The heat of humiliation rose to his face. With haste he stood again and brushed the street dust from his breeches. It wouldn’t do to have the lady witness him in distress again so soon. A quick glance in her direction assured him she hadn’t noticed his misfortune, so he attempted again to cross, this time waiting for the traffic to pass before venturing into the street. Pain and indignation shot through him with each step.
He decided on a rear attack and came first upon the lady’s maid, who startled when he reached to take the parasol from her. Anthony gestured with a finger to his lips for her to keep the secret, and the servant girl cast a shy smile in his direction and nodded, falling back a few paces but not before winking an invitation in his direction. At least he still had his touch. Or so he thought, until he reached Bridget’s side and she began speaking.
“You are quite accident prone, are you not, my lord?”
“Whatever do you mean?” He lied through his teeth and ventured a glance at his breeches for any hint of dust remnants.
The girl refused to look in his direction. “You took another tumble, did you not? Or were you merely playing a game with the carriages, living dangerously as the great Viscount Maddox is known for doing?”
Ignoring her stab at his reputation, he let out a whistle. “My, my, so you do pay attention to my reputation as well as other things. Tell me, do you also know my favorite color and choice of horseflesh?”
Lady Bridget froze and gave him a glare so horrendously pointed that he was sure he would go up in flames.
“Are you always this prideful?”
For a lack of a better answer, he nodded, gracing her with the full force of his smile. “Tell me,” he said, gaining strength from her obvious fidgeting. “Have you always been afraid of a man’s attention, or is this fear only bestowed upon those as lucky as myself?”
“A man’s attention?” she repeated with a laugh. “Do tell me when we come upon a man, for I would like to see what a real one looks like up close. Good day, my lord.”
Mouth agape, Anthony stared as she did a quick curtsy and walked by him. He grabbed the maid’s arm as she hurried to catch up to her mistress. “Is she going out tonight?”
The maid’s complexion took on a rosy hue. “Yes, my lord. To the Brampton dinner party,” she answered in a whisper.
He winked and handed her the parasol, allowing her to be on her way. No chance the girl would reject him twice in one day. Surely she could not be so heartless!
Chapter Four
Rejection is Such Sweet Sorrow
Not even her afternoon walk was sacred anymore. Lord Maddox was an exasperating man — so brazen and petulant in his vanity. Bridget exhaled sharply and shook her head to knock loose the thoughts of the infuriating rogue. She didn’t wish to think of him at all. Because unfortunately when she thought of him, it was either grand irritation that plagued her mind, or the undeniable fact that he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. And for some reason, he wanted her attention. Fighting the urge to smile at the thought, she focused once again on her walk, on clearing her head, and perhaps yes, plotting her next book. Perhaps the main character would slip on a strawberry.
She snorted with disdain. Everything she had heard of the viscount had only served to form an ill opinion of him, regardless of how high in regard the whole of the ton held him and his brother. Between the two of them, Lord Maddox was the least respectable. He was known to entertain occasional dalliances with the widows and charm his way through the ton with that blasted smile on his face. All he needed to do was flash a devastating grin in the general direction of the female population and swoons surely followed.
Well, she was not going to be another one of his conquests. In fact, she found the notion so repulsive that when her heart fluttered in his presence and her breath grew ragged, she attributed it to a sickness brought on by his masculine scent.
Impossible that her body reacted to him that strongly, she refused to acknowledge it. The man had no shame. And she had better things to occupy her thoughts. Again she concentrated on her newest work. A novel. And again, his face flashed in her mind. He would be the perfect Mr. Darcy. His strong form and rakish smile.
Still, it was pleasing to see him humbled twice in two days. A mischievous smirk curled her lips at the memory of Lord Maddox knocked squarely on his rear. And on a public street. Yes, that image was sure to bring her hours of good humor for the weeks to come as she endured the rest of the wretched London Season. Her walk suddenly took a turn for the better, for every time she thought of the handsome viscount, she remembered his accidents and immediately lost the attraction she held for him. At least, that’s what she told herself to believe when her thoughts turned dangerous.
****
Already Bridget was relieved her aunt had taken ill that afternoon. Since she was unable to accompany her to the dinner party, Bridget had come with her dear friend Gemma Reynolds. The freedom from her aunt’s heavy-handed scrutiny of Bridget’s every move, as well as the lack of formal dancing, gave Bridget liberty to avoid hiding in corners from unwelcome attempts at forcing her to participate.
She sat chatting with Gemma and her brother, waiting for the entertainments to begin. Gemma was slated to play the pianoforte later this evening after dinner, a talent that escaped Bridget, but she did enjoy listening to her friend’s mastery of the instrument.
Bridget had known Gemma for years. Many times they had been mistaken for sisters, because their hair was the same brilliant shade of crimson — though Bridget had often wished she could trade her wild insubordinate curls for a satin smooth mane like Gemma’s.
Ever since her mother’s death and Bridget had come to live with her father’s family in London — though the man himself had abandoned both Bridget and her mother when she was but a child — Gemma and Bridget had been in constant company and loved one another like sisters. But Gemma’s aspirations were toward marriage nowadays, so her subjects of choice in conversation held little interest for Bridget.
Therefore it was little wonder that Bridget was only half-listening to the discussion of the announced betrothal between Count Belvedere and Miss Violet Jasper when her friend stopped talking mid-sentence and anchored her gaze on the archway behind Bridget.
“Sweet heavens… sin just walked through the door,” Gemma whispered in ironic reverence. Her head tilted to the side, a feminine sigh escaped her lips, and Bridget could have sworn her friend actually began to tear up.
As Bridget twisted in her chair to see what was affecting her friend so, Gemma rested a hand on Bridget’s to stay her, stopping her from turning wholly around.
And something in Gemma’s urgency caused Bridget to stiffen in purest dread, when her friend added, “Oh! I may swoon! He's approaching us!”
“The devil you say!”
“He comes at this very moment!”Gemma clenched her hands in her lap and began to visibly shake.
If the sudden chill prickling along her spine was any indication, Bridget was certain that the sin rendering her friend paralyzed at this moment was none other than Viscount Maddox, and he stood directly behind her, with his usual beautiful smile spread across his smug face. How did he know she would be here? Well, she wasn’t going to gift him the satisfaction of knowing she could sense his presence. That would be just what he wanted. Drat her arms for producing chills, and curse her stomach for dropping to her knees!
“Holy Moses, no man should have a smile like that,” Gemma said just under her breath.
Bridget rolled her eyes, but had to grudgingly agree. His smile could melt the ice off a polar bear’s tail.
“Lady Bridget, a word?”
Gemma’s mouth gaped, betraying her shock.
Bridget stood before turning around, giving herself time to steel her nerves against the onslaught of his overwhelming male ego. At least he came by it honestly. The viscount truly was carved like a Greek god. But she had no intention of allowing it to affect her. She has other interests — other pursui
ts, and—
“My buttons, they make a handsome couple,” Gemma’s brother said loud enough for all to hear. Gemma jabbed him in the ribs with a well-placed elbow.
“Ah, Lord Maddox. Speak of the devil and he appears — what an unlikely surprise.”
“You were speaking of me?” His beguiling smile stretched wider across his marble features.
“Hmm… if I recall correctly, we spoke of sin, and yes, I believe the devil was mentioned.” His smile waned to its usual irritating level. The golden corona of his brilliant green eyes seemed to catch the candlelight and sparkle at her. No. Bridget wouldn’t let him convince her. She was no trophy to be won. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone? Think about your mother crying! Think about your parents’ marriage crumbling and your mother dying of a broken heart. Think of those things!
As if on cue, Sir Wilde interjected with genuine pleasure, “Lady Gemma! It has been an age!” He brushed past the viscount to address the lady’s hand. “Tell me, where have you been keeping yourself?”
Gemma seemed to blush to the very roots of her dark red hair. He tucked her hand under his arm and led her to the refreshment table, chattering all the while.
Bridget shook her head slightly as the pair disappeared around the corner without so much as batting an eyelash in farewell. Behind them, Gemma’s traitor of a brother followed close, as if he didn’t trust Sir Wilde a stone’s throw away with his sister.
This left Bridget quite alone in the salon. Quite alone with Lord Maddox.
The man took a seat beside where Bridget stood and gestured to her to do the same. As she lowered herself into the chair, he leaned in ever so close and turned that sinful smile on her. Suddenly overheated and beyond irritation, she began to fan herself, trying desperately to appear nonchalant when the temptation to lean forward and smell him was overwhelming.
“You asked for a word, my lord. How may I be of help to you this evening? Perhaps a lesson or two on how to walk about the public streets without being trampled by passing carriages? Or possible strategies to avoid dangerous fruit attacks?” Bridget offered him what she hoped was her most innocent expression. “Truly, I aim only to please.”
“It seems I've found my match. I do so love a challenge.”
“I'm not participating in said challenge, nor am I like every other girl who would think nothing of selling her own grandmother in order to receive one of your smiles.”
“Truly? You wouldn't even sell a dress? An irritating sibling?”
“Not a sibling, and certainly not my soul.”
“Truly, you have a rapier sharp wit, my lady. Pray tell, how do you do it?”
“I read, my lord,” she replied. “I daresay none of the women of your prior acquaintance can boast such.”
“Indeed,” he said, eyeing her with a hint of doubt in his own charms. That ought to finish him. A couple of well placed poisoned darts in his more than adequate ego and he would be but a memory of this tedious night. Dare she drive the nail home?
“Perhaps the talent eludes even you, my lord.”
A shallow, sickly smile spread over his lips. Yes, she was getting to him.
“You may think of me as you please, my lady.” His gaze drifted past her searching for his comrade who had disappeared as though seeking a swift escape. Good. The desired effect. No reason to postpone the inevitable. Men leave. The arrogant ones leave sooner. It was a simple matter of time. At least it was for her father.
“You presume much, my lord. For when this conversation is at an end, I will not think of you at all.” His golden-crested emerald eyes flashed the briefest betrayal of his pain. Bridget knew she had said too much, and an icy twinge of guilt spread from the pit of her stomach to her extremities. Her ears burned, and she knew without doubt they were a fiery beacon of her regret. For a moment, Bridget was glad of her scarlet tresses, since they would do much to camouflage her vibrant ears.
She tore her gaze from his face, glanced toward the nearby doors, and waited for him to excuse himself.
“If that is the case,” he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his deep, rich voice, “We shall simply continue this conversation for eternity.”
****
Anthony felt his lips curl into a smile as his point was made. Lady Bridget shut her fan with a click and glared.
“An eternity is quite a long time to fill with enough topics worthy of discussion, my lord. For my part, I don’t wish to insult you by allowing any more opportunities for you to make a complete fool of yourself. Good evening, my lord.” She bestowed a sweet mocking smile, stood, and left him.
Alone.
Feeling quite ridiculous.
That went well. Anthony shook his head to clear the cloud of confusion just as Wilde stumbled back into the salon.
“Whatever is the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Anthony. You’re as white as a sheet.”
“I’m going to lose,” Anthony admitted with a curse. There had to be something strong to drink close at hand. His gaze scanned the room for any sort of beverage to numb his humiliation and cursed attraction to that wretched girl.
Wilde grinned like the fool he was and slapped Anthony on the back. “Cheer up! It can’t be that bad!”
“It is…”
“What?” Wilde looked confused.
“That bad,” Anthony confirmed.
“What were we discussing again?” Wilde stared at the door expectantly.
“Are you listening to me at all?” Anthony asked. The least Wilde could do was give him his undivided attention in this moment of his greatest need. “I need advice, support.” God forbid, he was going to say the one thing he’d never uttered aloud. “I need…” Oh, foul word of the weak! “…help,” he finished, hanging his head in defeat.
“Well, the way I see it, most people don’t use kelp in any sort of recipe anymore. Though I’ll try to find some for you, if you truly need it. Is it for stomach ache?”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Anthony took a good hard look at his friend. His very flushed and nervous-looking friend. “I said help, you idiot, not kelp. What in the name of Hades would I use kelp for?”
“I thought it was an odd request. My humblest apology, my lord,” Wilde mumbled, his eyes still trained on the door.
My lord? Perfect. His friend was going to be no help whatsoever. Anthony made a move to leave, but Wilde stopped him.
“Say I have a friend…” Wilde started.
Merciful heavens above. Anthony felt like being selfish. He had problems of his own. Gargantuan problems. He didn’t have time for this! “I used to have many friends, until they started ignoring my pleas for help.”
“So this friend…” Wilde continued. “He wants to impress a certain lady.”
“Ah, it’s often about a lady.”
“How—” Wilde shifted, finally taking his attention off the door. “That is to say, when might it be appropriate to — bestow a kiss?”
“Bestow a…? For the love of—”
“I know you have experience in the matter. And Ambrose would only laugh at me. Whereas you might explain it to me in terms I can comprehend,” Wilde said, cutting off Anthony’s curse.
Guilt washed over him as he glanced at his nervous friend. Wilde hadn’t a nervous bone in his body! What the devil was bothering him? Must be some woman to have him worked up thus. Blast! Wilde’s reputation was no different than Anthony’s and his brother’s. His current behavior made no sense. It was odd to see him acting like such a nervous schoolboy.
Anthony sat back down with a heavy sigh of resignation. “Is this particular lady… skittish?”
“She’s the proper sort, yes…” Wilde smiled.
Anthony fought the urge to close his eyes in exasperation. “Does this lady have any experience with men?”
Wilde’s eyes sparked to life. “If she does, I’ll kill them, every last one! I’ll challenge them each in turn to a duel to the death, and—”
“Easy, ma
n. It was merely a question.”
Wilde nodded in understanding, his brown eyes still aflame with indignation at the suggestion.
“For everyone’s sake, let us assume she is inexperienced. The best way to bestow a first kiss upon a woman is to take her by surprise.”
“Like when hunting for foxes?” Wilde offered.
“Yes, an excellent analogy. That is, your lips would be the shot, and perhaps the woman, the fox.”
“So I sneak up on her?” Wilde asked.
Anthony cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. He really was in no position to be giving out advice, especially about that of the opposite sex. Currently, he was having trouble of his own coaxing a certain woman to so much as smile at him, while also avoiding the stinging daggers of her cunning words.
“Don’t scare her, Wilde. Simply grab her and kiss her—”
“Grab her? How?” Wilde was painfully out of his element. So much in fact, that Anthony took pity on him and decided to truly show his friend what he meant. With a quick glance to see if anyone might intrude, Anthony turned toward his lovesick friend.
“Like this.” Anthony placed his hands on Wilde’s shoulders, giving them a firm shake. “Now, you need to show this woman that you are firm, but gentle at the same time. When she gazes upon you…” Wilde batted his eyelashes at him. Oh sweet heavens, Ambrose must never get wind of this. “Wilde, please… do you want me to show you or not? I do have other more pressing concerns.”
“I’m sorry. Please continue,” he answered with a nervous chortle.
“Fine. Now, when she gazes upon you, tilt your head to the side and kiss her cheek.”
“Her cheek? But I want to kiss—”
“It’s safe to assume I know what you want to kiss, but you must take care not to scare her at the first. If she is receptive, then you kiss the other cheek.”
“And if she isn’t receptive?”
“If she isn’t, I daresay she’ll plant something on your cheek you won’t soon forget.”
Wilde appeared thoughtful. “But why not the lips?” he asked after a long moment.
Beguiling Bridget Page 3