Chapter 9 #2
“You are a remarkable woman. I barely know you, yet I know that,” Adrian replied. “I am sorry, Bridget. I am sorry that your husband treats you this way. But I am not like him. Nor am I like those men in there, and I will not allow you to lump me in with such foul creatures.”
Bridget’s shoulders drooped as she felt a sliver of guilt move through her.
She had not expected such a compliment to come out during such an intense argument. Yet his words soothed her emotional wounds.
“I apologize for saying such things,” she whispered, bowing her head. “I know that not all people are the same. I am not myself these days, and I do not know how to handle the rage inside me.”
Bridget gasped softly as she felt Adrian’s fingertips caress her jaw. Her body grew warmer, and he gently tilted her chin upward until her eyes met his.
“You have every right to feel that rage,” he said quietly. “And you should stop apologizing.” His mouth curved grimly. “You possess more dignity and strength in one finger than those men possess altogether.”
Bridget felt a mutual attraction pulse between them as she heard Adrian’s praise, and her awareness of it made her cheeks flush with shame.
If Adrian was right, then she would not be having such a strong reaction to a man who was not her husband.
Especially a man whom she had only just met the day before.
She placed her hands on his chest, ignoring the way sparks sizzled in her palms as she touched him, and pressed him away from her.
To both her relief and chagrin, Adrian obliged and dropped his hands from the brick wall.
Bridget immediately missed the heat of his body, the sense of safety and comfort his intense proximity brought.
“Forgive me if I overstepped,” he said, concern creasing his brow.
“No,” she answered quickly. “I am just exhausted.”
It was the truth. Not just in body, but in mind and spirit.
She wanted to crawl into bed and not come out for a week, but if Warren was not in London, she would have to continue the awful search for him tomorrow.
Bridget thought of what William had told her earlier, about the mistress Warren kept in a house outside London.
The thought of going to that woman’s home and confronting her made her stomach churn violently.
“Let me take you home,” Adrian said, his tone gentle. He reached for her arm as if to guide her, then, as if he thought better of it, he pulled away and tucked his hands behind his back.
“You have had an extremely perplexing day.”
“And I shall have another one tomorrow,” Bridget said with a sigh.
Adrian gave her a stern look and shook his head.
“You cannot be saying that you will be out on this side of the city again tomorrow?” he asked.
“No,” Bridget answered. “I have one more clue as to where my husband might be. I discovered earlier today that my husband has a mistress in Alfriston. I shall be going there.”
Adrian’s gentleness with her hardened in a second.
“You are only telling me this now?” he asked with a tone of frustration. “Where in Alfriston? What is her name? Where exactly does she live?”
Bridget felt her annoyance for the man’s dominating nature surge through the brief feelings of attraction she had had for him, and glowered at him.
“You will watch how you speak to me, Your Grace,” she warned. “I am thankful for your help this evening, but that does not earn you the right to speak to me so gruffly.”
Adrian’s jaw worked back and forth as he gritted his teeth and glared at her with those piercing blue eyes for another minute, then he drew in a sharp inhale through his nostrils and exhaled through his parted, chiseled lips.
“Apologies,” he offered gruffly. “Still, I insist you answer my questions. Do not forget that I, too, have a need to find your husband, and every lead I manage to gather counts heavily.”
Bridget felt a tinge of guilt as Adrian reminded her of his brother’s death. Yes, she was a woman scorned by her husband, but Adrian was a man seeking justice for a heinous crime. She supposed his need to find Warren outweighed her own.
“All I know is that she is situated in a large cobblestone house along the River of Cuckmere. I am told that it is a little away from the rest of the small hamlet,” she answered.
“That is more than enough,” Adrian murmured, and then this time, he did take hold of her arm.
“Thank you. Now come, it truly is time to get you out of here.”
Bridget obliged, feeling a note of disappointment as his hand slipped away from her arm as they left the alley and walked out onto the main street.
At her carriage, Adrian opened her door for her, and she stepped inside.
Just as she got seated, though, she reached for the door as it closed, and stopped him.
“When are we departing for Alfriston tomorrow?” she asked.
Adrian’s brow flew up in surprise as his entire body stiffened.
“We?” he asked.
“Well, I am coming with you,” Bridget replied, not sure what to make of his guarded body language.
Adrian’s blue eyes darkened as he leaned into the carriage; the intense look in his eyes made her heartbeat race.
“We are not going anywhere together anymore,” he stated. His tone low. Commanding. Wickedly deep.
Bridget swallowed, her hand feathering to her throat where she felt her pulsing jugular.
“Why not?” she asked.
Adrian’s eyes very slowly drew down her body, making her feel naked and exposed despite the cloak wrapped tightly around her form.
“The fierceness you showed today did something to me,” he answered, his tone almost reverent as his gaze made its way back to her eyes. “I have never seen anything like it.”
Bridget’s breath grew raspy as his words sent a shiver of desire down her spine. Not once had she ever been paid such a compliment.
“Did my behavior upset you?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
Adrian shook his head once, slowly, as if each movement cost him something.
“No,” he murmured. He leaned closer then—so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath brush her lips, close enough that her body responded before her mind could catch up.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening as though he were holding himself back by sheer force of will. “And that is precisely the problem.”
Her pulse thundered as he held himself there, suspended on the edge of something dangerous.
“I am drawn to it,” he continued, his voice roughening. “Drawn to you. Like a moth to a flame.” His jaw tightened. “A flame that belongs to another man.”
Bridget’s chest rose and fell rapidly as the words sank in. She could not look away from him, could not stop herself from leaning the barest fraction closer, her breath mingling with his.
“If I am alone with you again,” Adrian finished, his voice barely controlled now, strained as if it were pulled from deep within him, “I cannot promise that I will not lose what little restraint I have left.”