Beguiling Bridget (13 page)

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.

“Bravo!” A man clapped, and Anthony turned to see Ambrose chuckling and clapping like a fool while Wilde stood beside him with his arms across his chest, scowling with an inordinate passion.

The abrupt outbreak brought Anthony spiraling back into reality, and he remembered where he was. With a sheepish nod at his brother, he escorted a flushed Bridget off the floor.

Lady Burnside stormed toward them, fire in her eyes as well as anger etched across her weathered face. “You!” She poked Anthony in the chest. “How dare you ruin her! And right here in front of everyone! Without announcing your intention to marry her! After what I saw! And that footman! Well, I—”

“You are mistaken, Aunt,” Bridget interrupted smoothly. “There was no footman.”

“Do not presume to tell me, girl!”

“I beg your pardon, Aunt Latissia. I suppose in one sense there was a footman, but it was not a man.”

Lady Latisssia’s eyes bulged. “I know what I saw!”

“Perhaps,” Anthony offered, mainly because he couldn’t help it, “it would be well to have your sight checked, my lady. After all, in such advanced age, one should be careful to stay healthy and,” he cleared his throat, “astute.”

Bridget planted a sharp elbow squarely in his ribs.

Lady Burnside grew crimson and stormed away.

“Congratulations, my dear.” Bridget’s uncle approached and offered his hand. “I will expect you first thing in the morning, Maddox.”

Anthony smiled warmly as he shook the offered hand. “Of course, Lord Burnside. I look forward to it.”

“Well then, I’m off to look after my wife’s health. No doubt she’s having a fit of the vapors.”

“No doubt,” Anthony mumbled under his breath. “Bridget?” He offered his arm and made quick work of guiding her outside near the gardens.

The memory of his first botched proposal to Cordelia haunted him. It had gone so horribly wrong. He hoped to make this one a vast improvement. Perhaps ride a white stallion through double doors and proclaim his undying love. Certainly Bridget deserved more than
Please consider me an alternative to perpetual virginity.
Botched proposals seemed to be his forte.

In retrospect, he counted himself fortunate that Cordelia hadn’t slapped him across the face in that first occurrence. Although in Anthony’s defense, his plan to push her into his brother’s arms had worked brilliantly.

Yet, as he faced Bridget now and moonlight danced across her face, he was overcome with terror that he was about to make a blunder of himself once more. He cleared his throat.

“Bridget.” He grasped her hands and took another deep breath.

A small insect chose that inopportune time to fly into his mouth, sending him into a coughing fit and nearly to his knees.

“Heavens! Anthony, are you all right?” Bridget pounded him squarely on the back several times before he was able to speak.

And when words finally did pour forth, they were hoarse and awkward.

“As I was saying…” He coughed again. “Br—”

His mind went completely blank. What was her name? Anthony blinked a few times and tried again. “Bri—”

Was it Brittany? Brisket? He was so nervous he couldn’t remember his own name let alone hers!

“Do you need to sit down?” She gave him a breathtaking smile and patted his hand like a mother would a small boy.

“No!” Anthony braced her shoulders. “I’m going to do this! It will be proper and romantic, and you shall cry. Women always cry, don’t they? In a good way? When a gentleman professes his love and quotes that dolt Byron? Perhaps I should take a knee. Yes, yes, that’s it!” Anthony coughed again and knelt in front of Bridget.

Ha! He remembered her name!

“Dearest B—”

Curse him to perdition! He had just had her name! How was it possible to forget it already?

His shoulders slumped. “In my head, this went much better.”

Perhaps he was capable of having two horrid proposals in the span of a year.

“Pardon?” Bridget tilted her head, an amused smile gracing her lips.

“Truly, just last year, when I proposed to Cordelia—” Blast. Had he said that aloud? Bridget lifted a quizzical brow. Anthony cursed and tried to make it better. “But it was only a ruse, you see? It didn’t truly mean anything. After all, it was only in order to force Ambrose’s hand.”

“Let me see if I understand. You proposed marriage to your brother’s wife last year?”

When she put it that way, it sounded dreadful. “It was heroic! Even if I did run into her, and she did manage to fall and ruin her dress, among other things. And you cannot imagine the ruckus it caused when Ambrose happened upon us in such a state of…” Anthony cursed aloud. Wasn’t he supposed to be proposing? Not regaling her with tales of his romantic failures?

“This is different. You are different,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know. How could I have known that the one girl to steal my heart and the breath straight from my lungs would be the very one I had no chance — no hope of gaining.”

He stood and leaned in close to cup her face in his gloved hand, hoping she couldn’t sense the perspiration drenching them in his angst. “I’m an idiot. It’s a known fact, just ask Ambrose.” He let out a loud ragged sigh. “But I’m an idiot in love with the most intelligent, beautiful, and infuriating woman I have ever come across.”

Bridget swiped at a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Will you do the honor of becoming my wife? Idiot though I may be?”

“Bravo!” Ambrose interrupted the beautiful moment, clapping his hands. “Such believable gusto in your acting, brother. To think you would go to this extent to win a stupid bet is beyond me.”

“Ambrose?” Anthony groaned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving this poor girl from heartache!” Ambrose looked like he was ready to punch Anthony in the face. His eyebrows furrowed — always a bad sign — and his lips were in a firm line, proving he was very cross.

“And how were you planning to do that, brother?”

“I shall inform Lady Bridget of the bet!” Ambrose roared. “She doesn’t deserve this treatment, Anthony, and you know it.”

Poor sod. Anthony should have notified his brother where his true affections lay, but Ambrose was doing such a lovely job of making a complete fool of himself that Anthony couldn’t bring himself to step in with the truth.

“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.