Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Bridget's heart raced, her thoughts consumed with the Duke of Hamilton. He was so terribly handsome. She kept thinking of their conversation, playing it over and over in her mind. Bridget had wandered through the rest of the exhibit and at last, had returned to the painting of the lovers joined in a tight embrace.

Had His Grace felt the same way she had? Did he experience that strange and powerful spark radiating from deep in his chest? Bridget forced down the lump that rose in her throat. She stared at the painting, her eyes tracing the curve of the woman's breasts down to her shapely thighs. Bridget dared to imagine that it was herself arranged like that, her head thrown back and her body pressed against such a compelling specimen of manhood.

She dared to imagine it was the Duke of Hamilton whose embrace she was intertwined with. A jolt shot through her, making all her senses come alive. Her body seemed to warm at the thought. She imagined his hands on her breasts, his thumbs coaxing her nipples into small, pink rosebuds. Bridget's breath shuddered, and between her legs, she felt an unfamiliar twinge of need and pleasure. It was not often that she thought of her maidenhood.

"Bridget!" Her sister's jovial voice sliced through Bridget's forbidden thoughts. "There you are!"

Bridget's face felt as if she had stepped into a furnace. Her sister could not possibly know the thoughts that swirled around in Bridget's mind, but she nonetheless felt as though she had done something inappropriate simply by thinking about His Grace. It was strange, too. She scarcely knew the young lord, and her body had never reacted so strongly to a man's presence before.

"Anna," she said. "Did you enjoy conversing with Mr. Russell?"

Anna sighed, her face softening to a dream-like expression. "I did. He is such a knowledgeable man and so very supportive. I have every reason to believe that he will come to call soon."

"That is wonderful!"

If the duke agreed to pursue this pretend courtship with her, he would surely come to call, too. Bridget smiled as a sudden warmth spread through her. The courtship would mean nothing, but she could not deny that there was a certain thrill in imagining that handsome man desiring to spend time with her.

"I am delighted for you," she said.

"Oh! This is a rather scandalous painting," Anna said, eyes alight with mischief. "It is fortunate that our father is not here, or I am sure he would disapprove. He might do as you suggested and paint over it all."

"Surely not," Bridget said. "He would try to tactfully keep us from looking at it."

Anna nodded with mock seriousness. "Certainly. He would not want to chance either of us realizing we might desire the pleasures of the flesh."

"Sometimes, I feel as though he disapproves of everything," Bridget said wryly.

Anna laughed. "He means well."

Bridget nodded, although she privately wondered how true that was. Could her father really mean well if he intended to doom her to a life of unhappiness? She did not doubt his love for her, but she did sometimes feel as though he still thought of her as a girl who knew nothing and needed protection from everyone and everything. It was as if she had never become a young lady in his eyes.

"He does," Anna insisted. "I—I know that his choice of groom for you is unfortunate, and I hope our father sees reason soon. But I am sure he is thinking of your best interests. Maybe if—maybe if I refuse to entertain any suitors, he will be forced to admit that he has erred."

"What?"

Anna nodded, her eyes resolute. "If I refuse to consider any suitors because of his forcing your marriage, maybe that will be enough to persuade our father to relent. Do you think, Bridget?"

Bridget could not hide an incredulous laugh. "You cannot sacrifice your happiness for mine! I have already noticed how highly you speak of Mr. Russell!"

"I do think very highly of him," Anna replied, "but how can I allow myself to be courted by him or indulge his interest, knowing you are to be wed to the Marquess of Thornton?"

"Anna," Bridget said, her voice softening, "how will the both of us being unloved improve the situation? It will not. If you like Mr. Russell, you must pursue him. Even if I cannot wed a man that I love, I will be made no happier by your own distress."

Anna bit her lip. "That is… not true. If I refuse to entertain the affections of any man until he agrees that the match with Lord Thornton is unreasonable, surely our father will be forced to relent. All we need to do is support one another. I do not imagine that he will be able to justify the match if we are both united against him."

"And what if your plan does not work?" Bridget asked. "Do you wish to lose Mr. Russell's interest? Your face glows when you speak of him, and your eyes become so bright."

"I have not known him for long," Anna said. "It is not as if I have developed any deep fondness for him. I believe he is handsome, and there have been—perhaps—some un-ladylike thoughts involved. But I will not be devastated if I never see him again."

That was likely true, but Bridget had never seen her sister so besotted. She had never heard Anna speak so highly of a man, nor so often. When Anna spoke seriously of men, which in itself was rare, it was often lamenting that they did not appreciate women's contributions to art. Men too often believed that the fairer sex was unable to produce works of merit, and Bridget could not possibly deny her sister the company of a man who seemed to appreciate lady artists.

"But you like him," Bridget said.

Anna sighed. Her gaze drifted to the painting before them, so Bridget looked at it, too. Her thoughts went at once to the duke, so handsome and virile. She wondered if her sister looked at the painting and thought what sweet pleasure she and Mr. Russell might find if they shared a bed.

"I was admiring the brushstrokes," she said. "I feel like they really impact the composition of the piece. They reflect the same passion that I feel when I look at the couple."

"I agree," Anna said, reaching out and lightly touching the strokes that composed the woman's thigh. "I believe this painter is fond of this particular model. I have seen her in a few of the pieces around the gallery. Can you imagine doing such a thing? Disrobing and letting a man paint you like this?"

Bridget could not, but the fantasy of doing such was delightful. She imagined His Grace asking her to pose like that. Bridget imagined herself spread over the bed, her head tossed back and her back arched, as the duke of Hamilton gazed at her from behind an easel. That place between Bridget's legs, which she knew a proper lady ought not think of, ached with need. She tried to steady herself with a low breath of air.

Someone would take that painting home for all their guests to see. She ought to be appalled at the thought, but Bridget instead found herself shivering with something akin to delight. What would it be like to have someone gaze at her the same way that she looked at this painting? Her heart hammered against her ribs. What would it be like to have people think of her as being in love and desirable?

"I cannot imagine it," Bridget said, sensing that her sister anticipated an answer. "Nor should you. If you want to speak of matters that would upset our father, you need try no harder than that."

Anna smiled in amusement. "Without a doubt. I suspect he would be equally upset if one of us purchased this painting. Perhaps that is our solution. One of us will buy this painting, and we shall both be disowned. You will not be forced to marry the Marquess of Thornton."

"Assuming the artist would allow us to buy it," Bridget said. "Can you imagine telling Lady Emily that we are interested in this piece? Can you imagine the artist selling something like these to the two unwed daughters of the Duke of Norfolk?"

Anna laughed. "I am rather enjoying the thought of our father's face."

Bridget nodded, but as comical as that image was, her thoughts kept wandering to the Duke of Hamilton. Her body ached for his touch and gaze, and she fought to keep her expression neutral. She knew Anna had no way of knowing what her thoughts were, but Bridget nevertheless felt a deep and creeping fear that her sister might irrationally guess what direction her thoughts had gone.

"Bridget!" Rose's familiar voice swept through the crowd, bright and cheerful.

Bridget found her friend easily and fought down a small twinge of regret when she noted that Rose had abandoned her escort, the Duke of Hamilton. Nearly breathless, Rose halted beside Bridget and grinned.

"His Grace has agreed!" Rose exclaimed. "He has decided to pretend as though he is courting you to ward off the Marquess of Thornton's advances!"

"What?" Anna asked, looking astonished.

"It is an absurd plan," Bridget said.

"But surely our father would never refuse the will of a duke," Anna said, her eyes shining. "Oh, this will be delightful!"

Bridget slowly nodded. She fought not to gaze at the painting of the two intertwined lovers. If she did not look at the painting, she might be able to keep her thoughts from wandering toward the duke and what he might look like in such a compromising situation.

"It is very timely, too," Rose continued. "There is to be a garden tea party at Hamilton House in a few days. You should join us. It would also be a good time to remind the duke that he owes you two dresses now."

Bridget laughed. Time did not seem to be of the essence, though. The modistes would doubtlessly be buried in commissions from the ton trying to purchase a few new coats or gowns for the Season. Even if His Grace went to the modiste the very next day, it would be likely weeks before the gown was completed.

"I will do so," she said instead.

"Good," Rose said. "Of course, Anna, you must also join us."

"I would be delighted," Anna said.

"Wonderful." Rose grinned. "I shall see that the invitation arrives for you tomorrow."

"Is Anna allowed to invite a guest?" Bridget asked. "There is a Mr. Russell whom I believe she would enjoy spending more time with."

"Mr. Russell may already be on the list to receive an invitation, but I shall be certain to give him one if not," Rose said.

Anna's face reddened, and she looked askance. If Bridget was not mistaken, her sister's eyes had darted toward the painting of the two lovers.

"That would be much appreciated," Anna said, sounding embarrassed.

"Oh, what a marvelous Season it would be if we all managed to find love matches!" Rose exclaimed.

"I am not looking for a love match," Bridget said. "I am only pretending to have one."

"And men always want what other men have," Rose said, grinning mischievously. "Once the gentlemen of the ton realize that you have gained the attention of the Duke of Hamilton, I imagine they will be quite eager to win your love themselves. It will be terribly romantic, like Helen of Troy."

"Hopefully, no one dies," Bridget said dryly.

"Like Queen Guinevere and Lancelot," Rose amended.

Anna laughed. "That story also concluded with almost everyone dead."

Rose shook her head, her expression one of mock frustration. "You both are being very contrary and for no good reason. You know what I mean. Mark my words. This will be a marvelous Season for all of us."

If Bridget could free herself from the dreadful engagement with the Marquess of Thornton, while Anna and Rose found love matches for themselves, that would be a miraculous Season, indeed.

"We shall see," she said.

In the meantime, she needed to ensure that she looked the part. If a lady wanted to be courted by a duke, she needed to look her best, and Bridget felt a sharp thrill of excitement in playing the role of the woman who had managed to charm His Grace. Even if their courtship meant nothing, Bridget still found herself delighting in the idea.