Chapter 9
Bridget paced across the floor of the foyer, waiting to leave.
It was not terribly late, but she had seen how quickly Dorothy’s energy was waning.
Bridget had insisted on taking some air and had asked Halls to tell Elias that she wished to retire for the night.
Her brother would doubtlessly arrive soon, and the coach would return them to their family home.
The foyer was mostly dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. A shadow flickered. It was—
The shape of a man. Bridget gasped, drawing in air, as the shadow moved. A scream caught in her throat, her thoughts too slow to keep pace with her body. The man’s hand seized her arm and drew her back, hidden behind a corner.
“You…” she whispered.
It was the Duke of Wheelton. Alone.
“You cannot be here with me,” she said. “It is inappropriate.”
She could not find it in herself to care, for her accursed body warmed at the sight of him. Bridget scrambled for her dignity. She had resolved to prove how unsuitable she was as a wife.
“It is inappropriate,” he said, his voice low. “But you are not reacting nearly as angrily as you should be. I have to wonder if this stubbornly consistent, improper behavior will continue after our wedding. Why are you here now?”
“Why am I here?” she asked. “Why are you here? This is my brother-in-law’s house, and I am waiting for my brother to take me home.”
“I see,” His Grace said. “And does your early departure have anything to do with what you are planning?”
“Planning? I have no notion of what you mean.”
“I disagree,” the Duke said. “You might believe that you are subtle, my lady, but you are not. I know that you have some plan that you are working on.”
Bridget’s face warmed. He still kept his hand wrapped around her arm, and as if he knew where her thoughts had gone, His Grace moved closer to her. Bridget’s back struck the wall, and the Duke brought his body against hers. All her thoughts went hazy, as her pulse jumped.
“I assume your plan is to persuade me not to marry you,” His Grace said.
“I am planning nothing.”
He tipped his head to her, so his breath fell in warm puffs of air against her neck. “I do not believe you, and you must know that lying befits neither my duchess nor my wife.”
“I am not lying. You are imagining enemies where there are none.”
“I would hardly call you my enemy,” His Grace said. “My opponent at best. But I do wonder what you plan to do if I change my mind. Hm?”
Bridget searched for some answer to his question, but none was forthcoming.
“I suggest that you become accustomed to the reality of your situation, which is that you will marry me and learn how to be a proper wife.”
“No,” she whispered, indignation burning inside her. “No, you cannot simply enter my life and demand that I change who I am to suit your desires.”
“I think I can.”
Even if His Grace was right about the marriage, Bridget would not simply submit to him without a fight.
“You cannot,” she said coolly. “And I suggest that you tread softly, Your Grace. You might find that I change you instead to suit my desires.”
“Impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. And if you would stop fighting me so much, you would realize just how pleasant marriage to me can be.”
He shifted a little, and Bridget bit back a groan.
A proper lady would tell the Duke to move away, to unhand her and never corner her alone again, but Bridget found that she could do none of those things.
Despite the indignation burning inside her, she still noticed how warm and solid his body was against her own.
“Pleasant?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“There is nothing pleasant about our current predicament,” she said. “Only uncomfortable.”
“I disagree. If you were truly so devastated by this predicament, you would have already done something to make me leave you be.”
“Maybe I am teaching you,” Bridget countered. “I am waiting to see if you can become a gentleman.”
He chuckled. “You do not want a gentleman, my lady.”
“No?”
“No.”
He brushed his nose against her own. A lump rose in her throat, and he tilted his head. His lips were a hairsbreadth from her own, and her entire body trembled in anticipation of his touch.
“Oh,” she breathed.
“You are welcome to protest,” he murmured.
She could. He had not kissed her yet, but she desperately wanted him to. The heat stirred in her core, and all her muscles went taut. “Please,” she whispered.
Their lips met, colliding with sudden force.
His mouth was hot and warm and strange against her own.
She kissed him as hard as she could, so hard that her own lips ached with the force of it.
His hands curled in her hair, pulling so hard that her scalp ached.
A groan tore from Bridget’s throat, muffled by his lips against hers.
All thoughts of defiance fled in the sensations of kissing him again and again. Her chest ached with want of air and desire for him. Bridget’s hands curled into the fabric of his jacket, just over his shoulders. He tipped his head back.
Bridget gasped for air, longing to kiss him again.
His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the Duke smirked at her.
“See?” he asked. “This could be so much more pleasant. You may have more of that if you will only accept that I am to be your husband and stop with all your schemes. They are doomed to fail anyway.”
Her mind whirled. When His Grace stepped away, Bridget pressed her palms against the wall. Her knees trembled, but she remained standing. “You do not know me,” she whispered, trying desperately to gather the shreds of her defiance. “You do not know what I can do.”
“Oh, you silly girl…” the Duke murmured. “You are powerless against me. Do you know why?”
“Because you are a pretentious man who believes he is God’s gift to women?” Bridget snapped.
His Grace leaned in and kissed her, and all Bridget’s protests died in her mouth. Warmth spread through her entire body; she was lighter than air. The duke could be as pretentious as he liked, as long as he kept kissing her like that.
When he abruptly pulled away, a ragged whimper tore from Bridget’s throat. “Kiss me,” she insisted. “Again, please.”
“No,” he said. “This is all part of the process. You are ruled by your passions. You must learn to school your desires and resist temptations. You have never had to control yourself, but I will teach you. Over the next two weeks, you will learn how to be a proper wife, and from my instruction, you shall learn to manage your passions.”
Bridget’s breath hitched.
A small part of her wondered if he was right, if she was too ruled by her passions.
“We shall see,” she said. “If you believe it is a game, so be it. I hope you are ready when I make my first move.”
His Grace took a step back and bowed. “Until then.”
He turned around the corner and was gone, his footsteps fading quickly and just in time for Bridget to hear another. She froze against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart. Bridget’s hands went to her face, which was hot beneath her fingertips.
“Bridget?” Her brother asked. “Are you here?”
She forced down the lump that rose in her throat. Hastily, she raked her hands through her hair, fearing that it might have become disheveled by His Grace’s attention.
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
It was dark in the foyer. Perhaps he would not notice that her face was flushed.
She came around the corner and forced a smile, trying to brush away all the feelings that coursed through her body. Was His Grace right? Maybe the new and strange heat was another passion, just one that she had never noticed before.
Elias’s brow furrowed with concern. Ice sank into Bridget’s veins. Had he noticed her appearance, and did he know what it meant?
“Are you feeling well?” he asked.
Her chest tightened. “Why…why would you ask that?”
“Because it is early,” Elias said, sounding confused. “You seldom choose to retire so early in the evening.”
“It has…it is just everything,” Bridget said, forcing a smile. “I am tired. And I thought that having a short evening would be best for Dorothy’s sake.”
His face softened. “That is thoughtful of you. Dorothy is tired often these days. I am told that it is normal for women in her condition.”
Halls emerged from the shadows and bowed. “Your Grace, your coach is ready.”
“Thank you,” Elias said, offering his arm and a wry smile. “Shall we?”
Bridget let her hand rest at the crook of his arm and brushed her shoulder briefly against her brother’s arm. “Yes.”
They left the townhouse together and entered the waiting carriage. As Bridget settled against the cushion, her eyes darted to the townhouse. “We shall have to invite him to our own house,” she said.
“Wheelton? Yes,” Elias said. “He has already agreed to come to our house for these weekly visits of his.”
Bridget crossed her ankles and pressed her thighs tightly together. Her lips tingled, as if he was still kissing her. Bridget’s eyes darted to her brother’s face, anxious to see if he had noticed anything amiss about her. He did not seem to, for his absentminded gaze settled on the window.
“We have agreed to those, then.”
“You may insist that we cancel them, and I will abide by your wishes,” he said. “However, I think that it might be beneficial for you to learn about your groom before the wedding.”
“I see.”
Did her brother perceive nothing wrong with how the Duke referred to those meetings? As teaching and as lessons, as though she was a small child in need of correction, rather than a woman who was nearly of age.
“I am doing my best,” Elias said. “And I know that you are also trying to do your best with this situation. I noticed that you were surprisingly pleasant over dinner, and I thought that was rather…well, it was gracious of you. It was strange, but I appreciated the effort.”
Elias believed that she had been trying to do better, that she had accepted her fate and was trying to be a pleasant future wife. Bridget might have cried if the situation was not so utterly bizarre.
“I did not do it for you,” Bridget said, sighing.
“I am still convinced that His Grace will realize this is a bad idea. You believe that those two weeks will provide me with an opportunity to learn more about the Duke, and you are right. But he will also learn more about me, which might not be for the best.”
Elias was quiet for a long moment as the coach jolted into motion, its wheels clacking along the London streets. “No,” he said at last. “Anyone would love you. He just needs time to realize your worth.”
Her brother’s voice was soft and warm, so full of affection that Bridget found herself thinking about and regretting every poor choice she had ever made.
“I am sorry that I have been so difficult,” she said. “Really.”
“You have not been difficult. You are young,” Elias said, clasping her hands in his. “At some point, everyone has been young.”
“Not you.”
Even in the darkness, she sensed his frown. “Even me,” he said. “I would say that I am still desperately clinging to my youth, even as my sisters become older and wiser around me.”
“But you had to take on the responsibility of being Duke so young,” Bridget said. “I—I have only just realized…”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
Across from her, Elias remained quiet and patient, waiting for her to speak her mind.
“I have only just realized that my problems must seem so small to you,” she said, “after everything that you have endured.”
“Nonsense,” Elias said. “Your problems are no smaller or larger than mine. Just different.”
Somehow, Elias’s easy answer made her feel all the worse.