Beguiling Bridget (8 page)

A servant passed by with champagne. Anthony quickly lifted a flute and drank the dry contents. “Yes, I believe that would be exciting indeed. Anything I can do to aid the lovely Lady Bridget in her… artistic pursuits.” With his free hand he reached for her arm and looped it within his. “After all, I can think of nothing I would rather do than gaze upon your beauty, my sweet.” He bit his lip.

Lady Burnside cleared her throat. “Lovely. We shall expect you in the afternoon. Shall we say around two?”

“Perfect. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Anthony winked at Lady Bridget and turned back toward her aunt, who was now changing to such a peculiar shade of red, he was sure her head would explode. Clearly, the woman was not amused that he had found a younger more desirable girl upon whom to shower his affections. He quickly excused himself and decided to call it a night. After all, he had much work to do the following afternoon.

****

Anthony gazed upon the large regal mansion and steeled himself for what would surely be the one of the more trying experiences of his life. Sitting for hours in the presence of the most attractive woman in the world as she painted didn’t seem to be the best of ideas, especially if his current state of arousal was any indication of how the day would proceed.

The idea that he would be required to stand utterly still while having to stare at the beautiful Lady Bridget was near laughable. After all, simply being in her presence accelerated his breathing, his desire, his irritation — everything.

He must remember his part of the bargain. No matter how much she seemed to need it, Anthony had promised to keep his hands to himself. Now if he could just keep his own desires in check, lest he embarrass himself and the girl in the process.

Anthony knocked on the door and was quickly ushered into one of the salons. Bridget stood behind a large easel, paintbrush in hand.

“Am I late?” he asked, his voice cracking the silence of the room.

“Just on time.” She didn’t look at him. Instead her dainty hand added a few more strokes to the painting before her. The lady tilted her head and a smile broke across her face.

“What are you working on?” He couldn’t help the playful smile that spread across his lips.

“A masterpiece.” She huffed and threw him a saucy wink.

“May I see it?” He felt his smile widening.

Bridget pulled away from the painting and shrugged. “Of course, my lord. I do hope it doesn’t scare you though. It may be frightening.”

“Frightening?” He gave her a patronizing look and turned to face the picture.

“A bowl of strawberries?” he asked, like the idiot he was.

Lady Bridget sighed. “Yes, I felt inspired.”

“Obviously.”

“And did you notice that in the corner?” She pointed to the top of the piece where, what had to be the ugliest man alive stood, arms high above his head flailing as if he was about to take a tumble.

“It’s you!” She laughed. “It’s quite a likeness, don’t you agree?”

Anthony gave a tight smile. “Yes, it’s perfect. Though you forgot one detail.”

“What?”

“The woman standing next to me who threw the strawberry, perpetuating the entire tragic sequence of events.”

“I did nothing of the sort!”

Anthony snorted. “So you say, my lady, but I have seen your true colors. You’d be much happier impaling me on the end of your paintbrush than standing next to me right now. Admit it.”

“With pride.”

Anthony muttered a low string of curses and eyed her with suspicion. “Where is your aunt this afternoon?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” His voice raised a few octaves.

Lady Bridget smiled. “Lady Burnside is rarely home in the afternoons, my lord. She is making calls. I don’t expect her home for several hours.”

“You,” he pointed at Lady Bridget and tried not to yell, “are not allowed to speak of any of this to anyone, do you understand? After all, I do have my reputation to consider.”

“Perfectly.”

“Good—”

“Not only,” she interrupted, “do I have to endure your presence for the next two weeks but I’m not allowed to speak of it to any human being save the one man I would rather spit on than talk to.”

“Lies.”

“What?” She set down her paintbrush and crossed her arms.

“I didn’t misspeak. I said
lies.
All of it. You like me.”

“You arrogant man!” Lady Bridget poked him in the chest. “I want nothing to do with you. I want—”

“Me. You want me. There’s no use denying it. But never fear. I’ll be patient for you to come to your senses.” He began stripping his coat and gloves.

“W-what are you doing, my lord?”

“Anthony. It’s Anthony, and I shall call you Bridget, or perhaps my stubborn little temptress. They are one and the same, I assure you.”

“Anthony,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Would you please explain why you are removing your outer garments?”

“You mean, why am I getting naked?”

Bridget flushed and covered her eyes. A soft gasp escaped the throat of the maid sitting in the corner. “My lord, really—”

“Ah, you have to use my name.”

“Anthony,” she squeaked, still shielding her eyes. “Why are you taking off your clothes?”

He shrugged. “I thought you meant to paint me?”

“I did. I-I do.” She took another steadying breath and turned away from him. “But I’d much prefer to do so while you are fully clothed, if you don’t mind.”

“Pity.” He shook his head and smiled at her back. He was just trying to unsettle her, but when he noticed her peeking through her fingers, his masculine pride swelled markedly. Perhaps he would have gone through with it. Yes, she would be ruined. She would be all his, and he would have her — whether she wanted to be had or not.

“Shall we begin?” She still hadn’t turned back to face him. Most likely her face was scarlet with embarrassment.

“I’m ready when you are.” His voice was low, seductive, and coaxing.

Bridget shook her head, and an unruly strand of red silken hair fell out of her coiffure. She returned to the easel and set a new blank canvas on it. “Now, we both know you’re here merely to vex me and taunt my aunt. By all appearances, it will look like we’re courting, so you only need to stay for an hour or so.”

“And if I want to stay forever?” he asked taking a seat on the settee.

“Anthony—” She put her hands on her hips. “I choose to ignore your asinine insinuation. Please remember our bargain. Now, sit still so I can paint you.”

“With my clothes on,” he half-grumbled.

The canvas blocked her face, but he could have sworn he heard her giggle. “Yes, with your clothes on. And if you start disrobing again, I’m going to paint you with strawberries.”

“I understand.” His voice was laced with irritation. “By all means, paint my demise. Death by strawberry. It seems to be the theme of my life.”

Bridget sighed behind the canvas. “Fine. What would you like sitting next to you?”

Anthony chuckled. She shouldn’t have asked such a question. Her virgin ears were going to burn by the time he was finished with her. He cleared his throat.

“I desire to be lying across the settee, much like this.” He demonstrated. Bridget peeked around the canvas.

“Brilliant.”

“I’m not done.”

She sighed. “Naturally.”

“I should also like to be painted with a lady next to me.”

Bridget paused. “And this lady, dare I ask — what shall she be doing?”

Anthony laughed. “What all ladies do when in a compromising position. I’d like her to be kissing my neck, just here.” He pointed to his neck.

Bridget didn’t look.

“Bridget? You aren’t looking. How are you to know how to paint if you do not look?”

“I c-can imagine,” she stammered.

“No. I have seen your work when you aren’t looking at a model. And as a paying customer—” He paused to lay a farthing on the table. “I demand you look and give me what I ask for.”

Slowly, the girl peeked around the canvas, her face a brilliant shade of red.

“Right here.” Anthony pointed again. “And I should like her hair to be red. A vibrant red — wild like she is. Her eyes must be blue, for I find blue eyes to be the most entrancing. And her smile… truly, you don’t want to get me started on her smile.”

Her breathing became laborious as he looked at her and grinned. “The way this lady smiles is like the sunrise. I should like you to paint that for me, though I know it will be difficult… to paint perfection.”

“You’re a horrible flirt, Anthony.”

Anthony closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “I’m no more a horrible flirt than you are a horrible tease.”

“A tease?” She threw her paintbrush onto her palette and marched over to him. “How dare you say that, how dare you—”

“Ah, You are so very fetching when you are vexed, my lady.” He motioned for her to take a seat next to him.

Rolling her eyes, she let out an irritated huff before sitting down. “A tease?” she repeated.

“Making you angry is the only way I have discovered that will coax to come near me. Truly, I am desperate enough to try anything to force you to speak to me. Now, let us talk of the upcoming ball.”

“What about it?” Lady Bridget’s eyes darted to the ground, obviously irritated.

“Well.” Anthony scooted away to give her space. “We will need to seem more familiar to those around us. I, for one, shall call you sweeting, as well as Bridget.” Her name tasted like honey on his tongue. He had to clear his throat to mask the desire he felt in that moment. “And you should call me Adonis.”

“Surely we do not need pet names for one another—”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “I believe we do. And you cannot appear so irritated around me either. Nobody will believe you’re infatuated, especially my brother. Your aunt is quite another story. She’s going to be looking for any excuse to separate us.”

“I may let her.” Bridget sighed.

Anthony glared. “If you let her near me I’ll, I’ll—” Blast. Why couldn’t he think of a good enough threat?

“Stutter?” Bridget tilted her head and offered him a malicious smirk.

He cursed and shook his head. “I’ll simply attach myself to your person, like a leech, and we both know how much you enjoy my company.”

“Ah, finally comparing yourself to a similar species. Good for you.” She patted his knee then pulled back her hand as if burned. “I, um… I should get back to painting you. I mean, that is to say, I should be finishing your portrait, so if you could manage not to say anything offensive in the next hour or so, I’ll proceed.”

“By all means.” Anthony motioned to the easel. “I’ll try not to interrupt. Though it might be difficult. I can be quite distracting.”

“I am certain I can withstand your many charms, my lord.”

“Anthony,” he corrected.

“Anthony.” She blushed and returned to the easel. But not before Anthony took great pleasure in watching her hips sway as she walked back to her place.

****

Bridget knew she had to spend some time with him in order to hold up her end of the bargain, but his presence in her life was more of an inconvenience. It was nice to have a live model to paint for once, but if live was the only requirement, perhaps a rabid polecat would be preferable.

Not that Lord Maddox… er,
Anthony,
was entirely unpleasant to look at. In fact, he had a rather unsettling effect on her whenever he was near. His soft brown hair and golden emerald eyes drew her gaze like a moth to flame. She told herself it was only as an artist appreciating beauty. Nothing more than that.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for his unbearable arrogance and vain utterings, she might quite enjoy the view.
Adonis
was a description not far off the mark.

Bridget sighed and shook her head to clear the fog. The portrait. She was supposed to be painting.

He was right. He was nothing if not distracting. And Bridget didn’t care for distractions. Not when there were so many other noble pursuits to occupy her attention.

Drat! Her novel! She had almost forgotten about it! How was that even possible?

One word. Anthony.

There was very little recourse for revenge in situations like these. And his familiarity today was well deserving of some sort of comeuppance. Bridget glanced around the room in scheming defiance until her gaze came to rest on the bowl of strawberries sitting on the table behind him.

A slow, deliberate smirk creased her lips, and she set back to work on the portrait with renewed vigor.

“What are you plotting?” Anthony crooned from his place on the settee.

“Never you mind. Just sit still and try not to spoil my masterpiece.”

When she finished, she covered the canvas with a thick cloth, veiling it from Anthony’s view.

“Aren’t you going to let me see it?” He took a step around her and made an effort to lift the cloth.

“Don’t touch!” Bridget slapped at his hand, but he dodged out of her reach.

“Hours of silent torture, and you won’t even let me have a peek?”

“No. I want to put the finishing touches on it. You will have to wait,
Adonis
.”

A wicked smile spread over his face as he glanced at her with an unholy gleam in his eyes. “See how naturally it rolls off the tongue? I believe we might be able to pull this off after all, dear Bridget.” He stepped toward her and brushed the stray tendril of hair from her face, catching her hand in his.

Bridget’s breath caught in her throat as he lifted her hand to his lips, holding it there much longer than proper. His gaze held hers.

When the maid cleared her throat, Bridget jolted and pulled her hand abruptly away from Anthony’s grasp.

“I forgot she was in here,” he whispered with a disappointed smirk.

“I believe it’s time for you to take your leave, my lord,” Bridget announced. She kept her voice steady though his nearness had caused her to tremble.

“Very well, my dear. I shall look forward to the unveiling of the portrait the next time I call. Good evening,
sweeting
,” he said with a wink, then spun on his heel and let himself out.

Chapter Eight

Beyond the Call of Duty