Beguiling Bridget

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Consider it, Wilde. Do you run at the fox shooting like a madman?”

  He shook his head.

  “Of course not. Hunting foxes is a sport of finesse. An art form.” Anthony patted his friend’s shoulder. “You coax the fox from its den. Much the same way you coax the woman. You draw her to you, and then you go in for the kill.”

  “So I kiss her after she warms to me?”

  “By Jove, I think you’ve got it.” Finally. Anthony smiled. Truly it was a brilliant analogy if he did say so himself.

  “And then she’ll be receptive?” Wilde asked hopefully.

  A strange thought suddenly occurred to Anthony. “Colin, why are you asking me this? Surely you have done this before…”Anthony’s hands lingered on Wilde’s shoulders just as Ambrose strode through the door.

  With a jerk, Anthony dropped his hands to his sides, but it was too late. Ambrose’s mocking smile stretched to his ears. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I do hope I’m not intruding, but a little bird told me some information I thought might help you in your quest for Lady Bridget’s affection. Of course, I’m only too happy to wait for you to finish wooing Wilde.”

  “I was not wooing Wilde,” Anthony argued.

  Wilde, the traitorous son of a Frenchman, slipped back into his old humor and threw Anthony to the wolves. “He was demonstrating how to properly kiss a woman — or was that how to trap one, Anthony?”

  Ambrose’s eyes widened and he began to choke and laugh at the same time. “By all means, continue!”

  “We are done here,” Anthony said through clenched teeth. “You said something about helpful information, I believe.”

  Wilde grinned. “Yes, I do recall our dear friend begging for help only moments ago.”

  “So now you get it right?” Anthony muttered. “Brilliant.”

  “Haven’t heard him utter that word since he was three.” Ambrose scoffed and took a seat. “It appears you have a long journey ahead of you, brother. Your little woman has quite the story, it seems. Although some of it is quite blotchy considering my sources were conveniently foxed during the telling of it.”

  “A likely story,” Anthony remarked.

  Ambrose adjusted his coattails to take a seat. “I don’t think you’ll find this encouraging, but I feel the need to share nonetheless.”

  Anthony leaned back in his seat. “Well, get on with it.”

  “The lady appears to have had a bad sort of upbringing. Her father left her mother and herself when she was but ten years of age — old enough to know what was happening, but too young to understand why. They were destitute and often relied on the church for charity in order to make it through the colder months.”

  “What kind of fool leaves his wife and child?” Anthony was alarmed with the idea of it all.

  “A man in love with his own pursuits. And from what I’ve heard, he had many.”

  “Fool… What else?”

  Ambrose took a swig of Wilde’s whiskey. “The poor little girl was left to care for her mother all alone, and the woman died in her daughter’s arms not two years after the dirty philanderer left them.”

  Anthony felt the sudden urge to hunt the man down and kill him with his bare hands, preferably in a slow savage manner. “How did she come to be under the protection of her extended family?”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Her grandmother, whom we have yet to see, the Dowager Countess of Darlingshire, hasn’t stepped foot in society since her husband’s death. Leaving the task of the girl’s debut to…”

  “Lady Burnside,” Anthony finished, shuddering as the thought swirled around in his head.

  “Correct.” Ambrose shared in the shudder. “It seems the only objective of Lady Bridget’s family is to see her married off.”

  “Yes, and that boded so well for her mother.” Anthony was sickened to his very core. “How could they be so insensitive to the young girl’s needs? Any child would scoff at the Season or an arranged marriage, all things considered.”

  “So you see why this makes your task difficult?” Ambrose asked.

  Anthony shrugged. “Nigh impossible. But I find the information useful nonetheless.”

  Wilde blanched. “So you mean to put the girl through this silly bet in order to appease your own pride?”

  “I never lose.” Anthony shrugged, though inside his stomach churned in protest. He wouldn’t lose, but he would never put an innocent lady through such hardship. The situation called for a different strategy. Another means to an end.

  Wilde glowered at him with a heartless vengeance, while Ambrose threw back the contents of his glass.

  “If you’re sure you wish to proceed, brother…”

  “Of course.” Anthony managed to laugh. “Tis a silly bet. Nothing more, am I right? Now let us off to dinner.”

  ****

  It was by sheer luck that Anthony managed to secure a seat next to Lady Bridget. All intentions were selfless, for he meant to put her at ease as well as apologize. That is, before the minx stabbed him with her fork… twice. Nevermind that they were eating soup. But he took it in stride and apologized for his clumsy hands being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her obvious shock made it all worth it.

  Now, the rub. How was he to apologize yet still have her participate in this farce so he could save face in front of his brother and Wilde, who were at this very moment both watching the entertainments from the opposite end of the table?

  “I do apologize for my behavior,” Anthony said, reaching for his wine. “It isn’t often those words flow freely from my lips, so I beg you to record them in your mind.”

  Lady Bridget laughed then coughed. “Yes, I’ll be sure to remember them the next time you offend, my lord.”

  “And there will be other times, I assure you.” Anthony added. “After all, I’m a rogue and a flirt. Truly the worst sort of gentleman.”

  “Finally something we agree upon.”

  “Yes, and I have something else to confess. Though I ask you won’t judge me too harshly.”

  Her hand stilled on the stem of her wine glass.

  “I don’t mean to be so taken with you. Clearly, it’s your fault.”

  She fumbled, nearly tipping the wine glass over. “My fault?”

  “But of course.” He shook his head and gave her a look of pure innocence. “If you would not have flaunted that red hair, we would not now be in this predicament.”

  “Flaunted my red hair?” Her eyes widened.

  Anthony shrugged. “Everyone knows I prefer redheads. Surely you knew that when you glanced in my direction last evening.”

  “I did nothing of the sort—”

  “It is of no consequence.” He waved her off. “For if your hair hadn’t done it, your eyes surely would have.”

  “Whatever is the matter with my eyes?”

  “Nothing.” He swallowed and looked at her direct, knowing it was improper to be so clearly interested. “That’s the blasted problem. Nothing is wrong with you. Absolutely nothing, and I find myself perplexed as to how to gain your attention — short of injuring myself, stepping in front of moving carriages, or putting my foot in my mouth. So, I do apologize, truly.”

  “I accept your apology as long as you understand I still think you a reckless rogue without a care for another soul in the world.”

  Anthony let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I’m still that, and I beg you never to forget it, my lady.” He lifted his glass in her direction as her eyes tightened into tiny slits.

  ****

  Bridget was dumbfounded. He was being kind — still arrogant, but in an almost appealing way that made her stomach do flip flops and her heart pound against her chest even more so than before. Wanting to scream, she closed her eyes instead and focused on her breathing. What game was he playing? She hadn’t done anything except insult him.

  Whatever his game was, it would be so much easier to continue to give him the cut if he remained his haughty, supercilious self. Lord Maddox was a c
ockscomb. It made things simple for her. And she didn’t want that to change.

  By the time dinner was over, Lord Maddox was very nearly likeable. And Bridget’s hands were clenched so hard within her lap that she was convinced she was suffering from blood loss. He was impossible to ignore when he was arrogant, and even more so when he winked with that rakish air that turned her knees to jelly.

  The entire company retired to the salon to enjoy the evening’s entertainments. Bridget turned to wait for Gemma, but she had already accepted Sir Wilde’s escort and was leaving Bridget behind without so much as a second look. As dejection set in from the abandonment, Bridget began to make her own way into the salon. She didn’t notice Lord Maddox waiting for her by the door until she nearly collided with him.

  He lifted his elbow to her with an intoxicating smile. “May I escort you, my lady?”

  She was reluctant to accept and hesitated for a moment before taking his arm. “If you think you can manage keeping us both on our feet,” she said with a hint of irony. In a display of unenthusiastic resolve, she linked her arm with his and allowed Lord Maddox to guide her into the salon.

  It was not a large party, so there were still a few seats left in the room when they entered. Lord Maddox led Bridget to a wingback on the far side from the pianoforte, and stood behind her as she sat.

  Gemma was the first to play. Bridget had, of course, heard her friend play many times and knew her to be a talented musician. Bridget had no such talent, so she slowly rose from her seat and moved to the back of the room in hopes that no one would notice she was one of the only ladies not vying to display her musical talents.

  Basically, she was escaping.

  “I do hope you’re not planning to hide here all night, my lady,” Lord Maddox commented from the side.

  Had he followed her? Unfortunately, the viscount stood on the side not blocked by the potted plant, so he had an unobstructed view of her nervous habit of crinkling her dress between her fingers.

  She caught his gaze resting on her hands, so she smoothed her skirts and folded her hands in front of her, turning her attention back to the pianoforte. When Gemma’s song came to an end, she stood and curtsied amidst a supply of enthusiastic applause, not the least of which was Lord Maddox’s consort, Sir Wilde. His eyes fairly glowed with admiration of the lovely Gemma’s musical gift.

  “He seems well taken with her,” Lord Maddox whispered near her. Far too near for propriety, Bridget thought.

  She took a small step away from him and nodded her agreement, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush she felt staining her cheeks.

  “Lady Gemma has many admirers.”

  She could feel the viscount’s gaze burning into her and took another step to lengthen the distance between them.

  His warmth seemed to draw nearer again, muddling her mind — distracting her from her surroundings. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? His breath rustled her hair as he leaned closer to whisper again. “Would you like to know whom I admire?”

  Bridget shifted awkwardly. The room grew warmer by the moment. Then, as if Fate chose to intervene on her behalf, the next lady to entertain the group let loose a horrible screeching which tore through the room, causing both Bridget and the viscount to cringe in pain. It appeared to be enough to distract Lord Maddox from his train of thought, but the horrid sound issuing forth from the woman was an audible assault on sensitive ears.

  “Is she dying?” Lord Maddox winced visibly as the voice reached towards the ceiling, taking the audience’s ears as well as sanity with her.

  “Likely,” Bridget answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that particular note before.”

  “Perhaps we should throw something at her. In order to put her out of her misery.”

  “May I suggest pelting her with strawberries?” Bridget offered.

  His pained smirk told her the comment hit its mark. “They are the deadliest of the small fruits.”

  “You say that with such conviction, my lord.” She covered her mouth with a gloved hand to suppress a giggle. At that moment, another wail reminiscent of a cow in labor assailed them. The collective gasp of the guests seemed to suck all the air from the room.

  “Care to make an escape?” Lord Maddox asked with an innocent glint in his eyes. Bridget had no desire to be alone with him in any capacity, but she was in dire need of rescue. As it was, her ears threatened to bleed. If she remained where she was, she would surely go deaf. The idea of enduring more torture made her sick.

  Another sour note vibrated the crystal chandelier, and Bridget made her hasty decision, placing her hand into her rescuer’s grasp. “This doesn’t mean I like you. Nor is this an invitation for you to practice the art of seduction.” She felt the need to assure him of her disdain as he led her to the outdoor balcony.

  “I wasn’t under that assumption, my lady.” Lord Maddox dropped her arm once they were outside. Unfortunately, she was mildly disappointed at the empty feeling it left her with. Was he truly only being polite to her now because it was expected? He was too unpredictable in his current state, and she found she couldn’t read his emotions any better than she could decipher why her heart was nearly beating out of her chest when the man’s eyes met hers from across the balcony.

  “Is there a reason you are not on the list of entertainments this evening?” he asked. Bridget averted her gaze to the gardens beyond the balcony. “Oh, I see. You have no talent.”

  It wasn’t a question, but rather a simple statement of fact. Even if he was correct in his assumption, it was hardly appropriate to throw a lady’s shortcomings in her face. Her original assessment of his immeasurable arrogance was correct, and she could feel her aversion to him come seething back to the surface. It was good that he continued to insult her. Even better that his arrogance was so visible, then she could pretend she wasn’t attracted to him in the least.

  Bridget scowled. “I have more important aspirations than to entertain others who lack the ability to entertain themselves.”

  “Bravo!” Lord Maddox clapped his gloved hands together. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “W-with me?” Bridget stuttered. “You’re agreeing with me?”

  “Do you see anyone else out here with us?” Lord Maddox glanced about the balcony and shrugged. “It might be terribly forward to say this, but I believe a woman should have a good head on her shoulders. I despise those who think the only thing they have to flaunt is their beauty and ability with the pianoforte.”

  “You are the only man who feels that way, my lord.”

  “Many gentlemen feel as I do. They simply lack the courage to confess it aloud.” He was moving toward her now, and she felt trapped as she tried in vain to inch away from him, finally finding herself backed up to a cold marble column. “You might find this hard to believe, but men are often afraid intelligent women will reject them.”

  “And yet they keep trying. Don’t they, my lord?” He was too close. He was far too close. No matter what he said, Bridget promised herself she would not concede the field. Defense strategy. That is what she needed. And the best defense was often a good offense.

  She offered him a sinfully sweet smile and waited for him to stop in his tracks. He didn’t. Instead, he sauntered closer, slow but constant, until his face was inches from hers. Her breath quickened, and suddenly it seemed that air was in short supply even outside on the balcony.

  “Yes, some of us don’t understand the word defeat.”

  “Even when it comes in the form of strawberries?” Bridget asked, fighting to control her breathing as the man drew nearer.

  “Even when the lady threatens to push us in front of oncoming carriages and feed us the most grotesque fruit known to mankind. Even then, my lady. Even then.” His smile dazzled her as he inclined his head and bestowed a soft lingering kiss on her lips.

  The warm sensation of his tender kiss seeped into her bones. His lips were soft and hypnotic as they lightly moved across hers. A battle raged within her, and sh
e couldn’t decide if she should pull him closer or slap him across his perfect aristocratic face. So she waited, hoping the answer would come on its own.

  She didn’t have to wait long. As he withdrew, the victorious sparkle in his eye and the triumphant smirk spreading wide across his lips brought her the realization — he thought he’d won.

  And then her hand flew on its own.

  She only wished she had a handful of strawberries to add to the humiliation.

  Chapter Five

  Motivating Factors

  “Bridget!” Aunt Latissia’s voice split the silence, shattering the peaceful dream keeping Bridget abed. She groaned as the vision faded and rolled over to find her lady’s maid laying out an afternoon dress.

  A pounding on the door reminded her Aunt Latissia was still waiting on her response.

  “I’m awake, Aunt!” she called. The door burst open, and the countess strode in dressed in her best receiving dress.

  It was far too early for visitors. Let alone visitors worthy of such lengths taken to impress them. That left only one possible caller of consequence.

  “Is Grandmother expected this morning?” The thought brought her abruptly from her somnolent haze, and she sat bolt upright.

  “Yes, yes!” Aunt Latissia spat frantically. “Why are you still lounging about, girl? She’ll be arriving any moment. Quickly! Tessa, help Lady Bridget with her dress and, for the love of Saint Peter, do something with that rat nest of hair!”

  Of all the people in the world, the Dowager Countess of Darlingshire had the most power to send Aunt Latissia reeling into a fit of the vapors. Bridget was not entirely unaffected in her presence either. In fact, the one pleasing aspect of her current arrangement to be sponsored by her aunt and uncle this season was that it got her out from under her grandmother’s thumb.

  Aunt Latissia spun through the room like a whirlwind then was gone as quickly as she came, leaving Bridget rushing to dress and ready herself. It would do no one any good to keep her grandmother waiting. The dowager was a tiny thing, and one wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she had a frightful glower that could singe the flea off a dog at ten paces.