He was no fool; he knew that love existed. But he also believed in
the power of the mind, and perhaps even more importantly, the power of the will. Frankly, he saw no
reason why love should be an involuntary thing.
If he didn’t want to fall in love, then by damn, he wasn’t going to. It was as simple as that. Ithad to be as
simple as that.
By the following morning, Anthony was drunk. By afternoon, he was hungover.
His head was pounding, his ears were ringing, and his brothers, who had been surprised to discover him
in such a state at
their club, were talking far too loudly.
Anthony put his hands over his ears and groaned.Everyone was talking far too loudly.
“Kate boot you out of the house?” Colin asked, grabbing a walnut from a large pewter dish in the middle
their table and
splitting it open with a viciously loud crack.
Anthony lifted his head just far enough to glare at him.
Benedict watched his brother with raised brows and the vaguest hint of a smirk. “She definitely booted
him out,” he said to Colin. “Hand me one of those walnuts, will you?”
Colin tossed one across the table. “Do you want the crackers as well?”
Benedict shook his head and grinned as he held up a fat, leather-bound book. “Much more satisfying to
smash them.”
“Don’t,” Anthony bit out, his hand shooting out to grab the book, “even think about it.”
“Ears a bit sensitive this afternoon, are they?”
If Anthony had had a pistol, he would have shot them both, hang the noise.
“If I might offer you a piece of advice?” Colin said, munching on his walnut.
“You might not,” Anthony replied. He looked up. Colin was chewing with his mouth open. As this had
been strictly forbidden while growing up in their household, Anthony could only deduce that Colin was
displaying such poor manners only to make more noise. “Close your damned mouth,” he muttered.
Colin swallowed, smacked his lips, and took a sip of his tea to wash it all down. “Whatever you did,
apologize for it. I know you, and I’m getting to know Kate, and knowing what I know—”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Anthony grumbled.
“I think,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair, “that he’s telling you you’re an ass.”
“Just so!” Colin exclaimed.
Anthony just shook his head wearily. “It’s more complicated than you think.”
“It always is,” Benedict said, with sincerity so false it almost managed to sound sincere.
“When you two idiots find women gullible enough to actually marry you,” Anthony snapped, “then you
may presume to
offer me advice. But until then ...shut up.”
Colin looked at Benedict. “Think he’s angry?”
Benedict quirked a brow. “That or drunk.”
Colin shook his head. “No, not drunk. Not anymore, at least. He’s clearly hungover.”
“Which would explain,” Benedict said with a philosophical nod, “why he’s so angry.”
Anthony spread one hand over his face and pressed hard against his temples with his thumb and middle
finger. “God above,”
he muttered. ‘‘What would it take to get you two to leave me alone?”
“Go home, Anthony,” Benedict said, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Deep inside, she knew who she was, and that person was smart and kind and often even funny, but somehow her personality always got lost somewhere between her heart and her mouth, and she found herself saying the wrong thing or, more often, nothing at all.
Julia QuinnBut he wanted to smile. He would have done, if he'd been able. Surely that had to be the most important thing.
The jabbing at his leg stopped for a bit, then started up again. Then there was a lovely, short pause, and then-
Damn, that hurt.
But not enough to cry out. Although he might have moaned. He wasn't sure. They'd poured hot water on him. Lots of it. He wondered if they were trying to poach his leg.
Boiled meat. How terribly British of them.
He chuckled. He was funny. Who knew he was so funny?
"Oh, my God!" he heard Honoria yell. "What did I do to him?"
He laughed some more. Because she sounded ridiculous.Almost as if she were speaking through a foghorn.Oooorrrrhhhh myyy Grrrrrrrrrd.
He wondered if she could hear it,too.
Wait a moment..Honoria was asking what she'd done to him?Did that mean she was wielding the scissors now?He wasn't sure how he ought to feel about this.
On the other hand...boiled meat!
He laughed again,deciding he didn't care.God,he was funny.How was it possible no one had ever told him he was funny before?
Did you know I dream about your hair? I use to say it was the color of the sun at sunset, but I'm wrong. It's brighter than the sun, just as you are.
Julia QuinnMots clés romantic
Eloise, whose mouth was as sharp as Hyacinth’s (though thankfully tempered by some discretion), had
remarked that they had best get Hyacinth married off quickly or their mother was going to become an
alcoholic. Lady Bridgerton had not appreciated the comment, although she privately thought it might be
true.
I’ve already instructed the
others to keep their mouths shut.”
“Even Hyacinth?” Penelope asked doubtfully.
“Especially Hyacinth.”
“Did you bribe her?” Violet asked. “Because it won’t work unless you
bribe her.”
“Good Lord,” Colin muttered. “One would think I’d joined this family
yesterday. Of course I bribed her.” He turned to Penelope. “No offense to
recent additions.”
“Oh, none taken.
Francesca couldn’t say anything, because that would just make her mother feel even worse, and so
instead they stood there as they always did, thinking the same thing but never speaking of it, wondering
which of them hurt more.
Eloise,” Penelope said, somewhat breathless from trying to shake off
Hyacinth.
“Penelope.” But Eloise’s voice sounded curious. Which did not
surprise Penelope; Eloise was no fool, and she was well aware that her
brother’s normal modes of behavior did not include beatific smiles in her
direction.
“Eloise,” Hyacinth said, for no reason Penelope could deduce.
“Hyacinth.”
Penelope turned to her husband. “Colin.”
He looked amused. “Penelope. Hyacinth.”
Hyacinth grinned. “Colin.” And then: “Sir Phillip.”
“Ladies.” Sir Phillip, it seemed, favored brevity.
“Stop!” Eloise burst out. “What is going on?”
“A recitation of our Christian names, apparently,” Hyacinth said.
He'd thought he would stop looking for her. He was a practical man, and he'd assumed that eventually he would simply give up. And in some ways, he had. After a few months he found himself back in the habit of turning down more invitations than he accepted. A few months after that, he realized that he was once again able to meet women and not automatically compare them to her.
But he couldn't stop himself from watching for her. He might not feel the same urgency, but whenever he attended a ball or took a seat at a musicale, he found his eyes sweeping across the crowd, his ears straining for the lilt of her laughter.
She was out there somewhere. He'd long since resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't likely to find her, and he hadn't searched actively for over a year, but...
He smiled wistfully. He just couldn't stop from looking. It had become, in a very strange way, a part of who he was. His name was Benedict Bridgerton, he had seven brothers and sisters, was rather skilled with both a sword and a sketching crayon, and he always kept his eyes open for the one woman who had touched his soul.
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