The wedding, which was held in the drawing room of Bridgerton House, was a small, private affair. Well, as small as one could expect with the entire Bridgerton family in attendance, from Anthony all the way down to little eleven-year-old Hyacinth, who’d taken her role as flower girl very seriously. When her brother Gregory, aged thirteen, had tried to tip her basket of rose petals, she’d walloped him in the chin, delaying the ceremony by a good ten minutes but interjecting a much-needed note of levity and laughter.
Well, for everyone except Gregory, who’d been quite put out by the entire episode and certainly wasn’t laughing, even though he was, as Hyacinth was quick to point out to anyone who would listen (and her voice was loud enough so that one didn’t really have the option of not listening), the one who’d started it.
Kate had seen it all from her vantage point in the hall, where she’d been peeking through a crack in the door. It had made her smile, which was much appreciated, since her knees had been knocking for over an hour. She could only thank her lucky stars that Lady Bridgerton had not insisted upon a large, grand affair. Kate, who’d never thought of herself as a nervous sort of person before, would probably have passed out from fright.
Indeed, Violet had mentioned the possibility of a huge wedding as a method by which to combat the rumors that were circulating about Kate, Anthony, and their rather sudden engagement. Mrs. Featherington was, true to her word, remaining mostly silent on the details of the matter, but she’d let enough innuendo slip that everyone knew that the betrothal had not come about in the usual matter.
As a result, everyone was talking, and Kate knew it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Featherington could no longer restrain herself and everyone learned the true story of her downfall at the hands—or rather, the stinger—of a bee.
But in the end Violet had decided that a quick marriage was best, and since one couldn’t throw together a grand party in one week, the guest list had been limited to family. Kate was attended by Edwina, Anthony by his brother Benedict, and in due course they were man and wife.
It was strange, Kate thought later that afternoon as she stared at the gold band that had joined the diamond on her left hand, how quickly one’s life could change. The ceremony had been brief, rushing by in a crazy blur, and yet her life was forever altered. Edwina had been correct. Everything was different. She was a married woman now, a viscountess.
Lady Bridgerton.
She chewed on her lower lip. It sounded like someone else. How long would it take before someone said, “Lady Bridgerton,” and she actually thought they were talking to her, and not Anthony’s mother?
She was a wife now, with a wife’s responsibilities.
It terrified her.
Now that the wedding was done, Kate reflected upon Mary’s words from the previous night and knew that she was right. In many respects, she was the luckiest woman alive. Anthony would treat her well. He would treat any woman well. And that was the problem.
And now she was in a carriage, traveling the short distance between Bridgerton House, where the reception had been held, and Anthony’s private residence, which she supposed could no longer be referred to as “bachelor’s lodgings.”
She stole a glance at her new husband. He was facing straight ahead, his face oddly serious.
“Do you plan to move into Bridgerton House now that you are married?” she inquired quietly.
Anthony started, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Yes,” he replied, turning to face her, “although not for several months. I thought we could do with a bit of privacy at the start of our marriage, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” Kate murmured. She looked down at her hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. She tried to still them, but it was impossible. It was a wonder she had not burst out of her gloves.
Anthony followed the line of her gaze and placed one of his large hands over both of hers. She went still instantly.
“Are you nervous?” he inquired.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” she replied, trying to keep her voice dry and ironic.
He smiled in response. “There is nothing to fear.”
Kate nearly burst out in jittery laughter. It seemed she was destined to hear that platitude over and over again. “Perhaps,” she allowed, “but still much about which to be nervous.”
His smile broadened. “Touché, my dear wife.”
Kate swallowed convulsively. It was strange to be someone’s wife, especially strange to be this man’s wife. “And are you nervous?” she countered.
He leaned in toward her, his dark eyes hot and heavy with the promise of things to come. “Oh, desperately,” he murmured. He closed the rest of the distance between them, his lips finding the sensitive hollow of her ear. “My heart is pounding,” he whispered.
Kate’s body seemed to stiffen and melt at the same time. And then she blurted out, “I think we should wait.”
He nibbled on her ear. “Wait for what?”
She tried to wiggle away. He didn’t understand. If he’d understood, he’d be furious, and he didn’t seem particularly upset.
Yet.
“F-for the marriage,” she stammered.
That seemed to amuse him, and he playfully wiggled the rings that now rested on her gloved fingers. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“For the wedding night,” she clarified.
He drew back, his dark brows flattening into a straight, and perhaps a little bit angry, line. “No,” he said simply. But he did not move to embrace her again.
Kate tried to think of words that would make him understand, but it wasn’t easy; she wasn’t so sure that she understood herself. And she was rather certain that he would not believe her if she told him that she’d not intended to make this request; it had just burst forth from within her, born of a panic she hadn’t even known was there until that very moment.
“I’m not asking for forever,” she said, hating the tremor that shook her words. “Just a week.”
This caught his attention, and one of his brows rose in ironic query. “And what, pray tell, do you hope to gain by a week?”
“I don’t know,” she answered quite honestly.
His eyes focused onto hers, hard, hot, and sardonic. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said.
Kate didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want the intimacy he forced upon her when she was caught in his dark gaze. It was easy to hide her feelings when she could keep her focus on his chin or his shoulder, but when she had to look straight into his eyes . . .
She was afraid he could see into her very soul.
“This has been a week of a great many changes in my life,” she began, wishing she knew where she was going with the statement.
“For me as well,” he interjected softly.
“Not so much for you,” she returned. “The intimacies of marriage are nothing new to you.”
One corner of his mouth quirked into a lopsided, slightly arrogant smile. “I assure you, my lady, that I have never before been married.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
He did not contradict her.
“I simply would like a bit of time to prepare,” she said, primly folding her hands in her lap. But she couldn’t keep her thumbs still, and they twiddled anxiously, giving proof to the state of her nerves.
Anthony stared at her for a long moment, then leaned back, propping his left ankle rather casually on his right knee. “Very well,” he allowed.
“Really?” She straightened with surprise. She had not expected him to capitulate with such ease.
“Provided . . .” he continued.
She slumped. She should have known that there would be a contingency.
“. . . that you edify me on one point.”
She gulped. “And what would that be, my lord?”
He leaned forward, the very devil in his eyes. “How, precisely, do you plan to prepare?”
Kate glanced out the window, then swore under her breath when she realized they weren’t even to Anthony’s street. There would be no escaping his question; she was stuck in the carriage for at least another five minutes. “We-e-e-e-ll,” she stalled, “I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you don’t, either.”
Kate scowled at him There was nothing worse than being the butt of someone else’s joke, and it seemed especially inappropriate when one happened to be a bride on her wedding day. “Now you’re having fun with me,” she accused.
“No,” he said with what could only have been called a leer, “I’d like to have fun with you. There’s quite a difference.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” she grumbled. “You know I don’t understand.”
His eyes focused on her lips as his tongue darted out to wet his own. “You would,” he murmured, “if you’d simply give in to the inevitable and forget your silly request.”
“I don’t enjoy being condescended to,” Kate said stiffly.
His eyes flashed. “And I don’t like being denied my rights,” he returned, his voice cold and his face a harsh rendition of aristocratic power.
“I’m not denying you anything,” she insisted.
“Oh, really?” His drawl lacked all humor.