All thoughts of defiance fled in the sensations of kissing him again and again. Her chest ached with want of air and desire for him. Bridget’s hands curled into the fabric of his jacket, just over his shoulders. He tipped his head back.
Bridget gasped for air, longing to kiss him again. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the Duke smirked at her. “See?” he asked. “This could be so much more pleasant. You may have more of that if you will only accept that I am to be your husband and stop with all your schemes. They are doomed to fail anyway.”
Her mind whirled. When His Grace stepped away, Bridget pressed her palms against the wall. Her knees trembled, but she remained standing. “You do not know me,” she whispered, trying desperately to gather the shreds of her defiance. “You do not know what I can do.”
“Oh, you silly girl…” the Duke murmured. “You are powerless against me. Do you know why?”
“Because you are a pretentious man who believes he is God’s gift to women?” Bridget snapped.
His Grace leaned in and kissed her, and all Bridget’s protests died in her mouth. Warmth spread through her entire body; she was lighter than air. The duke could be as pretentious as he liked, as long as he kept kissing her likethat.
When he abruptly pulled away, a ragged whimper tore from Bridget’s throat. “Kiss me,” she insisted. “Again, please.”
“No,” he said. “This is all part of the process. You are ruled by your passions. You must learn to school your desires and resist temptations. You have never had to control yourself, but I will teach you. Over the next two weeks, you will learn how to be a proper wife, and from my instruction, you shall learn to manage your passions.”
Bridget’s breath hitched.
A small part of her wondered if he was right, if she was too ruled by her passions.
“We shall see,” she said. “If you believe it is a game, so be it. I hope you are ready when I make my first move.”
His Grace took a step back and bowed. “Until then.”
He turned around the corner and was gone, his footsteps fading quickly and just in time for Bridget to hear another. She froze against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart. Bridget’s hands went to her face, which was hot beneath her fingertips.
“Bridget?” Her brother asked. “Are you here?”
She forced down the lump that rose in her throat. Hastily, she raked her hands through her hair, fearing that it might have become disheveled by His Grace’s attention.
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
It was dark in the foyer. Perhaps he would not notice that her face was flushed.
She came around the corner and forced a smile, trying to brush away all the feelings that coursed through her body. Was His Grace right? Maybe the new and strange heat was another passion, just one that she had never noticed before.
Elias’s brow furrowed with concern. Ice sank into Bridget’s veins. Had he noticed her appearance, and did he know what it meant?
“Are you feeling well?” he asked.
Her chest tightened. “Why…why would you ask that?”
“Because it is early,” Elias said, sounding confused. “You seldom choose to retire so early in the evening.”
“It has…it is just everything,” Bridget said, forcing a smile. “I am tired. And I thought that having a short evening would be best for Dorothy’s sake.”
His face softened. “That is thoughtful of you. Dorothy is tired often these days. I am told that it is normal for women in her condition.”
Halls emerged from the shadows and bowed. “Your Grace, your coach is ready.”
“Thank you,” Elias said, offering his arm and a wry smile. “Shall we?”
Bridget let her hand rest at the crook of his arm and brushed her shoulder briefly against her brother’s arm. “Yes.”
They left the townhouse together and entered the waiting carriage. As Bridget settled against the cushion, her eyes darted to the townhouse. “We shall have to invite him to our own house,” she said.
“Wheelton? Yes,” Elias said. “He has already agreed to come to our house for these weekly visits of his.”
Bridget crossed her ankles and pressed her thighs tightly together. Her lips tingled, as if he was still kissing her. Bridget’s eyes darted to her brother’s face, anxious to see if he had noticed anything amiss about her. He did not seem to, for his absentminded gaze settled on the window.
