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Would there be no end to this torture?
Anthony fidgeted against the refreshments table, where he stood with his mother and sister, whilst across the room his wife—his beautiful, charming, pregnant wife—spoke with Mister Thomas Dorset.
Upon noticing the distasteful reunion of his former friend and the love of his life, Anthony’s first instinct had been to rush over and interrupt but his mother had unintentionally prevented that.
Francesca wanted to introduce a suitor by the name of Lord Kilmartin. It appeared she wished for their approval. And so, he was forced to make conversation with the gentleman who might take his sister away, all the way to Scotland . He needed a clear head, to be sure, in order to evaluate his suitability, whether he would make a good husband for his sweet sister. And yet, as he listened to the man list off his many financial assets, a fortune that would clearly make Francesca very comfortable, Anthony’s attention waned.
Mister Dorset was doubled over in laughter and the smile on his wife’s face could not be wider.
What in the devil could be so funny?
“Our cousins, Anthony,” his mother nudged him, and when he looked over she appeared to be very put out by his inattention, “I was just telling Lord Kilmartin of our cousins in Edinburgh. Is that close to where your estate is, my lord?”
It was no use. He could only manage a nod of assent before his eyes were back on Kate. She was stunning tonight, as she always was, draped in a glittering burgundy gown and jewels befitting of her station as Viscountess Bridgerton. Her condition was still well concealed but not to Anthony. No, his eyes seemed perpetually drawn to her stomach where his child now grew. Heir or not, Anthony had never known such joy as when Kate told him that she had missed her courses for a second month. They had done it. They had conceived the child he’d yearned for since exchanging vows with his wife. It was a good thing that the doctor confirmed it was quite safe for them to continue their amorous activities because Kate being with child somehow made his desire for her grow tenfold. However, coming back to town had greatly lessened the opportunities to make love to his wife and it was grating on him.
To be fair, Anthony had been on edge ever since Hyacinth blurted out the news of Colin’s engagement and extinguished his plan to announce Kate’s pregnancy. Two long days later and his nerves were shot to hell from the sheer effort of keeping the news to himself. It was the right thing to do, Kate assured him, to allow his brother time to celebrate with his intended and their families. But, how long was a man—much less a Viscount—expected to wait before he could tell the world that his wife was carrying his first born child? Perhaps, the heir to the Bridgerton line, though that did not concern him near as much as it had last year.
He watched Dorset speak, though he could not discern what was being said, and clenched his teeth when Kate patted a hand on his shoulder, in some show of comfort.
Dorset smiled at her, but then he looked up and made eye contact with him, and before Anthony could avert his eyes, Kate had turned to look at him too.
Frustrated by the distance between them, Anthony threw his hands behind his back and bounced on his heels. He trusted Kate, there was no reason to get himself worked up into such a state. Dorset, too, was a good, honourable man, and not deserving of his ire, but some wildebeest had seized up inside him and all rational thought ceased to exist.
His feet moved on their own volition, until he was there, standing beside his wife, enveloped in her addictive scent, and glowering at Mister Dorset.
“Dorset,” he said in a clipped tone, acknowledging the man with a curt nod before turning his attention to Kate.
“Francesca is eager for you to meet one of her suitors,” Anthony stated, relieved he had a genuine reason to pull her away.
“Yes, Lord Kilmartin. We have already been introduced. Franny seems quite taken with him,” she smiled encouragingly. Perhaps she attributed his foul mood to the stresses of the marriage mart. No matter, it would soon become clear why he was truly vexed, because all good sense had left him.
“I believe congratulations are in order,” Dorset interrupted with a congenial smile.
Anthony looked aghast at him and then his wife. She would tell Dorset before their own families?
“Thank you, Mister Dorset, I am sure it must have come as quite a surprise to hear of our nuptials after the events of last season,” Kate stressed the words, shooting a warning look at Anthony who deflated a little when he realised Dorset was congratulating them on their marriage.
“Not that much of a surprise,” he snipped, putting an arm around his wife’s waist. He smiled smugly at Dorset, recalling the bitter moment at the park when he’d watched the man row Kate around the lake. If events had unfolded differently perhaps he would be standing at this ball with Edwina on his arm, speaking with Thomas and Mrs Kate Dorset . Anthony felt the sudden urge to punch something. Instead, his hand slid further around Kate so that she was firmly tucked into his arm with his hand resting gently but possessively over her belly. It soothed him, he found, to hold her like this, knowing that only fabric and flesh separated him from his child.
He felt Kate turn slightly toward him so that his hand slid back to her waist. He huffed and attempted to readjust himself, which resulted in Kate doing a half spin out of his embrace. She took hold of his hand instead and sighed in exasperation. Dorset smiled, bemused, but said nothing.
“And where have you been this past year, Dorset? Traipsing around the continent? You might have stumbled into my brother, Colin, he was abroad for quite some time too,” Anthony tried to make half an attempt to sound like he gave two hoots about Dorset’s whereabouts, but his tone came out impertinent anyway.
If he noticed, Dorset ignored it, and answered quite jovially, “Yes, Italy and Greece, mostly. I hear you ventured to the far east yourself, Bridgerton, that must have been quite the journey for you.”
Anthony smiled, “It was a pleasure to visit the place my wife called home for so long. But it is good to be back in England.”
“I am sure,” Dorset’s warm eyes travelled back to Kate and Anthony felt the last of his self control evaporate. The man was being too familiar with his wife and ought to take heed.
“Have you yet found a wife, Dorset? I find there is no pleasure in the world quite like being wed to a beautiful woman.” Anthony's hand slid from Kate’s and found its place on her lower back.
“Anthony—” Kate scolded in a whisper. Yes, perhaps his question was impertinent, but what else was he supposed to say to the man? There were only so many topics of conversation one could have and he did so love to talk about his wife.
Dorset laughed and waved it off, “If I could find a woman as lovely as your wife, Bridgerton, I would rush to the altar, but not all of us can be so lucky.”
Oh . That was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Kate knew it—he could feel her body freeze under his touch—she knew that he would respond poorly to Dorset’s words. Clearly, she had not forgotten that day at the lake when he had shown himself to be a jealous man.
His wife was an independent and fierce woman, and he loved her for it. He knew better than to treat her as though he owned her, but the impatience of sharing their news, and the vexing appearance of Dorset with his honey-sweet words, had him all twisted in knots. He may not own her but Kate was his. She loved him. She was his wife. The mother of his child. No, Dorset would never be so lucky.
It happened too quickly for Kate to stop him.
He wrapped his arm around her again, spread his palm flat against her belly, and grinned at Dorset. “Kate is a rare woman indeed. Beautiful, as you can well see, intelligent, and a dutiful wife. We are already expecting our first child.”
Kate looked up to the ceiling and muttered something in Tamil. He did not need to know what she had said to understand that she was exasperated. Dorset, meanwhile, gave his most sincere congratulations with a clap on Anthony’s shoulder before making a polite exit. When he was finally out of earshot, Kate turned to him, ready to give him a tongue lashing.
“I know , I know,” he put his hands up in surrender.
“Mister Dorset showed a passing interest in me when you were engaged to my sister. You are not entitled to behave so—“”
“I know . I apologise,” he sighed.
“It is Mister Dorset to whom you should make your apologies.”
He took her hand in his and kissed it.
“I never said I was a saint, Kathani. The man vexes me because he reminds me of what I came so close to losing.”
Her face softened.
“Why should I hide the love I have for my wife?” He kissed one cheek, then lightly brought a hand up between them to caress her belly.
“Or my child?” He whispered into her ear through loose curls.
She pulled back and pursed her lips but it was evident that she was fighting a smile.
“You finally got to share our news. Do you feel better?” she asked, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Much,” he grinned wickedly, pulling her close so he could kiss away her disapproval.
And it was true, he felt much better.