With a touch of dismay—and a shiver of excitement—she realized that she felt trapped by his eyes, which were burning rather dark and hot into hers.
“Do you think you can do that, Miss Sheffield?” he murmured.
“Wh-what is your question?” she asked, not realizing that she was whispering until she heard her voice, breathy and crackling like the wind.
He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Now, remember, you have to answer honestly.”
She nodded. Or at least she thought she nodded. She meant to nod. In all truth, she wasn’t entirely convinced of her ability to move.
He leaned forward, not so much that she could feel his breath, but close enough to make her shiver. “Here, Miss Sheffield, is my question.”
Her lips parted.
“Do you”—he moved closer—“still”—and another inch—“hate me?”
Kate swallowed convulsively. Whatever she’d been expecting him to ask, it hadn’t been this. She licked her lips, preparing to speak, even though she had no idea what she’d say, but not a sound emerged.
His lips curved into a slow, masculine smile. “I’ll take that as a no.”
And then, with an abruptness that left her head spinning, he pushed off the tree and said briskly, “Well, then, I do believe it’s time we went inside and prepared for the evening, don’t you?”
Kate sagged against the tree, completely devoid of energy.
“You wish to remain outside for a few moments?” He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky, his demeanor pragmatic and efficient—one hundred and eighty degrees changed from the slow, lazy seducer he’d been just ten seconds earlier. “You might as well. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, after all. At least not in the next few hours.”
She just stared at him. Either he’d lost his mind or she’d forgotten how to talk. Or maybe both.
“Very well. I’ve always admired a woman who appreciates fresh air. I shall see you at supper, then?”
She nodded. She was surprised she even managed that.
“Excellent.” He reached out and took her hand, dropping a searing kiss on the inside of her wrist, upon the single band of bare flesh that peeked out between her glove and the hem of her sleeve. “Until tonight, Miss Sheffield.”
And then he strode off, leaving her with the oddest feeling that something rather important had just taken place.
But for the life of her, she had no idea what.
At half seven that night, Kate considered falling dreadfully ill. At quarter to eight, she’d refined her goal to an apoplectic fit. But at five minutes to the hour, as the dinner bell sounded, alerting guests that it was time to assemble in the drawing room, she squared her shoulders and walked into the hall outside her bedroom door to meet Mary.
She refused to be a coward.
She wasn’t a coward.
And she could make it through the evening. Besides, she told herself, she wasn’t likely to be seated anywhere near Lord Bridgerton. He was a viscount and the man of the house, and would therefore be at the head of the table. As the daughter of a baron’s second son, she held little rank compared to the other guests, and would most certainly be seated so far down the table that she wouldn’t even be able to see him without developing a crick in her neck.
Edwina, who was sharing a room with Kate, had already gone to Mary’s chamber to help her choose a necklace, and so Kate found herself alone in the hall. She supposed she could enter Mary’s room and wait for the two of them there, but she didn’t feel terribly conversational, and Edwina had already noticed her odd, reflective mood. The last thing Kate needed was a round of “Whatever can be wrong’s” from Mary.
And the truth was—Kate didn’t even know what was wrong. All she knew was that that afternoon, something had changed between her and the viscount. Something was different, and she freely admitted (to herself, at least) that it frightened her.
Which was normal, right? People always feared what they didn’t understand.
And Kate definitely didn’t understand the viscount.
But just as she was beginning to truly enjoy her solitude, the door across the hall opened, and out walked another young lady. Kate recognized her instantly as Penelope Featherington, the youngest of the three famed Featherington sisters—well, the three who were out in society. Kate had heard that there was a fourth still in the schoolroom.
Unfortunately for the Featherington sisters, they were famed for their lack of success on the marriage mart. Prudence and Philippa had been out for three years now, without a single proposal between the two of them. Penelope was in the midst of her second season and could usually be found at social functions trying to avoid her mother and sisters, who were universally regarded as ninnies.
Kate had always liked Penelope. The two had formed a bond ever since they’d both been skewered by Lady Whistledown for wearing gowns of an unflattering color.
Kate noted with a sad sigh that Penelope’s current gown of lemon yellow silk made the poor girl look hopelessly sallow. And if that weren’t bad enough, it had been cut with far too many frills and flounces. Penelope wasn’t a tall girl, and the gown positively overwhelmed her.
It was a pity, because she might be quite attractive if someone could convince her mother to stay away from the modiste and let Penelope choose her own clothing. She had a rather pleasing face, with the pale, pale skin of a redhead, except that her hair was truly more auburn than red, and if one really wanted to put a fine point on it, more brownish red than auburn.
Whatever you called it, Kate thought with dismay, it didn’t go with lemon yellow.
“Kate!” Penelope called out, after closing her door behind her. “What a surprise. I didn’t realize you were attending.”
Kate nodded. “I think we might have been issued a late invitation. We met Lady Bridgerton only just last week.”
“Well, I know I just said I was surprised, but I’m actually not surprised. Lord Bridgerton has been paying much attention to your sister.”
Kate flushed. “Er, yes,” she stammered. “He has.”
“That is what the gossips say, at least,” Penelope continued. “But then again, one can’t always trust the gossips.”
“I have rarely known Lady Whistledown to be incorrect,” Kate said.
Penelope just shrugged and then looked down at her gown with disgust. “She certainly is never incorrect about me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Kate said quickly, but they both knew she was just being polite.
Penelope gave her head a weary shake. “My mother is convinced that yellow is a happy color and that a happy girl will snare a husband.”
“Oh, dear,” Kate said, snorting a giggle.
“What she doesn’t grasp,” Penelope continued wryly, “is that such a happy shade of yellow makes me look rather unhappy and positively repels the gentlemen.”
“Have you suggested green?” Kate inquired. “I think you’d be smashing in green.”
Penelope shook her head. “She doesn’t like green. Says it’s melancholy.”
“Green?” Kate asked with disbelief.
“I don’t even try to understand her.”
Kate, who was wearing green, held up her sleeve near Penelope’s face, blocking the yellow as best as she could. “Your whole face lights up,” she said.
“Don’t tell me that. It will only make the yellow more painful.”
Kate offered her a sympathetic smile. “I would loan you one of mine, but I’m afraid it would drag on the floor.”
Penelope waved away her offer. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m resigned to my fate. At least it’s better than last year.”
Kate raised a brow.
“Oh, that’s right. You weren’t out last year.” Penelope winced. “I weighed nearly two stone more than I do now.”
“Two stone?” Kate echoed. She couldn’t believe it.
Penelope nodded and made a face. “Baby fat. I begged Mama not to force me to come out until I turned eighteen, but she thought a head start might be good for me.”
Kate only had to take one look at Penelope’s face to know that it hadn’t been good for her. She felt a certain kinship with this girl, even though Penelope was nearly three years younger. Both of them knew the singular feeling of not being the most popular girl in the room, knew the exact expression you put on your face when you weren’t asked to dance but you wanted to look as if you didn’t care.
“I say,” Penelope said, “why don’t the two of us go down to supper together? It seems your family and mine are both delayed.”
Kate wasn’t in much of a rush to reach the drawing room and the inevitable company of Lord Bridgerton, but waiting for Mary and Edwina would delay the torture by only a few minutes, so she decided she might as well head down with Penelope.
They both poked their heads into their respective mother’s room, informed them of the change in plans, and linked arms, heading down the hall.
When they reached the drawing room, much of the company was already in attendance, milling about and chatting as they waited for the rest of the guests to come down. Kate, who had never attended a country house party before, noted with surprise that nearly everyone seemed more relaxed and a bit more animated than they did in London. It must be the fresh air, she thought with a smile. Or perhaps distance relaxed the strict rules of the capital. Whatever the case, she decided she preferred this atmosphere to that of a London dinner party.
She could see Lord Bridgerton across the room. Or rather she supposed she could sense him. As soon as she spotted him standing over by the fireplace, she’d kept her gaze scrupulously averted.
But she could feel him nonetheless. She knew she had to be crazy, but she’d swear she knew when he tilted his head, and heard him when he spoke and when he laughed.
And she definitely knew when his eyes were on her back. Her neck felt as if it were about to go up in flames.
“I didn’t realize Lady Bridgerton had invited so many people,” Penelope said.
Careful to keep her eyes away from the fireplace, Kate did a sweep of the room to see who was there.
“Oh, no,” Penelope half whispered, half moaned. “Cressida Cowper is here.”
Kate discreetly followed Penelope’s gaze. If Edwina had any competition for the role of 1814’s reigning beauty, it was Cressida Cowper. Tall, slender, with honey-blond hair and sparkling green eyes, Cressida was almost never without a small bevy of admirers. But where Edwina was kind and generous, Cressida was, in Kate’s estimation, a self-centered, ill-mannered witch who took her joy in the torment of others.
“She hates me,” Penelope whispered.
“She hates everyone,” Kate replied.
“No, she really hates me.”
“Whyever?” Kate turned to her friend with curious eyes. “What could you possibly have done to her?”
“I bumped into her last year and caused her to spill punch all over herself and the Duke of Ashbourne.”
“That’s all?”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “It was enough for Cressida. She’s convinced he would have proposed if she hadn’t appeared clumsy.”
Kate let out a snort that didn’t even pretend to be ladylike. “Ashbourne isn’t about to get hitched anytime soon. Everyone knows that. He’s nearly as bad a rake as Bridgerton.”
“Who is most probably going to get married this year,” Penelope reminded her. “If the gossips are correct.”
“Bah,” Kate scoffed. “Lady Whistledown herself wrote that she doesn’t think he’ll marry this year.”
“That was weeks ago,” Penelope replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Lady Whistledown changes her mind all the time. Besides, it’s obvious to everyone that the viscount is courting your sister.”
Kate bit her tongue before she muttered, “Don’t remind me.”
But her wince of pain was drowned out by Penelope’s hoarse whisper of, “Oh, no. She’s coming this way.”
Kate gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry about her. She’s no better than you.”
Penelope shot her a sarcastic look. “I know that. But that doesn’t make her any less unpleasant. And she always goes out of her way to make sure that I have to deal with her.”
“Kate. Penelope,” Cressida trilled, drawing up alongside them, giving her shiny hair an affected shake. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“And why is that?” Kate asked.
Cressida blinked, obviously surprised that Kate had even questioned her pronouncement. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose it is not such a surprise to see you here, as your sister is very much in demand, and we all know that you must go where she goes, but Penelope’s presence . . .” She shrugged daintily. “Well, who am I to judge? Lady Bridgerton is a most kindhearted woman.”
The comment was so rude that Kate could not help but gape. And while she was staring at Cressida, openmouthed with shock, Cressida went in for the kill.
“That’s a lovely gown, Penelope,” she said, her smile so sweet that Kate would swear she could taste sugar in the air. “I do love yellow,” she added, smoothing down the pale yellow fabric of her own gown. “It takes a very special complexion to wear it, don’t you think?”
Kate ground her teeth together. Naturally Cressida looked brilliant in her gown. Cressida would look brilliant in a sackcloth.
Cressida smiled again, this time reminding Kate of a serpent, then turned slightly to motion to someone across the room. “Oh, Grimston, Grimston! Come over here for a moment.”
Kate looked over her shoulder to see Basil Grimston approaching and just barely managed to stifle a groan. Grimston was the perfect male counterpart to Cressida—rude, supercilious, and self-important. Why a lovely lady like Viscountess Bridgerton had invited him, she’d never know. Probably to even up the numbers with so many young ladies invited.
Grimston slithered over and lifted one corner of his mouth in a mockery of a smile. “Your servant,” he said to Cressida after sparing Kate and Penelope a fleeting, disdainful glance.
“Don’t you think dear Penelope looks fetching in that gown?” Cressida said. “Yellow truly must be the color of the season.”
Grimston did a slow, insulting perusal of Penelope, from the top of her head to the tips of her feet and back. He barely moved his head, letting his eyes travel up and down her frame. Kate fought a spasm of revulsion so strong it nearly brought on a wave of nausea. More than anything, she wanted to throw her arms around Penelope and give the poor girl a hug. But such attention would only single her out further as someone who was weak and easily bullied.
When Grimston was finally done with his rude inspection, he turned to Cressida and shrugged, as if he couldn’t think of anything complimentary to say.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Kate blurted out.
Cressida looked shocked. “Why, Miss Sheffield, I can hardly countenance your impertinence. Mr. Grimston and I were merely admiring Penelope’s appearance. That shade of yellow does so much for her complexion. And it is so nice to see her looking so well after last year.”
“Indeed,” Grimston drawled, his oily tone making Kate feel positively unclean.
Kate could feel Penelope shaking next to her. She hoped it was with anger, not with pain.
“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Kate said in icy tones.
“Why, surely you know,” Grimston said, his eyes glittering with delight. He leaned forward and then said in a whisper that was louder than his usual voice, loud enough so that a great many people could hear, “She was fat.”