Lewis had not quite figured out how he would get Lady Bridget alone, but he could decide upon the appropriate course once he had made his escape.
“Will the Duchess of Sarsen be joining us for the wedding?” Gerard asked, producing three crystal-cut glasses and a decanter of brandy.
Elias looked askance. “We shall have to see. Two weeks is not much time to get word to her in the countryside.”
“I will tolerate no delay,” Lewis said, seizing a glass of brandy the moment Greenway had filled it.
“You have made that abundantly clear,” Elias muttered, dropping into the nearest chair.
“You could be a little more enthusiastic,” Lewis said.
Elias sighed. “I could be. I am grateful to you, Wheelton. It is only that the past couple of days have been…unexpected.”
Gerard pressed a glass into Reeds’ hand. He drank a generous gulp of the brandy, likely steeling himself for further unpleasantness.
“For all of us,” Lewis said dryly. “I did not anticipate finding a wife in such a matter.”
“There are worse ways to go about finding a duchess,” Gerard said.
“That is also true,” Elias said.
Lewis took another sip of his brandy, which was as marvelous as Gerard had promised that it was. The drink had a robust taste and just the right amount of bite for it to burn his throat without being unpleasant.
“If Bridget is married, I suppose my wife will have to turn her energies to findingyoua suitable duchess this Season,” Gerard said slyly. “What do you say, Reeds?”
Elias wrinkled his nose. “Do not.”
“I would warrant your sister will disagree,” Gerard said, grinning. “I think she would agree that it is well past time for you to find a Duchess of Reeds.”
“Not a chance,” Elias said.
Lewis silently sipped his drink and glanced at the clock across the room. He decided that a quarter-hour would be sufficient time for him to sneak away.
And then, he would find Lady Bridget alone. If she wanted a game, he was ready to play.
CHAPTER 9
Bridget paced across the floor of the foyer, waiting to leave. It was not terribly late, but she had seen how quickly Dorothy’s energy was waning. Bridget had insisted on taking some air and had asked Halls to tell Elias that she wished to retire for the night. Her brother would doubtlessly arrive soon, and the coach would return them to their family home.
The foyer was mostly dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. A shadow flickered. It was?—
The shape of a man. Bridget gasped, drawing in air, as the shadow moved. A scream caught in her throat, her thoughts too slow to keep pace with her body. The man’s hand seized her arm and drew her back, hidden behind a corner.
“You…” she whispered.
It was the Duke of Wheelton. Alone.
“You cannot be here with me,” she said. “It is inappropriate.”
She could not find it in herself to care, for her accursed body warmed at the sight of him. Bridget scrambled for her dignity. She had resolved to prove how unsuitable she was as a wife.
“Itisinappropriate,” he said, his voice low. “But you are not reacting nearly as angrily as you should be. I have to wonder if this stubbornly consistent, improper behavior will continue after our wedding. Why are you here now?”
“Why amIhere?” she asked. “Why areyouhere? This is my brother-in-law’s house, and I am waiting for my brother to take me home.”
“I see,” His Grace said. “And does your early departure have anything to do with what you are planning?”
“Planning? I have no notion of what you mean.”
