Beguiling Bridget (Waltzing with the Wallflower #2)(34)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“I fail to see how Anth—Viscount Maddox’s shortcomings are your fault, my lady.”

“I didn’t appear at your doorstep to talk about his shortcomings, though we both know he has many, like any other man in love without a clue of how to proceed when jealous rage takes over.”

Bridget exhaled and took a seat. Lady Hawthorne joined her and laid a hand over Bridget’s. “He loves you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” The countess tilted her head. “I believe the problem is not that you doubt his love. You are allowing fear to cloud your judgment. I know something of fear. Love is frightening. It means entrusting your fragile heart to the one person with whom you are the most vulnerable.” She nodded toward the portrait still on the easel behind Bridget. “That portrait. It is the very essence of what love is. Your very soul in the viscount’s hands.”

Her gaze returned to meet Bridget’s. “Anthony spoke before logic became clear, and now he is trying to right a wrong. And who knows better than you and I what disastrous sentiments spill from that man’s lips when he isn’t thinking clearly?” Her eyes hinted at a smile. “A more stubborn man I have never met. He will not stop until he has your heart, and I promise you, Lady Bridget, there is no man more worthy.”

“I wish I could share your certainty.”

“You don’t have to be certain—just willing to take the risk.”

Chapter Seventeen

Beguiled

Anthony had always prided himself on being calculated and smooth with the gentler sex. Bridget brought out the exact opposite of what he had been all his life, and he found himself at sixes and sevens. But it was of no consequence now. He was going to prove his love to her, but if she was to reject him for the third time—well, it was possible — he would retire to the country. Perhaps buy a few hounds and hunt foxes until he became a bitter old man who yelled at small children.

The music was loud and didn’t help his nerves one bit, but again, in his desperation, he didn’t care. The moment he was announced, he quickly moved down the stairs. The Beckinghorn Ball was always well attended, but he wasn’t there to socialize with every person in the crowd. The large ballroom with its flickering candlelight and lively dancing was stifling, but he pressed through the crush until he caught a glimpse of red hair.

This time he waited until she turned around, to be certain it was Bridget — his Bridget.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her sad blue eyes as she spoke with Lady Hawthorne. The two seemed deep in conversation. They were also on the opposite end of the dance floor, which posed a problem.

Unless…

White horses, white horses, Anthony chanted to himself as he blazed a path straight through the heart of the dance floor, interrupting the flow of the dancers, who stopped to determine what he was at, whispering in his wake. The tumult on the floor distracted the musicians, who ceased playing to stare after him as he strode with purpose toward his goal.

“Lady Bridget.” He cleared his throat and waited for her to face him. Her eyes welled with unshed tears. His arms ached with the desire to pull her to him, to comfort her, to take away the pain he himself had inflicted.

“I love you.” The words were bold, loud, and rang through the silent room. He didn’t care. She would know his heart if it killed him.

Bridget opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her. “No. Let me speak.” He dropped to his knees in front of her, in plain sight of God and everyone. “I do not deserve you. I count myself lucky each time you grant me one of your smiles, as if you are giving me a priceless gift. Yet I feel guilty for taking something so beautiful. I feel selfish when I’m with you. I want you all to myself. The thought of any other man being on the receiving end of your smile drives me mad. I would kill any one of them given half the chance.

“I know I misjudged you… I could not have been more wrong. But you have also misjudged me. I am not like most men. Even though popular opinion would claim I too freely flirt my way through the ton. The truth is, no woman has ever possessed my heart… until now. And whether you reject me or not — and I pray you don’t — my heart is yours to keep, for I would rather die than have any other woman hold it.”

A tear slipped down Bridget’s cheek.

“I cannot promise I won’t be a fool. I cannot promise that I won’t be a devil to live with. But I will promise to honor and cherish you, to love you even when you pelt me with strawberries. To care for you and protect you, though we both know you’re the better fencer… and I swear, to my utter ruin, I will teach you how to shoot. Even if it is the death of me. Forgive my blind stupidity, my love… and marry me.”

“For heaven’s sake, say you’ll marry him before he says something horrifying,” Lady Hawthorne whispered to Bridget with a teasing twinkle in her eyes.

All the room was silent. Bridget stared at Anthony, concealing her thoughts behind her blank expression as his heart pounded out of his chest.

“You will teach me to shoot?” Bridget finally asked, her voice hoarse.

“I promise.”

“I…” Bridget’s tears flowed freely now. “I love you.”

Anthony wanted to kiss her… here in front of everyone, but he would not, for the act would ruin her before the whole of the ton. Instead, he merely smiled and brought her hand to his lips, but Bridget, her bright blue eyes suddenly alive with passion, launched herself into his arms, crushing her body against his, scandalously kissing him directly on the mouth.

“Now you shall have to marry me,” she whispered against his lips.

“Whatever shall I do?” Anthony’s voice was husky, giving away his desire to ravish the woman he loved so dearly.

Epilogue

“Where did Wilde make off to? It’s almost time for the dancing to begin!” Anthony glanced around the room.

“He was just here,” Ambrose chimed in. Cordelia and Bridget joined in the search; all four gazes roamed the room looking for their lost friend.

“Ah, er, ahem.” Anthony coughed. “I believe I’ve found him.”

“What the devil!” Ambrose exclaimed.

Bridget squinted. “I don’t see him. Oh, goodness.”

“Heavens, does he realize he looks quite…” Cordelia waved her hand in the air as if searching for the correct word.

“Mad? Scary? A trifle like a hunter stalking his prey?” Anthony finished.