“Mona,” she sighed, reaching for her husband’s bedding. “Idobelieve this is perfectly proper. My husband took something of mine, and I want it back. If he were here, as he is supposed to be, I would not be forced to rifle through his things. However, since he is still out there doing Lord knows what, I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”
She flung the duvet and sheets back from her husband’s bed with a satisfying tug. Finding nothing but the mattress, she then reached for a pillow, picked up the letter opener she had taken from his study, and ripped open the pillow, plunging it into the soft thing. Feathers exploded everywhere, and though she found nothing there either, Bridget did feel another bout of heady satisfaction as she continued her destruction.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I do not understand why his Lordship would hide your brooch in a pillow,” Mona replied as she anxiously clenched her hands together.
Bridget paused, taking a moment to look at her maid. Up until last night, Bridget had been as anxious and worried as Mona was. Always worried that she was not polite enough. Always fearing she had done something wrong. Always worried about what people would think of her.
Then her mother’s brooch went missing, and the Duke of Redgrave arrived, and Bridget suddenly realized she was done being afraid of displeasing people. She had married the Earl to satisfy her guardians and win favor among theton,but all that had earned her was a broken heart, an obviously ruined reputation, and a possible murderer for a husband.
Somethinghad to change, and if it was not going to be Warren or society, then it would be her.
“Go,” Bridget said, her tone gentle. “I am sure Eve requires your assistance more than I do. I shall ring for you when I am finished.”
Mona’s relief was evident on her pretty, freckled, pale face, and she curtsied deeply toward Bridget.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Bridget turned back to the mess she was making and grabbed another one of Warren’s pillows. It was not just her brooch she was looking for. She had a sneaking suspicion that if it was her husband who had taken it, he had already sold it off. She was also looking for something, anything that might confirm the Duke of Redgrave’s suspicions.
Could Warren really be a murderer?
The only problem was that she was not entirely sure what she was looking for. A knife? A gun? A lynching rope? Bloody clothes? After she had shaken herself from the shocking swooning bout the Duke had made her feel, Bridget had returned to ransacking Warren’s study. Among his books, she had found copies of old newspapers. One in particular that wrote of the late Duke of Redgrave’s passing. She scoured the article, looking for any clues as to how the man had died, but found none.
Bridget felt her cheeks grow flushed yet again as her thoughts wandered back to the Duke of Redgrave. Warren had been… of average appearance. Even though he had been older and had a slightly rounder shape, she had tried to be optimistic about her rather abrupt and forced marriage.
Much, including her optimism, had changed over the years, though. His shape had grown more rotund. His jawline had turned to jowls. And his light green eyes had grown bloodshot from his constant intake of spirits. Wrinkles had formed over the smooth planes of his face, and a constant scowl took place over the smile that had soothed her nerves when she was told she was to be his wife.
The Duke of Redgrave, however, had none of those flaws. Just by looking at him in his fine black and red-trimmed suit, she knewhe was in fit form. However, when she had pulled at him, she hadfeltthe ridges of those warm muscles beneath the layers of fabric.
Then there were his piercing blue eyes, set beneath defined black brows that made his gaze almost hawk-like. His nose accentuated that intensity, as did his cheekbones, sculpted lips, and jawline.
Heat rushed through her as she brought her fingertips up to her chin, recalling how such a powerful man had so tenderly lifted her eyes up to his. He could have crushed with the flex of his palm. Instead, he had caressed her as if she were the most fragile of things.
Warren hadnevertouched like that.
“Bridget!”
Bridget snapped out of her reverie as a familiar voice shouted her name. Her head swiveled to the doorway, and she found Katie standing there, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Feeling as if she had just been caught doing something very wrong, Bridget looked down as her cheeks caught aflame.
“Katie, darling. Why are you shouting?” Bridget asked, picking up another pillow to rip apart.
“I have been standing here for several moments speaking your name as you stood there, lost in your thoughts in a fixed state,” Katie said, sounding exasperated.
Bridget turned back to her just in time to see Katie step into the room, her wide eyes taking in the destruction Bridget had caused.
“What on earth are you doing?” Katie asked.
For a moment, Bridget thought of telling her friend the truth, but as she thought of Adrian again and how his presence had made her feel, she decided against it.
“Redecorating,” Bridget answered blandly, then tossed the letter opener and shredded pillow onto the bed. “Come, let us go to the parlor. I shall have some tea brought to us, and you can tell me what brought you here.”
Katie allowed Bridget to take her arm and lead her out of the room, but her head swiveled over her shoulder one last time to inspect the mess.
“Your execution of redecorating differs vastly from mine,” Katie retorted.
“Well, our husbands certainly do not share the same tastes,” Bridget smirked, as she led her friend down the stairs. In the parlor, she ordered them tea, then took a seat across from Katie.
“I am sure…” Katie said awkwardly.
