Chapter 24
That insufferable, accursed man!
Bridget found herself still furious with her husband for his trickery just two days before when he had brought her to the very precipice of pleasure and cruelly denied her the satisfaction that she clearly wanted. And then, he had the wherewithal to insist that she behave!
She would not let him win this contest. No, Bridget was going to receive her pleasure how she wanted it, by her own terms rather than by his. Her previous plans had not worked, and after some consideration, Bridget had decided to try and replicate her earlier success at the wedding breakfast.
Her husband descended the stairs, and Bridget feigned sudden interest in the flowers that decorated the nearby table, acting as though she had not been lingering in the entryway just to ambush him.
“Wife,” he said.
“Husband,” she responded, giving him her brightest smile. “Wherever are you going?”
His attire provided little insight into what he might be doing.
Bridget suspected that he had a meeting scheduled for the afternoon, as that was often what Elias did when he left during the early afternoon.
And if nothing else, Lewis did seem devoted to his position, enough that he had married her, after all.
“I have some business to attend to.”
Bridget frowned at the cold answer. “Oh?” she asked. “What manner of business?”
“Nothing of interest to you.”
Bridget frowned. Was she imagining things, or was he avoiding the question?
Whatever business he might be attending to, it could not be worth keeping secret.
Well, she was confident that she could coax an answer from him.
Bridget raised a hand to her chest, feigning a look of offense.
“My dear husband, what a harsh thing to say! Of course, I care about what you may be doing!”
Lewis sighed and crossed his arms. The movement made his jacket pull tightly over his broad shoulders, a detail which Bridget observed with unrestrained admiration. He was so very beautiful, like some cruel god who chose to torment her.
“It is business for the Dukedom,” he said dryly. “Nothing interesting at all to a young lady like you, who so obviously desires excitement.”
Bridget raised an eyebrow. Beneath her calm demeanor, an icy tendril of doubt curled inside her chest. She did not know much about marriage, aside from what she had heard in novels and gossip, but Bridget was aware that once men were wed, they often engaged in certain disgraceful dalliances with… other women.
Was her husband seeing a mistress? Bridget stared at him, unable to determine if her fears were valid or simply something conjured by her romantic imagination. “I see,” she said.
A man would not pay a visit to his mistress at such an early hour, would he?
Elias had always visited his mistresses in the evening, but Bridget’s husband was quite unlike her brother.
Maybe he believed that it was permissible to visit mistresses in broad daylight, where anyone might see him.
Bridget inhaled sharply, her thoughts whirling away from her, as their marriage rearranged itself right before her eyes.
She would be cast as the fortuitous, unwanted wife who was expected to endure every hardship with grace. The ton would pity her and whisper about how shameful it was that such a promising, young miss had been forced to marry such a rakish man, and—
“Do you?” Lewis’s sonorous voice interrupted Bridget’s thoughts before she could reach the dramatic conclusion of her imagined marriage, wherein she would inevitably become a wicked stepmother to Lewis’s illegitimate children with a beautiful, tragic actress.
Bridget took a step toward him, gazing into his stony eyes. Maybe she was being ridiculous, but Bridget burned to know. This man could not have mistresses. Even if it was expected, she would prevent it somehow. “I believe that is the usual excuse that husbands offer.”
Was his exasperated look genuine, or was he feigning frustration to cover his guilt?
“Excuse for what?” Lewis asked.
“Why, for meeting their mistresses,” Bridget replied. “You will not tell me where you are going or what you are doing. I am drawing a reasonable conclusion.”
Lewis’s expression darkened. “It is a little early for meeting one’s mistress.”
The answer did not provide the relief she wanted.
“Perhaps you highly favor her,” Bridget said. “That would explain why you are so hesitant to satisfy me. You give all your time and pleasure to her.”
Bridget had not even thought of the words before she spoke them, but once she had, her explanation sounded entirely too plausible.
Maybe the reason Lewis refused to give her pleasure or affection was because he had already given both to someone else, and his insistence on marrying her was a feeble attempt to conceal his sins.
That possibility seemed crushingly real, for Bridget had seen so many young misses fall prey to men just like that.
He took a step toward her and gooseflesh raised on Bridget’s arms. Lewis stood so near her, and she suddenly felt very small—diminutive, even—standing before him. Her husband was an imposing man, yet she did not fear an ounce of fear for him. Desire alone curled inside her, heavy and hot.
“I have no need for a mistress,” he said. “I have you.”
Bridget shook her head and sighed deeply.
“Now, you will try to convince me that you are guilty of nothing. You will expect me to be a poor, married woman, who spends her days withering and wondering where her husband is and who he is with. I shall be tragic and unhappy. I will suffer beautifully, though, like Clarissa Harlowe.”
He shook his head, but something small changed in his expression. “Do you know what I find difficult about you?”
“Everything?”
His mistress was probably not a difficult woman.
“More than everything else,” Lewis said slowly. “Because you are so deceitful, I cannot tell when you are being genuine. Is this another one of your schemes, or have you truly convinced yourself that I have a mistress and am going to see her?”
Bridget inhaled sharply. The floor seemed to tilt under her feet because he was being—
This was the closest she had seen to softness from him.
“It is a reasonable assumption, isn’t it?” Bridget asked. “You seem resolute about abandoning me, and we are only lately wed! You will answer none of my questions about where you are going.”
Lewis raised his hand and traced his knuckles along Bridget’s cheekbone.
Her breath hitched at even that feather-light touch.
When he withdrew his hand, Bridget’s back arched instinctively in an attempt to follow him.
“Bridget,” he said warmly. “I am going to discuss political matters with a friend. I did not answer your questions because it is boring to discuss, and I did not think you would truly care. And you have created a mistress for me out of that?”
Lewis grasped her hips and pulled her forward with such force that Bridget gasped in surprise. Her chest collided with his own, and her pulse jumped. Already, that familiar heat curled between her thighs. Bridget pressed her legs together, her mind darting back to their encounter in the kitchens.
Lewis lowered his head, his breath coming in warm puffs of air against her neck. His lips lightly grazed her throat, and Bridget stifled a groan. She did not want to show how eager she was, or he might realize that she had tricked him into giving her precisely what she wanted.
Lewis brought his hands down, his fingers drifting tantalizingly near her core, as he caressed her thighs.
“The—the servants might see us,” Bridget said, her voice wavering.
He chuckled darkly in her ear. “Do not pretend as if you care about what my staff might see. You chose to behave like a vixen in the entryway, and now, you will suffer the consequences of your choice.”
Bridget swallowed around the lump that rose in her throat. “Your reputation…”
“You seem determined to ruin my reputation,” he murmured, stroking her thighs. “You have created a mistress for me.”
Bridget laid her palms flat against his chest. Even through the layers of fabric, her fingers felt the firmness of his body. She ached to tear his jacket and waistcoat off him and behold the assuredly handsome body of her husband. If she did, he might realize what she was doing, though.
No, it was best for her to feign as if she was unaffected by his attention, so he did not notice how desperately she desired him.
Hiding her desires was agonizing, especially when she was mostly relieved at his declaration that there would be no other women except for her.
Bridget might not be someone who he loved, but she would still be the only woman to receive these attentions from him.
“I drew a reasonable conclusion,” Bridget argued.
Regrettably, she also felt a little foolish. Even her own defense sounded forced to her ears.
“That was not a reasonable conclusion to draw at all,” he said, chuckling. “It is so absurd that I almost marvel at it. Real life is not like a poorly written novel, where all the signs line up so neatly like that.”
“You are being unkind.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I wonder if this fear that I have mistresses is really about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Have you considered the possibility that you feared I might have mistresses because you believe yourself to be lacking as my wife?”
Bridget shook her head. “Why would I—”
“Guilt,” Lewis interrupted. “You are beginning to wonder if all your schemes are working too well. If you had spent all this time behaving, rather than scheming, you might not have these concerns.”
“I did not ask to be a duchess, much less yours.”
“But you are my duchess, Bridget. I regret to say that what you asked for is irrelevant now.”
His fingers curled in her gown, inching it up with agonizing slowness. Bridget shivered, as her stocking-clad legs were exposed. Then, her knees. Her thighs.