Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(11)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“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 she 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.

In nothing short than miraculous timing, Bridget was scurrying down the stairs to the sitting room as quickly as propriety would allow. She was well aware that her grandmother would expect nothing less, and she had no intention of letting the woman down.