Chapter 13
“My, what a fright you two are,” the innkeeper chuckled as Bridget and Adrian stepped inside.
Beneath her cloak, Bridget shivered, the cold damp seeping through the fabric and into her bones.
Her teeth began to chatter, and by her side, she watched Adrian throw the innkeeper a glare.
Only a moment ago, he had been so close, his lips just a mere breath away from her own, and she thought… she thought…
“We need a couple of rooms,” Adrian commanded, breaking her from her thoughts.
“Missus is cleaning the rooms and will not be finished for a while yet,” the innkeeper replied, coming around the bar between them that was lined with customers.
“But I have a free table by the fire if ye want it, and if ye have the coin, some nice stew as well. Warm ye from the inside out, it will.”
“We will take it,” Adrian stated, dropping a few coins into the man’s hands.
“Follow me,” the innkeeper replied, tightening his fist around the coins.
Bridget flushed as every man’s head turned to look at her hungrily as they were shown through the tavern. She shrank in on herself, holding the edges of her soaked cloak tightly together, and bumped into Adrian’s back when they reached their table.
Adrian turned to her with an arched brow, but when he lifted his gaze above her head, his brow line furrowed with a look of annoyance, and to her surprise, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
The touch felt safe, protective even, and though she knew she should protest, she huddled under it and let him pull her into his side.
“Come along,” he murmured. “Let us get you dry and warm.”
“Bring that stew,” Adrian commanded the innkeeper as he helped Bridget into her chair, purposely turning it toward the roaring fire in the hearth and away from the heated gazes. “And some warmed red wine for the lady. Whiskey for myself.”
It was not until the innkeeper hurried away with their order and Adrian had taken his seat that Bridget felt the warmth of the fire before them.
She sighed as she leaned toward it and held her hands out, wondering about the stares boring into her back.
Finally, she could not hold her curiosity any longer and turned to them.
This time, though, she found no one staring at her; everyone’s heads were bowed toward their drinks or supper.
Adrian, however, had his glare fixed on all of them, as if daring them to take another look at her.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the way he did so, as if he wanted to protect her.
“Why were they staring at me like that?” she asked.
Adrian’s gaze flicked back to her, softening only slightly as he swallowed.
“You are a beautiful woman, Bridget,” he answered, his tone gruff. “What do you expect them to do?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the words, and she turned her face back toward the fire, suddenly far too aware of herself.
“Do not be ridiculous,” she whispered.
“I am not. Do you think I would have any reason to lie to you?” Adrian asked her softly.
She hesitated, her fingers curling into the edge of the cloak. “I… that is not what I meant. It is just…” Her voice faltered. “No one has ever said that to me before.”
Adrian went still. Then he said quietly, with no trace of humor, “Then they were fools.”
She turned back toward him sharply, searching his face, and when she found no mockery there, only certainty, her glare softened despite herself. Adrian caught the look and allowed the barest hint of a smirk before turning his attention back to the other men.
“You would dry faster if you removed your cloak,” he murmured after a moment of silence.
Again, Bridget felt her cheeks flush.
“What if they look at me like that again?” she asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of those intense, almost desperate looks she had seen as they had walked through the room.
“Then they will find themselves without eyes,” Adrian answered.
He stated the threat in a low, grave tone, but as Bridget watched the men tense in their seats and duck their heads lower, she wondered if his voice had somehow reached them.
“Tell me about this brooch,” Adrian insisted, as if trying to help her focus on something else.
Bridget nibbled at her lip as she removed her cloak and allowed Adrian to drape it over an empty chair, not sure what to share.
“My birth parents were not nobles,” she finally confessed, clutching the brooch tightly. “This brooch is the only thing my real mother left with me when she gave me to my guardians.”
She looked up at Adrian and found him staring at her with an intensity that stole away the last of the chill in the room.
He was not staring at her as the other men had, with a sort of hunger for her flesh.
No, it was as if he was looking past the brave facade she was so very much trying to wear, past the several years of practice that had taught her she should not care.
He was staring deep into the hidden spot she had disguised so well, where her most vulnerable self still lived.
“I am elated for you that you were able to retrieve such a possession,” he said, his tone reverent.
Her lips ventured toward a small smile, and she dipped her head bashfully.
“Now that I have told you something,” she said. “Perhaps you could answer a question of mine as well?”
Adrian shifted in his seat, crossing one long leg over the other as he reclined. He swept a hand down his still-wet dark gray waistcoat and cleared his throat.
“I suppose so,” he said a bit begrudgingly.
“Why are you not married?” she asked.
His brows rose up in surprise, and Bridget managed a small laugh as she understood his expression.
Yet it was a question that she had been burning to ask since the moment they had met.
He was scolding and outright churlish with her at times, yet she also felt that such a man was a natural provider, someone who wanted to protect those in his heart and give them everything.
“Well, in truth, I never saw the need to,” he replied. “I was, I am sure, going to find the right lady at some point to call my wife. But because my brother was our family’s first heir and was so very good at it, I never thought it would be a requirement for me.”
Bridget reached out to the table and nervously tapped her fingertips against the smooth, worn wood.
“Now that you are the Duke, though?” she asked softly.
“Now that I am the Duke, it is a duty I will be required to fill,” Adrian finished for her in a matter-of-fact tone. “After I find who murdered my brother.”
Bridget paused a moment, taking in the deep sense of justice Adrian felt for finding his brother’s murderer.
“After you have accomplished your task and given yourself time to mourn, do you still believe you could find the… what did you call her? The right lady?” she asked.
Pain flashed through Adrian’s piercing blue eyes, so intensely that Bridget had to glance toward the flames.
“I am not sure I will ever be finished with mourning my brother,” he answered quietly. “His presence was… well… it took up so much space, and I am not sure I will ever be able to fill it.”
Adrian cleared his throat, and though she did not know why, Bridget felt her own throat burn with the need to let out a sob.
“Here we are,” the innkeeper’s deep baritone sang, interrupting the moment.
Bridget, only then realizing just how intently she was watching Adrian as he spoke, blinked several times as the innkeeper plopped a tray between them. She blushed deeply as she glanced around at her settings. How had she forgotten that they were not alone?
“Some nice hot stew and warmed wine for the lady,” the innkeeper said, setting her portion down in front of her. “And a whiskey and stew for the lord. Can I get ye anything else?”
“No,” Bridget said quietly, picking up her spoon. She dipped it into the steaming bowl and ladled some of the thick brown broth. She brought it to her lips to blow on it, but paused as she saw the innkeeper giving her that same hungry stare as the others had.
Yet before the earlier grip of discomfort took hold of her stomach, the innkeeper was pushed backward, and Adrian’s arm was suddenly solid and warm around her shoulders.
“I believe the only other thing we require from you is that room you and I spoke of,” Adrian stated, his tone sharp.
The innkeeper cleared his throat, looking flustered.
“Right. Well, I checked with the missus, and we have two rooms available,” the man said, daring a quick glance back to Bridget. “Would ye like them both?”
Bridget parted her lips, about to say yes, when Adrian answered.
“A single room is fine,” he said in that same sharp tone as he fished a few coins from his pocket and slammed them onto the table. “And tell your missus to finish it promptly. We wish to retire as soon as we are finished with our meal.”
Heat bloomed in Bridget’s cheeks as the innkeeper murmured his agreement and swept the coins into his hand. She waited until he ambled away before she leaned toward Adrian and whispered, “What did you tell him that for? We cannot possibly share a room. I need my own room! I am a married lady!”
“You may be such,” Adrian stated in the same sharp tone that he used with the innkeeper. “But after the way he and every other man in here has looked at you? I am not letting you out of my sight for a second.”
“But what of my reputation!” Bridget whispered, horrified by the idea.
“Your safety is more important than your reputation at the moment, my lady,” Adrian stated. “Now eat your stew so that we can get out of here.”
He said so in such a tone that Bridget suddenly had no wish to argue, and without another word, she picked up her spoon and began to eat her stew.