall who Mr. Bagwell was.

  “He’s a scholar,” Edwina said with a dreamy sigh. “I met him at Lady Bridgerton’s country house party.”

  “I don’t recall meeting him,” Kate said, her brow knitting into thoughtful lines.

  “You were rather busy throughout the visit,” Edwina replied in an ironic voice. “Getting yourself betrothed and all that.”

  Kate pulled the sort of face one could only display with a sibling. “Just tell me about Mr. Bagwell.”

  Edwina’s eyes grew warm and bright. “He’s a second son, I’m afraid, so he cannot expect much in the way of income. But now that you’ve married so well, I needn’t worry about that.”

 
Kate felt an unexpected welling of tears in her eyes. She hadn’t realized just how pressured Edwina must have felt earlier that season. She and Mary had been careful to assure Edwina that she might marry anyone she liked, but they had all known exactly where their finances stood, and they had certainly all been guilty of making jokes about how it was just as easy to fall in love with a wealthy man as it was with a poor one.

  It only took one look at Edwina’s face to realize that a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “I’m glad you’ve found someone who suits you,” Kate murmured.

  “Oh, he does. I know that we shall not have much in the way of money, but truly, I don’t need silks and jewels.” Her eyes fell on the glittering diamond on Kate’s hand. “Not that I think you do, of course!” she quickly interjected, her face growing red. “Just that—”

  “Just that it’s nice not to have to worry about supporting your sister and mother,” Kate finished for her in a gentle voice.

  Edwina let out a huge sigh. “Exactly.”

  Kate reached across the table and took her sister’s hands in hers. “You certainly needn’t worry about me, and I’m sure that Anthony and I will always be able to provide for Mary, should she ever need assistance.”

  Edwina’s lips curved into a wobbly smile.

  “As for you,” Kate added, “I think it’s high time you were able to think only of yourself for a change. To make a decision based on what you desire, not what you think others need.”

  Edwina pulled one of her hands free to brush back a tear. “I really like him,” she whispered.

  “Then I am certain I will like him as well,” Kate said firmly. “When may I meet him?”

  “He is in Oxford for the next fortnight, I’m afraid. He has prior commitments which I should not want him to break on my account.”

  “Of course not,” Kate murmured. “You wouldn’t want to marry the sort of gentleman who does not honor his commitments.”

  Edwina nodded in agreement. “I received a letter from him this morning, though, and he says he will come down to London at the end of the month and hopes that he might call on me.”