Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Lady Emily has the most impressive collection of paintings in all of Britain," Anna said, excitement palpable in her voice. "Everything from the Old Masters to the modern style! She told me she recently acquired some beautiful landscape paintings, which she expects I will enjoy."

Bridget smiled, enjoying the glow of her sister's enjoyment. Since their father had revealed his desire for Bridget to marry Lord Thornton, neither she nor Anna had talked about much else. It was nice to speak of something else, especially something that Anna loved so dearly.

They walked through the foyer and into the hall where Lady Emily's exhibition was being held. Portraits lined every inch of the walls, and the air was light with the cheerful conversations of elegantly dressed men and women. Bridget felt the tension of the past few days melt away as she settled into the role of her sister's audience. While Bridget appreciated art as much as any lady, she had never admired it with the same passion that Anna did. On occasions like these, Bridget was content to leave her arm linked with her sister's and to wander slowly through the halls of paintings, while her sister shared her knowledge of all the artists and the brushstrokes needed to create each piece.

Bridget looked at the painting, which depicted a lady reading beneath a tree, and let herself be lulled into a state of peace by her sister's soft, enthusiastic voice. The day passed like that for some time until Anna inhaled sharply, the sound a discordant note in the otherwise gentle cadence of her voice.

"Is something the matter?" Bridget asked.

"No," Anna said quickly, turning her face her sister. "But do you see the gentleman standing behind me? Just a few paces away?"

Bridget arched an eyebrow. The gentleman stood before a painting of the sea, his hands clasped behind his back, as he stared at the piece. Bridget did not think she had ever seen someone gaze so intently at a piece of art, save for Anna. He was a dark-haired man with a pleasing figure, which was made all the more seemly by his well-tailored jacket.

"He is handsome," Bridget noted.

"That is Mr. Russell."

"Oh!"

Bridget gazed at the man with a new appreciation. This was the gentleman who Anna had been so utterly besotted by. While Bridget's own prospects for a love match seemed slight, she still had hope for Anna.

"We should speak to him," Bridget said. "You would surely prefer to speak about art with him than you would with me."

"That is untrue!" Anna exclaimed.

A flush rose to her sister's face, though, and Bridget did not fail to notice the shy way her sister tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "Are you thinking something wicked about him?" Bridget teased. "You look rather flushed."

"I am not!" Anna said. "It—it is cruel of you to suggest that when I… when I am looking at him."

Bridget stared at Anna, who she was certain had never seemed so flustered at the prospect of speaking to a man before.

"I would rather speak about artwork with you," Anna said, but her eyes remained on Mr. Russell. "I am certain he was only being polite when we last spoke."

"I think it is true," Bridget said. "You said that he wished to see your artwork. Do you not think it is past time to invite the man to an exhibition at Crampton House?"

"Well..."

"Introduce me," Bridget said. "It will be a good excuse for us to approach him. Besides, I simply must meet the only man who has ever gained your affections."

"They are not affections yet," Anna said, quickly glancing over her shoulder.

Perhaps they were something more superficial, but Bridget felt as though she had teased her sister enough already.

Mr. Russell did not seem to notice that they whispered about him. Anna took a few quick breaths, gathering her courage. Then she carefully guided Bridget toward the handsome Mr. Russell. Bridget cleared her throat, and the gentleman turned to look at them. His eyes lighted at once on Anna, and it was as if the sun had emerged from behind a storm cloud. The man gazed at Anna as if she were the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

"Lady Anna!" He bowed. "It is a pleasure to see you once again."

She curtsied. "Likewise, Mr. Russell. May I introduce you to my sister Bridget?"

"Charmed," Mr. Russell said. "Your sister has spoken very highly of you."

"Has she?" Bridget asked.

"Indeed. I am told that your skill with a pianoforte is unparalleled," Mr. Russell said.

If Anna had mentioned her, Bridget knew she must really find Mr. Russell to be something special. They had only met for a short period of time, too. Bridget wondered if perhaps her sister felt the same strange and powerful attraction to Mr. Russell that she did to the duke. The question felt too intimate to ask, though.

"My sister has also spoken highly of you, Mr. Russell," Bridget said. "She says you are a gifted artist."

"I would not say gifted," Mr. Russell replied. "Certainly passionate. I am particularly fond of painting Greek myths, although I know that Lady Anna prefers landscape paintings. Did you know, my lady, that Lady Emily has an entire room of landscapes? I believe they are just around the corner. I would be delighted to show you them."

Bridget hid a coy smile under the guise of fanning herself. It was quite obvious that Mr. Russell was equally besotted with Anna. "I am feeling a little warm," she said. "I believe I shall sit for a while."

Anna's brow furrowed. "Oh! Have you taken ill?"

"I am sure it is nothing," Bridget said meaningfully. "You and Mr. Russell should enjoy the landscapes. I will join you later."

A look of understanding crossed her sister's face. "If you insist," Anna said. "I would very much like to see them, Mr. Russell."

He offered his arm, looking delighted at the prospect. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Bridget," he said.

"Likewise."

Bridget watched the two walk away with a strange knot in her chest. She was happy for Anna. Truly, she was. Love was so rare in the world, and her sister seemed to have found someone who she adored. Even better, he seemed to like her, too.

Bridget rubbed her forearms. Despite her insistence that she was warm, she felt as if ice had settled into her veins. She might never find a love match of her own, and she ought to be delighted that Anna had.

She ought not feel those bitter feelings of regret, but she could not help herself. When Lord Thornton returned, their engagement would be announced. They would be wed soon after. The best that Bridget could hope for was that she might be able to give herself a little more time, a little more freedom before the inevitable.

"I am surprised to find you unaccompanied, my lady."

Bridget started. She had not heard the duke's approach. He stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the painting before them.

Heat rushed to Bridget's face, and her pulse jumped. She was alone with the Duke of Hamilton. Not entirely alone, of course. There were crowds of the ton walking about them and admiring the art, but she was speaking to him without Rose standing at her side.

"I see that you are, also."

"I arrived with Lady Rose," he said. "However, Lady Emily sought to show her a private collection, so I became unaccompanied."

"Something similar happened to me. My sister left with Mr. Russell."

"Oh."

"I implied that they should," Bridget said hurriedly. "I believe my sister finds Mr. Russell to be attractive, and I felt they deserved some time to converse together."

"That is kind of you."

"Thank you."

The Duke of Hamilton hummed. "This is a rather sensual painting."

Bridget had not noticed the painting that she stood by, and her face became even hotter when she looked at the piece of art. His Grace was right. She stood before a painting of two lovers, entirely nude, and wrapped in one another's embrace. The painting was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and hot hues warring for dominance. Even the brushstrokes seemed to exude an aura of sensuality; they were smooth and quick, as though they had been painted in some flight of passion.

"It is rather sensual," she said, turning to face the duke.

She studied his strong jaw and his handsome profile before he tilted his head, glancing at her with such heat that she felt it all the way down to her core. Bridget's toes curled inside her slippers, and she felt as if her entire body were alive and focused entirely on him. His eyes snapped back to the painting, abruptly, as it if pained him to look away from her. Bridget tore her own gaze away, knowing it would be scandalous to look at him any longer.

"I should thank you," Bridget said, offering a belated curtsey, "Your Grace, for coming to my aid at the ball."

"You hardly need thank me for that," he replied. "Any man of breeding should have aided you. I am only sorry that Lord Thornton behaved as he did."

"As am I."

Bridget fixed her eyes on the brushstrokes, her thoughts turning to Rose's plan once more. Did she dare ask His Grace if he had decided to agree to it?

"Do you have an interest in art?" the Duke of Hamilton asked.

Bridget pressed her lips together, thinking. "I like to look at art, although I am quite poor at creating it. I do not know as much about the subject as I would like either. It is my sister Anna who is the artist in the family. If you come to our townhouse, you will see her work everywhere."

"I am also a poor artist," His Grace said. A quick glance revealed that he smiled wryly. "But I once had… well, someone very dear to me once appreciated art very much, and I liked art because she did. I felt such joy seeing her happy."

Bridget remembered how she had felt when she arrived at the art exhibition and listened to her sister's excited thought on the paintings. "I understand that, Your Grace. Perhaps my feelings toward art are similar."

"Interesting."

Bridget clasped her hands to keep from fidgeting with her gown. She was too aware of how closely His Grace stood to her. The conversation felt so intimate, and she felt—well, not unpleasant, but a little unsettled by their discussion of art occurring before such a sensual piece.

"What do you suppose the purpose of art is?" His Grace asked.

Bridget blinked, taken aback by the question. Her gaze swept over the painting—of the woman's round breasts and her soft body. What was the purpose of this piece? Her heart hammered against her ribs while she tried to decide how brazen she dared to be.

"I once thought that the purpose of art was to teach us morals."

"I have heard that proposed purpose before," His Grace said. "But you said you once thought it. What do you believe now?"

Bridget lowered her eyes, tracing the shape of the man's muscular thighs. Her face was so hot that she knew she must be blushing madly. She silently hoped His Grace did not notice.

"I think the purpose of art is to cause us to feel," Bridget said. "It is to make us experience new emotions and make us feel human."

"A very thoughtful answer."

Did she imagine that his voice sounded like a purr? Bridget swallowed hard. A dull ache settled between her legs, and although she knew it was best not to think about her body's reactions to the painting and His Grace, her thoughts refused to turn anywhere else.

"Your Grace!" Rose exclaimed, as she joined them. "There is a piece of art which you simply must see!"

They both turned to look at Rose, whose face was alight with excitement. His Grace cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Lady Bridget."

Rose grinned. "I will be back in just a moment, Bridget!" she declared. "I want him to persuade Lady Emily to let me purchase a piece! Then we can talk."

Bridget only smiled.