“But 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?”

“He wasn’t sure how he ought to feel about this. On the other hand . . . boiled meat!”

“Well,” she finally said, “he’s coming back shortly, so you are absolved of your responsibilities.” “No.” The word came from him like an oath, emerging from the very core of his being. She looked at him in impatient confusion. “What do you mean?” He stepped forward. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He knew only that he couldn’t stop. “I mean no. I don’t want to be absolved.” Her lips parted. He took another step. His heart was pounding, and something within him had gone hot, and greedy, and if there was anything in the world besides her, besides him—he did not know it. “I want you,” he said, the words blunt, and almost harsh, but absolutely, indelibly true. “I want you,” he said again, and he reached out and took her hand. “I want you.” “Marcus, I—” “I want to kiss you,” he said, and he touched one finger to her lips. “I want to hold you.” And then, because he couldn’t have kept it inside for one second longer, he said, “I burn for you.” He took her face in his hands and he kissed her. He kissed her with everything that had been building within him, every last aching, hungry burst of desire. Since the moment he had realized he loved her, this passion had been growing within him. It had probably been there all along, just waiting for him to realize it. He loved her.”

“I had the pleasure of dining with yourbrother.”“Gregory? Really? You’d classify it as a pleasure?” But he wasgrinning as he said it, and Honoria could instantly picture what lifemust be like in the Bridgerton household: a great deal of teasing anda great deal of love.“He was most gracious to me,” she said with a smile.“Shall I tell you a secret?” Mr. Bridgerton murmured, andHonoria decided that in his case, it was right and proper to listen togossip—he was an incredible flirt.“Must I keep the secret?” she asked, leaning forward ever-soslightly.“Definitely not.”She gave him a sunny smile. “Then yes, please.”Mr. Bridgerton leaned in, just about as far as she had done. “Hehas been known to catapult peas across the supper table.”Honoria gave him a very somber nod. “Has he done thisrecently?”“Not too recently, no.”She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. It was lovelyto witness this type of sibling teasing. There used to be so much of itin her home, although most of the time she’d been but a witness.She was so much younger than the rest of her siblings; in allhonesty, most of the time they’d probably just forgotten to teaseher.“I have but one question, Mr. Bridgerton.”He cocked his head.“How was this catapult constructed?”He grinned. “Simple spoon, Lady Honoria. But in Gregory’sdevious hands, there was nothing simple about it.”

“He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities.She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest.”

“Honoria nodded and was about to say something utterlyforgettable when she saw that his hand had been bandaged.“I hope your injury is not severe,” she said politely.“Oh, this?” he held up his hand. His fingers were free to waggle,but the rest of it looked rather like a mitt. “It’s nothing. Analtercation with a letter opener.”“Well, please do be careful of infection,” Honoria said,somewhat more forcefully than was de rigueur. “If it grows red, orswollen, or even worse, yellow, then you must see a doctor atonce.”“Green?” he quipped.“I beg your pardon?”“You listed so many colors about which I must be wary.”For a moment Honoria could only stare. Wound infection wasnot a laughing matter.“Lady Honoria?” he murmured.She decided to proceed as if he’d said nothing. “Mostimportantly, you must watch for reddish streaks spreading from thewound. Those are the worst.”He blinked, but if he was startled by the turn of theconversation, he did not show it. Instead he looked down at hishand with a curious eye and said, “How red?”“I beg your pardon?”“How red do the streaks have to be before I must worry?”“How do you know so much about medicine?” Lady Danburycut in.“Do you know, I’m not sure how red,” Honoria told Mr.Bridgerton. “I would think anything stripey ought to be a cause foralarm.”

“Oh, Daniel,” his mother exclaimed, catching him before he could make his escape, “do come join us. We’re trying to decide if Honoria should be married in lavender-blue or blue-lavender.”He opened his mouth to ask the difference, then decided against it. “Blue-lavender,” he said firmly, not having a clue as to what he was talking about.“Do you think so?” his mother responded, frowning. “I really think lavender-blue would be better.”The obvious question would have been why she’d asked his opinion in the first place, but once again, he decided that the wise man did not make such queries.”