Beguiling Bridget (12 page)

“Embarrassment?”

Anthony’s arms froze around her. “I was going to say in your current state of perfection. What woman would be embarrassed about the fact that she can best a man with a sword, her wit, and her intelligence, I ask? Let me just call for one, I’ll not be a minute.”

With that he left her, and with him went all of her resolve. The rake had won, for her lips yearned for his kiss almost as much as her heart yearned for his approval.

Moments later, Bridget found herself tucked inside a hackney carriage dangerously close to Lord Maddox. And for once he appeared nervous. He who was normally brimming with an aggravating confidence sat fingering the seam of his breeches, seeming at a loss for words.

A heavy blanket of silence encompassed them as the moment stretched out. The hack jerked into motion, breaking the uneasy stillness.

A flutter of nerves wreaked havoc in Bridget’s stomach when Anthony cleared his throat.

“This arrangement isn’t working,” he finally said.

“That rather seems to be your doing, my lord.”

“Anthony.”

“Anthony. Sorry,” she answered. “You seem dreadfully incapable of keeping your end of the bargain.” Of course, truth be told, she so wasn’t anxious for him to observe the terms of their agreement anymore.

His gaze never left his hands as she spoke.

“I’m losing, you know.”

Bridget scrutinized him for a moment. How could that be possible? She had acted her part at all times, pretending to be utterly besotted with him when under the eye of his brother.

Pretending. That was an amusing thought.

“Your bet? How is that possible? Other than your complete inability to keep your hands—” She stopped because his hands had suddenly captured hers. His sparkling green eyes seemed to swallow her whole.

“No, Bridget. Not the bet.” His gaze drifted to her mouth. Bridget swallowed the tight knot stuck in her throat.

“Then what is it?”

Again he looked her in the eyes. The golden corona of his emerald eyes flashed with a brilliant flame. Bridget cursed silently. Somehow she already knew what he was going to say. And her heart resonated with the truth of it. Maybe he would kiss her, for once without being angrily provoked.

For their kiss during swordplay could hardly count for a kiss — an assault was more like it, and she couldn’t blame him for allowing his pride to get in the way, after all, she was a woman, and she had nearly bested him.

That is, until he began shredding away her clothes.

Bridget waited for Anthony to do something — anything, for he was still holding her hands tightly within his. Golden green eyes stared at her lips until with a curse Anthony pushed away and ran his hands through his thick hair.

“I’m losing my mind, that’s what I’m losing. I can’t believe my inability to control myself. I mean really, I know it isn’t a shock at all to you, but I’m quite appalled. I cannot even sit in a hack with you.”

Anthony shook his head, obviously disgusted at himself, and Bridget wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh at him or slap him across the face. Couldn’t he tell she was already invested? That she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her? She was
acting
angry! But Anthony was notorious for bringing such feelings to surface in Bridget. Either she was wearing down, or she had just lost her reasons for keeping him so far away from herself.

Heart pounding, she leaned forward, allowing her jacket to fall slightly open in the middle, exposing her corset and chemise.

“Are you insane?” Anthony yelled hoarsely and began cursing everything under the sun including jackets before closing his eyes and reaching forward grabbing at her jacket to pull it tight against her. Only, he didn’t exactly grab the right thing.

“Devil take me…. Bridget… Blast, tell me I did not just—”

Anthony’s eyes were still closed; his hands remained in a very inappropriate place. Bridget froze, waiting to see what he would do.

****

Anthony wasn’t really sure what to do. To move his hands would be madness, to leave them there, well, would honestly have the same outcome.

What brazen notion did Bridget get into her head? And why the devil had she purposefully opened the jacket more? Especially considering he had just made such an eloquent speech regarding his inability to control his more carnal instincts.

Immobile and absolutely paralyzed, Anthony did the only thing he could think of doing, the only thing his blood demanded he do.

In one swift movement he reached behind her head and pulled her lips flush against his, once and for all breaking the promise he had previously made to her, knowing that this one selfish act could seal his fate without her forever, but not caring of the future, only the present.

And the way Bridget went so willingly into his arms.

What the…

A sigh escaped her pouted mouth as she opened up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck pulling his hard body against her softness.

Such sweet desire shot through him that he wanted to roar. Instead he settled for increasing the pressure of the dance and demanding entry into her mouth. Anthony’s tongue swirled and pushed against hers, he couldn’t help but think that any minute she was going to push against him and he would receive yet another well-deserved slap.

Oddly enough, the slap didn’t come. To be honest, he was quite alarmed when the only jolt that forced him to stop ruining the girl was the hack coming to a stop at its final destination.

Slowly, Anthony pulled back and looked into Bridget’s glazed eyes. Over what, a few weeks ago, would have been triumph in having succeeded in the bet, he felt nothing except loss. Loss of her warmth, the sweet taste of her tongue — it was all gone, and in its place, the stale London air.

“Don’t go.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Bridget smiled and pulled the jacket firmly back into place. “I thought this was your idea. Am I not to sneak back into the house without getting caught?”

Sneak, right. For some reason his body felt such loss at her leaving that he had forgotten the reason for their secret jaunt in the hack in the first place.

“Just, follow me then.” He opened the door and helped her step out. If anyone saw them, or recognized Bridget, she would surely be ruined.

A slow smile crept across his lips as he tried to keep himself from breaking into a full-blown laugh. Oh please, God, let someone see them.

As if God had surely heard the cry of his heart, Lady Burnside’s voice boomed from around the corner.

“Hurry!” Bridget grabbed his hand. “She’ll see us!”

Moral dilemma. Should he ruin her and force her hand? Or be the romantic and take the high road, possibly facing a later rejection?

“Anthony!” Bridget tugged his arm tighter.

Decisions, decisions. Truly, would she be so upset? So horrified to be forced into marriage with him?

Lady Burnside yelled at her maid, her volume told them she was drawing closer.

“Anthony!” Bridget said his name like a curse.

“Oh fine.”
Blasted conscience!
He pushed her in the opposite direction toward the back of the house, just in time for Lady Burnside to come around the corner. In one movement, he thrust Bridget against the fence. Lady Burnside’s dog ran toward Anthony’s heels. On instinct he crushed his lips onto Bridget’s in hopes that her aunt would want nothing to do with such a vulgar display.

He hadn’t, of course, counted on Lady Burnside’s reaction to his vulgarity. Naturally, he hadn’t given a single thought to Bridget’s attire. From the particular angle she still looked very much a footman.

And unfortunately, from that same angle, Anthony looked very much aroused.

Lady Burnside screamed such a horrifying loud scream that Anthony prayed God would strike the woman with lightning, or perhaps just remove her voice box altogether.

“My lord!” Lady Burnside patted her chest with her gloved hand. “A footman? Really? Is this why your attentions towards me have been so, so…?”

“Indifferent,” Bridget piped in with a remarkably low voice that sounded extraordinarily like a boy’s.

“Exactly.” Lady Burnside’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it had naught to do with any deficiencies of my own.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “You see my interests lie elsewhere?” He shook his head even as he said it and fought the urge to step on Bridget’s foot. She was laughing so hard he could feel her tremble behind him.

“Yes, well… You may trust me to be discreet, as always.” Lady Burnside curtsied, picked up her dog, and scurried off, shaking her head and muttering to herself the whole way.

“Brilliant.” Anthony swore once she was out of earshot. “Now your aunt thinks I chase footmen in my spare time!”

“Thank you?” Bridget offered in a cheerful voice.

Anthony scowled and turned to face her.

Cheeks rosy and hair mussed, she looked like a forest nymph, and he found that his eyes could not focus on anything save her bee-stung lips and wild hair.

“You are most certainly welcome, my lady.”

“Bridget,” she reminded him.

“Bridget.”

Bridget looked down for a second before glancing back in his direction, a steely confident glint in her eyes.

“You win, my lord.”

“Pardon?”

Bridget laughed. “It’s apparent you truly haven’t heard those words as often as you claim. Let me say them again, for it might be the last time you hear them from my lips. You win.”

“What, pray tell, do I win?” He leaned in closer, taking in her alluring scent.

“The bet. You win. For the girl has fallen.”

“Fallen?”

Bridget leaned forward and lightly spoke against his lips. “In love. The girl has fallen in love… with you.”

In reverence, all Anthony could do, all he could
say
was, “Thank God.” And his lips captured hers in another life-altering kiss.

Chapter Thirteen

Settling the Score

The realization of what this might mean to her didn’t sink in until later that evening as Bridget readied for the ball. And as it did, she found herself a trifle confused.

On one hand, it was a completely new experience… being in love. She felt as though she could hardly keep her feet on the ground all afternoon. Her head swam with the fevered delirium Anthony’s touch provoked. His intoxicating kiss.

On the other hand, her life as she had known it would never be the same—
could
never be the same. Every married woman she knew was exactly alike. Content to gossip and play cards on occasion with their social circles. Spending endless evenings watching and judging others from their matronly sidelines at the
ton’s
events. Hiding their indiscretions from their likewise philandering husbands. She didn’t want that life. Not even a little of it.

And then there was the matter of her father. In her heart she had always believed all men were like him. That not one would remain faithful if presented with half a chance. The thought made her stomach churn, for her heart was already in too deep. It was the very reason she had struggled to resist Anthony. To protect her delicate sensibilities behind a hardened and cold stone wall. A wall she had been certain no man in the world would prove worthy enough to scale.

Now she was exposed and vulnerable… and at a loss as how to proceed.

Bridget feared betrayal. Not because she believed Anthony would wish to hurt her, but because she knew her fragile heart would never recover from his rejection.

It was too late. She knew that with surety as well. Her heart had chosen Anthony, with or without her mind’s consent. So what was left to do but close her eyes, leap, and hope he’d catch her?

It was time.

Time to stop fighting for control in a situation where there was none to be had. If Bridget was ever to be truly happy, she would have to play the odds.

As Tessa swept up her unruly red locks in the way only the lady’s maid could manage, a sharp knock sounded at the door, slicing through her silent preponderance. Before she could answer, Aunt Latissia opened it and bolted through, ringing her lace handkerchief and groaning in dramatic fashion. Back and forth she paced, casting sidelong glances at Bridget as she went.

Finally, Bridget could stand it no longer.

“Is there something amiss, Aunt?”

The answer was a mournful sigh. Aunt Latissia stopped as if to speak, then shook her head in despair and set back to pacing the room.

Bridget pushed Tessa’s hands away from her hair and rose from her place at the vanity table. She took a step closer to her aunt, cutting off her path.

“Aunt? You seem distressed. Has something happened?” Knowing her aunt as she did, Bridget was not overly concerned. Only trivial and meaningless things had the power to upset the woman, and then only if they inconvenienced
her
.

“Oh dear, dear, dear,” the woman chanted, still shaking her head and lamenting.

Bridget denied her sudden impulse to grab the woman by the shoulders and give her a firm shake.

“Oh, Bridget! I have dreadful news. Just dreadful!” Her eyes were darting here and there, seeming unable to come to rest on any one point.

“Aunt Latissia?” Bridget put her hand on the lady’s arm, bringing her flittering gaze into sharp focus on Bridget’s face.

“Oh, Bridget. Bridget. You should sit down, my dear.”

Bridget lifted an eyebrow in suspicion but sat down as she was told. Tessa promptly went back to dressing her hair.

Her aunt sashayed closer and reached out to touch Bridget’s cheek gingerly.

“Bridget, dear girl. I do have some dreadful news. Concerning your Lord Maddox, dear. I—” She dropped her hand and went back to wringing her lace handkerchief, allowing her gaze to wander again.

“Aunt Latissia, please. Just say it.”

“I caught the man in a secret tryst with — oh dear…” The older woman reached for the fan sitting on the vanity, opened it with a flick of her wrist, and proceeded to fan herself frantically. Finally she blurted, “A secret tryst with a footman! Here! Behind our very home!” Aunt Latissia closed the fan with a slap and threw her arms up in the air with an unladylike moan. “Can you believe it? Lord Maddox! No wonder he was so…
unfriendly
.”