“Easy there,” he said, amusement in his tone. “Are you all right, my lady?”
Mortified, Bridget thanked everything that was good and holy that she had not been holding a drink in her hand. “I—I sincerely apologize, my lord. I hope I have not…”
“Injured me?” He set her on her feet. “Hardly, my lady, you are as light as a feather. The only thing you have accomplished is interrupt a conversation.”
“I am in your debt,” she swallowed and tried not to pay attention to the glares digging into the side of her neck. “Pardon me.”
“Since you are in my debt, I will ask for repayment, and I ask you to stay with me, with us, and join our conversation,” he said, fixing his stole before gesturing for a waiter to come over to them. “I do not believe that I have seen you before. Do I know you, my lady?”
His short, coal-black hair topped a face more rugged than handsome, his nose a tad crooked, with kind, gray eyes.
“No, we have not met before,” she said, taking a fortifying sip of the smooth champagne over a tight throat. “I am Bridget Wycliff, daughter of Viscount Marchwood.”
“It is poor form to introduce oneself,” a lady with a plumed hat quipped nastily, her fan fluttering. “Where is your chaperone, girl?”
The snub was not subtle, but Bridget had formed a defense against such attacks; simply pretend that she did not understand them to keep her expression cheerful and feign ignorance.
The strategy, while effective, pulled out all of her willpower, determination, and composure, to keep her manner bright as the slights pierced her skin, their poison seeping into her innards.
“I came with a friend,” she replied. “Who is otherwise engaged.”
The lady sniffed. “Are you sure you are old enough to attend this ball, dear girl?”
“I am,” she notched her head up. “I have absented myself from the majority of the ton’s assemblies because the games the other ladies play exhaust me.”
The other lady narrowed her eyes as her hand fixed around the flute so strongly, Bridget feared it would shatter. “Games?”
“The mind games,” she said bravely, knowing she was going to rub a lot of people— perhaps these two ladies too—wrong. “Not to cast allegations on anyone, it is plain that the ladies of the ton undertake every avenue they have available to make sure they come out on top.”
Snapping her fan closed, Lady Oneglared. “How rude of you. You need to—”
“Actually, I would like to hear what she has to say,” Lord Hansen interrupted. “Please, go on, and don’t censor the truth for politeness.”
Nervous, Bridget looked to the ladies and ignoring their scowls, continued, “Cliques are formed, rumors are made and dispatched to cut another lady down and tarnish her reputation, so her prospects of marriage are null. No one is as hateful as a friendly face that desires what another has.”
LadyTwolaughed, her tone high and brittle. “Oh, this one considers herself an original, I assume. That is quite a conspiracy you have, dear.”
“Utter nonsense,” LadyOnetittered, but her eyes glimmered with malice.
“…No,” Hansen replied, giving Bridget a staying look. “She is right and we know it. There is no kindness when it comes to putting oneself ahead. Lady Bridget, do you care for a turn around the room?”
“B-But Lord Hansen, were we not having a conversation before this—this interloper came in?” LadyOnespluttered, aiming brimstone and hellfire at Bridget.
“Wewere,” Lord Hansen extended his arm toward Bridget. “But the topic was about the past balls, which lady was ruined by rakehells and who is definitely shoved onto the shelf and unmarriable. I find her points very poignant, now please, excuse us.”
The light from the chandelier reflected in his eyes, which were lighter than she’d expected, and she had the sensation of losing herself in everlasting moonlight. “Don’t worry, Lady Bridget, you will always be safe with me.”
“Thank you,” she said, stifling the shudder in her words. “I do feel guilty though, taking you away from your… companions.”
“You needn’t worry,” he shot her a soft smile. “They were not saying much. Many ladies here are precisely like you said, willing to tear another down not only to take their place but simply because their mean-spirited hearts enjoy it,” his head canted to her. “May I compliment you on your fine looks this eve, Lady Bridget?”
“You are ever so nice to say so,” she replied, her voice trembling.
Once again, she took the moment to discreetly gaze upon Lord Hansen, and her eyes dropped to his lips… out of nowhere, the memory of another mouth assailed her. Hard, sensual lips, made not for poetry but for sin.
Yanking her head away, she felt heat flood her insides, her nipples prickling beneath her bodice.
He chuckled. “You can look, my lady, I am not a cursed gorgon who will turn you to stone.”
