Chapter 21
Bridget smiled brightly, as the orchestra began to play a lively waltz in the foyer.
It was early in the morning, and her husband had not yet awakened.
He soon would, however, and the thought of her startled, disheveled husband jolting downstairs and gaping at the orchestra in astonishment made Bridget smile.
Her husband would be vexed, for commanding an orchestra to play so enthusiastically at such an early hour was entirely inappropriate.
Perhaps it would even be inappropriate enough to drive those wild reactions from the man.
Heat curled in Bridget’s core in anticipation of their confrontation.
Perhaps she ought to do just a little more, though.
Her eyes fell on the parlor maid, dutifully clearing dust away from the furniture.
“You!” Bridget declared.
The maid started, her brown eyes wide. “Me, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Bridget said, wiggling her fingers. “You must dance with me.”
“I—I do not know how.”
“I shall teach you. A waltz is quite easy.”
The butler, who had entered the foyer, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, I fear that the staff has much to do this morning.”
“And?” Bridget asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am certain that a little dancing will not deter them for too long. The morning could benefit from some joy.”
He bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Bridget’s expression brightened. Her husband would be as vexed by the orchestra as by her ordering about his—their—staff. “Very good,” Bridget said. “I want all the staff who can be spared to join me. See to it.”
The butler’s face reddened; he was too slow to hide the flicker of horror in his gaze. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Bridget smiled and gestured again to the parlor maid, who tentatively walked to her. “I am uncertain, Your Grace…” the maid trailed off.
“Nonsense! You can do it!” Bridget went through the first few steps of the waltz, grinning at the maid. “Just do what I do!”
Bridget spun and swayed to the music. It was a little less exciting when she did not have a proper partner. Her eyes darted to the stairs, for her husband must emerge soon. No one could sleep through the sounds made by an orchestra, after all!
The parlor maid awkwardly spun in a facsimile of Bridget’s own movements. Lewis’s butler had left, and it seemed as though he was reluctantly following her orders, for a handful of maids and a footman hesitantly joined her in the foyer.
“Dance!” Bridget exclaimed, laughing. “Join me!”
The parlor maid cast a quick glance at her fellow staff members. One of them tentatively stepped forward and joined her.
Bridget grinned. “Faster!”
The orchestra obeyed, and their playing grew faster and louder. Bridget laughed in breathless delight and spun with reckless abandon. With each turn, she spied more and more of the staff joining her in the early morning dancing.
But where was her husband? It seemed unfathomable that any man could remain asleep when such loud, beautiful music and laughter rose from the foyer. They were even directly beneath her husband’s bedchamber!
Bridget pursed her lips together, contemplating how she might more effectively persuade her husband to descend the stairs and come to her.
She twirled around and around, daring to close her eyes and lose herself simply to the music.
With her eyes closed, Bridget could imagine that she was a heroine once more, and when she opened her eyes, she would find her one true love standing before her.
That man—her love—looked suspiciously like her husband, who she detested.
Well, she mostly detested him.
He was simply unlikable, and she only begrudgingly accepted that he brought her pleasure. Bridget did long for that, but any woman would wish to be pleasured by her husband.
The music ceased, and Bridget opened her eyes. He was there. Bridget drew in a sharp breath of air. “Good morning, husband.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Bridget searched his face for any sign of frustration or displeasure, but his face remained blank, revealing nothing.
She crossed her arms and frowned, vexed that the man had not reacted to an orchestra and several servants dancing in his foyer.
Any man would have reacted to that! Why was he not infuriated by this blatant flight of fancy?
“Dance with me,” Bridget said, extending a hand to him.
Lewis glanced at the orchestra. Bridget scarcely dared to breathe as she watched his face, searching for any sign of growing frustration. He nodded sharply. “Play.”
Bridget raised an eyebrow.
Lewis bowed. “As you wish, Bridget.”
He swept forward, bringing his massive body flush against hers. Bridget’s breath shuddered in her chest, as he clasped a hand at her waist. His other hand clasped hers, and they began to dance.
Her husband said nothing, but his gaze bore into her with such intensity that Bridget shivered a little. She searched her thoughts for something to say, something that he might find so vexing that he lost his sense of control.
“I thought that we might spend the entire day dancing,” Bridget said, her eyes gleaming. “I am pleased to see that you agree.”
“I know what you are trying to do,” he murmured.
Bridget laughed. “I am certain that you do not.”
Did he? Bridget had to concede that Lewis did seem as though he understood a woman’s body and desires. Perhaps even better than she understood her own.
“You sought to vex me,” he said, drawing his hand slowly up her back.
She felt the warmth of his broad palm through the material of her gown.
Bridget dared to imagine his strong hands tearing the garment from her body and caressing her bare back.
Her pulse jumped, as they continued to dance.
Was it her imagination, or did he hold her more closely than other gentlemen had?
Was that only because he was her husband, or was there something more to his behavior?
“I did not wish to vex you,” Bridget said.
He smiled, the expression dark and salacious. “Do not lie to me.”
Would lying finally give her the reaction that she wanted?
“I am not lying to you,” she said. “It is disrespectful of you to claim that I am.”
He twirled her around the floor, his hand moving distractingly higher. What was Lewis doing? Was this some new manner of seduction, some new pleasure that she had not anticipated?
“And you continue to lie,” he said. “You have so much to learn about being my wife and a duchess, but I can see that some of this behavior is the result of my own folly. I have been too indulgent with you.”
Bridget’s eyes darted around them, noting that a few of the confused servants continued to dance, while others stood awkwardly at the edge of the foyer. Perhaps it was their presence which kept her husband from giving her the pleasure she so desired.
Bridget bit the inside of her cheek. The thought of other people seeing her come undone should have filled her with sensations of embarrassment, but instead, she found that the thought sent a jolt straight to her core. Heat pooled there, persistent and longing.
“You have not been indulgent,” she argued. “You have been strict and unkind. I would even venture to say that you do not like me at all.”
“More lies,” he said calmly.
“The only lies I hear are the ones that you seem intent on telling yourself,” Bridget retorted.
The song ended, but they remained pressed closely together.
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her own, as though he anticipated that she might bolt away from him.
Bridget silently considered the possibility, as frustration grew within her and threatened to boil over.
The accursed man had not only found her out but had turned this into a game, which she was losing badly.
“Bridget,” he said, voice low and sultry.
His hand drifted upwards, a single finger caressing the base of her neck and drifting into a few delicate curls. Her breath hitched, and her heart hammered against her ribs. Would he kiss her? Bridget’s eyes darted to his lips. Lewis was near enough to kiss her.
“Your little plan will not work,” Lewis said. “I will not break first.”
“You will,” she rasped.
He shook his head. “I have patience, but you do not. My dear, you are young and impetuous. I will sooner see you coaxed into appropriate behavior than you will see me forced into further indulgence.”
Bridget searched his face, despairing when he met her with a harsh gaze. “You cannot mean that.”
“I can, and I do,” he whispered. “You have experienced true pleasure, my wife, and I shall give you no more until you prove yourself worthy of it. And you will inevitably learn to behave.”
Her chest tightened. “You do not know everything.”
“No,” he said. “But I understand you well enough. You are a young and impulsive woman, and if you are not managed carefully, you will pursue pleasure at any cost. You will destroy yourself.”
She shivered, which had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with his words. “You do not know me.”
“Keep lying,” he said.
Lewis stepped away, and Bridget’s body ached with want of his touch. She barely managed to keep a little cry of longing from escaping, as her husband turned to the orchestra and waved a dismissive hand. “That will be quite enough. Thank you.”
“I assume you will wish for the staff to return to their work,” the butler said stiffly. “Your Grace.”
“Yes,” Lewis said. “There is too much to be done today for flights of fancy such as this.”
Bridget scowled. “It was enjoyable,” she said between clenched teeth. “And as the Duchess of Wheelton, I believe that we need a little more joy in our lives.”
“Perhaps you will find some joy from answering the morning’s correspondence and managing the household,” Lewis said, smirking. “Like a proper duchess would do.”
Bridget curled her hands into her skirts. She understood too well the implication that he was making, and her body tensed from it. The man could have had the courtesy to be a little more tactful with his criticisms.
“And what will you be doing this morning?” Bridget asked.
“Managing the Dukedom,” he replied tartly. “As expected for a man of my position. This unexpected distraction has already thrown my morning into disarray, from which I must recover.”
“Right.”
A single waltz had thrown his morning into disarray. The urge to scream rose within Bridget. He finally showed a little frustration, but it was because he felt inconvenienced!
“I hope you find your tasks fulfilling,” Bridget said.
“I am certain I shall.”
Without another word, her husband turned to the stairs and swiftly climbed them. Bridget crossed her arms, watching her husband until he was gone from sight. Then, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Infuriating! Simply infuriating.
“It was a pleasure playing for Your Grace,” one of the musicians said.
Bridget forced a smile. “You were all lovely,” she said.
She watched idly as the musicians gathered their instruments and dutifully left the townhouse. And did she imagine that the butler appeared a little too smug as he ushered them out? Bridget sighed.
Well, her husband might have emerged victorious from this bout, but she would win in the end.
Lewis might claim that he was patient and that she was reckless, but Bridget knew he wanted pleasure, too.
He was a man, and even Bridget—with her little experience—knew that men craved pleasure and excitement far more than women did.
Bridget was a beautiful, young woman, and her husband could not possibly be as unaffected by her as he pretended.