As attractive and as tempting as the man before her was, she could not allow herself to succumb to his blatant attempts of seduction. If she allowed him to tempt her from her good sense once, she would lose the only chance of doing what she wished—finding a husband—everything would come crumbling down and it would be snatched away from her.
“It would be wise if we parted ways and I do not see or hear from you again. We have been wholly inappropriate, and I cannot riskmy future with a man like you,” she quickly said with all the courage she could muster.
He reached up and pulled the lamp from her hand, set it aside, and in the next moment—he hauled her into his lap.
“Bridget,” he murmured, the pads of his fingertips grazing her cheek. “Now, you know you cannot deny this—” he cupped her face in his hand and angled his head as he pressed closer, closer, and much closer, until she could feel his breath teasing her lips. “—is what you want.”
His lips touched hers and it was tender at first, no more than a brush of mouths, his kiss softer than she had expected and remembered, then his mouth settled on hers more firmly, a hand sliding to her nape to grip the base of her head, demanding her response.
His tongue traced the line where her lips met, demanded entrance and when she parted them, he pressed his advantage, sinking his tongue into her mouth.
A tide of pleasure washed over her, and her lips clung desperately to him. The kiss grew even more potent as she sighed and leaned into him, winding her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his slightly too-long hair.
He explored her mouth as though intent on learning her, on owning her, on claiming every nook and cranny, and she allowed herself to relax into him, lost in a sensual haze. In turn, shetouched her tongue to his, tasting him and letting all the new feelings wash over her.
He fixed both hands on her rear and pulled her flush on him, and resting over his groin, she felt a thick bulge against her thigh. Her cheeks bloomed with a rosy hue and his fingers brushed her lips, while his eyes were dark.
“Stop lying to yourself,” he murmured, both hands now cupping her unfettered breasts, giving them a proprietary squeeze. “Say whatever you want but you’remine.”
She moaned as his hands molded her breasts, teasing the tight nipples beneath the fabric. “My darling, curious girl,” he coaxed, “all you have to do is admit it.”
The sharp pinch of his finger—had her snapping up in bed, gasping. Her vision swam, the fluttering curtains doubling and splitting into two and four before her eyes.
Dear God—have I had a wicked dream about that damned duke?
Stumbling from the bed, she went to the nearby washroom and dunked her hands into the basin of icy water, splashing her face and shocking herself into reality. Her hands were trembling, not from the cold, but the truth of how deeply those interactions with the duke had sunk under her skin.
In sleep, she had no control over her will, and she had let him do everything he had wanted, his hands, his mouth, his command. He had owned her breath, her body, her soul— and in her dreams, she had never felt freer.
She felt the trickle of perspiration between the valley of her breasts, and the tips of her pebbled nipples, to her mortification, as her woman’s place was throbbing and slick with dew.
Pressing a towel to her face, she dropped it and braced her hands on the basin. “I must avoid him. He is a danger to me and my future.”
This time, however, in fear of dreaming of the bounder again, she pulled a wrapper on and headed to the library—and this time, the shelves she remembered stood firm in the gloom. It made her sigh in relief as she approached a shelf.
No wicked dream this time.
“Bridget, dear,” Ellie handed her a card over their breakfast of crumpets and preserves. “This is for you.”
Wiping her hands, she took the card and smiled at the Earl’s seal—the crossed swords over a shield looked very medieval. She turned the card over and smiled at Graham’s firm hand.
“My dear Lady Bridget,” she read out. “I would be the most fortunate man alive if you would accompany me for a stroll through Hyde Park this Sunday. I love speaking with you and I am amazed by your fresh perspective on current matters that others blind themselves to. Would you deign to accompany me?”
“Lord Hansen invited me to Hyde Park,” she sat the card to the side, unwilling to sully it with a smudge. “I’m happy to hear from him.”
“So am I,” Ellie smiled, reaching for a milk boat. “I am assured he is the best lord around who has the kind demeanor to overlook your circumstances and see you as who you are.”
Returning to her tea, Bridget nodded. “I am starting to sense that too.”
“However, last night,” Ellie added. “There were moments when you were severely distracted. What happened to shift your attention?”
Taking a sip to delay her response, Bridget wondered if her friend would accept the usual excuse,I am uncomfortable around the other members of the ton. She swallowed, “I thought I’d seen a lord who had once professed his desire to court me,” she lied, “I was nervous.”
“Oh,” Ellie blinked. “Was it him?”
“After an hour of trying to see if it was him, I realized it wasn’t,” Bridget said. “But by then, I’d begun to worry if Lord Hansen had noticed my inattention and I feared I’d lost him.”
She tapped the card, “Well, this says differently.”
