Beguiling Bridget

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Beguiling Bridget

  by Rachel Van Dyken and Leah Sanders

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  BEGUILING BRIDGET

  Copyright © 2012 RACHEL VAN DYKEN AND LEAH SANDERS

  ISBN 978-1-62135-061-3

  Cover Art Designed by Bryan Griffin

  Edited by Stephanie Taylor

  Prologue

  History Repeats Itself

  “Anthony?” The shock in Ambrose’s voice was unmistakable, though in hindsight Anthony wasn’t really sure if it was his twin brother speaking or a beautiful woman with facial hair.

  He was that foxed.

  “Can you hear me?” His brother’s voice was something akin to a loud screeching, causing a resounding shriek to pump through his ears until he thought he might be fit for Bedlam.

  “‘Course you can’t hear me,” Ambrose scoffed then waved away the proprietor. “Never saw you drink so much in my entire life, and that includes the time when you tried to drink Wilde under the table at the annual debutante ball. Those women sure hadn’t seen a man dance a waltz with such…” He paused as if trying to think of the correct way to say something insulting. “…Reckless abandon, that’s for sure.” His twin patted his back. “Now tell me, why is it that I find you here, of all places, drinking away your sorrows? Aren’t you to be fighting Wilde in a duel?”

  Anthony lifted his pounding head to glare into his brother’s eyes. “I’ll kill him.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Ambrose motioned for a drink and took a seat. “Now, what is this about? Did he steal your horse? Give you another dirty look? Oh no, wait. I have it.” He snapped his fingers in the air. “Did he sneeze into your favorite whiskey again? I do know how you hate that. It’s so inconvenient to have to pour good whiskey out, wouldn’t you agree?” Ambrose winked and threw back the contents of his glass.

  Anthony steadied himself in his seat and fought against the anger pouring through his body at alarming speeds. “He stole her.”

  “So we are talking about your horse, then?” Ambrose seemed relieved as he relaxed against the back of his chair.

  “No, it’s not about a blasted horse. He stole her! The woman I was supposed to marry. Stole her right from under me, like the sod he is.”

  “So you were, er… on her… and he… um…” Ambrose flushed.

  Anthony swore. “No, you idiot. Not in that… capacity.” He surprised himself by being able to think of large words, let alone use them, in his inebriated state. “I saw them. Together… kissing.”

  “Well, I do hope you alerted the Bow Street runners. We can’t have rakes running about town deflowering women, if you get my meaning.”

  “This isn’t a jest, Ambrose! It wasn’t some woman!”

  “Let me guess.” His brother leaned in. “You’re jealous because Wilde kissed a girl you had deep feelings for. Well, plenty of fish in the sea, my friend!” He hit him on the back, setting Anthony teetering off the chair.

  Mustering as much strength as his aching body would allow, Anthony rose to his full height. Impressive that it was, he knew his body would pay for it later. “I love her!” he announced loudly.

  Silence followed in the establishment.

  Ambrose’s eyes widened. “Just whom are we talking about?”

  “Lady Bridget. I love her, and Wilde was kissing her… I’ll kill him.”

  Just then the door blew open. Ambrose turned around with a grin on his face. “Here we go. I do love duels. Did you know…” he addressed the proprietor, “we were here just last year under similar circumstances? Only it was my brother and I fighting a duel, and, well, I didn’t exactly go through with it…”

  “Ah.” The gentleman smiled. “I remember the story. Tell me, how is the missus?”

  “Oh fine, fine.” Ambrose shrugged and turned toward Wilde.

  Wilde’s eyes were trained on Anthony. A wild fervor of hate that Anthony had never seen before in his friend seemed to radiate from him.

  “I’ll kill you for ruining my only chance with her! And I will defend her honor!” Wilde yelled, pushing people out of the way as he blazed a path toward Anthony.

  “Me?” Anthony puffed up his chest. “If your chances are ruined it is only because she has seen you for who you truly are! It is I who has been wronged! How dare you steal her from me!”

  “Steal?” Wilde repeated, shocking Anthony. He had never seen his friend’s composure rattled so much.

  “I never stole a thing in my life! If you’re looking for the thief and scoundrel, you have no further to look than the mirror, my friend!”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Ambrose stepped in, obviously offended, considering he saw the same reflection in his mirror.

  “Why don’t we settle this away from the crowds, eh? Without pistols?”

  “I’ll fight for her,” Wilde said plainly.

  Anthony closed his eyes against the vision of Wilde kissing the only woman he’d ever loved. Of her wild red hair flowing down her back as Wilde smiled and pulled her close.

  “Gemma is mine!”

  “Bridget is mine!” The men announced the names at the same time and then looked at one another.

  “Interesting.” Ambrose laughed. “Say, I think I’ll have another.” He waved his glass at the proprietor and returned to his seat.

  “Gemma? But I thought it was…” Anthony’s voice trailed off, his chest suddenly tight. He had sent her a letter, told her that he wanted nothing more to do with her. That he could never love a woman he didn’t trust… and she thought…

  Anthony cursed. The room swayed… and he fell into blackness, hoping to stay there for eternity. For what point was there in living — when one wished to be dead?

  Chapter One

  En Garde

  Four unfortunate weeks earlier

  “Dance with her!” Cordelia ordered Anthony, poking him square in the chest with her gloved hand.

  “Cordelia, you’re making a scene!” He cursed and felt the heat of embarrassment spread down his neck. What he wouldn’t do to be rid of his sister-in-law and her embarrassing taunts. She was just as bad as Ambrose.

  “I swore I would revere the day I saw my brother blush!” Ambrose’s solo applause brought Anthony a renewed sense of ill will toward his twin brother, which must have registered on his face. “Well done, my dear. Anthony looks quite put out.”

  “I assure you, I’m fine.” Anthony cleared his throat to mask his indignation.

  Just then Wilde approached the group. “Has he worked up his nerve yet, or are we still in the coaxing stage?”

  Traitor.

  “Still coaxing,” Ambrose and Cordelia answered in unison. Ambrose gave his wife a wink and pulled her far too close. Anthony knew they were happy, but must they flaunt it before him and the rest of society?

  Anthony glanced toward the lady in question once more. She was lovely. Perhaps the finest he had seen in quite some time. Her dark red hair framed her fair face in delicate ringlets, and the blue of her gown set off her eyes like brilliant sapphires. He felt Ambrose watching him and turned back to his brother.

  Ambrose’s eyes held that dangerous look, as if a devious plan was formin
g in his mind as he spoke. “Say, Anthony?”

  “What?” The crazed glint in his brother’s eyes disturbed him, but he trained his own gaze on the girl by the plants again, feigning boredom, when boredom was truly the furthest thing from his mind. Kissing? Tangling his fingers in that glorious red mane? Pushing her deeper into the shadows of the hall? Those were his real thoughts.

  “Would you agree that every Season you are approached by several women for little dalliances?” Ambrose asked.

  “Yes.” It would do no good to ignore his questions. He’d simply continue asking them until finally, in a fit of rage, Anthony would answer with a loud bellow, earning him haughty looks from society’s patrons.

  “Would you also agree that you’re one of the most sought after bachelors in the ton?”

  Devil take it, was he still talking?

  Beside him, Wilde cursed. “I’ll answer that for you. Just this morning in the park a girl cried when he picked up her fallen hat.”

  “Perfect,” Ambrose said. “Do you believe you could make any woman fall in love with you then, Anthony? Or have you lost your touch?”

  Oh, so that was what this was about. Anthony couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his lips. He did have an enviable touch when it came to the gentler sex.

  “Not that it matters, but yes, I do believe that.” Anthony smoothed out his jacket with pride. He could have any woman eating out of his hand within minutes of an introduction. Yes, he was that good. His prowess had never once been disputed.

  “Any girl?”

  “To be certain.” Anthony thought the line of questioning ridiculous. His brother knew his talent better than anyone else in the world.

  Wilde appeared to be mumbling a prayer heavenward. Strange. Praying a fraction of Anthony’s charms would be bestowed upon him, no doubt.

  “And you’re willing to wager you could accomplish this in say… four weeks?”

  “Yes.” Anthony nodded. This discussion was growing tiresome. The view was nice though. The girl’s ruby lips were drawn into a tight pout. She turned her head to address someone over her shoulder. Was that a hint of fire in her eyes? Her apparent spirit intrigued him, and he found himself wishing his present conversation would end so he could obtain an introduction to his newest conquest.

  “Shake my hand, Anthony,” Ambrose ordered.

  Anthony reached out and shook his hand. A sudden realization struck him. What had he just given his consent to? He cursed under his breath.

  Ambrose grinned. “What was that?”

  “Did I just agree to a bet?”

  “Yes, and guess who I’m choosing.” Ambrose rubbed his gloved hands together.

  Anthony closed his eyes. “I don’t want to guess. I want to go back in time and slap myself before I accepted the terms.”

  “Not possible. Do you see that girl over there? The one you’ve been salivating over for the past ten minutes while you handed over your life to me on a silver platter?”

  “Son of a—” Anthony mumbled.

  “You haven’t called me that in ages!” Ambrose slapped him on the back. “Her. You must make her fall in love with you in four weeks’ time. You have the devil’s own fortune, so it shouldn’t take any longer. Good luck!”

  “Why do I feel like this is going to go terribly wrong?” Wilde muttered.

  “Or,” Cordelia said as she kissed Ambrose on the cheek, “it could go terribly right.”

  “Yes… yes, it could.” Ambrose leaned down and scandalously kissed his wife full on the mouth. “After all, it’s just a bet.”

  Why did they have to do that in public? Had they any idea how scandalous it was to kiss one’s wife in public? On the mouth, no less? They might as well start stripping one another and — Anthony stopped his thoughts from going into dangerous territory.

  Cordelia giggled, swatting at her husband with her reticule. “Who knows where it will lead?”

  “Probably somewhere near the potted plants.” He pointed as the lady in question stepped behind the ficus.

  Anthony rolled his eyes in disgust and walked away. His brother’s words faded as the great hall filled with music. It hardly seemed like a fair bet. The girl hadn’t danced all evening. This would be a piece of cake for a devil-may-care charmer like himself.

  And although he was a trifle irritated that Ambrose had used Anthony’s woolgathering against him, he did love a challenge.

  He smoothed his jacket and grabbed two flutes of champagne as a servant walked by. Tall, dark, handsome, and carrying a woman’s favorite drink — who could resist him? Or the tiny bubbles that danced on the tongue? Naturally, she would know who he was when she clapped eyes on him, but introductions must be made.

  He glanced to the side and noted the Dowager of Marseilles flipping her fan this way and that. Well, the little biddy knew everyone and everything; his instincts told him to go to her for an introduction.

  “My lady.” He bowed over the dowager’s hand and grimaced when she tightened her grip and pulled him nearly into her lap. Mustn’t forget how many men she’s single-handedly accosted.

  “What brings you over to the chaperones and elderly, my lord?” Dare he say it was her loveliness? The lady in question lifted a bushy brow and smiled revealing missing teeth. Stop gaping! he scolded himself. The last thing he needed was for her to think he was even a trifle interested in a dalliance.

  He steeled himself against the elderly woman and smiled so brightly he was afraid the lady would expire on the spot. “I hoped to dance with you and your charge, or are you merely acquaintances?” He turned toward the glorious redhead and winked.

  Either she was unmoved by his wink or she was blind. He smiled rakishly and noted the girl squeezing her eyes as if to inspect him. Blind it is. Pity.

  “Ah, this is Lady Bridget. This is her first season, but I’m sure a man of your experience can tell these things. After all… you aren’t known to go after the young ones. No.” She patted his arm, allowing her jeweled hand to rest across his muscled forearm. “You enjoy a little spice and maturity. Do you not, my lord?”

  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 la
dy. 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.