He bristled, waiting for Bridget to argue with him, but to his surprise, she nodded her head as she lifted her chin proudly. His eyes once more roamed down the state of her dress, and he shook his head. He could not let her walk into Henry’s like this. The men would snatch at her like starving beasts.
“Farley,” he barked. “Hand me your cloak.”
The driver removed his cloak and handed it over to Adrian without protest, and he quickly wrapped the fabric around Bridget’s shoulders.
“Now, wait a moment—” Bridget started to argue.
“No,” Adrian stated, tying the cloak close together at her throat. “Your little act will not do well in there. You do not understand what sort of place this is. The men who frequent this establishment will not ask questions as Tommy did. They will simply grab at you. Now keep this on and keep it closed.”
He tugged the sides of the cloak tight around her front so that her dress was completely covered. Bridget glared at him, but she grabbed the edges of the fabric from the inside and held the cloak closed.
With his hand on her back, Adrian led Bridget inside the gaming hell. He noticed how her eyes went wide with curiosity as they stepped out of the street and into the establishment. Her head swiveled left to right as she took in the busy card tables, the music of the band, and the sound of boisterous and drunken laughter at the bar.
“Do not wander from me,” he murmured into her ear.
Bridget nodded quietly as her eyes landed on the nearest card table. Her head tilted slightly as she took in the men seated there, and the women who were seated on all of their laps.
“How many of these men are married?” Bridget asked him.
Adrian grimaced at the question.
“Probably all of them,” he answered under his breath. “I told you, this place is not suitable for you. You should not be here.”
Bridget turned to him with a spark of determination glittering in her eyes.
“If my husband is here, then this is exactly where I should be,” she stated plainly.
Again, Adrian marveled at her strength and will.
“Your Grace!”
Adrian forced his eyes away from Bridget as he heard his title being shouted above the melee of sound, and saw one of the gaming hell managers, Tibault, approaching him with a wide, welcoming smile.
“Tibault,” Adrian greeted, forcing a charming smile.
“I hope you are not here to start trouble again, Your Grace,” Tibault said with a chuckle as he extended his hand to Adrian.
From his peripheral vision, he caught Bridget giving him a curious look. He had visited the establishment approximately six months ago, searching for those who might have had a hand in Evander’s death. He and Damien had upset quite a few of the other patrons with their intense questioning, and a brawl ofsorts had broken out.
“That depends on what you are about to tell me,” Adrian said with a threatening smirk.
The grin on Tibault’s face faded as he let go of Adrian’s hand.
“We are looking for the Earl of Winslow. We were told that he comes here on occasion,” Adrian went on.
Tibault’s gaze fell on Bridget, and Adrian had to fight the urge to stand between them. Then he startled at the thought.
What is wrong with me? Why am I feeling so protective of a woman I barely know?
“You know we do not discuss our patrons, Your Grace,” Tibault replied, still looking at Bridget. “Especially with wives present.”
His eyes flew back to Adrian’s, narrowing.
“I would have heard if you married, Your Grace, so I know she is not yours.”
For a moment, Adrian floundered. He was not sure how Tibault had figured out such a thing.
“You are correct, sir,” Bridget said, taking advantage of the moment of silence.
