A shiver traced the path of her spine. Warnings rang like church bells in her head, and yet she found herself distracted, intoxicated, by the warmth of his body bleeding into her own.
She had not intended to provoke him, not exactly. Bridget’s aim had been only to make note of his apparent hypocrisy, but once she had, she could not very well concede defeat.
“And I suppose,” she said, never missing a step of the dance. “You care nothing for the gossip about how you are cruel to the Dowager Duchess, your only surviving relative. It must be so easy to ignore those rumors.”
His hands tightened on her, and Bridget’s breath shuddered in her chest. Those hands showed what his face did not; he was angry. She had taunted the lion, and now, he wished to devour her. What would her heroines do?
He released her abruptly before the dance even ended, and Bridget started at the suddenness of his body being away from hers. Had she vexed him too greatly? Would he announce that their engagement was broken and that she was unworthy of him?
“You,” he said, his voice pitching quiet. “You will meet me in the library.”
Without awaiting a reply, he turned on his heels and stormed away from her, leaving Bridget alone amidst the circles of cheerful, elegant dancers. Her heart thundered in her chest.
The first scandal, the one that ruined her, had occurred in a darkened library, and the memory of it loomed large inside her mind. If she was wise, she would refuse to go, but she sensed that if she did, she might learn something. She could not preciselyput a name to what that something might be, but she sensed that it might answer why her body was so strange around him.
If she was one of Shakespeare’s heroines, like Viola, she would disguise herself and arrive in her own stead, but such trickery did not work in the real world. Clarissa Harlowe would have fled. Richardson had written her as a good, honest woman. The novels werefilledwith good, honest women who knew better than to let themselves chase men like this, who asked young ladies to meet them in dark, isolated places.
But Bridget was not a good, honest woman. She was Pandora, desperately curious and anxious to know.
CHAPTER 15
Lewis idly ran his fingers along the leatherbound spines of books. The room was dark, save for the silvery light that drifted through the windows on the opposite wall. He listened carefully for even the smallest sound that might indicate Lady Bridget had joined him, which she assuredly would.
A proper lady would have refused him, but she was far from proper. In her defiant gaze, he had also seen something more—a spark of desire that was so close to bursting into flames. Lewis could give her what she wanted, for he knew more than many how to turn such yearnings to his advantage. Perhaps even a mutually beneficial one once the lady realized how much she craved him.
The door creaked at last, the sound soft and tentative. “You came,” Lewis said idly, not turning at first.
The door closed. A throat cleared. “So I did,” Lady Bridget said. “This meeting is highly improper.”
“Oh, do not act as though you are so purenow,” he scoffed. “Besides, we are to be wed. I imagine that this encounter is closer to proper than any of the others.”
“If you want me to be a proper wife, you should not ask me to indulge in impropriety,” Lady Bridget said.
He turned to her at last and saw that she stood several feet away, her back straight and her body taut with defiance.
“You believe yourself to be quite clever,” he noted.
“I am.”
Lewis moved slowly from the bookshelf, making every step deliberate and meaningful as he moved to her. With every movement he made, Lady Bridget’s body tensed a little more. Was it from anticipation or fear? It was difficult to discern her precise expression in the dark room, but he dared to hope it was a little of both.
“Why are we here?” she asked. “I suppose you wish to tell me that my behavior was inappropriate, and you are too cowardly to do so before an audience?”
“Careful,” he growled. “I am many things butcowardlyis not—and never will be—one of them, my lady.”
“But you would not chastise me before others,” Lady Bridget said. “I am left with one explanation, then.”
“Are you? Do enlighten me.”
“Despite tellingmeto ignore theton’swhispers and not react to them, you are remarkably susceptible to them yourself. You are a hypocrite.”
He smiled thinly. “Careful how many insults you throw at me, my lady. My good will is not limitless.”
“Yet another flaw of yours,” Lady Bridget rejoined, a victorious gleam in her eyes.
He took another step towards her, and in an instant, the lady’s confidence turned to hesitation. She took a wary step back, her eyes snapping to his face.
“I am prepared to scream,” she said, voice quivering.
