The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,81
was something so loose and limber about him, as if he fit smoothly into any situation. His posture was as correct as any gentleman’s, and yet . . .
He was different.
Violet wasn’t sure how to describe it, but there was something about him that put her at ease. He made her feel happy. Free.
Because he was. It took only a minute at his side to realize that he was the most happy and free person she would ever meet.
“Did you ever find the opportunity to put your weapon to use?” he asked.
She looked at him quizzically.
“The pie,” he reminded her.
“Oh. No. My father would have had my head. And besides that, there was no one to attack.”
“Surely you could have found a reason to go after Georgie,” Mr. Bridgerton said.
“I don’t attack without provocation,” Violet said with what she hoped was a teasingly arch smile, “and Georgie Millerton never floured me.”
“A fair-minded lady,” Mr. Bridgerton said. “The very best kind.”
Violet felt her cheeks turn ridiculously warm. Thank heavens the sun had nearly gone down and there wasn’t much light coming through the windows. With just the flickering candles to light the room, he might not realize just how pink her face had gone.
“No brother or sister to earn your ire?” Mr. Bridgerton asked. “It does seem a shame to let a perfectly good pie go to waste.”
“If I recall correctly,” Violet replied, “it didn’t go to waste. Everyone had some for pudding that night except me. And anyway, I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Really?” His brow furrowed. “Strange that I don’t remember that about you.”
“Do you remember much?” she asked dubiously. “Because I . . .”
“Don’t?” he finished for her. He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I take no insult. I never forget a face. It’s a gift and a curse.”
Violet thought of all the times—right now included—that she’d not known the name of the person in front of her. “How could such a thing be a curse?”
He leaned toward her with a flirtatious tilt of his head. “One gets one’s heart broken, you know, when the pretty ladies don’t remember one’s name.”
“Oh!” She felt her face flush. “I’m so sorry, but you must realize, it was so long ago, and—”
“Stop,” he said, laughing. “I jest.”
“Oh, of course.” She ground her teeth together. Of course he was teasing. How could she have been such a dolt as to not realize it. Although . . .
Had he just called her pretty?
“You were saying you have no siblings,” he said, expertly returning the conversation to its previous spot. And for the first time, she felt as if she held his full attention. He didn’t have one eye on the crowd, idly scanning for George Millerton. He was looking at her, right into her eyes, and it was terrifyingly spectacular.
She swallowed, remembering his question about two seconds too late for smooth conversation. “No siblings,” she said, her voice coming out too fast to make up for her delay. “I was a difficult child.”
His eyes widened, almost thrillingly. “Really?”
“No, I mean, I was a difficult baby. To be born.” Good heavens, where had her verbal skills gone? “The doctor told my mother not to have more.” She swallowed miserably, determined to find her brain again. “And you?”
“And me?” he teased.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Three. Two sisters and a brother.”
The thought of three extra people in her often lonely childhood suddenly sounded marvelous. “Are you close?” she asked.
He thought about that for a moment. “I suppose I am. I’ve never really thought about it. Hugo’s quite my opposite, but I would still consider him my closest friend.”
“And your sisters? Are they younger or older?”
“One of each. Billie’s got seven years on me. She’s finally got herself married, so I don’t see much of her, but Georgiana’s just a bit younger. She’s probably your age.”
“Is she not here in London, then?”
“She’ll be out next year. My parents claim they’re still recovering from Billie’s debut.”
Violet felt her eyebrows rise, but she knew she shouldn’t—
“You can ask,” he told her.
“What did she do?” she said immediately.
He leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam. “I never got all the details, but I did hear something about a fire.”
Violet sucked in her breath—in shock and admiration.
“And a broken bone,” he added.
“Oh, the poor thing.”
“Not her broken bone.”
Violet smothered a laugh. “Oh no. I shouldn’t—”
“You can laugh,” he told her.
She did. It burst out of her, loud and lovely, and when she realized people were staring at her, she didn’t care.