Adrian grumbled under his breath. He was certain that people would wonder why she said that name when William Worthington wasn’t supposed to be at the party.
He rushed outside, breathing in the fresh air as he searched for a place to hide. The heat inside the ballroom was nearly unbearable, and at least out here he could think more clearly.
Aunt Beatrice would certainly come after him, especially now that they had exchanged glances. He hoped she and her son hadn’t made plans to stay with them for very long. Adrian would definitely have to do something to shorten their visit. His aunt mustn’t find out what he was up to, because if she knew, Adrian’s father would hear about it soon. Good gossip traveled fast, even if his father was in Ireland.
Immediately, the image of another door popped into his head. Earlier today, he’d stepped outside from the kitchen when he first saw Bridget and her sisters. Aunt Beatrice wouldn’t think to search for him in the kitchen. He doubted the wealthy woman—who didn’t even know her servants’ names—knew what that particular room was used for.
He hurried on, trying not to look as though he was running away. Several people had wandered outside and were in groups or couples. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he moved around the house, heading for the back of the manor and toward the kitchen door. Finally, he reached a spot in the yard where there were no people, so he quickened his step.
Just as he turned the corner, he bumped into another person. In the shadows, all he could see was a woman in a light-colored dress falling backward. A squeak escaped her mouth as her arms flailed through the air.
He scrambled to grab her and, thankfully, was able to wrap both arms around her before she could hit the ground. She tightly grasped his arms. Teetering, he wondered for a moment if he would fall himself, but he quickly gained his footing and straightened, bringing her with him.
Finally, he was able to peer into the woman’s face.Bridget Hartwell?Of all people, why did it have to be her that he bumped into… and was still holding as he gazed into her eyes? And why were her hands still clutching his arms as if she were afraid to let go?
“Oh,” she said, breathless. “I’m so sorry for—”
“No, it’s my fault entirely,” he cut her off. “I shouldn’t have been running.”
Slowly, her body relaxed, and oddly enough, she didn’t try to step out of his arms. And nor was he making any attempt to release her.
From a distance, he heard Aunt Beatrice calling for Lord William. Inwardly, he groaned. He couldn’t let her find him. But more importantly, he couldnotlet her find him with Bridget.
Chapter Four
Bridget was breathless,and it had nothing to do with almost being run over by a man in a hurry, or that she would have stained her best gown if she had fallen. But it did have something to do with the intimate hold Adrian Worthington currently had her in. Never had a man held her so closely, with his large hands braced against her back, as he stared into the depths of her eyes.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to bring moisture to her suddenly dry mouth. But it wasn’t helping, as she was still in his arms. Her heart beat out of control, and she wondered why he hadn’t released her.
Confusion flickered in his expression as he gradually relaxed his arms and pulled away. At least she could breathe better now. However, her body felt as if he’d taken the warmth from her. A chill passed through her, and she rubbed her arms.
“Mr. Worthington, what—”
“I hope you don’t mind,” he hastily interrupted while glancing behind him, “but I can’t be here.”
“What? I don’t understand. You can’t be…where?”
Grumbling, he grasped her hand. “Come with me into the kitchen.”
Not waiting for her answer, he headed for the door where Bridget had first seen him earlier today. She stumbled to keep up with him, wondering what he was running from. He opened the door and gently ushered her inside, quickly following before he pulled the door closed. He leaned his ear against the wood, his breaths coming out fast and ragged.
She glanced around the kitchen. One lamp was on but turned down low. The air smelled like stew. They must have had beef for their evening meal.
“Um… Mr. Worthington?” she asked softly. “Why are we here?”
He growled and snapped away from the door, taking her hand once again.
“Someone is following me, and I’m trying to hide because I don’t want to be found.” His gaze jumped around the room, stopping on another door. “Come,” he said, pulling her with him.
Bridget didn’t dare argue, but she was very interested to know who was following him and, especially, why he wanted to hide. She had to admit it was rather intriguing, which was why she ignored the voice in her head telling her to stop him and demand answers. But there was another voice in her head—and this one shouted a warning, telling her that they were alone. That in itself could be very disastrous.
The door opened easily enough, but as they entered, she could tell right away it was the pantry. And it wasn’t very large.
He closed the door behind him. Her back was pressed against some shelves, and he stood so very close in front of her. So close, in fact, that when she breathed deeply, the front of her gown brushed against his chest. Oh, this was not good at all. She couldn’t see his face, but she could smell champagne on his breath.
“Mr. Worthington,” she said softly, “can you kindly tell me what we are doing here? This is so very improper—”
“Shhh…” He placed a finger to her lips.
