Beguiling Bridget

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Deciding to let her suffer, he heaved a sigh and then promptly knocked the books to the ground between them.

  “Oh, apologies, I’m so very clumsy at times.”

  Bridget knelt down to grab both books, the pallor of her face deepened into a bright crimson that matched her hair.

  He took her hand within his and bestowed a kiss upon it. “Good day.”

  Anthony tipped his hat and walked in the opposite direction, leaving a fairly seething Bridget behind.

  Chapter Nine

  The Best Defense

  To say Bridget was angry did not begin to describe it. Abandoned. Humiliated. Rejected.

  Furious.

  And arrogant Lord Maddox — the impossible, infuriating beast of a man — was every whit the enigma. One moment he was swearing an oath to keep his hands to himself, the next moment he seemed to have eight of them, and every one acted as a homing pigeon bringing messages of desire straight to her core. As if that wasn’t enough, when she actually wanted him to kiss her, he left her twisting in the wind.

  A fresh surge of indignation burned through her again. She climbed the stairs to her rooms, slamming the door behind her with a fury.

  This ridiculous bargain was more trouble than it was worth. True, Aunt Latissia and Uncle Ernest had stopped hovering about at the social functions, but the viscount had hardly kept up his end.

  In fact, the only thing for which Bridget could rely on Anthony was that he was completely unreliable. But that was just like all the men she had ever known. Why did this one disturb her so much?

  A knock sounded on the door, and a downstairs maid entered with a bouquet of fresh flowers.

  “Begging your pardon, milady. These arrived for you a few minutes ago.” She placed the bouquet in a crystal vase on a small table, turned to Bridget, and offered an envelope.

  “Thank you, Lily,” Bridget said as she accepted the note, tempering her bad humor in the presence of the servant, though she was certain signs of her rage were still evident on her face.

  Lily nodded but made no move to depart.

  “Is there something else, Lily?” Bridget asked.

  “I’m to wait for a reply, milady.”

  “Very well.” Bridget retrieved her letter opener from the drawer of the table and slipped the blade through the flap of the envelope, making a clean slice across the top. The note was from Viscount Maddox.

  I would be delighted if you would join me tomorrow afternoon for a picnic in the park.

  A.B.

  It was enough to incite a fresh burst of fury through her. The man was so exasperatingly arrogant. No apology. No humility at all. He simply assumed she would be unable to refuse him. In his defense, she guessed he could have mistaken her body language as something other than what she was portraying. But he was a rake! Well, perhaps not a rake. He wasn’t nearly as debauched as other men in the ton, but surely he knew the signs of a woman who wanted him! She bit her lip in thought.

  Ah! The perfect revenge. Let him experience the rejection he so callously doled out. She would repudiate his every advance. Let him lose his bet. What was it to her?

  With great aplomb, Bridget took a sheet of stationery from her desk and penned a reply to the viscount.

  Regrettably, I am unable to accompany you on a picnic tomorrow.

  I shall be taking my lesson on the pianoforte.

  B.D.

  She folded the note and slipped it into an envelope. Then a wonderfully evil thought occurred to her, and she spritzed the envelope with her favorite bottle of strawberry-scented perfume, sealed it, and handed it to the maid with a wide grin.

  “Please have this delivered to the viscount right away.”

  Lily nodded and took her leave.

  Bridget eased into her wingback chair and picked up her new copy of Miss Wollstonecraft’s masterpiece. Suddenly, she felt ever so much better.

  Chapter Ten

  A Strategic Turn

  Anthony hadn’t attended one of Lord Byron’s readings in an age. And although he wasn’t supportive of how the ladies seemed to salivate in the man’s infuriating presence, he did expect a few other poets and political minds to be attending the afternoon soiree. So he attended knowing it would be an advantageous time for him to discuss political matters before Parliament commenced again.

  It also wouldn’t bode well for him to sit at home and mope, especially since Bridget had refused him. The minx had even sprayed the letter with perfume. Well, he wasn’t some simpering miss of a woman. He was a man. And it was his duty, his responsibility, to make sure this meeting was well attended and supported. He would, perhaps, stroll by Bridget’s home at a later hour, mayhap under the cover of darkness so nobody could see him. He could even wear a black cloak and hat. Satisfied, he glanced around the room.

  As predicted, several powerful political figures attended. Anthony and Sir Wilde made quick work about the room, enjoying the talk of politics more than that of the tedious events of the London Season.

  “And do you agree? Should we truly be allowing those in trade into our higher circles?” Lord Jethrow asked, purely outraged that Anthony, along with his brother, had already been dipping into trade more than was acceptable for any noble.

  “Yes, we cannot simply rely on our tenants forever,” Anthony replied. “Nor is it wise to simply drink away one’s life in hopes that the family coffers will replenish themselves.” He took a sip of his tea amidst several grumbling gentleman near him and scanned the room.

  His eyes fell on a beautiful redhead — his redhead. Bridget turned in his direction a look of pure excitement on her face. Not that he was surprised. Any sort of political soiree where she might brush shoulders with the freshest minds seemed to be her exact cup of tea. What surprised him… nay, irked him, however, was the girl wasn’t at home pining away for him.

  Her gaze appeared to take in the room as well, but she squinted in confusion when she noted his presence. Nothing like her obvious vote of confidence in his intelligence.

  “Let us begin!” a voice announced from the front of the room. Anthony returned to his seat next to Wilde and smiled when he noticed Bridget taking a seat behind him.

  “Thank you to all of our supporters and patrons, and many thanks to one of our biggest sponsors, Viscount Maddox!”

  The room erupted into applause as he briefly stood and took a quick bow around the room, pleased that Bridget’s mouth had dropped open and then snapped shut.

  Trying not to gloat, he took his seat and smiled to himself. He hadn’t planned for her to be there, didn’t even know she would be attending. But it had worked in his favor. Served her right for making snap judgments about his character. She had presumed he was a rake, but there was so much more to him than what could be seen at first glance.

  He was surprised he hadn’t thought of this strategy before. Let her see him for whom he was outside of the balls and the parties. It certainly couldn’t make matters worse.

  The lecture and reading droned on. At its completion, a standing ovation was given to that dandy, Byron, and everyone was dismissed.

  “How did you know?” Bridget’s voice interrupted the clapping and scraping of chairs as people began milling about.

  “Know what, precisely?” Anthony turned to face her.

  She glared at him with her hands on her hips. “That I was going to be here! You would have had to have been planning this for months!”

  “Sweeting, even I, infamous seducer that I am, do not plan such things so far in advance. I’m on several committees, including this one. I financially back several of the political figures you read about in the books you apparently steal or beat out of the bookseller, and to be honest, I’m a little put off that you would believe I would do all this for your sake alone.”

  He hadn’t meant for it to come out as the scolding that it did and inwardly winced for the set down he knew he was to receive.

  Instead Bridget opened her mouth to respond but shook her head, an embarrassed sh
ade of red graced her cheeks. “Apologies, I truly had no idea. I didn’t mean — well, of course I didn’t mean to suggest you would go to such lengths to secure my favor, but—”

  “Sweeting.” Anthony leaned in so he could better smell the lavender. “You are right to assume I would go to the ends of the earth for you. Make no mistake about that. You just happen to be wrong as it pertains to this specific instance. Now…” He pulled back to put the space propriety demanded between them. “May I call upon you tomorrow for an afternoon stroll?”

  “Um,” Bridget hesitated. A more stubborn woman he had never come across! “I’m sorry, my lord. I have a previous engagement tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course. Perhaps another afternoon.” Anthony bit his lip in confusion.

  “I will be attending the Hawking ball tomorrow evening. I’ll save you a dance if you wish it.”

  “I do. Thank you. Until tomorrow evening then.” He kissed her hand and walked away scratching his head. So this is what true rejection felt like? Not the cat and mouse type of rejection he was used to where women played games in order for him to chase them. But true rejection in which the woman lied in earnest to keep him away.

  Somewhat depressed, he walked over to the nearest sideboard and poured himself a brandy.

  Bridget’s unmistakable laughter glittered on the air, causing him to nearly choke on his drink. Blast! Who could possibly be making her laugh?

  Frantically, his eyes searched the room until they fell upon Bridget and Wilde sitting near the alcove huddled in secret conversation.

  Wilde wore the most ridiculous and besotted grin on his face. And Bridget, well, Bridget seemed to be playing right into it! Her hand reached out and patted Wilde’s thigh. His thigh!

  Outraged, Anthony set the glass down and started toward the two, but Byron stopped him. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cut the man. Instead he bit off his rage and fell into civil conversation, all the while keeping an eye trained on the corner.

  By the time the conversation with the infamous poet was finished, Anthony was fit for Bedlam. He made a beeline for the corner only to find Bridget was nowhere to be seen.

  Wilde however, still stood in the corner, a lovesick grin painted wide across his face.

  “Wilde? Where is Br — Lady Bridget?”

  “Hmm?” Wilde’s smile broadened. “Oh, Lady Bridget? She has taken her leave.”

  “Right.” Anthony stared at his friend for a few more minutes, noting that Wilde looked everywhere but Anthony’s gaze. “Say, are you unwell?”

  “Not at all!” Wilde laughed nervously. “Everything is perfect.” He patted Anthony absently on the shoulder and moved past him. Something was amiss with Wilde. He didn’t know what, nor did he have time to figure it out.

  Bridget seemed to be avoiding him. But why? He hadn’t crossed any lines and to be perfectly honest, she should be rewarding him for not taking advantage of her earlier when she tried to kiss him.

  Blast! Maybe that was why she was being so skittish! Could she possibly be angry with him?

  Anthony swore under his breath as another man approached to engage him in conversation.

  Chapter Eleven

  Foiled

  The following afternoon, Anthony decided a visit to White’s would help to clear his head. He glanced at his curricle parked outside Ambrose’s townhouse. The thought of sitting for the jolting ride made him cringe, perhaps it was because after a long night without any word from Bridget, he had sought company with a bottle of whiskey. His head still pounded.

  “A walk would do me good,” he said aloud and began his hike down the street, hobbling uncomfortably as he went.

  It was a longer walk than he had anticipated, considering he had every intention of going to White’s, but for some reason — one he wasn’t ready to come to grips with yet — he made his way toward Bridget’s house. True, she had said she couldn’t meet him this afternoon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t casually walk by, just in case she happened to be looking out a window.

  Was he truly walking the three miles to her residence in order to stalk her? Apparently. Because his feet continued in that direction seemingly of their own accord. And the closer he came, the broader his smile grew. As he rounded the corner, a very happy-looking Wilde approached from the direction of Bridget’s residence.

  “Wilde?” Anthony called out. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  Wilde paused a look of pure horror flashed across his face. “Isn’t it obvious? I was out for a stroll.”

  “So far from the park?” Anthony squinted and crossed his arms.

  “What are you doing out this direction?” Wilde countered.

  “If you must know,” Anthony looked away and lifted his arm into the air, “I was taking some fresh air.” He made dramatic effort to breathe in the London fog and coughed aloud.

  “Three miles from your residence?” Wilde lifted an eyebrow.

  “I needed a lot of… air.”

  “Right, I’ll just leave you to it then.” Wilde stepped around him and shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he strolled away.

  Anthony felt suspicious. Truly there was no reason for Wilde to be on this side of town. He knew nobody in residence, except…

  No. It wasn’t possible. Was it? Would Bridget be meeting Wilde? And for what purpose?

  He rested against an iron fence for a moment in thought and turned the corner to stare at Bridget’s house. To his chagrin, he didn’t even try to hide his interest, just stared wide-eyed at the house that held the woman who had caused him to drink himself into a stupor the previous night.

  Much to his surprise, on the side of the house directly before him, a gloriously exposed ankle peeked out of the second floor side window.

  Transfixed, he watched as another ankle followed and then what appeared to be bed sheets tied together. A fall from that height wouldn’t kill a person, but serious injury would indeed result. His protective instincts kicked in, and he scurried as fast as his body would allow to the side of the building and called up.

  “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

  With a squeal the girl lost her footing as well as her grip on the sheets and began to tumble out the window, heading straight for him.

  “Blasted — Umph!”

  Again on his backside, and again in such pain he believed he heard angels calling him home, Anthony blinked twice to see what and who had fallen on him.

  An unladylike string of expletives flew from the woman’s mouth. She pushed away from him and shoved him down, unfortunately back onto his bum. The squeal of pain that erupted from his lips was anything but masculine and quite reminded him of an ostrich dying.

  “You!” the woman shouted.

  He looked up. “Holy Mother of—”

  “You could have killed me!” Lady Bridget interrupted with an ear-splitting scream.

  “I wasn’t the one crawling out of the window!” he snapped back.

  “No, you merely waited until I was halfway down and then startled me!”

  Well, when she put it that way…

  “Foul!” Anthony argued. “I was trying to keep you from climbing down! I didn’t want you to fall.”

  “Well, congratulations, my lord, you accomplished your task admirably I’d say!”

  “I…” Anthony snapped his mouth shut. What was she wearing?

  “What in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

  Lady Bridget looked down and blushed. “That’s none of your concern.”

  She made a move to pass him but he grasped her wrist. “It is my concern when a young woman of genteel breeding leaves her house unaccompanied and wearing the attire of a footman.”

  “Odd, considering your preference for blindness, I’m surprised you see anything at all!” Her eyes blazed with fury. “Now, sir, let me pass.”

  “I don’t believe my conscience will allow that, my lady.” His grip tightened on her wrist.

  “Do you mean t
o insinuate you have one then?”

  Anthony smirked, trying to hide the pain radiating through his body. “Only when it seems prudent.”

  Her nostrils flared.

  His breath grew ragged as his eyes boldly scrutinized the way her pantaloons hugged her thighs. No chance he was going to let her gad about the streets of London on her own. Any man with the benefit of functional eyes could see she was a woman!

  “I ask you again, sir. Let me pass.”

  “And I’ll tell you again, my lady — or shall I call you boy? Yes, boy seems accurate, since you’re acting immature and senseless — I will not let you pass until you permit me to escort you to your destination.”

  The girl offered him an over-sweet smile, but he could plainly see she was mocking him. “Fine. But I warn you, you won’t like what you see.”

  Anthony’s eyes scanned her form again as she stepped around him. “Oh, I doubt I’ll take any offense from what I see. Of course, what I hear — that might be an entirely different story.”

  “Hmmph.” She thrust her nose in the air with disdain and stalked in the general direction of his townhouse, working perfectly to his advantage.

  Awkwardly, Anthony fell into step beside her. Never offering his arm, for what would people say if they saw him escorting a young boy? Even if the boy in question was actually a beautiful woman ripe for the taking.

  They walked in awkward silence all the way to the end of the block. Bridget stopped at the house on the corner and followed the path to the front door, and without knocking she let herself in.

  “Are you mad! You cannot simply let yourself into someone’s house! Whatever would people think? What would they say—?”

  “Bridget, my dear, is that you?” a man’s voice called.

  Anthony cursed. “A man? You’re here to meet a man? And dressed as a boy? Could this possibly get worse? You shun my attentions for another?”