How was he to impress the girl? He couldn’t dance without wanting to cry out. No telling how many women would flock if they knew he was injured. He’d be married by the week’s end. The women of the ton seemed to sense weakness and attack with a fervor like none other. Anthony often imagined men as defenseless zebras and the women as preying lions. And at this point in his life, he was most definitely the vulnerable baby zebra. He wouldn’t stand a chance. Being devoured was not on the top of his list for the day, nor was sitting and listening to Wilde and Ambrose laugh at his expense.
The soreness in his back made walking home look much more comfortable than riding in a jostling curricle, so he rounded the corner of the block and embarked for home, taking slow stiff strides.
As he limped, Anthony considered his strategies. He had only four weeks. And what seemed like ample time yesterday as he admired the lady from a distance, now after their introduction appeared as a wildfire fast on his heels. How is it that out of the entire flock of fresh debutantes, Ambrose had selected the only lady who would despise him simply by virtue of his confidence? The only one who would put up a fight?
He pushed the thoughts of doubt from his mind. After all, he was Anthony Benson, Viscount Maddox. His prowess with the ladies was the stuff of legends, and a challenge like this one would only serve to sharpen his skills.
If there were some way he could determine which social events Lady Bridget would be attending for the next four weeks without raising suspicion, he could tailor his own appearances to mimic hers, and so create a variety of coincidental meetings. If nothing else, the mere familiarity of seeing him everywhere might begin to wear down her defenses. And certainly, the regular exposure to his charms alone would do her in.
Yes. Anthony was feeling better already — a slight swagger returned to his gait. He inhaled deeply of the sweet afternoon air and glanced about the street to see who was about.
A young lady walking a small dog, followed closely by her lady’s maid, who carried the parasol, caught his eye. It was the lady who had been haunting his thoughts. Anthony was sure of it. How fortuitous! His plans need not wait until later.
He stepped into the street without thinking and narrowly missed being rundown by a speeding hack. His heart leapt into his throat, forcing him to jump backward to the cobblestone walkway. Naturally, the sudden jolt caused him to lose his footing, and he skittered to the ground, landing firmly on his already damaged backside.
The heat of humiliation rose to his face. With haste he stood again and brushed the street dust from his breeches. It wouldn’t do to have the lady witness him in distress again so soon. A quick glance in her direction assured him she hadn’t noticed his misfortune, so he attempted again to cross, this time waiting for the traffic to pass before venturing into the street. Pain and indignation shot through him with each step.
He decided on a rear attack and came first upon the lady’s maid, who startled when he reached to take the parasol from her. Anthony gestured with a finger to his lips for her to keep the secret, and the servant girl cast a shy smile in his direction and nodded, falling back a few paces but not before winking an invitation in his direction. At least he still had his touch. Or so he thought, until he reached Bridget’s side and she began speaking.
“You are quite accident prone, are you not, my lord?”
“Whatever do you mean?” He lied through his teeth and ventured a glance at his breeches for any hint of dust remnants.
The girl refused to look in his direction. “You took another tumble, did you not? Or were you merely playing a game with the carriages, living dangerously as the great Viscount Maddox is known for doing?”
Ignoring her stab at his reputation, he let out a whistle. “My, my, so you do pay attention to my reputation as well as other things. Tell me, do you also know my favorite color and choice of horseflesh?”
Lady Bridget froze and gave him a glare so horrendously pointed that he was sure he would go up in flames.
“Are you always this prideful?”
For a lack of a better answer, he nodded, gracing her with the full force of his smile. “Tell me,” he said, gaining strength from her obvious fidgeting. “Have you always been afraid of a man’s attention, or is this fear only bestowed upon those as lucky as myself?”
“A man’s attention?” she repeated with a laugh. “Do tell me when we come upon a man, for I would like to see what a real one looks like up close. Good day, my lord.”
Mouth agape, Anthony stared as she did a quick curtsy and walked by him. He grabbed the maid’s arm as she hurried to catch up to her mistress. “Is she going out tonight?”
The maid’s complexion took on a rosy hue. “Yes, my lord. To the Brampton dinner party,” she answered in a whisper.
He winked and handed her the parasol, allowing her to be on her way. No chance the girl would reject him twice in one day. Surely she could not be so heartless!
Chapter Four
Rejection is Such Sweet Sorrow
Not even her afternoon walk was sacred anymore. Lord Maddox was an exasperating man — so brazen and petulant in his vanity. Bridget exhaled sharply and shook her head to knock loose the thoughts of the infuriating rogue. She didn’t wish to think of him at all. Because unfortunately when she thought of him, it was either grand irritation that plagued her mind, or the undeniable fact that he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. And for some reason, he wanted her attention. Fighting the urge to smile at the thought, she focused once again on her walk, on clearing her head, and perhaps yes, plotting her next book. Perhaps the main character would slip on a strawberry.
She snorted with disdain. Everything she had heard of the viscount had only served to form an ill opinion of him, regardless of how high in regard the whole of the ton held him and his brother. Between the two of them, Lord Maddox was the least respectable. He was known to entertain occasional dalliances with the widows and charm his way through the ton with that blasted smile on his face. All he needed to do was flash a devastating grin in the general direction of the female population and swoons surely followed.
Well, she was not going to be another one of his conquests. In fact, she found the notion so repulsive that when her heart fluttered in his presence and her breath grew ragged, she attributed it to a sickness brought on by his masculine scent.
Impossible that her body reacted to him that strongly, she refused to acknowledge it. The man had no shame. And she had better things to occupy her thoughts. Again she concentrated on her newest work. A novel. And again, his face flashed in her mind. He would be the perfect Mr. Darcy. His strong form and rakish smile.