Chapter 19

Chapter 19

While many of the guests chose to spend their time playing games, Bridget found herself taking a turn through the rose gardens. Their red blooms filled the air with soft, sweet fragrance. She halted on the pathway and closed her eyes, letting herself take in their delicate scents and the gentle notes of birdsong that drifted into the air. It was serene and perfect, away from all the loudness of the ton. She did not have to pretend when she was alone.

She enjoyed pretending a little too much. Bridget had forgotten herself when she sat beside Anthony and sipped her tea and ate biscuits. It had not even occurred to her that they were only pretending because her responses came so naturally and quickly. He was a charming man. How could any lady resist falling into a gentle, lulling rhythm with him?

Perhaps her father would call off the engagement with the Marquess of Thornton now that he thought she had a potential other suitor. A better one, with a greater rank and a larger fortune.

Footsteps pounded behind her, and Bridget turned. Anthony stood a few feet away, watching her with an amused expression. Her face grew hot beneath his intense gaze. They were alone and away from everyone else, and all those forbidden fantasies that Bridget had thought of in the night sprang to the forefront of her mind.

"We should remain close to one another if we are to convince everyone that we are courting," he said, stepping closer. "I do not know that they will believe us if you appear to be fleeing to the gardens in an attempt to escape me."

Bridget clasped her hands behind her back. "I am not trying to escape you."

"Then why are you here?"

She shrugged. "I enjoy gardens, especially yours. They are always so very beautiful. Why are you here?"

"Looking for my beloved, of course. I cannot endure being apart from you for a single second."

Bridget's breath hitched. He halted scarcely a foot away from her, and something within her—perhaps, the last remnants of her resolve—crumbled to pieces. She nearly flung herself at him, pulling Anthony into a tight embrace.

"Of course," she murmured, tipping her head back to gaze at him. "I cannot imagine that any beloved of yours would ever want to be apart from you either."

"Oh?"

"You are handsome," she said.

Bridget slowly became aware of what a compromising position she was in. She had neither right nor reason to fling herself at him, but she found herself unwilling to move. Her senses were fixed only on him—on the strength of his shoulders beneath her fingertips and the heat of his body pressed against hers. It was nothing like her nighttime wonderings. He was so much more magnificent than any image or feeling that a tired mind could conjure.

"Anthony," she murmured.

His breath shuddered, and he raised a hand to her face. Anthony's knuckles gently stroked her cheekbone, and Bridget's toes curled. She gasped, and her maidenhood twitched in response to the desires she dared not voice. They were only pretending, playing the roles of two besotted lovers, except—

Except there was no one around to see them. So, who was the performance for?

Anthony tucked a curl behind Bridget's ear, and her heart raced madly. She opened her mouth to say something, but all words seemed to fly from her mind. Bridget knew dimly that she ought to tell him to leave. They should not be alone together. They needed a chaperone. They were just pretending.

All the protests died in her mouth.

"Bridget," he said.

He leaned forward and tilted his head, considering her. Anthony was so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek, and his hands slowly found her waist. She swallowed hard and drew her hands down his chest, not pushing away as she ought to but instead feeling. Bridget could imagine the body beneath the shirt, waistcoat, and jacket, and she knew that he must be pleasing to the eye. So pleasing. Their eyes met, as they had so many times before, and Bridget felt suddenly hot all over.

Then, their lips met. It was a strange feeling, an indescribable sensation of softness and firmness, and a low groan tore from Bridget's throat. She wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled herself up, going nearly onto her toes. Bridget kissed him as hard as she could, and he responded in kind. He consumed all her senses, and Bridget felt as if the world itself had stopped turning. It could have torn to pieces all about them, and Bridget did not think she would have cared.

When Anthony at last stepped away, his chest heaved for air. Bridget herself raised a hand to her bodice. Her own breaths came in quick, hot pants, and she knew her face was surely awash with color.

"Anthony," she gasped out.

"I—"

Laughter and footsteps flitted into the air, and Anthony's face became awash with panic. Bridget froze. She knew how this would appear. They would both be ruined, and that was not a part of the plan. She was not supposed to be ruined.

Anthony disappeared abruptly, slipping behind an overgrown hedge. Bridget remained where she was, gasping for air and trying to understand how the man who she was pretending to court had kissed her so earnestly in the garden. They were only pretending.

Except they were not.

That had not felt like a couple who was pretending to be in love. It had felt like two people who desperately wanted one another.

Anna and Mr. Russell rounded the corner, their eyes bright. "Oh, Bridget!" Anna exclaimed. "I did not know that you had decided to take a turn about the gardens, too. Where is your chaperone?"

Bridget forced a smile and adopted what she hoped was a neutral expression. She needed to give her sister and Mr. Russell the impression that she had simply wandered into the gardens on her own, and there was nothing at all amiss. Certainly, she did not want them to suspect that anything untoward had occurred.

"I did not feel as though I needed one just to wander the gardens," Bridget said. "Besides, I wanted to be away from the crowd for a little while. You know that I do sometimes enjoy solitude, dear sister."

"Much to our father's dismay," Anna said, giving her sister a small grin. "You look a little flushed, Bridget."

Of course, her sister would notice that. Bridget strongly suspected that having her own red face pointed out to her would only make the problem worse, too. Bridget swallowed hard, as an even worse thought came to her. What if her sister and Mr. Russell had seen the kiss exchanged between Anthony and herself?

Surely, if Anna had seen something, she would not approach it in such a coy manner,. While Anna often made teasing remarks about bedroom intimacy and finding men attractive, she would never make those jests before near-strangers. She would privately tell Bridget directly what she had seen.

If Mr. Russell had seen, however, that was reason for concern.

"You look as though you have spent too much time in the sunlight," Anna said. "You know that our mother will be terribly vexed if you ruin your fair complexion."

Bridget withheld a sigh of relief. "You are quite right. It is probably for the best that I return to the pavilion."

"Ah, Bridget!" Anthony's voice came from behind. "There you are!"

Bridget turned around in time to see Anthony emerge from around the corner, looking far less flustered than she. "Here I am," she said.

They were only pretending. She did not need to fall in love with Anthony. That was not the aim, and surely, whatever transpired between them had just been the two of them getting a little too invested in the performance that they had put on all afternoon.

It meant nothing. She must remember that.

"I thought to see if you wanted to join the others in playing any games," Anthony said. "That sounds like a lovely respite to me."

"I agree," Bridget said.

When he offered his arm, she took it without hesitation. Neither Anna nor Mr. Russell seemed aware of the scandalous scene that they had missed. Bridget sighed in relief, and she was not entirely sure what the source of it was. If she and Anthony were pretending to be in love, he must have kissed her in the hopes that someone would see. That could not be right, though. They had not been escorted by a chaperone, and if they had been caught, it would have been to the detriment of them both.

Bridget did not understand what happened. Why had he kissed her? More confusing was that she had returned his kiss. She could have pushed him away and reminded him that she was a lady. She could have sent him away before he stepped closer to her, but she had not. Worst of all, she could not even bring herself to regret the kiss, despite being unable to understand all the feelings that flooded her entire being. She wanted him to kiss her again.

She wanted him to touch her. Her light grip on his arm was not enough, and she found herself feeling frustrated at how much more intimate their contact could be. Bridget let out a low shuddering breath.

"It seems as though we all have an interest in art," Mr. Russell said.

"We do!" Anna exclaimed. "I heard you mention that you once enjoyed painting, Your Grace. Perhaps we could all have an outing together. We could visit a park and paint."

Bridget looked askance at Anthony, whose jaw tightened. "Perhaps," he said after a moment. "I would need to think about it."

"Are you so embarrassed by your paintings?" Bridget asked, keeping her voice light.

She needed to act as though everything was fine, and that meant she needed to participate in the conversation.

"I am not," Anthony replied. "In truth, I have sentimental reasons for not wishing to paint any longer."

"Oh. I did not know."

"Now, you do."

Bridget thought of their shared kiss and the painting of the lovers.

"You could still join us," Mr. Russell said. "Perhaps we could paint you, Your Grace. I have seen Lady Anna's work, and I would warrant that she can craft a portrait that equals that of any artist you have ever hired."

"You give me praise that I do not deserve," Anna said.

"Hardly," Mr. Russell said.

Bridget glanced away. She felt was though she were intruding on a private moment between her sister and her handsome suitor, and it made her own feelings all the more impossible to understand. Bridget could not allow herself to be taken in by this illusion of courtship. If only Anthony had not kissed her!

If only she had not kissed him back!

Bridget bit the inside of her cheek. "You are as talented as he says, Anna."

She tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible to do with Anthony standing beside her. The air between them felt charged with energy so potent and heavy that she felt it in her very bones. It was because he was an attractive man, and he had kissed her. That was all it had been.

Bridget felt as though she might drive herself to the brink of madness trying to understand why, though. Everything had happened so quickly, and when she tried to recollect the moment and decipher what her thoughts had been, she could not. She was not sure if she had even thought at all before kissing Anthony. It seemed as if things had simply happened for no reason at all.

The kiss had been unlike anything she had ever felt before, and Bridget found herself wondering if it was wrong of her to have enjoyed it so much.