Chapter 15
Lewis idly ran his fingers along the leatherbound spines of books. The room was dark, save for the silvery light that drifted through the windows on the opposite wall. He listened carefully for even the smallest sound that might indicate Lady Bridget had joined him, which she assuredly would.
A proper lady would have refused him, but she was far from proper.
In her defiant gaze, he had also seen something more—a spark of desire that was so close to bursting into flames.
Lewis could give her what she wanted, for he knew more than many how to turn such yearnings to his advantage.
Perhaps even a mutually beneficial one once the lady realized how much she craved him.
The door creaked at last, the sound soft and tentative. “You came,” Lewis said idly, not turning at first.
The door closed. A throat cleared. “So I did,” Lady Bridget said. “This meeting is highly improper.”
“Oh, do not act as though you are so pure now,” he scoffed. “Besides, we are to be wed. I imagine that this encounter is closer to proper than any of the others.”
“If you want me to be a proper wife, you should not ask me to indulge in impropriety,” Lady Bridget said.
He turned to her at last and saw that she stood several feet away, her back straight and her body taut with defiance.
“You believe yourself to be quite clever,” he noted.
“I am.”
Lewis moved slowly from the bookshelf, making every step deliberate and meaningful as he moved to her.
With every movement he made, Lady Bridget’s body tensed a little more.
Was it from anticipation or fear? It was difficult to discern her precise expression in the dark room, but he dared to hope it was a little of both.
“Why are we here?” she asked. “I suppose you wish to tell me that my behavior was inappropriate, and you are too cowardly to do so before an audience?”
“Careful,” he growled. “I am many things but cowardly is not—and never will be—one of them, my lady.”
“But you would not chastise me before others,” Lady Bridget said. “I am left with one explanation, then.”
“Are you? Do enlighten me.”
“Despite telling me to ignore the ton’s whispers and not react to them, you are remarkably susceptible to them yourself. You are a hypocrite.”
He smiled thinly. “Careful how many insults you throw at me, my lady. My good will is not limitless.”
“Yet another flaw of yours,” Lady Bridget rejoined, a victorious gleam in her eyes.
He took another step towards her, and in an instant, the lady’s confidence turned to hesitation. She took a wary step back, her eyes snapping to his face.
“I am prepared to scream,” she said, voice quivering.
“Are you? Somehow, I doubt that,” he said. “On the contrary, I think you enjoy this little illicit encounter. You delight in being a little minx.”
“You presume much.”
“It is not mere presumption. I can observe how much you desire this, for your body betrays your desires, my lady. I can tell from your quickened breath and your parted lips, from the way your breasts strain against your gown, and from the flush on your face.”
Lady Bridget drew in a sharp, soft gasp of air.
She audibly swallowed, and Lewis smiled indulgently, doing nothing that might betray his own hot desire, which clawed at his chest. His fingers itched to take her at once, to pin her against the bookshelf and show her precisely how attentive he would be as a husband.
But she was not yet his wife, and it was for the best that he built the anticipation, even though prolonging their amorous congress was nothing short of torture.
“And I wonder,” he continued. “What would you do if I was to kiss those trembling lips of yours?”
“Kiss me?” She sounded faint.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “A proper lady should push me away, but somehow, I suspect you will not do that.”
“You do not know everything.”
“I never claimed to know everything—only you.”
He took another step, bringing their bodies close together.
They were not touching just yet, but if he moved a hairsbreadth nearer to Lady Bridget, they would be.
Her chest heaved, the lady’s quivering breasts a feast to his eyes.
He fought the impulse to take them in his hands and instead slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.
A gasp shattered her. “I do not think we should—”
He silenced her with a kiss, pressing his mouth hard against her own. Lady Bridget froze for a heartbeat. Then, with a groan, she kissed him back and dug her nails into his shoulders.
Lewis curled his fingers into Bridget’s hair and drew her close.
Her lips were so unfathomably soft against his own.
She clumsily tried to match his movements, floundering in her obvious inexperience.
Lady Bridget’s scent—lavender and rose oil—drifted in the air, filling his senses. He wanted more of her.
More of every part of her. Her scent, her taste, her soft and warm body. Lewis grazed his teeth over her lower lip, and the lady’s hips bucked against him. She made a little muffled cry that went straight to his manhood. Lewis’s own breath shuddered.
It was too soon for anything more intimate. He fought fiercely against the fantasy conjured by his mind, of Lady Bridget entirely bereft of clothing and standing before him.
Of her coming undone in his hands.
He drew back, breaking their kiss.
“What?” Lady Bridget panted for air and stared at him with wide eyes. “Why did you stop?”
He smirked. “I do not want to spoil you. This is only a small taste of what you will get if you are a good and dutiful wife.”
“Oh.”
She twisted her fingers in the skirts of her gown and gazed at him with something akin to wonder.
He was near enough to see the unadulterated want in her wide eyes.
That was well and good, for it would keep the young lady yearning for him.
If Lady Bridget wanted more from him, she would have to be an exceptionally good wife.
“It is something to think about,” he continued. “We will be married in two days. None of your protests will stop what has already been agreed to.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I do know that. Why would you wish to act against your own interests anyway, my lady? It is apparent that your body desires me. I can discern no reason for you to deny yourself so cruelly.”
“Because I do not wish to marry you,” she said. “It does not matter if—if my body desires you. Any man might affect me thusly.”
“Have you experience with many?”
Given her enthusiastic and reckless reaction, it was clear that she had not.
“That is irrelevant,” she said. “My heart does not want you, and that is sufficient reason not to marry you.”
“Are you under the impression that most marry for love?” he scoffed.
“No, but that does not mean they should not,” Lady Bridget argued. “I have always resolved for love, and—”
“And suppose that you have no true love,” he said. “Suppose that he does not even look at you because his reputation is unsullied, and yours is not.”
“If he truly loved me, my reputation would not matter.”
Lewis shook his head. Her devotion to finding love was equally frustrating and endearing. It made him realize just how young and innocent she was, despite all the scandals affixed to her name.
“It is best for you to abandon any schemes that you have now,” he said. “Be practical for once in your life. Such romantic notions are simply unrealistic, especially for you.”
Lady Bridget looked away and wrapped her arms around herself. An inkling of pity curled in Lewis’s chest, but he took care not to show it. This foolish girl was going to ruin them if she did not accept the truth of her situation.
“At least, you will have some pleasure from our marriage,” he continued, “provided that you play the role of a proper wife. I will not tolerate you undermining my authority, especially once we are married. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Besides,” he said. “Once we are married, I will give you such pleasure that you will forget all about your thoughts of romance.”
“How can there be pleasure without romance?” she asked. “That is impossible.”
He smiled, summoning all his charm. “How little you know, my lady. How much I can teach you. Romance is an ideal, a philosophical rumination. My lips on you are real. Physical. You can feel that.”
“I—I understand.”
Lewis doubted that she did. “You should trust me,” he said.
“How can I?”
Lewis tilted his head a little, something inside him softening as he gazed at her. “You can. I would never harm a lady; I promise.”
He walked past her, thinking with every step how delicate and fragile she was.
Lady Bridget was like a flower, slender and lovely, and he suspected that it would take little to overwhelm her.
It was for the best that she remained in the dark library for a little longer, so she could collect her thoughts.
Lewis closed the library door behind him and strode confidently into the ballroom.
He doubted that anyone had noticed his disappearance, for a quick sweep of his eyes confirmed that most of the ton were engaged in conversations and dancing.
His manhood twinged in discomfort, and he grimaced.
Denying Lady Bridget’s desires also meant forbidding his own, which was unfortunate.
It would be worth it in the end, though, when they were married.
“There you are,” Morington said cheerfully, as he came to Lewis’s side. “Did you take some air?”
Lewis glanced at his friend’s flushed face and knew that the man had already likely drank his weight in champagne. “I did,” Lewis said.
Morington nodded, as though Lewis had said something deeply profound. “I do not see your young wife-to-be,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Have you lost her already?”
“I am certain she is here somewhere,” Lewis replied.
It was fortunate that Morington was already blissfully drunk. Otherwise, Lewis suspected that his friend would have more readily made the connection between Lewis taking some air and Lady Bridget’s disappearance.
“I suppose I should invite you to the wedding,” Lewis said suddenly.
It was a small, formal affair—nothing special, really—but he realized that Lady Bridget would have her siblings there. He ought to have someone as well, and he would not ask his grandmother to attend.
“You should,” Morington said. “I would be delighted to attend. Thank you for your thoughtful invitation.”
Lewis smiled wryly. “Point taken. But you know this is not a particularly noteworthy occasion. I am fulfilling my duty, though I take no pleasure in it.”
At least, marrying was not particularly pleasurable. Lewis suspected that the consummation of the marriage might be pleasurable, indeed.
Morington sighed. “The situation could be worse. At least, Lady Bridget is beautiful. Ah—there she is!”
His friend gestured across the ballroom, where the lady in question was weaving through the crowd, halting by her brother’s side at last. Lewis watched her. The flickering lights of the ballroom lent a warmth to her hair, making her appear as though a halo of light lingered around her head.
Her pink dress clung to her slight form, alluding to soft curves that any man would ache to touch. Soon, she would be all his forever. Lewis tore his gaze away, something dark and possessive growing within him.
Morington was right; Lewis certainly could have had worse for a wife.