Chapter 11 #2
The silence between them was tense as they continued their journey to Alfriston.
Even so, Bridget could not stop herself from admiring Adrian’s handsome features.
He kept his eyes fixed on the carriage window, as if determined not to look at her, and his long legs were crossed over one another as he leaned his sculpted chin into the palm of his hand.
There was an allure to him when he was soft and kind, but when he was riddled with anger like this, she could not deny that it sent bolts of lightning through her bloodstream. She wondered, suddenly, if such passion came out of him in other ways, and she blushed deeply at the thought.
You should be ashamed of yourself!
Reminding herself that she was a married woman—even if a lonely and unloved one—Bridget decided to follow his lead and stare quietly out her window. Her thoughts instead turned to what she had accomplished the day before.
Bridget had thought that going out to look for Warren was going to be a rather jarring experience, and in many ways, it was.
Yet by physically stepping out of the world that had so constantly forced her to hide her comfort for the sake of others, she had realized something.
She had been uncomfortable. For a very long time.
The days of finding appreciation in the small blessings in her life had long since ended. The cage she had been forced to inhabit was large and gilded, but it was still a cage, and until yesterday, it was one she had never thought of escaping.
She knew now that lying beneath the anxiety she had felt yesterday over breaking so many rules had been a thrill. A tingling in her spine and a shiver in her muscles, as if she were waking from a long slumber where not just hours but years had passed.
“Stop.”
Adrian’s deep voice rasped, breaking the silence within the carriage as a warmth enveloped Bridget’s hand.
The storm outside was slow to approach, but as the carriage made its way through the single main street of Alfriston and toward the river, the once-blue sky grew mottled with shades of gray, and Adrian’s ice blue gaze settled intently on her.
A blush crept into her cheeks as his thumb smoothed over the back of her hand, as if trying to give her comfort. She noted the subtle pinching around his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, and the tightness of his lips, and realized that he was not angry but worried.
“Stop what?” she asked, her soft voice breaking a little as something fluttered in her heart.
“Locking your jaw,” Adrian replied, then moved his hand from hers to caress her face where her usual pain ebbed.
She gasped. Not just at his touch, but at the fact that he noticed her usual habit of clenching down on her teeth when she was trying to keep things inside. No one had ever noticed.
“Apologies,” she breathed, then let her jaw sink down just enough for top and bottom teeth to separate. Her jawline sighed at the relief, though her teeth still ebbed with pain. “Did I elicit a sound?”
Adrian’s fingertips caressed over her jaw once more, leaving trails of fire in their wake before he pulled away and leaned back into his own seat.
“No,” he replied, adjusting his jacket and cravat, as if he needed something to do with his hands.
He drew his gaze away again toward the road that was now taking them through the middle of Alfriston.
“However, I am aware of the pain one can cause oneself from such a habit. How long have you been burdened by such an ailment?”
Bridget let out a laugh, though it held no mirth.
“Since my marriage, at least,” she confessed, turning her focus to the window. The single main street in Alfriston was ending, and the carriage was creeping slowly toward the river and the outskirts of the opposite side of the town. She then flicked her eyes back to Adrian, curious.
“You suffer from such a malady as well?” she asked.
Adrian’s only answer was a stiff nod as the carriage fell once more into silence.
Bridget spent the next few minutes in deep thought, wondering how Adrian had noticed such a subtle thing about her.
What did Warren know about her? She wondered.
Had he ever noticed such gestures and simply not mentioned them?
Did he ever look at her long enough to take such notice?
“There,” Adrian stated, drawing Bridget from her thoughts. She looked up and found he had lifted a finger to the window.
“What do you think? It is just outside of town, as the man said, and it is slightly better quality than the homes we passed on the main street,” Adrian said.
Bridget turned back to the window as a large cobblestone house surrounded by a quaint white picket fence came into view.
Wariness seeped into Bridget’s body. Her jaw locked immediately as she looked intensely at the house they were approaching, took it in, her pain renewed. Was she actually doing this? Confronting her husband’s mistress?
For the first time since she had started her journey that morning, Bridget wondered what the woman would be like.
What she would look like. What was it about her that Warren found worthy of risking his and her reputation for?
She waited for jealousy, for a sense of possessiveness to overtake her as she had such thoughts, but those feelings never came.
She did not yearn for Warren’s attention.
All she wanted, she realized, was to find her husband and demand that he end her humiliation.
“I believe this is as good a place as any to start,” she said with a sigh. “We shall ask for this Miss Penny. And even if she does not live there, perhaps whoever does could point us in the right direction.”
Adrian gave a stiff nod and knocked on the carriage ceiling. It drew to a stop just as they approached the front gate to the house, and in a second, Adrian was getting out and extending his hand toward her.
Bridget almost smiled.
Even though it was obvious he was perturbed with her for trying to take on the journey on her own, he was being chivalrous. She took his offered hand, trying her best to ignore the sparks that erupted from their touch, and stepped out of the carriage.
She took in the house with great consideration.
It was plain, yet beautiful in its simplicity.
A family of white ducks were throughout the garden, which was quaintly landscaped with various bunches of hyacinths, daffodils, and gladiolas.
She imagined it would be quite peaceful living in a place like this.
“Where did Farley go?” Adrian’s voice broke through Bridget’s wonderings. She then looked up to the carriage’s driver’s seat and noted that only Adrian’s driver remained.
“He hopped off on Main Street, Your Grace,” his driver replied. “Saw a sign for carriage repair and said he would bring the fixed carriage to the tavern inn when he was done.”
Adrian continued speaking to his driver as Bridget turned to face the house again. She was taking in the many windows covered with white curtains when, suddenly, one on the first floor was pulled back, and a pretty face appeared.
The two women locked eyes, and just as quickly as the face appeared, it disappeared again, the curtain swaying slightly from the quickness. Without a thought, Bridget started toward the house, determined to find out more about the mystery woman.
“Wait a moment,” Adrian whispered loudly from behind her.
Bridget ignored him and strode up to the gate, thrusting it open with gusto. She was so suddenly determined to meet the woman inside the house that she did not see the small step leading to the flagstone path, and suddenly, she went sailing.
She gasped instantly, tensing her body as she waited for the hard fall—but she never met the ground.
Instead, she was wrapped in two bands of hard muscle and drawn back to her feet.
Her heart hammered as Adrian turned her around and cradled a hand to the back of her head, the other tight around her waist.
Her heart slammed wildly as her body pressed flush to his, her senses overwhelmed by the solid breadth of his chest beneath her palms, the strength of his arm holding her in place.
She could feel the hard line of his torso against her, the controlled tension in him, the warmth radiating through the layers of fabric as his breath brushed over the crown of her head.
“Tell me,” he urged testily as he held her close. “Are you attracted to danger, or does it naturally seem to find you?”
Bridget’s throat closed as she remained there, caught in his hold, her fingers curling reflexively into the front of his jacket.
She became painfully aware of the strength beneath her hands, of how easily he kept her upright, how natural it felt to be held so securely.
Yesterday, she might have summoned a sharp reply, but now she felt shaken, exposed, and achingly aware of how small she felt pressed against him.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, the words barely audible as they brushed against his chest.
For a long, suspended moment, he did not move.
She felt the hesitation in him. The way his arm tightened slightly at her waist instead of loosening, the subtle shift of his body as though he were fighting an instinct to pull her closer rather than let her go.
His hand remained at the back of her head, his thumb grazing her hair once, slowly, before he seemed to catch himself.
Only then did his hold ease, just enough for her to breathe more freely, though his arm lingered around her waist longer than necessary.
When he finally drew her back to look into his eyes, the warmth of his body still surrounded her, the imprint of his touch lingering on her skin long after the moment should have passed.
“What is wrong?” he gently demanded.
She took a step from his embrace, hating how she immediately missed the feel of him against her.
I am just as horrible as my husband, she silently cried.
Bridget shook her head, urging the lump in her throat to go away, and looked at the house yet again.
“I am just curious to meet my husband’s mistress,” she replied.