“Come along,” he murmured. “Let us get you dry and warm.”
“Bring that stew,” Adrian commanded the innkeeper as he helped Bridget into her chair, purposely turning it toward the roaring fire in the hearth and away from the heated gazes. “And some warmed red wine for the lady. Whiskey for myself.”
It was not until the innkeeper hurried away with their order and Adrian had taken his seat that Bridget felt the warmth of the fire before them. She sighed as she leaned toward it and held her hands out, wondering about the stares boring into her back. Finally, she could not hold her curiosity any longer and turned to them.
This time, though, she found no one staring at her; everyone’s heads were bowed toward their drinks or supper. Adrian, however, had his glare fixed on all of them, as if daring them to take another look at her. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the way he did so, as if hewantedto protect her.
“Why were they staring at me like that?” she asked.
Adrian’s gaze flicked back to her, softening only slightly as he swallowed.
“You are a beautiful woman, Bridget,” he answered, his tone gruff. “What do you expect them to do?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the words, and she turned her face back toward the fire, suddenly far too aware of herself.
“Do not be ridiculous,” she whispered.
“I am not. Do you think I would have any reason to lie to you?” Adrian asked her softly.
She hesitated, her fingers curling into the edge of the cloak. “I… that is not what I meant. It is just…” Her voice faltered. “No one has ever said that to me before.”
Adrian went still. Then he said quietly, with no trace of humor, “Then they were fools.”
She turned back toward him sharply, searching his face, and when she found no mockery there, only certainty, her glare softened despite herself. Adrian caught the look and allowed the barest hint of a smirk before turning his attention back to the other men.
“You would dry faster if you removed your cloak,” he murmured after a moment of silence.
Again, Bridget felt her cheeks flush.
“What if they look at me like that again?” she asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of those intense, almost desperate looks she had seen as they had walked through the room.
“Then they will find themselves without eyes,” Adrian answered.
He stated the threat in a low, grave tone, but as Bridget watched the men tense in their seats and duck their heads lower, she wondered if his voice had somehow reached them.
“Tell me about this brooch,” Adrian insisted, as if trying to help her focus on something else.
Bridget nibbled at her lip as she removed her cloak and allowed Adrian to drape it over an empty chair, not sure what to share.
“My birth parents were not nobles,” she finally confessed, clutching the brooch tightly. “This brooch is the only thing my real mother left with me when she gave me to my guardians.”
She looked up at Adrian and found him staring at her with an intensity that stole away the last of the chill in the room. He was not staring at her as the other men had, with a sort of hunger for her flesh. No, it was as if he was looking past the brave facade she was so very much trying to wear, past the several years of practice that had taught her she should not care. He was staring deep into the hidden spot she had disguised so well, where her most vulnerable self still lived.
“I am elated for you that you were able to retrieve such a possession,” he said, his tone reverent.
Her lips ventured toward a small smile, and she dipped her head bashfully.
“Now that I have told you something,” she said. “Perhaps you could answer a question of mine as well?”
Adrian shifted in his seat, crossing one long leg over the other as he reclined. He swept a hand down his still-wet dark gray waistcoat and cleared his throat.
“I suppose so,” he said a bit begrudgingly.
“Why are you not married?” she asked.
His brows rose up in surprise, and Bridget managed a small laugh as she understood his expression. Yet it was a question that she had been burning to ask since the moment they had met. He was scolding and outright churlish with her at times, yet she also felt that such a man was a natural provider, someone who wanted to protect those in his heart and give them everything.
“Well, in truth, I never saw the need to,” he replied. “I was, I am sure, going to find the right lady at some point to call my wife. But because my brother was our family’s first heir and was so very good at it, I never thought it would be a requirement for me.”
