Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(3)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Anthony imagined the look he gave her was similar to that of the looks foxes have when being hunted. Sweat moistened his brow, his fingers itched in his gloves, and he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the lady’s hand anymore than he could think of a way out of this predicament without obliging the elderly woman.

“My lord?” A sultry voice piped up to his right. Ah yes, the blind girl. Surely she could sense his distress even if she could not see it. “I wonder if you might get me some lemonade?”

Of course she wanted lemonade! Poor thing probably couldn’t manage on her own. “I’d be delighted.” He offered an apology to the dowager, handed her a glass of champagne, and gently took the other lady’s hand.

“My thanks,” he breathed. “I wasn’t sure if you could sense my desperate need of rescue.” He threw back the contents of his own flute and grimaced.

She gave him a peculiar look, making him think she could see straight through him. What a silly notion! She was blind, after all.

Was it possible that when a person was blind he or she would also have trouble hearing? He cleared his throat and tried again. “How are you enjoying this fine evening, my lady? Allow me to compliment your gown. All others fade away when gazing upon such a beauty.” He winked, more out of habit than anything, though he realized with irony that such a skilled wink was wasted on someone who couldn’t appreciate it.

As they reached the lemonade table, he took a glass and placed it in her hand, careful to press it into fingers until she gripped it tightly. Seeming amused, she offered a curious smile and blinked several times before asking, “Are you foxed?”

Anthony laughed and shook his head. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

Her eyes darted from right to left several times before she answered. “You’re acting like a complete fool! I wasn’t saving you, by the way. I was saving myself. I want nothing more than to be free of that lady. Her only goal in mind is to match me up with the first bachelor to come my way.”

“So, is she jotting down names then?” Anthony asked. “I do hope mine is on the top of that list.”

“Oh, you’re most assuredly on a list. Don’t believe for a second it’s mine though. I had half a mind to leave you with her just to see how such a rake could survive with an elderly woman. Pleasure her or flee? T’would be quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“Apologies, my lady, but if you cannot see, how are you able to enjoy the entertainments you seem so wrapped up in?” Anthony winced at his own insensitivity, but better he come out with it now than later.

“Whatever do you mean?” Lady Bridget asked.

“Your eyes…” Anthony motioned in front of her face.

“What about them?”

Anthony felt himself flushing. “Devil take it! Why do women make things so difficult? Your eyes, they cannot see!”

“They cannot?” she repeated.

“Because you’re blind.” Anthony thought his statement quite helpful. He patted her hand as if to give her comfort.

Lady Bridget bit her lip and tilted her head. “Blind? How did you know?”

Anthony put down his lemonade — nasty stuff to begin with — and turned his devastating smile on her yet again. “I smiled.”

“And that makes me blind?” Lady Bridget stepped closer to him, close enough for him to smell lilacs on her milky skin. Blast, how he wanted to reach out and touch her.

“Of course it does. You had no reaction whatsoever.”

“Of all the hair-brained, egotistical notions!” Lady Bridget rolled her eyes and sipped her lemonade, casting a glance back over her shoulder toward the corner from whence she had come.

Anthony knew it couldn’t be true, but she seemed bored with him if her stifled yawn and wandering gaze was any indication. If he was to win this bet, and so maintain bragging rights with his insufferable twin brother and their social circle, he had to hold her interest. He took another step toward her to regain her attention, reaching for her glass and fully intending to ask her to dance.

The step proved hazardous, however, and he felt his foot slip forward on something, causing his body to pitch backward and his arms and legs to flail in the air. The last thing Anthony remembered was a sharp pain slicing into the back of his head as he caught the edge of the refreshment table. Then darkness overtook him.

Chapter Two

A Worthy Opponent

Blind? Surely the man couldn’t be serious. Granted, he was remarkably handsome with his soft wavy brown hair and his sage green eyes trimmed with a hint of gold. If she had a propensity for such things, Bridget supposed she could easily find herself lost in his gaze.

But she did not have the propensity.

And the man was an absolute cad.

Bridget could tell by that look in his eyes, the same haughty look she had seen in a hundred men these past few weeks, that he believed she would be an easy conquest. And she had every intention of dispelling his misconception of her the moment he asked her to dance.

But as he reached for her glass, the man lost his footing and fell, flailing to the ground. Bridget stifled a shocked laugh. Pride goeth before a destruction, she thought and slipped away to allow enough room for others to see to the viscount’s injury.

****

The haze dissipated slowly as if he were returning from some sort of dream filled with a dashing redhead. On second thought, it was a nightmare, for his eyes made out the fuzzy image of Wilde crouched above him. The man’s lips were moving, but whatever words issuing forth from him made no sense. Slowly Anthony’s other senses came into focus, and confusion set in. What had happened?

“Say something, man!” Wilde was shouting in his face.

“Your breath… is reminiscent of a fire breathing dragon, Wilde. Please direct it elsewhere,” Anthony whispered in a husky voice.

Wilde rocked back on his heels, his face reddened with irritation. Behind him Ambrose laughed.

“I’d say he’s recovered,” his brother announced.

Anthony sat up slowly. His head throbbed, so he reached a tremulous hand to the lump now protruding from the back of his skull. It was dry. No blood. At least he hadn’t spilled his innards in front of the lady. Nothing makes a woman more likely to swoon than a man projecting blood on her person.

The events leading to his present state began to swirl back through his mind. Lady Bridget. To where had she disappeared? Were they not just in conversation? Wasn’t she concerned for his welfare? Devil take it! A woman should know her place! She should help a man when he… had a tumble.