Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(31)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“A woman with aim? Unheard of. I can’t imagine she shall do any permanent damage, and if she does, you don’t want to live without her anyway, do you?”

“Your concern for me is touching.” Anthony’s body throbbed with the pain brought on by a long night of consumption. “So, that’s your advice?” he asked as he dragged himself into the carriage without aid. “Kiss her, apologize, and permit her to shoot me?”

Wilde and Ambrose shrugged in unison and climbed in behind him. “Do you have a better strategy?” his brother asked politely.

Of course not. Anthony was not the most eloquent when it came to saying pretty words during times of great importance, though he was smooth enough when the moment was trivial.

Up until now, it had always been trivial. Nothing more than challenge after juvenile challenge. A simple case of puerile amusement for a University rogue.

But when it mattered, as it did now, he was no better than a bungling Frenchman.

“Where is she?” He grunted as his head fell back against the wall of the carriage.

“Hyde Park,” Wilde answered. “She convinced Gemma to take the morning air with her.”

“To Hyde Park!” Anthony hit the side of the carriage, and it rumbled down the road.

“Are you sure you should see her in your current state of…” Ambrose motioned to his brother’s disarray.

“Stench,” Wilde offered.

“I carry no fetid odors.” Anthony murmured and stared out the window. At least he hoped he didn’t. Perhaps the London air would counteract his eau d’ drunkenness. He couldn’t wait another minute to see Bridget. He had to convince her to take him back.

Ambrose was not so far off the mark. Truly, Anthony would prefer death to the knowledge that he had lost her forever.

The carriage came to a stop. Anthony jumped out.

Unfortunately, his boots tangled with one another, and he fell backward, flat on his bum. He cursed and rolled to his side.

“I changed my mind.” Ambrose peered out through the door. “Just let her shoot you.”

“Helpful.” Anthony cursed and managed to clamber to his wobbly feet. Seeing double wasn’t at all helpful as he hunted through the park for Bridget. He was glad for her definitive red hair; she would be much easier to spot that way.

Within a few minutes he located her strolling by the river with her likewise scarlet-tressed friend. Anthony lost no time strategizing his approach and marched straight toward Bridget.

“Bridget!” he called after her, gaining her immediate attention.

Her eyes narrowed when she spotted him, and with a word to her companion, she spun on her heel and walked in the opposite direction.

Anthony increased his pace until he was panting, likely sweating whiskey. “Bridget, wait! I must speak with you!’

“Your letter said more than enough, my lord. There is nothing left to discuss.” Bridget set her chin with firm resolve. Though her eyes appeared ripe with impending tears, he knew she would never deign to let him see her cry. Not after the things he had penned in his letter.

“It is not what it seems!” Anthony swayed on his feet and shook his head. “I thought it was you with Wilde, not Lady Gemma!”

At his announcement, Lady Gemma fell into a fit of hysterics and began to sob. With a shriek she scurried away with her face buried in her hands.

Perhaps he should have kept that morsel to himself.

“Bravo, my lord,” Bridget said with a spiteful sneer. “You are able to make women weep with a mere word. Truly your skill of speech is legendary.”

“Listen to me, woman!” Anthony blinked several times. “I love you! I thought Wilde had stolen you away! Surely you can’t fault me. The appearance of — Admit it! You have been spending an inordinate amount of time with the gentleman!”

“I have nothing to hide.” The malice in her blue eyes seemed to slice right through him.

This apology was not going as well as he’d hoped. Perhaps if he had taken the time to strategize… But he was desperate for her to see he was a victim of circumstance, and in that desperation, he floundered.

“You touched his thigh! At the reading. Your hand was — so I thought — that is, when I happened upon the two of you… of them… in the salon, I thought you were—”

“Offering my favors to your friend?” Bridget stepped closer to him, her face brilliant with the fury seething just below the surface, yet still she kept her tone even and cold. “It is a relief to know you trust me so fully, my lord. Your confidence in my character is most reassuring. Or is it that you were simply searching for any reason, any excuse, to allow you to leave?”

She was mere inches from him now, and he could feel her wrath rising to a crescendo with each breath she took. “You believe me capable of betrayal. While you, on the other hand, did exactly what I expected you should do. I had hoped—” Her words seemed to lodge in her throat behind a lump of emotion.

Anthony knew, even in his inebriated state, he had achieved new heights of idiocy in this encounter, and he prayed the damage was not irreparable.

Still Bridget continued her cutting censure. “My heart didn’t believe you were cut of the same cloth as other men, but I was wrong. The first time you were faced with an obstacle, you abandoned me. Just like my father.”

Left speechless, Anthony watched as Bridget managed a brief emphatic nod before briskly retreating once again.

“Forgive me,” Anthony muttered under his breath and returned ever so slowly to the waiting coach, where his twin brother sat with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You didn’t take any of my advice, did you?” Ambrose shook his head in abject disappointment.

****

“I am not going to tell you I warned you, dear.” Aunt Latissia lapsed into the lecture Bridget had known was coming. “But I did say he would not make a proper match for you. Did I not?” She shuttled her needle through the embroidery in her hoop as she shook her head with disdain.

“Yes, Aunt.” Bridget had long since spent any emotional energy she might have used to argue with the woman.

The older woman stopped mid-stitch to scrutinize her. No doubt she was in shock at how easily Bridget had conceded. Her expression softened somewhat, and she patted Bridget’s hand with what could almost be construed as a motherly tenderness. “There, there, dear. Not to worry. All is not lost, sweet niece. I daresay your Uncle Ernest can find you a suitable husband. He knows many worthy bachelors.”