“Like this.” Anthony placed his hands on Wilde’s shoulders, giving them a firm shake. “Now, you need to show this woman that you are firm, but gentle at the same time. When she gazes upon you…” Wilde batted his eyelashes at him. Oh sweet heavens, Ambrose must never get wind of this. “Wilde, please… do you want me to show you or not? I do have other more pressing concerns.”
“I’m sorry. Please continue,” he answered with a nervous chortle.
“Fine. Now, when she gazes upon you, tilt your head to the side and kiss her cheek.”
“Her cheek? But I want to kiss—”
“It’s safe to assume I know what you want to kiss, but you must take care not to scare her at the first. If she is receptive, then you kiss the other cheek.”
“And if she isn’t receptive?”
“If she isn’t, I daresay she’ll plant something on your cheek you won’t soon forget.”
Wilde appeared thoughtful. “But why not the lips?” he asked after a long moment.
“Consider it, Wilde. Do you run at the fox shooting like a madman?”
He shook his head.
“Of course not. Hunting foxes is a sport of finesse. An art form.” Anthony patted his friend’s shoulder. “You coax the fox from its den. Much the same way you coax the woman. You draw her to you, and then you go in for the kill.”
“So I kiss her after she warms to me?”
“By Jove, I think you’ve got it.” Finally. Anthony smiled. Truly it was a brilliant analogy if he did say so himself.
“And then she’ll be receptive?” Wilde asked hopefully.
A strange thought suddenly occurred to Anthony. “Colin, why are you asking me this? Surely you have done this before…”Anthony’s hands lingered on Wilde’s shoulders just as Ambrose strode through the door.
With a jerk, Anthony dropped his hands to his sides, but it was too late. Ambrose’s mocking smile stretched to his ears. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I do hope I’m not intruding, but a little bird told me some information I thought might help you in your quest for Lady Bridget’s affection. Of course, I’m only too happy to wait for you to finish wooing Wilde.”
“I was not wooing Wilde,” Anthony argued.
Wilde, the traitorous son of a Frenchman, slipped back into his old humor and threw Anthony to the wolves. “He was demonstrating how to properly kiss a woman — or was that how to trap one, Anthony?”
Ambrose’s eyes widened and he began to choke and laugh at the same time. “By all means, continue!”
“We are done here,” Anthony said through clenched teeth. “You said something about helpful information, I believe.”
Wilde grinned. “Yes, I do recall our dear friend begging for help only moments ago.”
“So now you get it right?” Anthony muttered. “Brilliant.”
“Haven’t heard him utter that word since he was three.” Ambrose scoffed and took a seat. “It appears you have a long journey ahead of you, brother. Your little woman has quite the story, it seems. Although some of it is quite blotchy considering my sources were conveniently foxed during the telling of it.”
“A likely story,” Anthony remarked.
Ambrose adjusted his coattails to take a seat. “I don’t think you’ll find this encouraging, but I feel the need to share nonetheless.”
Anthony leaned back in his seat. “Well, get on with it.”
“The lady appears to have had a bad sort of upbringing. Her father left her mother and herself when she was but ten years of age — old enough to know what was happening, but too young to understand why. They were destitute and often relied on the church for charity in order to make it through the colder months.”
“What kind of fool leaves his wife and child?” Anthony was alarmed with the idea of it all.
“A man in love with his own pursuits. And from what I’ve heard, he had many.”
“Fool… What else?”
Ambrose took a swig of Wilde’s whiskey. “The poor little girl was left to care for her mother all alone, and the woman died in her daughter’s arms not two years after the dirty philanderer left them.”
Anthony felt the sudden urge to hunt the man down and kill him with his bare hands, preferably in a slow savage manner. “How did she come to be under the protection of her extended family?”
Ambrose shook his head. “Her grandmother, whom we have yet to see, the Dowager Countess of Darlingshire, hasn’t stepped foot in society since her husband’s death. Leaving the task of the girl’s debut to…”
“Lady Burnside,” Anthony finished, shuddering as the thought swirled around in his head.
“Correct.” Ambrose shared in the shudder. “It seems the only objective of Lady Bridget’s family is to see her married off.”
“Yes, and that boded so well for her mother.” Anthony was sickened to his very core. “How could they be so insensitive to the young girl’s needs? Any child would scoff at the Season or an arranged marriage, all things considered.”
“So you see why this makes your task difficult?” Ambrose asked.
Anthony shrugged. “Nigh impossible. But I find the information useful nonetheless.”
Wilde blanched. “So you mean to put the girl through this silly bet in order to appease your own pride?”
“I never lose.” Anthony shrugged, though inside his stomach churned in protest. He wouldn’t lose, but he would never put an innocent lady through such hardship. The situation called for a different strategy. Another means to an end.
Wilde glowered at him with a heartless vengeance, while Ambrose threw back the contents of his glass.
“If you’re sure you wish to proceed, brother…”
“Of course.” Anthony managed to laugh. “Tis a silly bet. Nothing more, am I right? Now let us off to dinner.”
****
It was by sheer luck that Anthony managed to secure a seat next to Lady Bridget. All intentions were selfless, for he meant to put her at ease as well as apologize. That is, before the minx stabbed him with her fork… twice. Nevermind that they were eating soup. But he took it in stride and apologized for his clumsy hands being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her obvious shock made it all worth it.
Now, the rub. How was he to apologize yet still have her participate in this farce so he could save face in front of his brother and Wilde, who were at this very moment both watching the entertainments from the opposite end of the table?