Beguiling Bridget (7 page)

The silence hung heavy at the end of his proposition. The lady’s expression was unreadable. Anthony had naught to do but wait for her to present her terms.

“Answer me this, for I’m terribly curious. When would you have won my favor, do you think, my lord? Would it have been the day you assumed I was blind?” She toyed with the knife in her hands and stepped around the chair, moving closer to him. “Or perhaps after you slipped on an innocent strawberry?” She was drawing nearer, and with every step Anthony grew warmer. “Or maybe after you fell on the street? Would it have been then, my lord?” She stopped directly in front of him and grinned the wide grin of the victor.

“Those were flukes.” Anthony cursed. “They haven’t happened before, I assure you! It’s all your fault anyway, you have me…”

“I have you what?” Lady Bridget breathed the air directly in front of him. He couldn’t inhale without her scent invading his senses.

“You have me… somewhat flustered.”

“I’m sure that was very hard to admit.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Yes, well, just so you’re aware, I have half a mind to ravish you right here just to prove to myself that I still can.”

Lady Bridget’s eyes widened for a second, then she turned her face away from him. “So my choice is to leave you to your own devices, or offer my aid, is that it?”

Anthony swore. What the devil was he doing? What was she doing to him? “If you help me convince my brother and Wilde that you are, in fact, smitten with me, I’ll convince your aunt that we’re courting, thereby making it possible for you to escape this Season free of the pressures from your family.”

He knew he had her by the irritated look on her face. A look he recognized as the one women only wore when they realized a man was right. She was caught — gloriously caught — for he had found her Achilles’ heel, and he meant to use it to his fullest advantage, in whatever way possible.

“Think of it this way…” He began to pace, slowly circling her, deep in thought. He stopped when he stood behind her and moved to gently rest his hands on her shoulders. “If you fall in love with me, and I cry off at the end of the Season, your aunt will be more than understanding in your need to nurse your broken heart. And I am a difficult man to get over… Why, it may take you months — perhaps even years.”

A laugh escaped Lady Bridget’s throat, though she tried to stifle it with her hand. “Yes, and my poor soul would be so fearful of seeing the great Viscount Maddox at the Season’s events, I would surely take to my bed with a broken heart.”

“It would be expected,” Anthony agreed, his hands sliding down her arms.

“After all, you are highly sought after.”

“Many a tender-hearted girl would be sick with melancholy…”

She set her shoulders with apparent resolve, and he knew she had made a decision. Slowly, he turned her to face him. Her scent again invaded his senses, causing his body to tense with want. He would do well to remember she wasn’t his to possess. He knew she was weakening, that she saw the obvious advantage to his plan, but he wished to hear her say it aloud.

“What do you say?” His eyes locked with hers.

“I agree, but you must promise to keep your hands off me, my lord. It cannot be said that you ruined me, do you understand?” She brushed his hands off her arms without emotion.

“Perfectly,” he swore, allowing his arms to fall to his sides in surrender.

Rolling her eyes, a smile broke out on her face. “It’s kind of you to so readily agree, but I am serious. No kissing, no caressing, no—”

Anthony clapped his hand over her mouth. If she continued to speak thus she would find herself good and ruined. “Fine.” He thought his heart might explode. “I will agree to your terms, only please don’t say anything else. Such words do not help my current state of interest with your body, my lady.” He swallowed the knot in his throat. Then allowed mischief to play in his expression. “Shall we seal it with a kiss?”

She glared. The cold steel of the knife blade rested at his chest, serving as a subtle reminder.

“So, is that a no?”

The room shifted. It seemed the lady suddenly realized what a compromising position she was in. The air in the room grew heavy, as did her eyes, and her gaze shot to the knife in her hand; her long eyelashes fluttered down to rest across her cheekbones in embarrassment. But not before an ever-so-brief moment of focus spent on his lips.

Not truly fearing the blade she held to him, he reached for her head and coaxed it toward his, planting a passionate kiss on her lips.

The knife dropped to the floor.

Anthony wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her in the air to pull her closer still.

The haze descended upon his mind in a dense fog of desire. The promise he had just made seemed only a dream, quickly dissolving in the heat of his need for her.

A sharp pain in his shin brought him hurdling back into clarity. Had she just kicked him? As if in answer to his unspoken question, a torrent of pointed blows rained on his legs — all proudly distributed by the woman he was now assaulting.

With a curse he dropped her; she sailed to the floor.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she said, breathless upon the floor at his feet. A glance at her was enough to ruin him even now, for her chest heaved with rapid gasps and the fire in her eyes matched the particular glint of her hair.

After a moment, Anthony found his voice again. “I am sorry.” He cursed again. “Don’t worry. I will keep my end of the bargain. However, I must add that tasting you is worth the torture you inflict. I give you my word to maintain a respectable distance, though few things are better than tasting of the forbidden fruit.”

“And I am the forbidden fruit?” Lady Bridget asked as she stood and straightened her skirts.

“It might be best if I think of you as a strawberry.” He winked. “Then it will become infinitely easier to maintain my distance.”

She laughed lightly. “Perhaps so.”

“Shall we return to the ball then? We have people to convince that you’re utterly besotted with me.”

“Don’t forget.” Lady Bridget reached for the knife and handed it to him. “They must also believe you’re besotted with me.”

Anthony took the knife and shook his head as he slid it back into his boot. “My dear, that will require no acting whatsoever on my part.” He held out his arm. Tentatively, she took it and they returned to the ballroom.

In Anthony’s mind, a hush descended when everyone saw the girl secured to his arm. If she thought him prideful before, she would shudder to see how much his chest was puffed now. He brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, tightly pulling her along back onto the dance floor.

“Ah, so the rumors begin,” Anthony whispered near her ear. “Do you think you can manage?”

They separated as the dance demanded. When they drew back together, Lady Bridget winked. “I shall just have to endure you, won’t I?”

“Endure is such a terrible sounding word. I much prefer
enjoy
,
take advantage of
,
seduce
…” He trailed off, noting her heightened color.

“Endure,” she repeated. “Definitely endure. I believe I’ll deserve a medal for having to deal with the sheer magnitude of your lordship’s ego for the remaining weeks.”

“And I shall be only too happy to secure it around your beautiful neck.” Anthony battled against his desire to touch her flushed skin once more. This was not going to be easy.

She didn’t answer him, merely raised her brow and curtsied as the dance ended, and it was just in time, for Wilde approached and asked a dance of the girl.

Anthony conceded, mainly because a man who didn’t know how to properly seduce a woman was not a threat. He watched as Wilde awkwardly took her hand, as if he was nervous. Anthony shook the thought from his head and approached his smug twin.

“I believe I’ve won,” Anthony announced.

“You cheated.”Ambrose cursed.

“I never cheat.”

“Says the cheater.”

“Speaking of cheating — have you seen your wife? She’s promised to show me how to best you at chess later this week.”

Ambrose cleared his throat. “Yes, well, she’s only won a handful of times. That doesn’t mean she’s better at anything…”

“Right.” Anthony patted his brother on the back, then reached for a flute of champagne as it passed. “So, her whereabouts?”

“Spying.”

Anthony spewed the contents of his mouth into the air, missing his brother by a mere inch. “So, she does your dirty work for you? I see how it is.”

Ambrose glared. “Merely trying to acquire more information for your benefit, brother, and she so graciously offered to help.”

“Probably wants to see me married off so I stop bothering you two.” Anthony picked up another flute of champagne.

He lifted it to his lips as Ambrose swore. “It’s just that you come at the most inappropriate times, just yesterday we barely had time to clothe—”

Anthony spewed the champagne again, this time spraying his brother well in the face. “Devil take it, Ambrose! I need not know the details! Besides,” he glanced over at the sound of Lady Bridget’s laughter in Wilde’s arms. “She’s as good as mine.”

“That confident, eh, Anthony?” Ambrose brooded, wiping the dripping champagne from his face with his handkerchief.

“Yes.” He downed the contents of his glass. “Yes, I am.”

Chapter Seven

So Goes the Battle

It would accomplish two tasks at once. And Bridget was nothing if not efficient. Yes, she agreed to help the viscount. But not for his sake.

Her benefits would far outweigh the drawbacks of spending time in the company of his acute arrogance. Her aunt and uncle would no longer find need to scrutinize her every move at a social event. More importantly, the viscount had vowed to keep his advances to himself. Bridget was assured she had nothing to fear from constant assaults on her resolve to keep her virtue intact. And heaven help her, it was disintegrating in leaps and bounds every time he touched her.

After the dance with Sir Wilde, Bridget made her way back to where her aunt sat in predatory anticipation of her next quarry. The woman’s gaze scoured the gentlemen, seeking out the weakest of the herd. It made Bridget’s stomach turn. And she was at a loss at how her aunt’s blatant disregard for propriety could go so unnoticed amongst the
ton
. And then there was poor Uncle Ernest, who was a kind but preoccupied man, completely oblivious to his wife’s indiscretions.

As she grew closer, Aunt Latissia regarded her with suspicion. “You’re very cozy with Viscount Maddox this evening.” Her rapacious glance back at Lord Maddox was hardly veiled. “Are you certain you wish to have your name linked with such as he?”

“Are you displeased, my lady? I was under the impression you believed him a worthy suitor. After all, you often seek his company, do you not?” Bridget said with a hint of irony. Aunt Latissia’s sharp look told her the point was not lost on her, but in that moment Uncle Ernest approached, cutting off the vicious scolding sure to come.

“Bridget. My lady,” he addressed them, kissing his wife’s proffered hand. “How do you find the dancing this evening?”

“It’s lovely, Uncle,” Bridget answered.

“I do believe our young charge has finally found someone worthy of her attention, my lord,” Latissia said with concealed bitterness.

“That’s wonderful, my dear! Who is our lucky young gentleman?” Uncle Ernest was fairly bursting with pleasure at the news.

Bridget knew that neither of her guardians was so concerned with her happiness as they were with regaining their freedom from the responsibility bestowed upon them in her behalf.

“Lord Maddox,” her aunt answered. “But I don’t know if that is a match I can approve—”

“Nonsense!” the earl interrupted. “It is an excellent match, and we shall do our part to encourage this courtship, my dear! You know his reputation and influence. We could do no better short of the royal family!”

“Of course, my lord. I thought only of our sweet niece’s delicate sensitivities when it comes to living under the scrutiny of the
ton
. And the viscount has a way of drawing attention as you know…”

Bridget knew her aunt’s objections had more to do with her futile hopes to seduce the viscount for herself and far less to do with any sense of what Bridget’s desires might be.

Her uncle shook his head resolutely. “This is an excellent match. And we will encourage it.” With that, he kissed his wife’s hand once again, bowed briefly to Bridget, and made his way to the gentleman’s lounge.

As he left them, Lady Burnside concealed her wrath under a thin veil of pleasantries. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Very well. Lord Maddox it is. Be sure to smile, my dear. Your usual glower will do nothing to entice his lordship to seek your hand.”

“Aunt, I don’t think—”

“Precisely. You don’t think. Now, you heard your uncle. We will encourage it. It is your job to secure a husband, my dear. Do not let your grandmother down.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

Lady Burnside stood quiet for a moment as if deep in thought before adding, “He will have to see your talents…” She considered another moment then waved an over-eager hand at Lord Maddox, who eyed them from across the room.

At her aunt’s invitation, he sauntered toward them with that air of self-assurance that bothered Bridget all the way to her toes.

“Lord Maddox,” Lady Burnside crooned upon his arrival near their party. “We are simply dying to have you visit tomorrow afternoon. Lady Bridget has a painting lesson, and is in dire need of a subject.” She jostled Bridget with a sharp elbow.

Lord Maddox’s gaze turned on her with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Is that so?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Bridget said with a sigh. “Will you consent to a portrait, sir?” Suddenly, her side of their bargain did not seem to be going the way she had hoped. If this interference by her aunt was any indication of what she could expect, she would not see any benefit from this arrangement whatsoever.

****

Oh, heaven was surely smiling upon him! Sit for a portrait? Spend hours in her company doing nothing save staring at her delicate hand as it sashayed this way and that? He cleared his throat. Above all he couldn’t seem too eager to simply sit and stare. What would people think of him? Blast, he was already judging himself.