“Lord Maddox,” Lady Burnside crooned upon his arrival near their party. “We are simply dying to have you visit tomorrow afternoon. Lady Bridget has a painting lesson, and is in dire need of a subject.” She jostled Bridget with a sharp elbow.
Lord Maddox’s gaze turned on her with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Is that so?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Bridget said with a sigh. “Will you consent to a portrait, sir?” Suddenly, her side of their bargain did not seem to be going the way she had hoped. If this interference by her aunt was any indication of what she could expect, she would not see any benefit from this arrangement whatsoever.
****
Oh, heaven was surely smiling upon him! Sit for a portrait? Spend hours in her company doing nothing save staring at her delicate hand as it sashayed this way and that? He cleared his throat. Above all he couldn’t seem too eager to simply sit and stare. What would people think of him? Blast, he was already judging himself.
A servant passed by with champagne. Anthony quickly lifted a flute and drank the dry contents. “Yes, I believe that would be exciting indeed. Anything I can do to aid the lovely Lady Bridget in her… artistic pursuits.” With his free hand he reached for her arm and looped it within his. “After all, I can think of nothing I would rather do than gaze upon your beauty, my sweet.” He bit his lip.
Lady Burnside cleared her throat. “Lovely. We shall expect you in the afternoon. Shall we say around two?”
“Perfect. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Anthony winked at Lady Bridget and turned back toward her aunt, who was now changing to such a peculiar shade of red, he was sure her head would explode. Clearly, the woman was not amused that he had found a younger more desirable girl upon whom to shower his affections. He quickly excused himself and decided to call it a night. After all, he had much work to do the following afternoon.
****
Anthony gazed upon the large regal mansion and steeled himself for what would surely be the one of the more trying experiences of his life. Sitting for hours in the presence of the most attractive woman in the world as she painted didn’t seem to be the best of ideas, especially if his current state of arousal was any indication of how the day would proceed.
The idea that he would be required to stand utterly still while having to stare at the beautiful Lady Bridget was near laughable. After all, simply being in her presence accelerated his breathing, his desire, his irritation — everything.
He must remember his part of the bargain. No matter how much she seemed to need it, Anthony had promised to keep his hands to himself. Now if he could just keep his own desires in check, lest he embarrass himself and the girl in the process.
Anthony knocked on the door and was quickly ushered into one of the salons. Bridget stood behind a large easel, paintbrush in hand.
“Am I late?” he asked, his voice cracking the silence of the room.
“Just on time.” She didn’t look at him. Instead her dainty hand added a few more strokes to the painting before her. The lady tilted her head and a smile broke across her face.
“What are you working on?” He couldn’t help the playful smile that spread across his lips.
“A masterpiece.” She huffed and threw him a saucy wink.
“May I see it?” He felt his smile widening.
Bridget pulled away from the painting and shrugged. “Of course, my lord. I do hope it doesn’t scare you though. It may be frightening.”
“Frightening?” He gave her a patronizing look and turned to face the picture.
“A bowl of strawberries?” he asked, like the idiot he was.
Lady Bridget sighed. “Yes, I felt inspired.”
“Obviously.”
“And did you notice that in the corner?” She pointed to the top of the piece where, what had to be the ugliest man alive stood, arms high above his head flailing as if he was about to take a tumble.
“It’s you!” She laughed. “It’s quite a likeness, don’t you agree?”
Anthony gave a tight smile. “Yes, it’s perfect. Though you forgot one detail.”
“What?”
“The woman standing next to me who threw the strawberry, perpetuating the entire tragic sequence of events.”
“I did nothing of the sort!”
Anthony snorted. “So you say, my lady, but I have seen your true colors. You’d be much happier impaling me on the end of your paintbrush than standing next to me right now. Admit it.”
“With pride.”
Anthony muttered a low string of curses and eyed her with suspicion. “Where is your aunt this afternoon?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?” His voice raised a few octaves.
Lady Bridget smiled. “Lady Burnside is rarely home in the afternoons, my lord. She is making calls. I don’t expect her home for several hours.”
“You,” he pointed at Lady Bridget and tried not to yell, “are not allowed to speak of any of this to anyone, do you understand? After all, I do have my reputation to consider.”
“Perfectly.”
“Good—”
“Not only,” she interrupted, “do I have to endure your presence for the next two weeks but I’m not allowed to speak of it to any human being save the one man I would rather spit on than talk to.”
“Lies.”
“What?” She set down her paintbrush and crossed her arms.
“I didn’t misspeak. I said lies. All of it. You like me.”
“You arrogant man!” Lady Bridget poked him in the chest. “I want nothing to do with you. I want—”
“Me. You want me. There’s no use denying it. But never fear. I’ll be patient for you to come to your senses.” He began stripping his coat and gloves.
“W-what are you doing, my lord?”
“Anthony. It’s Anthony, and I shall call you Bridget, or perhaps my stubborn little temptress. They are one and the same, I assure you.”
“Anthony,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Would you please explain why you are removing your outer garments?”
“You mean, why am I getting naked?”
Bridget flushed and covered her eyes. A soft gasp escaped the throat of the maid sitting in the corner. “My lord, really—”
“Ah, you have to use my name.”
“Anthony,” she squeaked, still shielding her eyes. “Why are you taking off your clothes?”
He shrugged. “I thought you meant to paint me?”