Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(25)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“Anthony.”

“Anthony. Sorry,” she answered. “You seem dreadfully incapable of keeping your end of the bargain.” Of course, truth be told, she so wasn’t anxious for him to observe the terms of their agreement anymore.

His gaze never left his hands as she spoke.

“I’m losing, you know.”

Bridget scrutinized him for a moment. How could that be possible? She had acted her part at all times, pretending to be utterly besotted with him when under the eye of his brother.

Pretending. That was an amusing thought.

“Your bet? How is that possible? Other than your complete inability to keep your hands—” She stopped because his hands had suddenly captured hers. His sparkling green eyes seemed to swallow her whole.

“No, Bridget. Not the bet.” His gaze drifted to her mouth. Bridget swallowed the tight knot stuck in her throat.

“Then what is it?”

Again he looked her in the eyes. The golden corona of his emerald eyes flashed with a brilliant flame. Bridget cursed silently. Somehow she already knew what he was going to say. And her heart resonated with the truth of it. Maybe he would kiss her, for once without being angrily provoked.

For their kiss during swordplay could hardly count for a kiss — an assault was more like it, and she couldn’t blame him for allowing his pride to get in the way, after all, she was a woman, and she had nearly bested him.

That is, until he began shredding away her clothes.

Bridget waited for Anthony to do something — anything, for he was still holding her hands tightly within his. Golden green eyes stared at her lips until with a curse Anthony pushed away and ran his hands through his thick hair.

“I’m losing my mind, that’s what I’m losing. I can’t believe my inability to control myself. I mean really, I know it isn’t a shock at all to you, but I’m quite appalled. I cannot even sit in a hack with you.”

Anthony shook his head, obviously disgusted at himself, and Bridget wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh at him or slap him across the face. Couldn’t he tell she was already invested? That she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her? She was acting angry! But Anthony was notorious for bringing such feelings to surface in Bridget. Either she was wearing down, or she had just lost her reasons for keeping him so far away from herself.

Heart pounding, she leaned forward, allowing her jacket to fall slightly open in the middle, exposing her corset and chemise.

“Are you insane?” Anthony yelled hoarsely and began cursing everything under the sun including jackets before closing his eyes and reaching forward grabbing at her jacket to pull it tight against her. Only, he didn’t exactly grab the right thing.

“Devil take me…. Bridget… Blast, tell me I did not just—”

Anthony’s eyes were still closed; his hands remained in a very inappropriate place. Bridget froze, waiting to see what he would do.

****

Anthony wasn’t really sure what to do. To move his hands would be madness, to leave them there, well, would honestly have the same outcome.

What brazen notion did Bridget get into her head? And why the devil had she purposefully opened the jacket more? Especially considering he had just made such an eloquent speech regarding his inability to control his more carnal instincts.

Immobile and absolutely paralyzed, Anthony did the only thing he could think of doing, the only thing his blood demanded he do.

In one swift movement he reached behind her head and pulled her lips flush against his, once and for all breaking the promise he had previously made to her, knowing that this one selfish act could seal his fate without her forever, but not caring of the future, only the present.

And the way Bridget went so willingly into his arms.

What the…

A sigh escaped her pouted mouth as she opened up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck pulling his hard body against her softness.

Such sweet desire shot through him that he wanted to roar. Instead he settled for increasing the pressure of the dance and demanding entry into her mouth. Anthony’s tongue swirled and pushed against hers, he couldn’t help but think that any minute she was going to push against him and he would receive yet another well-deserved slap.

Oddly enough, the slap didn’t come. To be honest, he was quite alarmed when the only jolt that forced him to stop ruining the girl was the hack coming to a stop at its final destination.

Slowly, Anthony pulled back and looked into Bridget’s glazed eyes. Over what, a few weeks ago, would have been triumph in having succeeded in the bet, he felt nothing except loss. Loss of her warmth, the sweet taste of her tongue — it was all gone, and in its place, the stale London air.

“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.