Beguiling Bridget (4 page)

Therefore it was little wonder that Bridget was only half-listening to the discussion of the announced betrothal between Count Belvedere and Miss Violet Jasper when her friend stopped talking mid-sentence and anchored her gaze on the archway behind Bridget.

“Sweet heavens… sin just walked through the door,” Gemma whispered in ironic reverence. Her head tilted to the side, a feminine sigh escaped her lips, and Bridget could have sworn her friend actually began to tear up.

As Bridget twisted in her chair to see what was affecting her friend so, Gemma rested a hand on Bridget’s to stay her, stopping her from turning wholly around.

And something in Gemma’s urgency caused Bridget to stiffen in purest dread, when her friend added, “Oh! I may swoon! He's approaching us!”

“The devil you say!”

“He comes at this very moment!”Gemma clenched her hands in her lap and began to visibly shake.

If the sudden chill prickling along her spine was any indication, Bridget was certain that the
sin
rendering her friend paralyzed at this moment was none other than Viscount Maddox, and he stood directly behind her, with his usual beautiful smile spread across his smug face. How did he know she would be here? Well, she wasn’t going to gift him the satisfaction of knowing she could sense his presence. That would be just what he wanted. Drat her arms for producing chills, and curse her stomach for dropping to her knees!

“Holy Moses, no man should have a smile like that,” Gemma said just under her breath.

Bridget rolled her eyes, but had to grudgingly agree. His smile could melt the ice off a polar bear’s tail.

“Lady Bridget, a word?”

Gemma’s mouth gaped, betraying her shock.

Bridget stood before turning around, giving herself time to steel her nerves against the onslaught of his overwhelming male ego. At least he came by it honestly. The viscount truly was carved like a Greek god. But she had no intention of allowing it to affect her. She has other interests — other pursuits, and—

“My buttons, they make a handsome couple,” Gemma’s brother said loud enough for all to hear. Gemma jabbed him in the ribs with a well-placed elbow.

“Ah, Lord Maddox. Speak of the devil and he appears — what an unlikely surprise.”

“You were speaking of me?” His beguiling smile stretched wider across his marble features.

“Hmm… if I recall correctly, we spoke of sin, and yes, I believe the devil was mentioned.” His smile waned to its usual irritating level. The golden corona of his brilliant green eyes seemed to catch the candlelight and sparkle at her. No. Bridget wouldn’t let him convince her. She was no trophy to be won. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?
Think about your mother crying!
Think about your parents’
marriage crumbling and your mother dying of a broken heart. Think of those things!

As if on cue, Sir Wilde interjected with genuine pleasure, “Lady Gemma! It has been an age!” He brushed past the viscount to address the lady’s hand. “Tell me, where have you been keeping yourself?”

Gemma seemed to blush to the very roots of her dark red hair. He tucked her hand under his arm and led her to the refreshment table, chattering all the while.

Bridget shook her head slightly as the pair disappeared around the corner without so much as batting an eyelash in farewell. Behind them, Gemma’s traitor of a brother followed close, as if he didn’t trust Sir Wilde a stone’s throw away with his sister.

This left Bridget quite alone in the salon. Quite alone with Lord Maddox.

The man took a seat beside where Bridget stood and gestured to her to do the same. As she lowered herself into the chair, he leaned in ever so close and turned that sinful smile on her. Suddenly overheated and beyond irritation, she began to fan herself, trying desperately to appear nonchalant when the temptation to lean forward and smell him was overwhelming.

“You asked for a word, my lord. How may I be of help to you this evening? Perhaps a lesson or two on how to walk about the public streets without being trampled by passing carriages? Or possible strategies to avoid dangerous fruit attacks?” Bridget offered him what she hoped was her most innocent expression. “Truly, I aim only to please.”

“It seems I've found my match. I do so love a challenge.”

“I'm not participating in said challenge, nor am I like every other girl who would think nothing of selling her own grandmother in order to receive one of your smiles.”

“Truly? You wouldn't even sell a dress? An irritating sibling?”

“Not a sibling, and certainly not my soul.”

“Truly, you have a rapier sharp wit, my lady. Pray tell, how do you do it?”

“I read, my lord,” she replied. “I daresay none of the women of your prior acquaintance can boast such.”

“Indeed,” he said, eyeing her with a hint of doubt in his own charms. That ought to finish him. A couple of well placed poisoned darts in his more than adequate ego and he would be but a memory of this tedious night. Dare she drive the nail home?

“Perhaps the talent eludes even you, my lord.”

A shallow, sickly smile spread over his lips. Yes, she was getting to him.

“You may think of me as you please, my lady.” His gaze drifted past her searching for his comrade who had disappeared as though seeking a swift escape. Good. The desired effect. No reason to postpone the inevitable. Men leave. The arrogant ones leave sooner. It was a simple matter of time. At least it was for her father.

“You presume much, my lord. For when this conversation is at an end, I will not think of you at all.” His golden-crested emerald eyes flashed the briefest betrayal of his pain. Bridget knew she had said too much, and an icy twinge of guilt spread from the pit of her stomach to her extremities. Her ears burned, and she knew without doubt they were a fiery beacon of her regret. For a moment, Bridget was glad of her scarlet tresses, since they would do much to camouflage her vibrant ears.

She tore her gaze from his face, glanced toward the nearby doors, and waited for him to excuse himself.

“If that is the case,” he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his deep, rich voice, “We shall simply continue this conversation for eternity.”

****

Anthony felt his lips curl into a smile as his point was made. Lady Bridget shut her fan with a click and glared.

“An eternity is quite a long time to fill with enough topics worthy of discussion, my lord. For my part, I don’t wish to insult you by allowing any more opportunities for you to make a complete fool of yourself. Good evening, my lord.” She bestowed a sweet mocking smile, stood, and left him.

Alone.

Feeling quite ridiculous.

That went well.
Anthony shook his head to clear the cloud of confusion just as Wilde stumbled back into the salon.

“Whatever is the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Anthony. You’re as white as a sheet.”

“I’m going to lose,” Anthony admitted with a curse. There had to be something strong to drink close at hand. His gaze scanned the room for any sort of beverage to numb his humiliation and cursed attraction to that wretched girl.

Wilde grinned like the fool he was and slapped Anthony on the back. “Cheer up! It can’t be that bad!”

“It is…”

“What?” Wilde looked confused.

“That bad,” Anthony confirmed.

“What were we discussing again?” Wilde stared at the door expectantly.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Anthony asked. The least Wilde could do was give him his undivided attention in this moment of his greatest need. “I need advice, support.” God forbid, he was going to say the one thing he’d never uttered aloud. “I need…”
Oh,
foul word of the weak!
“…help,” he finished, hanging his head in defeat.

“Well, the way I see it, most people don’t use kelp in any sort of recipe anymore. Though I’ll try to find some for you, if you truly need it. Is it for stomach ache?”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Anthony took a good hard look at his friend. His very flushed and nervous-looking friend. “I said
help,
you idiot, not
kelp.
What in the name of Hades would I use kelp for?”

“I thought it was an odd request. My humblest apology, my lord,” Wilde mumbled, his eyes still trained on the door.

My lord?
Perfect. His friend was going to be no help whatsoever. Anthony made a move to leave, but Wilde stopped him.

“Say I have a friend…” Wilde started.

Merciful
heavens
above.
Anthony felt like being selfish. He had problems of his own. Gargantuan problems. He didn’t have time for this! “I used to have many friends, until they started ignoring my pleas for help.”

“So this friend…” Wilde continued. “He wants to impress a certain lady.”

“Ah, it’s often about a lady.”

“How—” Wilde shifted, finally taking his attention off the door. “That is to say, when might it be appropriate to — bestow a kiss?”

“Bestow a…? For the love of—”

“I know you have experience in the matter. And Ambrose would only laugh at me. Whereas you might explain it to me in terms I can comprehend,” Wilde said, cutting off Anthony’s curse.

Guilt washed over him as he glanced at his nervous friend. Wilde hadn’t a nervous bone in his body! What the devil was bothering him? Must be some woman to have him worked up thus. Blast! Wilde’s reputation was no different than Anthony’s and his brother’s. His current behavior made no sense. It was odd to see him acting like such a nervous schoolboy.

Anthony sat back down with a heavy sigh of resignation. “Is this particular lady… skittish?”

“She’s the proper sort, yes…” Wilde smiled.

Anthony fought the urge to close his eyes in exasperation. “Does this lady have any experience with men?”

Wilde’s eyes sparked to life. “If she does, I’ll kill them, every last one! I’ll challenge them each in turn to a duel to the death, and—”

“Easy, man. It was merely a question.”

Wilde nodded in understanding, his brown eyes still aflame with indignation at the suggestion.

“For everyone’s sake, let us assume she is inexperienced. The best way to bestow a first kiss upon a woman is to take her by surprise.”

“Like when hunting for foxes?” Wilde offered.

“Yes, an excellent analogy. That is, your lips would be the shot, and perhaps the woman, the fox.”

“So I sneak up on her?” Wilde asked.

Anthony cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. He really was in no position to be giving out advice, especially about that of the opposite sex. Currently, he was having trouble of his own coaxing a certain woman to so much as smile at him, while also avoiding the stinging daggers of her cunning words.

“Don’t scare her, Wilde. Simply grab her and kiss her—”

“Grab her? How?” Wilde was painfully out of his element. So much in fact, that Anthony took pity on him and decided to truly show his friend what he meant. With a quick glance to see if anyone might intrude, Anthony turned toward his lovesick friend.

“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.”