The question was deliberate, chosen for its safety, for the way it anchored him to something other than the heat coiled low in his body.
There was a brief pause, then the soft rustle of fabric as she turned toward him.
“I wanted my mother’s brooch back, but it was about more than that,” Bridget said, her tone soft as she cuddled into her pillow on the opposite side of the bed.
Adrian, as well, had taken his pillow and scooted to the far opposite side, but they had remained facing each other and talked as if they were two childhood friends reunited after spending years apart. It was pure torture.
“What else was it about?” Adrian asked.
“The child,” Bridget answered so very softly that it sent a pang through his chest. “The child did nothing wrong. It should not suffer for the sins of their parents.”
“You know, in these particular situations, most people do not think so kindly,” Adrian had pointed out.
Bridget’s smile was small and weary as she shrugged.
“Yes, but you do,” she whispered.
When he had asked her what she meant, Bridget had let out a soft yawn that tugged at his insides and nagged him to pull her into his arms, but he only clutched his pillow tighter.
“You do not hold my husband’s sins against me,” she answered, her voice growing softer as she closed her eyes. “If you did, you would hate me.”
Adrian felt a lump gather in his throat as he watched her body relax into slumber.
“I could never hate you,” he whispered. “You are an angel.”
Bridget’s only response was her soft, even breaths of slumber, and after several moments of watching her angelic features, Adrian had finally slid off his shoulder onto his back. Eventually, his thoughts slid away from Bridget’s stories and toward his own. More specifically, wondering what the end of this particular one would look like after he finally found Bridget’s husband.
Would he finally feel satisfied once he found Evander’s killer? Would the justice he so craved finally exonerate him from the deep guilt he held for not being there when his brother needed him the most? Would he move on, and what would such a move look like?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gritting from where Bridget lay sleeping. He turned to her, curious as to what it was, and found her beautiful face pursed. Her eyes were tightly shut, her nose wrinkled, and her jaw moved slightly back and forth. He recalled the moment in the carriage on their way to Penny’s, and how he caught her grinding her teeth anxiously.
“Bridget,” he whispered.
A small whimper poured from Bridget’s throat, pulling at his heartstrings, but she did not stop.
“Bridget, stop,” he whispered, moving closer before he could help it. “You are hurting yourself.”
He waited a moment, but the grinding of her teeth persisted. Unable to bear watching her hurt herself, he let out a soft shushing sound as he reached out and so very gently began to massage his thumb over her grinding jaw. Pleasure surged through him, even though it was an innocent touch.
Another whimper, this one filled with relief, escaped from Bridget’s lips, and in her sleep, she rolled toward him. He opened his arm without a thought, letting her curl tightly into his chest as he kept massaging her grinding jaw. The feel of her against him was heavenly in that moment. He pressed her close, reveling in the perfect way she fit against him.
“Shh, now, it is all right,” he whispered, languishing in the pleasure of having her so close. “Let it go. Whatever it is. Let it go.”
Bridget gave a final whimper, then let out a sigh as her clenched jaw finally released and the grinding sound stopped. Her warm breath tickled his neck as she nuzzled into that spot, and his entire body tingled with a mixture of pleasure and agony as her lips brushed the softest kiss he had ever experienced against his throat. Need struck him like a bolt of lightning, but what was more surprising was what came next.
Emotion welled up in him at the intimate touch, and to his surprise, tears pricked his eyes. Adrian gritted his own teeth, caught between wanting to give in to the pleasure of her embrace and her astounding will to commit to her marriage. Even if such a marriage had caused her so much pain.
How could he do this to you, Angel?He thought, brushing his thumb against her jaw again, even though she had stopped.If you were mine…
Adrian forced himself to stop the thought. It did not matter. She was not his, and she never would be. Furthermore, he certainly should not be holding her as if she were. He was only torturing himself further by allowing her this close. Even if she did seem better for it. The opposing thoughts raged in his mind until he could take no more, and he knew he had to stop.
Careful not to wake her, Adrian slid his body from hers and went to the window. He threw it open, the heat in his body suffocating him, and drew in a ragged breath as the cold rain drenched his face.
Adrian stayed there a long moment, willing the fire in his loins and the ache in his heart to die down as the rain drenched him.
When he finally felt his senses return, he closed the window, gathered his jacket, and left the room to go downstairs. He found the barroom far less crowded and noisy, but it was still open, and Bran and Farley were seated side by side at the bar with a mug of beer in each of their hands, deep in conversation.
“Your Grace,” Bran said, sounding a bit startled when he noticed Adrian approaching, drenched and weather-worn. “What happened to you? Is there a leak in your room?”
