“Do you?” Lewis’s sonorous voice interrupted Bridget’s thoughts before she could reach the dramatic conclusion of her imaginedmarriage, wherein she would inevitably become a wicked stepmother to Lewis’s illegitimate children with a beautiful, tragic actress.
Bridget took a step toward him, gazing into his stony eyes. Maybe she was being ridiculous, but Bridget burned to know. This man could not have mistresses. Even if it was expected, she would prevent it somehow. “I believe that is the usual excuse that husbands offer.”
Was his exasperated look genuine, or was he feigning frustration to cover his guilt?
“Excuse forwhat?” Lewis asked.
“Why, for meeting their mistresses,” Bridget replied. “You will not tell me where you are going or what you are doing. I am drawing a reasonable conclusion.”
Lewis’s expression darkened. “It is a little early for meeting one’s mistress.”
The answer did not provide the relief she wanted.
“Perhaps you highly favor her,” Bridget said. “That would explain why you are so hesitant to satisfy me. You give all your time and pleasure toher.”
Bridget had not even thought of the words before she spoke them, but once she had, her explanation sounded entirely tooplausible. Maybe the reason Lewis refused to give her pleasure or affection was because he had already given both to someone else, and his insistence on marrying her was a feeble attempt to conceal his sins. That possibility seemed crushingly real, for Bridget had seen so many young misses fall prey to men just like that.
He took a step toward her and gooseflesh raised on Bridget’s arms. Lewis stood so near her, and she suddenly felt very small—diminutive, even—standing before him. Her husband was an imposing man, yet she did not fear an ounce of fear for him. Desire alone curled inside her, heavy and hot.
“I have no need for a mistress,” he said. “I have you.”
Bridget shook her head and sighed deeply. “Now, you will try to convince me that you are guilty of nothing. You will expect me to be a poor, married woman, who spends her days withering and wondering where her husband is and who he is with. I shall be tragic and unhappy. I will suffer beautifully, though, like Clarissa Harlowe.”
He shook his head, but something small changed in his expression. “Do you know what I find difficult about you?”
“Everything?”
His mistress was probably not a difficult woman.
“More than everything else,” Lewis said slowly. “Because you are so deceitful, I cannot tell when you are being genuine. Is this another one of your schemes, or have you truly convinced yourself that I have a mistress and am going to see her?”
Bridget inhaled sharply. The floor seemed to tilt under her feet because he was being?—
This was the closest she had seen to softness from him.
“It is a reasonable assumption, isn’t it?” Bridget asked. “You seem resolute about abandoning me, and we are only lately wed! You will answer none of my questions about where you are going.”
Lewis raised his hand and traced his knuckles along Bridget’s cheekbone. Her breath hitched at even that feather-light touch. When he withdrew his hand, Bridget’s back arched instinctively in an attempt to follow him. “Bridget,” he said warmly. “I am going to discuss political matters with a friend. I did not answer your questions because it is boring to discuss, and I did not think you would truly care. And you have created a mistress for me out ofthat?”
Lewis grasped her hips and pulled her forward with such force that Bridget gasped in surprise. Her chest collided with his own, and her pulse jumped. Already, that familiar heat curled between her thighs. Bridget pressed her legs together, her mind darting back to their encounter in the kitchens.
Lewis lowered his head, his breath coming in warm puffs of air against her neck. His lips lightly grazed her throat, and Bridget stifled a groan. She did not want to show how eager she was, or he might realize that she had tricked him into giving her precisely what she wanted.
Lewis brought his hands down, his fingers drifting tantalizingly near her core, as he caressed her thighs.
“The—the servants might see us,” Bridget said, her voice wavering.
He chuckled darkly in her ear. “Do not pretend as if you care about what my staff might see. You chose to behave like a vixen in the entryway, and now, you will suffer the consequences of your choice.”
Bridget swallowed around the lump that rose in her throat. “Your reputation…”
“You seem determined to ruin my reputation,” he murmured, stroking her thighs. “You have created a mistress for me.”
Bridget laid her palms flat against his chest. Even through the layers of fabric, her fingers felt the firmness of his body. She ached to tear his jacket and waistcoat off him and behold the assuredly handsome body of her husband. If she did, he might realize what she was doing, though.
No, it was best for her to feign as if she was unaffected by his attention, so he did not notice how desperately she desired him. Hiding her desires was agonizing, especially when she was mostly relieved at his declaration that there would be no other women except for her. Bridget might not be someone who he loved, but she would still be the only woman to receive these attentions from him.
“I drew a reasonable conclusion,” Bridget argued.
