The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,13
was her location to consider—was she upstairs or down, visible from the doorway, et cetera, et cetera.
Then one had to add in the children. Were they at home? Possibly in his way? They would slow him down, certainly, perhaps even by a full minute, and—
“You!”
Kate blinked with surprise. Anthony was in the doorway, panting with exertion and glaring at her with a surprising degree of venom.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
Well, perhaps not so surprising.
She blinked impassively. “Would you like to sit down?” she inquired. “You look somewhat overexerted.”
“Kate . . .”
“You’re not as young as you used to be,” she said with a sigh.
“Kate . . .” The volume was rising.
“I can ring for tea,” she said sweetly.
“It was locked,” he growled. “My office was locked.”
“Was it?” she murmured.
“I have the only key.”
“Do you?”
His eyes widened. “What have you done?”
She flipped a page, even though she wasn’t looking at the print. “When?”
“What do you mean, when?”
“I mean . . .” She paused, because this was not a moment to let pass without proper internal celebration. “When. This morning? Or last month?”
It took him a moment. No more than a second or two, but it was just long enough for Kate to watch his expression slide from confusion to suspicion to outrage.
It was glorious. Enchanting. Delicious. She’d have cackled with it, but that would only encourage another month of double-double-toil-and-trouble jokes, and she’d only just got him to cease.
“You made a key to my office?”
“I am your wife,” she said, glancing at her fingernails. “There should be no secrets between us, don’t you think?”
“You made a key?”
“You wouldn’t wish for me to keep secrets, would you?”
His fingers gripped the door frame until his knuckles turned white. “Stop looking like you’re enjoying this,” he ground out.
“Ah, but that would be a lie, and it’s a sin to lie to one’s husband.”
Strange choking sounds began to emanate from his throat.
Kate smiled. “Didn’t I pledge honesty at some point?”
“That was obedience,” he growled.
“Obedience? Surely not.”
“Where is it?”
She shrugged. “Not telling.”
“Kate!”
She slid into a singsong. “Not tellllllllling.”
“Woman . . .” He moved forward. Dangerously.
Kate swallowed. There was a small, rather tiny actually but nonetheless very real chance that she might have gone just a wee bit too far.
“I will tie you to the bed,” he warned.
“Yeeeessss,” she said, acknowledging his point as she gauged the distance to the door. “But I might not mind it precisely.”
His eyes flared, not quite with desire—he was still too focused on the Pall Mall mallet for that—but she rather thought she saw a flash of . . . interest there.
“Tie you up, you say,” he murmured, moving forward, “and you’d like it, eh?”
Kate caught his meaning and gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would.”
He was aiming for a repeat performance. He was going to tie her up and leave her there while he searched for the mallet.
Not if she had anything to say about it.
Kate scrambled over the arm of her chair and then scooted behind it. Always good to have a physical barrier in situations like these.
“Oh, Kaaaaate,” he taunted, moving toward her.
“It’s mine,” she declared. “It was mine fifteen years ago, and it’s still mine.”
“It was mine before it was yours.”
“But you married me!”
“And this makes it yours?”
She said nothing, just locked her eyes with his. She was breathless, panting, caught up in the rush of the moment.
And then, fast as lightning, he jumped forward, reaching over the chair, catching hold of her shoulder for a brief moment before she squirmed away.
“You will never find it,” she practically shrieked, scooting behind the sofa.
“Don’t think you’ll escape now,” he warned, doing a sideways sort of maneuver that put him between her and the door.
She eyed the window.
“The fall would kill you,” he said.
“Oh, for the love of God,” came a voice from the doorway.
Kate and Anthony turned. Anthony’s brother Colin was standing there, regarding them both with an air of disgust.
“Colin,” Anthony said tightly. “How nice to see you.”
Colin merely quirked a brow. “I suppose you’re looking for this.”
Kate gasped. He was holding the black mallet. “How did you—”
Colin stroked the blunt, cylindrical end almost lovingly. “I can only speak for myself, of course,” he said with a happy sigh, “but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve already won.”
Game day
“I fail to comprehend,” Anthony’s sister Daphne remarked, “why you get to set up the course.”
“Because I bloody well own the lawn,” he bit off. He held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he inspected his