Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(27)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

A sudden burst of mirth overtook Bridget, and she choked back a forceful laugh, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement.

Fortunately, Aunt Latissia mistook the snort and gurgle as shock at the tragic announcement.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” she said, patting Bridget’s arm. “I know you had set your cap for him. But alas, it is not to be.”

Bridget’s laughter strained through her tightly closed lips, sounding more like a heartbreaking sob. Naturally, tears followed — no doubt offering the appearance on an honest lament.

“There, there, girl. Put him out of your mind. My goodness, child, you act as though you were besotted with the gentleman. Now I say, dry your tears. We’ll find you a fitting match yet. Sir Wilde, perhaps? He’s been mooning about your heels like a lovesick fool these past few weeks. Will you not consider the gentleman?”

Bridget had yet to find her tongue and dared not speak lest she betray her delight in the whole misunderstanding. She merely covered her face with her hands and shook her head wildly.

“Well, perhaps you’ll think better of the matter this evening. Finish dressing, dear girl, and put Lord Maddox and his propensity for footmen out of your mind completely.”

At that, Bridget burst forth with another round of stifled laughter and turned quickly away from her aunt, leaving only the trembling of her shoulders as evidence of her amusement.

“Tessa, do stop standing there staring and make yourself useful! Help Lady Bridget with her gown.”

The lady’s maid, who had been gaping in silent shock at the entire scene leapt into action immediately.

Aunt Latissia muttered to herself as she made her way out into the corridor. “I know I gave my word I would be discreet, but the ton must know the truth. Perhaps an afternoon call to Lady—” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind Aunt Latissia as she stormed out.

****

Aunt Latissia had played her hand well. By the time Bridget and her sponsors arrived at the ball, the gossip buzzing in everyone’s ears was Anthony’s interest in footmen.

Bridget scanned the room for the viscount, eventually locating him in her customary hiding place behind the potted plants. Her heart raced at the sight of him.

“There you are, my lord,” she said as she joined him. “Hiding?”

“Not at all. I am simply enjoying the beauty of our host’s lovely greenery. It’s not often I have time for such activities.”

“I see. They are lovely.” She glanced about him on the right and left then asked with a smirk, “Where is your footman this evening? Home with the children?”

His vengeful glower brought a smile to her lips. And then a playful glint danced in Anthony’s eyes.

“No. In fact, I believe he’s nigh at hand. No doubt sharpening his rapier in case it is needed to defend my honor from anyone who would wish to steal away my virtue.”

“Surely he has nothing to fear in me, my lord. I assure you, my intentions are as pure as the driven snow.”

“Now that is a pity,” Anthony answered, sidling closer.

Bridget’s heart leapt and set off at a hot pace, causing her breath to catch in her chest.

“Would you care to dance, Lady Bridget?” he asked, his gaze boring into her very soul.

“I don’t know if that’s quite the thing, Lord Maddox. After all, you are rather the scandal this evening. And a girl cannot be too careful in situations such as this.”

“I suppose that is true enough. However, somehow I believe your attention can only help us both.”

“Both of us? Correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but it is not my reputation being mucked about amongst the pigs this night.”

Anthony looked past her with a mischievous grin. “Perhaps you are right, sweeting.” He shrugged and added, “It is just as well.”

She regarded him with humorous suspicion. “Oh? And why is that, oh great Adonis?” The nickname seemed to take him off guard for a moment and his gaze returned to meet hers then dropped the short distance to her mouth. Her lips warmed in anticipation at his mere look.

“You’re not wearing breeches,” he said with a roguish wink. “Ask anyone here. Unless you’re in breeches, you are of no interest to me whatsoever.”

“Is that so? In that case I’m certain Lady Burnside will be only too happy to give up her skirts for you.”

“Of that there is no doubt. The very thought is enough to put me off completely.” A shiver seemed to run through him. “Which brings us back to the beginning. Since I am no longer chasing footmen, I find myself in dire need of a fair maiden with whom to dance in order to expunge my soiled reputation.”

“And you wish for me to rescue you?”

He took her hand and hooked it around his arm, gazing into her eyes as he did so. “I am desperate for it,” he whispered and led her onto the dance floor.

****

Bridget bit her lip, hiding her contagious smile, and nodded her ascent. Anthony half-expected her to abandon him near the foliage. Instead she courageously marched forth toward the dance floor.

The whispered speculation increased. Anthony had no experience being on the opposite end of the gossip. Usually discreet, his only flaw had ever been his propensity to impersonate the incorrigible rake.

Tonight there would be no such gossip. Shifting uncomfortably, he pivoted to face Bridget. With a sigh, he raised an eyebrow and offered her a roguish wink. She in return managed an amused smile.

As the dancing commenced the whispering grew even worse, until Anthony was so irritated he wanted to start listing names of women he had successfully seduced, but the whole idea of seducing any woman put a foul taste in his mouth.

And then he began to feel abashed, which was even worse than asking for help in his mind, because guilt spoke of true feelings, a conscience.

The idea that he had sought out other woman when the one he had always needed was now dancing with him was repugnant.

So instead of taking a poll, he managed to finish the dance and pulled Bridget flush against him.

“Anthony,” she whispered. “You are causing a scandal.”

“I’m proposing,” he announced with far more confidence than he felt. And though he tried to hide the palpable emotion, his voice rose two octaves, betraying him.

Bridget’s brow quivered slightly. “Are you now? And what are you proposing? Another of your vulgar deals, my lord?”

“Marriage,” he said boldly, loudly, without hesitation. And then Anthony Benson, Viscount Maddox, kissed her in the middle of the dance floor. Stopping all gossip, all slander, and apparently every breath in the entirety of the ton as the music stopped and people gaped.