Chapter 14
“This is so very improper,” Bridget said for the hundredth time.
Adrian watched from a chair, amused, as she continued to pace the floor before the fireplace. She had ceased her complaints about the shared room while they had been downstairs, but her worry had renewed once they had been shown their room. Adrian’s attitude, as well, had shifted.
Thanks to the bottle of whiskey he had purchased and sipped from, he had shed the heavy mantle that burdened him when discussing Evander’s death. He was nowhere near foxed, but he had found a space where everything had begun to feel a little amusing.
“What is so very improper about it?” Adrian asked, pouring himself another tipple of whiskey.
Bridget finally paused in her pacing, and he could not help but laugh as she glared at him.
“You know good and well why this is improper!” she exclaimed.
God, she is adorable when she is worked up like this.
Adrian kept the musing to himself as he settled his chin on his fist and gave her an expectant look.
“I am still waiting for a satisfying answer,” he mused.
Bridget narrowed her eyes at him as she shoved her fists to her hips, and God take him if he did not find her stance even more amusing and adorable than before. His fingers itched to touch her, to take her hands into his.
“You have come to my aid on two occasions now, and for that I am grateful,” she began.
“And for that, you are welcome,” Adrian said as he bowed at his waist.
“However, I do not know you, just as you do not truly know me, and I am not sure I can trust you in such circumstances,” Bridget pushed on, beginning to fidget with her fingertips.
Adrian looked at her with raised brows, and though he could detect a hint of regret in her eyes, she did not offer an apology for what she was insinuating.
“Are you saying I am not a man of honor, Lady Winslow?” he asked, uncurling his large frame from his chair.
He stood up slowly, enjoying the way Bridget’s eyes widened and sparkled as she watched him reach his full height.
“I… well…” she stammered.
Adrian could not help but drop his gaze to her mouth as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth and began to nibble.
He was a man of honor. But that did not stop him from imagining what it would be like to be the one nibbling on those plump, rosy lips of hers.
To hear her soft sigh as he bit down gently…
to feel her breath begin to slow and deepen as he so very slowly drew that nibble into a kiss…
Adrian blinked, forcing himself away from the fantasy, and smirked as he took a step toward her.
“I will have you know that I would have acted on my impulses long ago if I were not a gentleman,” he told her, taking another step forward.
Bridget’s eyes were fixed on his as her throat bobbed.
“Impulses?” she rasped.
Adrian nodded, drawing his finger so very gently back and forth under her chin, his fingertips dragging just enough to make her sway a little with his touch. His pulse quickened as he not only felt her move with him, but also felt her heartbeat fluttering in her jugular.
“Tell me,” he mused, continuing his caress until his fingers settled around the front of her throat. His blood sang with joy as he heard her soft sigh as he tightened his grip so very slightly. “Would it be so terrible to kiss me?”
Arousal poured through him as he watched Bridget react to his question.
Her pupils dilated, and the brilliant green of her beautiful eyes faded until they were nearly black.
The flush in her cheeks not only deepened, but spread to her throat and down her chest in a way that had him itching to remove her gown and see how far that flush had spread.
“Yes,” Bridget breathed, and that single word shattered him. She pushed at his chest, and he immediately let her go as he struggled with taking offense. “It would be entirely terrible.”
“Why?” he demanded, unable to keep the edge from his voice as she turned away and began to pace. “Because you are afraid of wanting it?”
She stopped short and spun back to face him, her expression fierce. “Because I am married.”
The answer only fueled his anger. “Married?” he echoed sharply. “To a man who has abandoned you? Who keeps mistresses openly and has Lord knows how many illegitimate children?” He stepped closer again, his jaw tight. “And you still care for him?”
Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might waver. Instead, her spine straightened.
“I do not care for him,” she said clearly. “I do not love him. I never have.” Her voice did not shake, though her eyes shone. “But marriage is a sacred union. I took vows, and I have honored them. Even if he did not,” she went on, her tone breaking a little as her eyes took on a sheen.
She then sniffled, blinked rapidly, and raised her chin high.
“So that is why I will not kiss you,” she stated matter-of-factly, looking directly in his eyes.
Adrian swallowed hard, marveling at her character.
“Even if to kiss you is horribly enticing,” she added softly, crossing her arms. “I will not stoop to my husband’s behavior and immorality.”
Adrian chuffed and closed the distance between them. He moved to cup her cheek, but suddenly felt as if to do so would be far too intimate despite what had almost happened between them.
“You are an amazing woman, Bridget,” he stated, letting his hands hang by his sides, even as his palms itched to feel her again. “Do you know that?”
Bridget’s eyes filled with relief and gratitude at his praise, and she smiled sweetly.
“Well, you are quite the gentleman,” she offered in return.
Adrian smirked, starting to hate the title of gentleman and all the requirements that came along with it. He turned away as the urge to touch her grew more intense and walked toward the bed.
“Yes, well, as a gentleman, I suppose I should allow you the bed and take the floor,” he said, grabbing one of the pillows.
He turned back around, ready to take the pillow to the rug in front of the fireplace, but was surprised to see that Bridget had closed the distance between them.
“You do not truly wish to sleep on this floor, do you?” she asked, looking genuinely worried for him.
“It will not be so awful,” Adrian said, nodding toward the spot he had picked out. “There is a rug, so I will not need to sleep against the floorboards, and the fire will keep me warm.”
“A rug is not a bed,” Bridget said with a small laugh. “And certainly not comfortable.”
“It is more comfortable than sleeping outside in the rain,” Adrian commented. “And the alternative would be you sleeping on the floor while I take the bed, and that I cannot abide.”
He turned to toss the pillow onto the floor, but as he let it go, Bridget’s hand clasped around it and tugged it backward. He turned back to her, looking at her curiously as she hugged the pillow to her chest.
“Perhaps we… we could share the bed,” she tentatively offered.
Adrian let out a huff of surprised laughter.
“You will not kiss me, but you want to share a bed with me?” he asked, half-teasing, half-serious.
“If you stay on your side and I stay on mine, I do not see why we cannot share the bed. As friends.”
“Friends,” Adrian stated, as if the word was foreign to him.
The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He could not be Bridget’s friend. He did not lust after his friends. Did not want to part their thighs and taste them until they shook and they screamed his name.
His blood heated at the thought, damning him even further. Yet for a moment, he let the fantasy play out in his mind. He let himself picture Bridget, let himself give in to the mounting tension between them, and give them what they both craved.
For she craved it, too. Even if she said otherwise, those eyes of hers betrayed her words. Had seen how her pupils dilated and her breath caught in her throat when their lips had been so dangerously close.
“Friends,” Bridget agreed, her tone chipper as she placed the pillow back on the bed.
Adrian grimaced as he came back to reality, but did not argue. Instead, he watched her pull back the covers and climb into bed. As he lay down on the opposite end, purposely lying above the covers, he became acutely aware that it was going to be a long, torturous night.
He stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, forcing his thoughts toward everything he had learned about Bridget that day—her kindness, her convictions, the quiet strength beneath her composure—instead of the relentless need pounding through his body.
He exhaled sharply as his arousal, which had refused to fade for hours now, strained uncomfortably against the fabric of his trousers.
Adrian reached down, doing as much as he could to situate himself in a better position without touching himself too much. Every brush of his fingers was agony to his groin. He so badly needed release.
He chuffed quietly at the thought. It was strange.
After Evander’s passing, he had not spared a single thought for his needs.
Now, though, with Bridget so close, with her deliciously light, feminine scent flooding his nostrils, he could not think of anything else.
Had not been able to think of much else, since they had met.
Stop this, he chastised himself. You are a grown man. You are beyond this.
Adrian tried to push his thoughts back to his brother. The lead with Warren had died yet again, and he had to start fresh when he got back to London.
London. Where I met Bridget. Where I encountered her in front of the Blue Parrot, looking delicious and enticing in that ripped dress.
Adrian rubbed his face harshly. Thinking of his brother’s investigation was clearly not going to work. It seemed all roads of thought were leading him back to one person and one person alone.
Bridget.
“Bridget,” he said at last, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling. “Earlier today… about the brooch. Why did you truly give Penny so much for it?”