Beguiling Bridget Read online

“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 ba
ck 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.”

  A sudden burst of mirth overtook Bridget, and she choked back a forceful laugh, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement.

  Fortunately, Aunt Latissia mistook the snort and gurgle as shock at the tragic announcement.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear,” she said, patting Bridget’s arm. “I know you had set your cap for him. But alas, it is not to be.”

  Bridget’s laughter strained through her tightly closed lips, sounding more like a heartbreaking sob. Naturally, tears followed — no doubt offering the appearance on an honest lament.

  “There, there, girl. Put him out of your mind. My goodness, child, you act as though you were besotted with the gentleman. Now I say, dry your tears. We’ll find you a fitting match yet. Sir Wilde, perhaps? He’s been mooning about your heels like a lovesick fool these past few weeks. Will you not consider the gentleman?”

  Bridget had yet to find her tongue and dared not speak lest she betray her delight in the whole misunderstanding. She merely covered her face with her hands and shook her head wildly.

  “Well, perhaps you’ll think better of the matter this evening. Finish dressing, dear girl, and put Lord Maddox and his propensity for footmen out of your mind completely.”

  At that, Bridget burst forth with another round of stifled laughter and turned quickly away from her aunt, leaving only the trembling of her shoulders as evidence of her amusement.

  “Tessa, do stop standing there staring and make yourself useful! Help Lady Bridget with her gown.”

  The lady’s maid, who had been gaping in silent shock at the entire scene leapt into action immediately.

  Aunt Latissia muttered to herself as she made her way out into the corridor. “I know I gave my word I would be discreet, but the ton must know the truth. Perhaps an afternoon call to Lady—” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind Aunt Latissia as she stormed out.

  ****

  Aunt Latissia had played her hand well. By the time Bridget and her sponsors arrived at the ball, the gossip buzzing in everyone’s ears was Anthony’s interest in footmen.

  Bridget scanned the room for the viscount, eventually locating him in her customary hiding place behind the potted plants. Her heart raced at the sight of him.

  “There you are, my lord,” she said as she joined him. “Hiding?”

  “Not at all. I am simply enjoying the beauty of our host’s lovely greenery. It’s not often I have time for such activities.”

  “I see. They are lovely.” She glanced about him on the right and left then asked with a smirk, “Where is your footman this evening? Home with the children?”

  His vengeful glower brought a smile to her lips. And then a playful glint danced in Anthony’s eyes.

  “No. In fact, I believe he’s nigh at hand. No doubt sharpening his rapier in case it is needed to defend my honor from anyone who would wish to steal away my virtue.”

  “Surely he has nothing to fear in me, my lord. I assure you, my intentions are as pure as the driven snow.”

  “Now that is a pity,” Anthony answered, sidling closer.

  Bridget’s heart leapt and set off at a hot pace, causing her breath to catch in her chest.

  “Would you care to dance, Lady Bridget?” he asked, his gaze boring into her very soul.

  “I don’t know if that’s quite the thing, Lord Maddox. After all, you are rather the scandal this evening. And a girl cannot be too careful in situations such as this.”

  “I suppose that is true enough. However, somehow I believe your attention can only help us both.”

  “Both of us? Correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but it is not my reputation being mucked about amongst the pigs this night.”

  Anthony looked past her with a mischievous grin. “Perhaps you are right, sweeting.” He shrugged and added, “It is just as well.”

  She regarded him with humorous suspicion. “Oh? And why is that, oh great Adonis?” The nickname seemed to take him off guard for a moment and his gaze returned to meet hers then dropped the short distance to her mouth. Her lips warmed in anticipation at his mere look.

  “You’re not wearing breeches,” he said with a roguish wink. “Ask anyone here. Unless you’re in breeches, you are of no interest to me whatsoever.”

  “Is that so? In that case I’m certain Lady Burnside will be only too happy to give up her skirts for you.”

  “Of that there is no doubt. The very thought is enough to put me off completely.” A shiver seemed to run through him. “Which brings us back to the beginning. Since I am no longer chasing footmen, I find myself in dire need of a fair maiden with whom to dance in order to expunge my soiled reputation.”

  “And you wish for me to rescue you?”

  He took her hand and hooked it around his arm, gazing into her eyes as he did so. “I am desperate for it,” he whispered and led her onto the dance floor.

  ****

  Bridget bit her lip, hiding her contagious smile, and nodded her ascent. Anthony half-expected her to abandon him near the foliage. Instead she courageously marched forth toward the dance floor.

  The whispered speculation increased. Anthony had no experience being on the opposite end of the gossip. Usually discreet, his only flaw had ever been his propensity to impersonate the incorrigible rake.

  Tonight there would be no such gossip. Shifting uncomfortably, he pivoted to face Bridget. With a sigh, he raised an eyebrow and offered her a roguish wink. She in return managed an amused smile.

  As the dancing commenced the whispering grew even worse, until Anthony was so irritated he wanted to start listing names of women he had successfully seduced, but the whole idea of seducing any woman put a foul taste in his mouth.

  And then he began to feel abashed, which was even worse than asking for help in his mind, because guilt spoke of true feelings, a conscience.

  The idea that he had sought out other woman when the one he had always needed was now dancing with him was repugnant.

  So instead of taking a poll, he managed to finish the dance and pulled Bridget flush against him.

  “Anthony,” she whispered. “You are causing a scandal.”

  “I’m proposing,” he announced with far more confidence than he felt. And though he tried to hide the palpable emotion, his voice rose two octaves, betraying him.

  Bridget’s brow quivered slightly. “Are you now? And what are you proposing? Another of your vulgar deals, my lord?”

  “Marriage,” he said boldly, loudly, without hesitation. And then Anthony Benson, Viscount Maddox, kissed her in the middle of the dance floor. Stopping all gossip, all slander, and apparently every breath in the entirety of the ton as the music stopped and people gaped.

  “Bravo!” A man clapped, and Anthony turned to see Ambrose chuckling and clapping like a fool while Wilde stood beside him with his arms across his chest, scowling with an inordinate passion.

  The abrupt outbreak brought Anthony spiraling back into reality, and he remembered where he was. With a sheepish nod at his brother, he escorted a flushed Bridget off the floor.

  Lady Burnside stormed toward them, fire in her eyes as well as anger etched across her weathered face. “You!” She poked Anthony in the chest. “How dare you ruin her! And right here in front of everyone! Without announcing your intention to marry her! After what I saw! And that footman! Well, I—”

  “You are mistaken, Aunt,” Bridget interrupted smoothly. “There was no footman.”

  “Do not pre
sume to tell me, girl!”

  “I beg your pardon, Aunt Latissia. I suppose in one sense there was a footman, but it was not a man.”

  Lady Latisssia’s eyes bulged. “I know what I saw!”

  “Perhaps,” Anthony offered, mainly because he couldn’t help it, “it would be well to have your sight checked, my lady. After all, in such advanced age, one should be careful to stay healthy and,” he cleared his throat, “astute.”

  Bridget planted a sharp elbow squarely in his ribs.

  Lady Burnside grew crimson and stormed away.

  “Congratulations, my dear.” Bridget’s uncle approached and offered his hand. “I will expect you first thing in the morning, Maddox.”

  Anthony smiled warmly as he shook the offered hand. “Of course, Lord Burnside. I look forward to it.”

  “Well then, I’m off to look after my wife’s health. No doubt she’s having a fit of the vapors.”

  “No doubt,” Anthony mumbled under his breath. “Bridget?” He offered his arm and made quick work of guiding her outside near the gardens.

  The memory of his first botched proposal to Cordelia haunted him. It had gone so horribly wrong. He hoped to make this one a vast improvement. Perhaps ride a white stallion through double doors and proclaim his undying love. Certainly Bridget deserved more than Please consider me an alternative to perpetual virginity. Botched proposals seemed to be his forte.

  In retrospect, he counted himself fortunate that Cordelia hadn’t slapped him across the face in that first occurrence. Although in Anthony’s defense, his plan to push her into his brother’s arms had worked brilliantly.

  Yet, as he faced Bridget now and moonlight danced across her face, he was overcome with terror that he was about to make a blunder of himself once more. He cleared his throat.

  “Bridget.” He grasped her hands and took another deep breath.

  A small insect chose that inopportune time to fly into his mouth, sending him into a coughing fit and nearly to his knees.

  “Heavens! Anthony, are you all right?” Bridget pounded him squarely on the back several times before he was able to speak.

  And when words finally did pour forth, they were hoarse and awkward.