“Do not pretend that your intentions are as noble as that!” Lewis scoffed. “I know you have some other motive. You are not nearly as clever as you believe, my wife.”
“And you are not nearly as unaffected by me asyouclaim, my husband!” she shot back. “I noticed how you looked at me inthe banquet hall. You looked like a starving man, and although I do not understand it all, I have some inkling of what you may want.”
Lewis stiffened, torn between anger and begrudging admiration. “You know nothing.”
“I do,” she insisted. “I know more than you may think.”
“No,” he said. “You know precisely what I think you do.”
That was what made Bridget dangerous. She knew what set Lewis’s blood ablaze, but she knew not why. Doubtlessly, she had some romantic notion that his punishment had been an act of love, simply because it brought her pleasure.
“I am not one of your fictional heroes,” Lewis continued. “I suggest that you cast such thoughts from your mind.”
His words seemed to penetrate deeply, for she stiffened her spine and set her shoulders. Bridget’s chin tipped up in that familiar defiance, and she nodded curtly. “I have already done so. I know that you are no hero. If anything, you are the villain of the story.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” she said. “If it was not for you, I might have found my love-match. I might be wed right now to a man who truly loved me, rather than one who only tolerates my company.”
“I very much doubt that.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Lewis wished that he could have taken them back. Even if they were true, they seemed far too cruel to fling at his new, young wife.
“Do you know the difference between men and women?” Bridget asked. “You are allowed your errors, but I will only ever be punished for mine.”
Without waiting for an answer, Bridget turned on her heels and stormed from the room. The instant she was gone, Lewis let out a low sigh. He should not have said that.
Worse, Bridget was right. His errors would always be forgiven more readily than her own, simply because Bridget bore the misfortune of being born a woman. And yet?—
Those errors had brought her into his path, and despite his earlier reservations, Lewis could not deny that he was just a little unexpectedly charmed by his new wife.
CHAPTER 21
Bridget smiled brightly, as the orchestra began to play a lively waltz in the foyer. It was early in the morning, and her husband had not yet awakened. He soon would, however, and the thought of her startled, disheveled husband jolting downstairs and gaping at the orchestra in astonishment made Bridget smile.
Her husband would be vexed, for commanding an orchestra to play so enthusiastically at such an early hour was entirely inappropriate. Perhaps it would even be inappropriate enough to drive those wild reactions from the man. Heat curled in Bridget’s core in anticipation of their confrontation. Perhaps she ought to do just alittlemore, though. Her eyes fell on the parlor maid, dutifully clearing dust away from the furniture.
“You!” Bridget declared.
The maid started, her brown eyes wide. “Me, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Bridget said, wiggling her fingers. “You must dance with me.”
“I—I do not know how.”
“I shall teach you. A waltz is quite easy.”
The butler, who had entered the foyer, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, I fear that the staff has much to do this morning.”
“And?” Bridget asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am certain that a little dancing will not deter them for too long. The morning could benefit from some joy.”
He bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Bridget’s expression brightened. Her husband would be as vexed by the orchestra as by her ordering about his—their—staff. “Very good,” Bridget said. “I want all the staff who can be spared to join me. See to it.”
The butler’s face reddened; he was too slow to hide the flicker of horror in his gaze. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Bridget smiled and gestured again to the parlor maid, who tentatively walked to her. “I am uncertain, Your Grace…” the maid trailed off.
