Kiss Me Sweetly

by Cecilia Gray

  “Ah, a knight-errant who comes to save you?” His voice was hard despite the humor of his words. “A gentleman defending your honor with pistols at dawn? Or is your ilk more the dark, brooding lord of the manor with a mysterious past?”

  “You read,” Bridget said.

  “Of course I am literate. My education is—”

  “No,” Bridget corrected, drawing nearer. “You, too, enjoy reading novels. For entertainment and pleasure.”

  His lips set in a grim line, but he did not deny it.

  She clapped. “Oh, do tell, who is your favorite?”

  His lips curled. “What if my favorite novel was the very secret tome that you seek?”

  “It isn’t polite to tease,” she said.

  “Isn’t it?” Now he stepped closer. “That is not what the book says.”

  Her breath fled as he took another step. She almost put up her hand to stop him from walking into her, but that would have meant touching his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his shirt beneath her fingers.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for such a book?”

  She nodded, her lips parting. He stared at her mouth, though she couldn’t imagine why.

  Then he turned and left the room.

  She laid her hand upon her chest and breathed. Breathed! Who would have thought that merely breathing was ever a conscious act of pulling and pushing air in and out of one’s lungs?

  Benjamin had lost his mind. It was the only explanation for his behavior with one Bridget Belle. He was behaving like some storybook hero instead of a rational gentleman. She had laid down her terms—she wanted a hero worthy of a novel—and something in him had thought to fulfill them.

  Ridiculous.

  Benjamin swept down to the ballroom, intent on finding something respectable to do. Outside, a small group of participants were painting the scenery of the lake and gardener’s cottage. Foot races were in progress behind the archery field. He should pick up a brush, join a team.

  He managed to stand in the sun, his gaze straying to the open windows of the ballroom as though his subconscious wanted to catch a glimpse of her.

  A knight-errant, she wanted. A gothic hero.

  Her father must thank his lucky stars that the other Belles were not so inclined.

  Charlotte Belle was always eager to please. He caught a glimpse of her red hair in the far tent by the musicians. She was offering them slices of her own birthday cake. She was sweet and amiable. Despite the unkind moniker of the Bovine Belle because of her frame, her face was pretty and her hair quite striking.

  He moved toward her, considering whether she would accept his offer out of sheer politeness. How easy it would be to placate everyone by forming an alliance with her. How easy to placate himself. He would never have to play the hero for Charlotte. Never be challenged on his every feeling and dark thought. Bridget had cornered him in a carriage for less than ten minutes and managed to draw out a conversation of his past that he’d been reluctant to share with even his own brothers. Imagine if she had a lifetime. Imagine how he’d disappoint her when she realized she had not a hero…not a villain. But just a man, as flawed as they came. Easier to settle on Charlotte.

  The easy task, however, left a distasteful bitterness in his mouth.

  He turned away from Charlotte and ran straight into his father. He was seated in a chaise beneath one of the white tents, enjoying an iced lemonade. His lips puckered with satisfaction, forming lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

  He beckoned to Benjamin. “Here, boy.” He held up the glass. “Try this. Sera’s sister Alice had the kitchen add it to the menu for the event. It is strangely satisfying.”

  He wanted to decline but accepted the slim glass and tilted the sour-sweet liquid to his lips. “It’s refreshing.” He set the glass down and occupied the empty seat on the chaise across from his father.

  “So is the girl.” A glint of cunning lit up his father’s icy eyes. “Alice Belle is the eldest, likely the one to inherit the most shares when it comes down to it. She’s been running the household for Sera since the girl is too young.”

  “I would prefer to find my own wife,” he said lightly.

  The duke leaned forward in his chair, his bony elbows digging into his thighs. Benjamin did not like the leer in his father’s eyes. “Alice’s father says she’s the most anxious for marriage, too. Made no secret of it. And Mr. Belle does not like the idea of marrying off his younger children before the first—not for a second time.”

  Benjamin tasted bile in the back of his throat, though it was a strange reaction to a suggestion to marry a very well-mannered and rich woman whom he actually liked very much.

  “Is she too tall for your taste? You have several inches on her,” his father continued.

  “I’ll give the matter some thought,” he said finally. He knew the best way to win an argument sometimes was not to start one.

  “Have another drink,” his father offered, pushing the glass toward him.

  “Too sour for my taste,” he said before standing up and walking away.

  While Bridget’s initial complaints of a turned stomach were a farce, after her unsettling conversation with Benjamin, they had become fact. Memories of Benjamin’s husky voice and his teasing and taunting words sent the contents of her stomach sloshing about. She retired to her room and stared up at the ceiling, willing the discomfort away.

  A staccato knock sounded on the door, followed by her father entering the room. Dominic Belle was a contradictory man—blustery and blunt one moment, and rather tender the next. She could tell the latter had chosen to visit her.

  His head was bowed low so she could see the shine of his bald spot. “Sera said you were unwell. I began to send your lady’s maid, but …” He smiled as he sat at the edge of her bed. “There are some things a father should do for himself.”

  She felt quite guilty at his worry. As commanding as her father could be, the one time he became malleable was when any of his daughters took ill. They had been fortunate to avoid most of the childhood afflictions that plagued growing children—particularly because their father had been excessive in his oversight and treatment of their medical care—but she recalled a winter with a particularly aggressive cough during which he’d remained home and by her side, even to the peril of profits. Since then, the very investment of his shipping company was closely tied to their well-being.

  “It was a momentary matter,” she assured him. “I’m well but tired, and the common resting rooms are too crowded for me at the moment.”

  He laid his hand over the crown of her head. “You’re flush. Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He pursed his lips but withdrew his hand. “If you are feeling well, then I suppose there is no reason for you not to rejoin the festivities. A young, unmarried lady as yourself will not be discovered in her bedchamber.”

  She laughed and sat up, stretching her arms overhead. “Perhaps there is a young man of unfortunate circumstance who has crept into the party disguised as a gentleman with whom I will fall madly in love before he is forced to reveal his true identity as penniless. What would I do then?”

  “Do not blaspheme,” her father muttered, completely unamused. “Whatever book gave you that idea should be burned.”

  Bridget wondered, not for the first time, if the fates of her and her sisters would have been different if they hadn’t been so young when Father had got it into his head that they must marry future dukes. As children, they had indulged him and told him they wanted to make Mama happy. As young women, they had not argued when their father pressed the idea. Now, all grown, it seemed so much a part of their identity as Belles that it had become a foregone conclusion.

  “Father, what if I fall in love with someone who is not destined to be a duke? After all, there are not many dukes of eligible age.”

  “Yes, yes,” he muttered, “your dear sister Dinah has many times pontificated on the mathematics of this conund
rum. As I’ve said to all of you, some exceptions can be made for the right candidates. Is there someone in particular you’re considering?”

  She pushed aside Benjamin’s stormy expression. He’d already said he was not interested in marrying her, and besides, she by no means wanted to marry a man who would seek to curb her interests her entire life. But that did leave his good friend, Lord Savage.

  “A future earl, perhaps? Even if his current reputation is too merry, his acquaintances speak well of him.” She sat up in bed, falling in love with the idea even more as she spoke. “A man of good fiber and foundation who is merely looking for the right anchor to curb his wandering eye.”

  “Another book?” her father asked with a sigh.

  No, not a book. Her life. Her adventure.

  With her father by her side, she hurried downstairs in search of the viscount. While he had not been invited to the wedding, Sera had insisted on including him on the guest list for their fete once she’d learned of his friendship with the Abernathys.

  He would be here, and Bridget would make his formal acquaintance.

  There had to be a special place in hell for gentlemen who unnecessarily teased ladies of quality. Good God, Benjamin felt no better than Damon. The two stood side by side, surveying the ballroom. An orchestra played rousing reels from the corner, and most of the guests who were not outside engaged in sport were linked arm in arm, skipping through the dance steps.

  “What is your excuse for not dancing?” Damon asked. “I, at least, can claim exhaustion after being trounced in Keep the Crown by those Belles. Miss Dinah is quite unexpected. The rumors of her intelligence do not do her justice.”

  “I think they are above mere rumors, don’t you?”

  “Point well taken. After hearing of the Belles for so many years, meeting them has shown me they exceed my expectations in every manner. Miss Sera, who I met several months ago at the horse market, is even more beautiful than what is whispered. And Miss Bridget—”

  Benjamin glanced sideways sharply. “What of her?”

  “She is a beauty, too. Would be raved about if not for the comparisons to her sister, don’t you think?”

  “I think there is far too much overexcited gossip about the Belles.”

  “Even so, Miss Bridget seems likely to marry next. She is sweet-tempered, beautiful, an heiress—”

  “Are you enacting a wager or enjoying the sound of your own voice?”

  “Perhaps I’m considering a marriage of my own.”

  Benjamin blanched and then let out a short howl of laughter. “You?”

  “I do have a lineage to consider,” Damon said dryly. “A rather respectable one at that. And while it may not be the Rivington title, unlike you, I am first in line for it.”

  A tirade of objections swirled on his tongue. Damon? Marry Bridget? There were only two possible outcomes. The first was that Damon would fail to understand Bridget’s unique needs; she needed to be carefully attended to ensure her safety without being outright managed. He still remembered her expression when she confessed that she was constantly being told what to do, how to think. She deserved some measure of self-direction. The second outcome was that the Damon and Bridget would enable each other’s risky tendencies until they had a complete societal banishing.

  Both options were, obviously, unacceptable.

  “Ah, is that not the lady in question?” Damon asked, inclining his head across the ballroom.

  Benjamin glanced and saw Bridget, her hair a little mussed. Heat seared through him at the anticipation on her face, her lips slightly parted. Only she was not looking at him. She was looking at Damon. With a rather mercenary expression.

  Oh hell.

  “Come,” Benjamin said, gripping Damon’s arm. “There’s a horse I’ve been meaning to show you.”

  “You procured one without me?” his friend said, affronted. It was easy enough to maneuver him outside, and it would be easy enough to keep him out of Bridget’s reach for the entirety of the party. The difficulty would be in manufacturing a horse he had never purchased.

  Miss B.,

  I wish to inform you that I finished the inspection you so ill-advisedly began, and I could find no evidence of the item in question. Either you have found it or it still remains at large.

  B.A.

  Lord B.,

  I have been informed that the item in question endorses copious teasing, and so I shall leave your question unanswered in every way.

  B.B.

  Chapter Four

  Second annual Belle birthday crush

  July 2, 1818

  Woodbury, England

  Where the devil was Benjamin Abernathy?

  Bridget let out a rather unladylike grunt of frustration. It was the second annual Belle birthday celebration and she couldn’t find him anywhere—not in the ballroom dancing, nor by the lake, nor in the fields, nor with the hunting party in the woods, nor—finally—in the library. She stamped her right foot, making a racket despite her soft lambskin slippers. This drew the attention of a nearby footman, who peeked into the library, but upon seeing the murderous look on Bridget’s face he must have thought better of his offer to assist. He promptly withdrew.

  Bridget crossed her arms.

  It was her birthday—or rather, the birthday of all her sisters since they shared the date—and she was twenty-one, with a crown of blue flowers and a blue ribbon in her hair. She should have been celebrating, but she was not. She was crawling around looking for that stupid blasted journal that had haunted her for years now.

  She’d never realized how bloody large the estate was. Over the last two and a half years, she had checked every common room. She’d asked the staff if they could recall any unclaimed items being left behind, but they’d only stammered through their answers as if expecting her to accuse them of theft.

  There was only one explanation: Benjamin had found the book and had lied to her. She had every intention of confronting him for this betrayal when she found him.

  She couldn’t wait to find him.

  Bridget stormed outside, passing Dinah who was lifting a flute of champagne from a silver tray as she surveyed the field of children playing bowling hoops.

  “Join me?” Dinah asked, raising her glass in a toast.

  Bridget snatched up a drink of her own and downed it in one swallow. The bubbles tingled along her throat and she swore she felt the fizz in her stomach.

  Dinah raised a brow and took a sip from her flute.

  Bridget knew that look. It was a look that said Dinah knew Bridget had worked herself into a state—one into which Dinah would never be stupid enough to get herself. Well, good for Dinah for being so clever. Bridget did not care at this point.

  “Have you seen that blasted Abernathy?”

  “Which one?” Dinah asked. “There are so many.”

  Her narrowed eyes swept the ballroom again. “Lord Benjamin.”

  “Yesterday’s carriages only brought Graham and his friends, and Tom has been in residence for the past week as Sera organized the affair. I don’t think Benjamin has arrived.”

  What dreadful manners.

  “I don’t believe he’s joining us at all this year,” Dinah continued. “That’s what Graham said. Something about business in London.”

  Dinah said more, but Bridget couldn’t hear past the roar of indignation in her head. Of course the man would stay in London rather than face her. They had an agreement! Well, not quite an agreement, perhaps. He’d said he did not make agreements. However, he had not outright rejected her offer that they share the journal regardless of who discovered it, and that was tantamount to an acceptance. Or was it? Either way, it was inappropriate for him to allow the misunderstanding to continue.

  And to think she’d trusted him. True, it had been a year since their last encounter, but they’d shared letters. Thoughts. Ideas. Maybe she shouldn’t have trusted him at all.

  “Are you all right?” Dinah asked. “You don’t look very well. Are you i
ll on our birthday again?”

  “Ill?” Bridget’s eyes widened. “Yes. Ill. I am. Dreadfully. I must return to my room. Alone. Please make my excuses. I’m afraid I am simply not up to visitors. Let everyone know.”

  She could not believe she was lying, yet again, to one of her sisters about her well-being on her birthday. Fortunately, this sister was far more practical than the others and would not spend the entire night worrying about her.

  “We should ask the physician to examine you. Sera and Alice will be concerned.”

  “Then do not tell Sera or Alice.”

  “I think we can both agree one rarely has to tell Alice anything. She will sense the truth for herself.” Dinah laid a steadying hand on Bridget’s shoulder. “If something is amiss, you may confide in me. I know I am younger than you, but you must know I have good sense.”

  Bridget felt her ire drain away under her sister’s steady gaze. Dinah had always been the logical one, who never let herself get swept up in emotion. She had presumed that meant she could not confide in her sister, that Dinah would never be able to understand how she felt. But perhaps Dinah did not have to understand. She needed only to be her usual calm self.

  “Have you ever wanted something that someone would not give you?” she asked. “And it’s not as simple as something that belongs to someone else. It’s something that should belong to everyone.”

  Dinah’s gray eyes searched hers, then narrowed in thought. She could practically see her sister’s brain working, turning, ticking. “One might argue that very little belongs to everyone. Not even water. Air, perhaps?”

  “But ideas belong to everyone, don’t they?” Bridget reasoned. “The very idea of an idea is that it is meant to be shared, explored.”

  “That’s a rather new notion, and you must admit that we women have far less than our share of anything.” Dinah’s lips compressed into a thin, grim line. She was a tiny thing, but once vexed, with hands fisted, she seemed to grow before one’s eyes. “Who will not give you what you want? Lord Benjamin?”