Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(29)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“The bet?” Bridget feigned ignorance, lifting a curious eyebrow.

How he loved her. She was brilliant.

“My dear lady…” Ambrose paced in front of her, swearing for several seconds before continuing. “My idiot brother and I agreed upon a wager. A challenge. The object of which was to convince you to fall in love with him. I am sorry, Lady Bridget. I never meant for it to go this far. I certainly will not condone a proposal under false pretenses. The very idea that he would pretend to love you in order to emerge victorious in this is abominable! And for my part, I beg for your forgiveness.”

“A bet!” Bridget screeched.

Ambrose groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I cannot believe this!” She turned to Anthony and winked. “And you!” She poked him in the chest with a sharp finger. “Are most assuredly an idiot.”

Anthony grinned as she continued. “But I insist you marry me, which is my right after your behavior. After all…” She leaned in and bestowed a warm, lingering kiss on his mouth. “I have grown quite fond of you. And find myself quite irrevocably in love with you… against my better judgment.”

“What the—” Ambrose cursed again.

“Ambrose…” Anthony growled between kisses. “Go away.” And he drew Bridget closer in his arms, desperate for the warmth of her feminine curves.

“Right,” Ambrose mumbled, and then he disappeared.

“You’ll marry me?” Anthony asked again as he pulled back slightly.

“Yes.” She kissed him again. “But I was thinking.”

“Mmmm?” Anthony found utter delight in nuzzling her neck and tasting her creamy skin.

“Since we’ve already fenced…”

Had her skin always been this smooth? This perfect? His tongue craved the taste of her.

“Perhaps, you can now teach me to shoot?”

A sudden chill overtook him. Shoot? Did she just ask him to teach her how to shoot?

“Absolutely not.” He continued kissing her.

Bridget pulled away and tilted her head. Anthony moved forward to recapture her mouth, but she stepped backward.

“Ah.” He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “Let me guess… No more kissing unless I agree to your terms.”

“Well…” Bridget slowly circled him. “I know how much you like to win. Just think. If you teach me, I’ll be horrible at first, and you can best me at something. We both know fencing isn’t your sport.”

Anthony caught her and pulled her to him once more as they stepped into the shadows. He bit across her neck. “Oh my dear, believe me. There are a few things I can teach you. I do have a sport. You just haven’t been made privy to the game… yet.”

Chapter Fourteen

Foul Play

Bridget was still floating late the next morning as she scurried about the study preparing for Anthony’s visit with her uncle. She couldn’t wait to see him again. It was the only thing on her mind.

In fact, she was so preoccupied that when Francis announced the arrival of Sir Wilde, it took several moments before she remembered she had arranged for a meeting between him and Gemma that same morning.

“Lady Bridget, I want to thank you once again for setting this up. The lady is so skittish I find it quite impossible to get her alone no matter what I try.”

“Yes, Gemma can easily become distressed. You will keep that in mind, I hope, when you see her this morning. Won’t you, Sir Wilde?”

“Of course. I would never do anything to hurt Lady Gemma,” he answered with an earnest nod.

Bridget led him to the salon. “You can wait in here. Gemma will arrive shortly.”

Sir Wilde began pacing immediately.

“Will you sit, sir?”

“No… no. I think not.” He continued without missing a stride.

Well, she had no time to babysit Sir Wilde. There were too many things left to do. And Anthony would be arriving any moment. Her heart leapt in her chest at the thought of seeing him again.

“If you will excuse me then, I have some things to which I must attend.”

“Of course…of course,” he answered without so much as a glance.

Francis stopped her in the foyer. “Lady Gemma, my lady.”

“Thank you, Francis. Please show her to the salon. I’ll be with her presently. And, Francis?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Please let me know the moment Viscount Maddox arrives.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The butler pivoted and went about his business. Bridget rushed up the stairs to finish preparing for her visit with Anthony. Perhaps they would finally go for that picnic he had been so eagerly promoting for the past week. Or they could spend the afternoon discussing plans for their wedding.

It didn’t matter. Just being with him was all she desired.

Bridget giggled. If anyone had told her at the beginning of the Season she would be giddy as a debutante over any man within a few short weeks, she would have had them declared a heretic by the Church.

Safe inside her room, she closed the door and slumped against it with a deep, contented sigh.

****

Anthony bounded up the steps to the Burnside residence. No amount of pain in his backside would slow him down on this day. Yes, it seemed everything was falling into place quite nicely.

He allowed himself a deep soothing breath of air and knocked on the door. The butler, who should be expecting him, nodded and led him through the entryway. As Anthony passed the salon where Bridget had painted his portrait, a smile spread across his face. Remembering the silly banter — and the excruciating self control expressed, for he wasn’t able to kiss her even though he desperately wanted to — he motioned for the butler to wait and walked over to the closed doors.

Just one peek. After all, Bridget wasn’t one to gloat over her talent, who knows when she would actually show him the painting. Yes, he would allow himself one peek and she wouldn’t be the wiser.

Anthony lifted his hand to open the door, but the butler cleared his throat. “My lord, if you will just follow me.”

“One moment.” Anthony’s hand moved to the doorknob, then he shook his head. What the blazes was he doing? Gentleman didn’t just roam about people’s homes, peeking into their rooms! Clearly he was in need of a drink, or quite possibly he was out of his mind. The sooner he married Bridget the better.

And then…

He heard it.

Unmistakable. Even from this distance.

Wilde? What the devil was he doing here? His hand reached again for the door.