Beguiling Bridget Page 6

  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 n
othing 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.

  A servant passed by with champagne. Anthony quickly lifted a flute and drank the dry contents. “Yes, I believe that would be exciting indeed. Anything I can do to aid the lovely Lady Bridget in her… artistic pursuits.” With his free hand he reached for her arm and looped it within his. “After all, I can think of nothing I would rather do than gaze upon your beauty, my sweet.” He bit his lip.

  Lady Burnside cleared her throat. “Lovely. We shall expect you in the afternoon. Shall we say around two?”

  “Perfect. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Anthony winked at Lady Bridget and turned back toward her aunt, who was now changing to such a peculiar shade of red, he was sure her head would explode. Clearly, the woman was not amused that he had found a younger more desirable girl upon whom to shower his affections. He quickly excused himself and decided to call it a night. After all, he had much work to do the following afternoon.

  ****

  Anthony gazed upon the large regal mansion and steeled himself for what would surely be the one of the more trying experiences of his life. Sitting for hours in the presence of the most attractive woman in the world as she painted didn’t seem to be the best of ideas, especially if his current state of arousal was any indication of how the day would proceed.

  The idea that he would be required to stand utterly still while having to stare at the beautiful Lady Bridget was near laughable. After all, simply being in her presence accelerated his breathing, his desire, his irritation — everything.

  He must remember his part of the bargain. No matter how much she seemed to need it, Anthony had promised to keep his hands to himself. Now if he could just keep his own desires in check, lest he embarrass himself and the girl in the process.

  Anthony knocked on the door and was quickly ushered into one of the salons. Bridget stood behind a large easel, paintbrush in hand.

  “Am I late?” he asked, his voice cracking the silence of the room.

  “Just on time.” She didn’t look at him. Instead her dainty hand added a few more strokes to the painting before her. The lady tilted her head and a smile broke across her face.

  “What are you working on?” He couldn’t help the playful smile that spread across his lips.

  “A masterpiece.” She huffed and threw him a saucy wink.

  “May I see it?” He felt his smile widening.

  Bridget pulled away from the painting and shrugged. “Of course, my lord. I do hope it doesn’t scare you though. It may be frightening.”

  “Frightening?” He gave her a patronizing look and turned to face the picture.

  “A bowl of strawberries?” he asked, like the idiot he was.

  Lady Bridget sighed. “Yes, I felt inspired.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And did you notice that in the corner?” She pointed to the top of the piece where, what had to be the ugliest man alive stood, arms high above his head flailing as if he was about to take a tumble.

  “It’s you!” She laughed. “It’s quite a likeness, don’t you agree?”

  Anthony gave a tight smile. “Yes, it’s perfect. Though you forgot one detail.”

  “What?”

  “The woman standing next to me who threw the strawberry, perpetuating the entire tragic sequence of events.”

  “I did nothing of the sort!”

  Anthony snorted. “So you say, my lady, but I have seen your true colors. You’d be much happier impaling me on the end of your paintbrush than standing next to me right now. Admit it.”

  “With pride.”

  Anthony muttered a low string of curses and eyed her with suspicion. “Where is your aunt this afternoon?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone?” His voice raised a few octaves.

  Lady Bridget smiled. “Lady Burnside is rarely home in the afternoons, my lord. She is making calls. I don’t expect her home for several hours.”

  “You,” he pointed at Lady Bridget and tried not to yell, “are not allowed to speak of any of this to anyone, do you understand? After all, I do have my reputation to consider.”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good—”

  “Not only,” she interrupted, “do I have to endure your presence for the next two weeks but I’m not allowed to speak of it to any human being save the one man I would rather spit on than talk to.”

  “Lies.”

  “What?” She set down her paintbrush and crossed her arms.

  “I didn’t misspeak. I said lies. All of it. You like me.”

  “You arrogant man!” Lady Bridget poked him in the chest. “I want nothing to do with you. I want—”

  “Me. You want me. There’s no use denying it. But never fear. I’ll be patient for you to come to your senses.” He began stripping his coat and gloves.

  “W-what are you doing, my lord?”

  “Anthony. It’s Anthony, and I shall call you Bridget, or perhaps my stubborn little temptress. They are one and the same, I assure you.”

  “Anthony,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Would you please explain why you are removing your outer garments?”

  “You mean, why am I getting naked?”

  Bridget flushed and covered her eyes. A soft gasp escaped the throat of the maid sitting in the corner. “My lord, really—”

  “Ah, you have to use my name.”

  “Anthony,” she squeaked, still shielding her eyes. “Why are you taking off your clothes?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you meant to paint me?”

  “I did. I-I do.” She took another steadying breath and turned away from him. “But I’d much prefer to do so while you are fully clothed, if you don’t mind.”

  “Pity.” He shook his head and smiled at her back. He was just trying to unsettle her, but when he noticed her peeking through her fingers, his masculine pride swelled markedly. Perhaps he would have gone through with it. Yes, she would be ruined. She would be all his, and he would have her — whether she wanted to be had or not.

  “Shall we begin?” She still hadn’t turned back to face him. Most likely her face was scarlet with embarrassment.

  “I’m ready when you are.” His voice was low, seductive, and coaxing.

  Bridget shook her head, and an unruly strand of red silken hair fell out of her coiffure. She returned to the easel and set a new blank canvas on it. “Now, we both know you’re here merely to vex me and taunt m
y aunt. By all appearances, it will look like we’re courting, so you only need to stay for an hour or so.”

  “And if I want to stay forever?” he asked taking a seat on the settee.

  “Anthony—” She put her hands on her hips. “I choose to ignore your asinine insinuation. Please remember our bargain. Now, sit still so I can paint you.”

  “With my clothes on,” he half-grumbled.

  The canvas blocked her face, but he could have sworn he heard her giggle. “Yes, with your clothes on. And if you start disrobing again, I’m going to paint you with strawberries.”

  “I understand.” His voice was laced with irritation. “By all means, paint my demise. Death by strawberry. It seems to be the theme of my life.”

  Bridget sighed behind the canvas. “Fine. What would you like sitting next to you?”

  Anthony chuckled. She shouldn’t have asked such a question. Her virgin ears were going to burn by the time he was finished with her. He cleared his throat.

  “I desire to be lying across the settee, much like this.” He demonstrated. Bridget peeked around the canvas.

  “Brilliant.”

  “I’m not done.”

  She sighed. “Naturally.”

  “I should also like to be painted with a lady next to me.”

  Bridget paused. “And this lady, dare I ask — what shall she be doing?”

  Anthony laughed. “What all ladies do when in a compromising position. I’d like her to be kissing my neck, just here.” He pointed to his neck.

  Bridget didn’t look.

  “Bridget? You aren’t looking. How are you to know how to paint if you do not look?”

  “I c-can imagine,” she stammered.

  “No. I have seen your work when you aren’t looking at a model. And as a paying customer—” He paused to lay a farthing on the table. “I demand you look and give me what I ask for.”

  Slowly, the girl peeked around the canvas, her face a brilliant shade of red.

  “Right here.” Anthony pointed again. “And I should like her hair to be red. A vibrant red — wild like she is. Her eyes must be blue, for I find blue eyes to be the most entrancing. And her smile… truly, you don’t want to get me started on her smile.”