He would kiss her again. As he had dreamed of doing since laying eyes on her crawling out of that blasted window. And to the French with anyone who would stop him.
As he closed the distance between his lips and hers — so close to his goal — amidst her rapid heavy breaths, she whispered hotly against his mouth, “Never.” One deft roll beneath his arm, and she was free of his grasp, masterfully slicing the air with furious steel as he struggled to regain his footing and his comprehension of the sudden turn.
It was then he had his epiphany. There in the throes of a desperate bout with an unbeatable foe.
He didn’t want to win the contest.
There was only one thing he wanted.
One prize that mattered to him.
Her next offensive maneuver drove him back to the table where the old man sat, taking his afternoon tea. The unyielding structure behind his legs took him by surprise, stealing his balance and causing him to flail wildly in futile effort to recover. Down he crashed onto the table, launching a platter of fresh fruit into the air, which pelted him like brightly plumed hailstones upon their descent.
The next thing he knew, Bridget, flushed and breathless, stood over him, her blade at his throat. With the other hand, she reached to his chest to grasp one plump red strawberry and lifted it to her mouth. Sealing her lips about the circumference of the ripe sphere, she incited his desire for her. His heart made a valiant effort to burst from his chest — no doubt longing to leap into the arms of its true conqueror.
She broke off the seductive bite and held the remaining portion toward him with an expression of innocent inquiry. “Strawberry, my lord?”
Yes, she was trying to kill him, mocking him again. But this time he would not be put off so easily. With a slow deliberate hand he nudged her blade aside, seized the wrist of the hand offering the offending fruit, and pulled himself upright.
“I believe I will,” he replied.
Before she could offer any resistance, he slid a hand around her waist and drew her in to his arms, planting his lips on her luxuriant mouth, still moist with the sweet juice. Somehow, though Anthony had hated strawberries all his life, in that moment he was certain— he would never satisfy his craving for them.
Lady Bridget’s arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled her flush against his body. Her mouth was hot, so sweet he wanted to die. Pulling at her hips, trying to get her closer, he could feel the bones of her corset. He smiled against her lips and tugged at the remaining shirt, ripping it completely off.
She shrieked and tried to pull away, lifting her hand in threat of a solid slap. Anthony laughed and used his weight to push her against the wall. His rapier lay near his foot. He dipped his boot beneath the blade and tipped it up to his hand then held it beneath her throat. Her breathing was ragged, up and down her chest went against the steel of the blade. Boldly, his eyes caressed her body, and with one last show of passion, he leaned in and kissed her roughly on the mouth, sucking the sweetness of the strawberry directly from her flesh as his tongue traced her lips.
“I think I’ve found a new favorite fruit…” he whispered against her lips. “Do you yield?”
“Bravo! Bravo!” Lord Travis clapped in the distance. “Haven’t seen this much entertainment since the opera last year!”
With the spell broken, Anthony pushed reluctantly away from Lady Bridget. All too aware that in his lustful haze he had stripped the lady of some of her clothing as well as kissed her in front of a peer.
Lady Bridget flew from him to the desk. When she returned, she pulled a pistol and trained it directly at Anthony’s heart.
“Ah, protecting your own virtue, how very noble,” Anthony muttered all the while silently hoping the pistol wasn’t loaded.
“Touch me against my will again, and I will find a reason to shoot you.” She seethed.
Lord Travis chuckled. “My dear, if that was against your will, I’d be delighted to see the entertainments when you are fully participating. Now, be a good girl and put the gun down. It is time you return home.”
Nostrils flaring, Lady Bridget pulled back on the gun and set it on the table on her way out the door.
Chapter Twelve
Foiled Again
The look on the viscount’s face was enough to curdle her resolve. Their arrangement wasn’t working the way it was supposed to be. And the more distance she could put between them the better. For the more that he pursued her, the more she wanted him to — the more she wanted to give in to everything she swore she would never give in to. Bridget wouldn’t be her mother. She refused it with the very core of her being.
But now that she had experienced the taste of Anthony’s lips, the feel of his tongue as it tasted the sweetness of her mouth — she knew she was done for, that to put distance between them would be futile.
For her heart was already engaged.
It beat for him.
And she wanted to hate him for it.
But all she could think about as she grabbed the jacket from the nearby chair and slipped it on, was that no amount of distance would be enough to shield her heart from the rogue.
“Bridget, are you sure you don’t want a rematch?” Anthony said behind her. How the devil did he sneak up on her so fast?
Anthony’s arms came around her from behind as he fumbled with pulling the jacket closer around her body. “If you don’t mind, I’d feel much better if we hired a hack for our return, wouldn’t want anyone seeing you in your current state of—”
“Embarrassment?”
Anthony’s arms froze around her. “I was going to say in your current state of perfection. What woman would be embarrassed about the fact that she can best a man with a sword, her wit, and her intelligence, I ask? Let me just call for one, I’ll not be a minute.”
With that he left her, and with him went all of her resolve. The rake had won, for her lips yearned for his kiss almost as much as her heart yearned for his approval.
Moments later, Bridget found herself tucked inside a hackney carriage dangerously close to Lord Maddox. And for once he appeared nervous. He who was normally brimming with an aggravating confidence sat fingering the seam of his breeches, seeming at a loss for words.
A heavy blanket of silence encompassed them as the moment stretched out. The hack jerked into motion, breaking the uneasy stillness.
A flutter of nerves wreaked havoc in Bridget’s stomach when Anthony cleared his throat.
“This arrangement isn’t working,” he finally said.
“That rather seems to be your doing, my lord.”