“Thank you.” Bridget’s voice broke his thoughts as his eyes came back to the street where they stood.
“Oh, no thanks are necessary. I should be thanking you for such… wonderful reading. I shall stay up all night.” He joked as he held the books prisoner behind his back.
“May I have them please?”
“Will you promise not to yell or grab my shirt collar, or pull at my cravat if I don’t give you exactly what you want all the time?”
Bridget shifted nervously from one foot to another. Her beautiful face was still flushed, and Anthony cursed himself and the rules he had to abide by. Nothing would please him more than to reach out and pull the infuriating woman into a kiss.
Any woman in possession of half as much passion as she had was a woman he wanted to keep. Dangerously close to breaking the rule, he took a step back and held out the books between them.
“I cannot promise,” Bridget said taking the books and stepping closer to him. “You might someday give me cause to yell or grab your shirt collar or pull at your cravat.” Her head leaned forward ever so slightly. Anthony’s eyes were drawn to her bee stung lips as well as her rapid breathing. He knew that look.
Devil take it, he saw that look on a daily basis. She wanted him to kiss her.
He waited for her to move closer.
She did. No doubt she was testing him. Well, there was no chance in Hades he was going to give into that type of temptation. If the little minx indeed thought she could so easily break the rules, then she could burn with desire for all he cared! If he as much as grazed her lips without warning she’d be more likely to take a dagger to his favorite part of his anatomy than forgive him. It wasn’t playing fair. Perhaps it would be best for her to know what it felt like to want something so bad she could taste it, but have no means by which to satisfy that hunger.
Deciding to let her suffer, he heaved a sigh and then promptly knocked the books to the ground between them.
“Oh, apologies, I’m so very clumsy at times.”
Bridget knelt down to grab both books, the pallor of her face deepened into a bright crimson that matched her hair.
He took her hand within his and bestowed a kiss upon it. “Good day.”
Anthony tipped his hat and walked in the opposite direction, leaving a fairly seething Bridget behind.
Chapter Nine
The Best Defense
To say Bridget was angry did not begin to describe it. Abandoned. Humiliated. Rejected.
Furious.
And arrogant Lord Maddox — the impossible, infuriating beast of a man — was every whit the enigma. One moment he was swearing an oath to keep his hands to himself, the next moment he seemed to have eight of them, and every one acted as a homing pigeon bringing messages of desire straight to her core. As if that wasn’t enough, when she actually wanted him to kiss her, he left her twisting in the wind.
A fresh surge of indignation burned through her again. She climbed the stairs to her rooms, slamming the door behind her with a fury.
This ridiculous bargain was more trouble than it was worth. True, Aunt Latissia and Uncle Ernest had stopped hovering about at the social functions, but the viscount had hardly kept up his end.
In fact, the only thing for which Bridget could rely on Anthony was that he was completely unreliable. But that was just like all the men she had ever known. Why did this one disturb her so much?
A knock sounded on the door, and a downstairs maid entered with a bouquet of fresh flowers.
“Begging your pardon, milady. These arrived for you a few minutes ago.” She placed the bouquet in a crystal vase on a small table, turned to Bridget, and offered an envelope.
“Thank you, Lily,” Bridget said as she accepted the note, tempering her bad humor in the presence of the servant, though she was certain signs of her rage were still evident on her face.
Lily nodded but made no move to depart.
“Is there something else, Lily?” Bridget asked.
“I’m to wait for a reply, milady.”
“Very well.” Bridget retrieved her letter opener from the drawer of the table and slipped the blade through the flap of the envelope, making a clean slice across the top. The note was from Viscount Maddox.
I would be delighted if you would join me tomorrow afternoon for a picnic in the park.
A.B.
It was enough to incite a fresh burst of fury through her. The man was so exasperatingly arrogant. No apology. No humility at all. He simply assumed she would be unable to refuse him. In his defense, she guessed he could have mistaken her body language as something other than what she was portraying. But he was a rake! Well, perhaps not a rake. He wasn’t nearly as debauched as other men in the ton, but surely he knew the signs of a woman who wanted him! She bit her lip in thought.
Ah! The perfect revenge. Let him experience the rejection he so callously doled out. She would repudiate his every advance. Let him lose his bet. What was it to her?
With great aplomb, Bridget took a sheet of stationery from her desk and penned a reply to the viscount.
Regrettably, I am unable to accompany you on a picnic tomorrow.
I shall be taking my lesson on the pianoforte.
B.D.
She folded the note and slipped it into an envelope. Then a wonderfully evil thought occurred to her, and she spritzed the envelope with her favorite bottle of strawberry-scented perfume, sealed it, and handed it to the maid with a wide grin.
“Please have this delivered to the viscount right away.”
Lily nodded and took her leave.
Bridget eased into her wingback chair and picked up her new copy of Miss Wollstonecraft’s masterpiece. Suddenly, she felt ever so much better.
Chapter Ten
A Strategic Turn
Anthony hadn’t attended one of Lord Byron’s readings in an age. And although he wasn’t supportive of how the ladies seemed to salivate in the man’s infuriating presence, he did expect a few other poets and political minds to be attending the afternoon soiree. So he attended knowing it would be an advantageous time for him to discuss political matters before Parliament commenced again.
It also wouldn’t bode well for him to sit at home and mope, especially since Bridget had refused him. The minx had even sprayed the letter with perfume. Well, he wasn’t some simpering miss of a woman. He was a man. And it was his duty, his responsibility, to make sure this meeting was well attended and supported. He would, perhaps, stroll by Bridget’s home at a later hour, mayhap under the cover of darkness so nobody could see him. He could even wear a black cloak and hat. Satisfied, he glanced around the room.
As predicted, several powerful political figures attended. Anthony and Sir Wilde made quick work about the room, enjoying the talk of politics more than that of the tedious events of the London Season.