She took in the house with great consideration. It was plain, yet beautiful in its simplicity. A family of white ducks were throughout the garden, which was quaintly landscaped with various bunches of hyacinths, daffodils, and gladiolas. She imagined it would be quite peaceful living in a place like this.
“Where did Farley go?” Adrian’s voice broke through Bridget’s wonderings. She then looked up to the carriage’s driver’s seat and noted that only Adrian’s driver remained.
“He hopped off on Main Street, Your Grace,” his driver replied. “Saw a sign for carriage repair and said he would bring the fixed carriage to the tavern inn when he was done.”
Adrian continued speaking to his driver as Bridget turned to face the house again. She was taking in the many windows coveredwith white curtains when, suddenly, one on the first floor was pulled back, and a pretty face appeared.
The two women locked eyes, and just as quickly as the face appeared, it disappeared again, the curtain swaying slightly from the quickness. Without a thought, Bridget started toward the house, determined to find out more about the mystery woman.
“Wait a moment,” Adrian whispered loudly from behind her.
Bridget ignored him and strode up to the gate, thrusting it open with gusto. She was so suddenly determined to meet the woman inside the house that she did not see the small step leading to the flagstone path, and suddenly, she went sailing.
She gasped instantly, tensing her body as she waited for the hard fall—but she never met the ground. Instead, she was wrapped in two bands of hard muscle and drawn back to her feet. Her heart hammered as Adrian turned her around and cradled a hand to the back of her head, the other tight around her waist.
Her heart slammed wildly as her body pressed flush to his, her senses overwhelmed by the solid breadth of his chest beneath her palms, the strength of his arm holding her in place. She could feel the hard line of his torso against her, the controlled tension in him, the warmth radiating through the layers of fabric as his breath brushed over the crown of her head.
“Tell me,” he urged testily as he held her close. “Are you attracted to danger, or does it naturally seem to find you?”
Bridget’s throat closed as she remained there, caught in his hold, her fingers curling reflexively into the front of his jacket. She became painfully aware of the strength beneath her hands, of how easily he kept her upright, how natural it felt to be held sosecurely. Yesterday, she might have summoned a sharp reply, but now she felt shaken, exposed, and achingly aware of how small she felt pressed against him.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, the words barely audible as they brushed against his chest.
For a long, suspended moment, he did not move.
She felt the hesitation in him. The way his arm tightened slightly at her waist instead of loosening, the subtle shift of his body as though he were fighting an instinct to pull her closer rather than let her go. His hand remained at the back of her head, his thumb grazing her hair once, slowly, before he seemed to catch himself.
Only then did his hold ease, just enough for her to breathe more freely, though his arm lingered around her waist longer than necessary. When he finally drew her back to look into his eyes, the warmth of his body still surrounded her, the imprint of his touch lingering on her skin long after the moment should have passed.
“What is wrong?” he gently demanded.
She took a step from his embrace, hating how she immediately missed the feel of him against her.
I am just as horrible as my husband,she silently cried.
Bridget shook her head, urging the lump in her throat to go away, and looked at the house yet again.
“I am just curious to meet my husband’s mistress,” she replied.
Chapter 12
“Iwas wondering when you might appear.”
Adrian’s stature stiffened with discomfort as he looked between Bridget and Penny. There had been no greeting when Penny had answered the door a moment ago. No false pleasantries and no request for introductions. Just those seven words.
For a moment, there was only silence. Penny’s brown eyes were grazing up and down Bridget’s body repeatedly, no doubt taking in her glowing beauty and positively stunning dress. Adrian had noted how stunning Bridget appeared in it the moment he had seen her, but kept such a thought to himself, using his anger to color over his raging lust.
Yet as Penny looked Bridget up and down, Adrian noted that Bridget’s eyes remained steadfast on Penny’s bosom. More precisely, on the cameo brooch pinned to the pale blue silk of her low-cut bodice.
“I was not aware that you would be expecting me,” Bridget answered, her tone soft yet clipped as she finally lifted her eyesto the copper-haired beauty before them. “But I suppose you know why I am here.”
Penny’s tongue darted between her lips, her bravado seemingly slipping a little as Bridget met her gaze.
Penny’s eyes flicked from Bridget to Adrian.
“I may know who you are, Lady Winslow,” Penny replied, “However—”
“Ah, forgive me,” Bridget interrupted, swaying a hand toward Adrian. “This is the Duke of Redgrave. He believes our husband has killed his brother.”
