Chapter 4
“Lady Winslow… Bridget. I must ask that you take a moment to collect yourself,” Adrian stated, his tone awkward as he held out a kerchief from a distance.
Through her tears, Bridget glared at him, but she reached out and snatched the kerchief from his hand.
She drew in a breath to gather her senses, and in doing so, she inhaled Adrian’s masculine scent.
It was woodsy and laced with oiled leather.
A combination that surprisingly calmed her nerves as she took another deep inhale of it.
Taking comfort in his scent was wrong, and she knew it.
Yet as the Duke waited for her to calm herself, she could not help but wonder what it would be like to have that scent fully encompassing her.
How warm would she feel with his muscular arms wrapped around her?
She had never been held like that before. What if she never would be?
The self-pitying thought surprised her. This was not appropriate either. Especially at this particular time. Bridget pulled herself together, pushed her anger through her panic and loneliness, and stopped her tears.
“My deepest apologies, Your Grace,” she breathed, wiping the tears from her eyes, feeling steadier now. “I lost my composure for a moment.”
“It is all right,” he murmured, his warm, large hand lingering on her shoulder. Then, finally, he turned to look at her face-to-face again.
“No, it certainly is not,” she insisted. “It is not I who should be given comfort, but you. If what you say is true, it is I who should be offering you a kerchief, not the other way around.”
Adrian’s black brows flexed upward.
“Me?” he asked.
“If my husband truly is responsible for your brother’s death, then it is I who should be offering you sympathies,” she replied.
Adrian’s brows dipped down as his handsome features twisted into a dark expression.
“It is not your sympathy I need,” he stated coldly, taking a step away from her. “However, I will accept your assistance.”
His sudden shift in demeanor reminded Bridget all the more that this man before her was not there for her comfort, nor should he be. She dried her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and gave a stiff nod.
“Of course,” she replied. “How may I do so?”
“How long has it been since you have seen your husband?” Adrian asked.
Bridget swallowed the shame she suddenly felt, but refused to bow her head again.
“It has been five days,” she answered.
“And you do not know where he is?”
“As I told you before, I do not.”
“Does he take leave like this often?”
Bridget shook her head.
“This is the longest he has ever been gone from home.”
Adrian’s penetrating blue eyes grew dark as he took a step toward her.
“Your sadness a moment ago seemed genuine,” he stated.
Despite the calm tone of his voice, Bridget felt a crackle through the air. She drew in a steadying breath and lifted her chin a little higher.
“It was,” she answered.
“Yet you seem well recovered already,” Adrian pointed out.
Bridget’s brows drew down.
“That was either an impressive recovery from a moment of panic or an exemplary performance,” he went on, drawing his gaze down her body and turning away from her.
Irritated by how his intense gaze affected her, Bridget grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked back at her with a raised brow, but he did not wrench away from her touch.
“That was no performance,” she stated clearly, even though her mind was a mess over what she had just done. She was obedient and kind; she had never just grabbed someone like that before. “Though it was an inopportune moment to lose myself in my own self-pity.”
She drew her hand away from him, taken aback by her own honesty. She was not used to being so open with her feelings or thoughts. Let alone with a stranger.
“I know I cannot tell you much that you do not already know,” she went on.
“But what I do have to say is true. My husband is a man who comes and goes as he pleases and does not feel the need to keep me informed about his activities. However, if the rumors about him are true, I would suggest inspecting the local gaming hell or brothels. He is most likely there.”
Bridget wrapped her arms tightly around herself, feeling suddenly very self-conscious as she exposed such flaws.
A tense moment of silence passed between them before the Duke spoke, and when he did, his voice once more dipped into that lulling, comforting tone that made it so easy for her to lean into his touch.
“A gaming hell is where I discovered that it was your husband who had threatened my brother the day he died,” he explained. “And yes, I have heard of Lord Winslow’s reputation, but I still cannot fathom why I would find him in a brothel.”
Bridget was not sure whether it was because she was going mad from the new information about her husband or from the antics at Katie’s party, but she chortled.
“What is so funny?” Adrian asked, his blue eyes softening a little.
“I cannot fathom why you cannot fathom finding my husband at a brothel,” she retorted sarcastically.
Adrian’s blue eyes suddenly glowed as he took another step toward her, his sculpted mouth drawn into a most serious expression.
“Because if you were my wife, I do not believe I would ever be able to make it out of your bed.”
His deep voice and blunt words sent a mixture of shock and lust flooding through Bridget’s veins as her mouth dropped open. Did he truly just say that to her?
“I have taken up enough of your evening,” Adrian went on, speaking casually as if he had not just shaken Bridget’s entire world.
He leaned down as he reached for her hand, and as his lips brushed softly against her knuckles, she felt her body flood with heat, and her knees threatened to buckle.
“I will continue looking for your husband elsewhere,” Adrian said as he rose back up to his full height. “And keep you informed if I should discover his whereabouts. It seems you may have quite a few things to speak to him about as well.”
Still in shock, Bridget quietly nodded.
“Until we meet again, Bridget,” Adrian said, bowing his head slightly before turning around.
He left the study without another word, leaving Bridget standing there in shocked silence as she tried to contemplate all that had just unfolded.