A tear escaped down her cheek as she took a moment to draw in a shaky breath.
“I am starting to accept that I have been married to a monster. To a man who will never love me and probably never has.”
She let out a humorless laugh as another tear escaped.
“Which is terribly selfish of me to realize right now, as you are looking for proof that my husband is amurderer.A murderer!”
Her eyes widened with a mixture of terror and shock as her trembling grew to a worrying intensity.
“A murderer?” shegasped, as if finding it hard to breathe. “I am married to amurderer. Oh, God!”
The ache in Bridget’s voice leeched into Adrian’s bones, washing away his need to find answers in that very moment. The urge to wrap her in a tight embrace and hold her until she was calm was forceful and surprising, so much so that his hands drifted toward her. Then, suddenly, he realized what he was about to do and forced his hands back down to his sides.
What are you even doing, Adrian? Get a hold of yourself!
Chapter 4
“Lady Winslow… Bridget. I must ask that you take a moment to collect yourself,” Adrian stated, his tone awkward as he held out a kerchief from a distance.
Through her tears, Bridget glared at him, but she reached out and snatched the kerchief from his hand. She drew in a breath to gather her senses, and in doing so, she inhaled Adrian’s masculine scent. It was woodsy and laced with oiled leather. A combination that surprisingly calmed her nerves as she took another deep inhale of it.
Taking comfort in his scent was wrong, and she knew it. Yet as the Duke waited for her to calm herself, she could not help but wonder what it would be like to have that scent fully encompassing her. How warm would she feel with his muscular arms wrapped around her? She had never been held like that before. What if she never would be?
The self-pitying thought surprised her. This was not appropriate either. Especially at this particular time. Bridget pulled herself together, pushed her anger through her panic and loneliness, and stopped her tears.
“My deepest apologies, Your Grace,” she breathed, wiping the tears from her eyes, feeling steadier now. “I lost my composure for a moment.”
“It is all right,” he murmured, his warm, large hand lingering on her shoulder. Then, finally, he turned to look at her face-to-face again.
“No, it certainly is not,” she insisted. “It is not I who should be given comfort, but you. If what you say is true, it is I who should be offering you a kerchief, not the other way around.”
Adrian’s black brows flexed upward.
“Me?” he asked.
“If my husband truly is responsible for your brother’s death, then it is I who should be offering you sympathies,” she replied.
Adrian’s brows dipped down as his handsome features twisted into a dark expression.
“It is not your sympathy I need,” he stated coldly, taking a step away from her. “However, I will accept your assistance.”
His sudden shift in demeanor reminded Bridget all the more that this man before her was not there for her comfort, nor should he be. She dried her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and gave a stiff nod.
“Of course,” she replied. “How may I do so?”
“How long has it been since you have seen your husband?” Adrian asked.
Bridget swallowed the shame she suddenly felt, but refused to bow her head again.
“It has been five days,” she answered.
“And you do not know where he is?”
“As I told you before, I do not.”
“Does he take leave like this often?”
Bridget shook her head.
