Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The poetry reading was held in Lord Elmonde's lavish library. Bridget had found her gaze wandering over the shelves, trying to read the titles of the volumes, which surely numbered in the thousands. She had never seen such a large library in her entire life. Anna sat to her right, and ordinarily, Bridget would have delighted in her sister's conversation. However, Anna's attention was thoroughly consumed by the handsome Mr. Russell, who sat beside her.

Bridget's attention was admittedly also otherwise occupied, for she had seen Rose and Anthony enter the library, accompanied by Lady Victoria. Even as Lord Elmonde—a young man with dark hair and mischievous green eyes—stood before them and read his poem, Bridget found it difficult not to let her gaze drift to Anthony.

Is he also looking at me?

She kept looking at him because they were pretending to have romantic intentions toward one another. Bridget's face warmed, and she forced her eyes forward. Lord Elmonde's poem was about two star-crossed lovers, who met only during the dark of night.

"And he caressed her thighs, as pale as moonlight," Lord Elmonde read.

He had a good voice for reading poems, deep and dark and full of passion. Bridget shivered and pressed her own thighs together. The scene Lord Elmonde painted was of the lovers intertwined with one another on a carpet of soft grass. Bridget imagined herself in the heroine's place, exposed to the night with a light breeze drifting over her and grass swaying against her thighs.

Bridget's mind readily supplied Anthony's face as that of the poem's hero, who traced his hands along the heroine's body and placed gentle kisses on her breasts, neck, and lips. A lump rose in her throat, and her heart thundered against her ribs. She felt certain that everyone surely noticed how her body reacted to the images that Lord Elmonde crafted with mere words. Bridget dared glance at Anthony. His eyes met hers.

Bridget shivered and forced her attention back to Lord Elmonde. She was so lost in her fantasies that she scarcely noticed when the poem concluded. Bridget hastened to join the applause of the impressed lords and ladies.

"What a marvelous piece!" Anna exclaimed.

"Indeed," Mr. Russell said. "I found myself quite moved by every word."

Bridget nodded and said nothing. She did not trust her voice to remain steady, and she was almost certain that Mr. Russell had found the poem appropriately romantic, as a gentleman ought. Bridget became aware of the dampness between her legs, and she took a steadying breath. If there were any more poetry readings offered by Lord Elmonde, she would have to respectfully decline the invitations.

Her body was hot with desire. Everything inside her felt tight, and she trembled a little as she rose from her chair. Around her, guests discussed their impressions of the poem, but Bridget scarcely heard a word of it. She felt out of place and out of time, her body filled with a strange and new frustration to which she could find no easy solution.

"Shall we explore some of Lord Elmonde's volumes?" Mr. Russell asked.

Anna laughed. Bridget turned toward her sister in time to see Anna place her hand on Mr. Russell's arm. The pair quickly crossed the room and went to one of the shelves of books, chuckling and whispering as they went. Bridget looked away. She felt as though she were watching a private moment. In all likelihood, Anna and Mr. Russell were going to slip away and share a gentle kiss.

A throat cleared. "Bridget."

Bridget's toes curled in her slippers. "Anthony," she said, lifting her eyes to his.

He stood a respectable distance away, but near enough to touch if she only tried. Bridget's fingers itched to reach forward and grasp his strong arms or to wrap her arms around his neck. They could share another kiss. It would be a simple enough matter to sneak behind a bookshelf unnoticed.

"I am pleased to see you here," Anthony said.

"As I am you."

Anthony chuckled; it was an anxious sound. Bridget dared to hope that he had been as affected by the poem as she was. And what a reckless thought that was! Bridget's mouth grew dry, as she considered the possibility that Anthony might have also thought of her while Lord Elmonde read his poem.

"I wish to apologize," Anthony said.

"For what?"

"For kissing you," he said, lowering his voice. "I ought not to have done that, and I am sorry. I fear that I took leave of my senses."

"Oh."

It was the worst thing he could have said. Bridget forced a smile and twisted her hands in her dress. He was apologizing for taking liberties with her, for kissing her. She ought to accept his apology without hesitation, but instead, she felt the icy sting of something like rejection.

"I will still help you," Anthony said, his voice very quiet. "We can still pretend that I am courting you, and I will maintain better control in the future. You have my word as a gentleman, Bridget."

He had still agreed to aid her, though. She had not ruined everything by allowing herself to return his kiss.

"I am as much to blame as you," she said. "I promise that I shall likewise exhibit more control in the future. I fear that I also took leave of my senses."

"Then, we are in agreement," Anthony said. "I am glad, for I have the utmost respect for you. I would never forgive myself if I had upset you."

"You could never upset me," Bridget replied.

Even as she spoke, she was not entirely sure that was true. When Bridget thought about the kiss, she felt as though she were soaring. How could she regret it? How could he say that he regretted something that had felt so wonderful?

"You seemed rather upset when my driver ruined your gown," Anthony teased.

"You made amends," Bridget replied. "The modiste is making two lovely gowns for me, and she expects them to be ready by the end of the Season. I may even be able to wear them in some of the last balls of the Season."

"One in blossom and another in fawn," Anthony said. "Lady Rose described them for me. I hope that you also requested some embellishments at my expense?"

Bridget felt that she was surely flushing like mad. Anthony wished to know what the gowns looked like. It seemed like something that lovers would discuss with one another. "I did," she said, "even though I felt a little guilty about it."

"Why?"

"I did not wish to take advantage of your generosity."

He laughed. "Generosity? I ruined your gowns, and I told you to purchase better ones at my expense."

"Indeed. My mother and Lady Victoria said something similar. I requested embroidery on the fawn gown and pearls on the blossom."

Anthony nodded. "I look forward to seeing you wear them."

Bridget shivered, conflicting emotions warring inside her. Anthony felt that their kiss was something which required an apology. Anthony had expressed a desire to see her clad in the gowns that he had paid for. His comment was entirely innocuous, but Bridget found herself wishing desperately that it was more.

"Of course, you have looked lovely all Season." Anthony paused. "I mean that sincerely and not just because I am… courting you."

He winked, and Bridget felt as if her heart skipped a beat. "That is kind of you."

"Did you enjoy the poem?" Anthony asked.

"I found it to be quite excellent," Bridget said. "The subject is not something I often read about."

"No?" Anthony asked. "I had thought you would enjoy tales of star-crossed lovers."

"I do," Bridget replied. "I meant the…the other parts."

Anthony arched an eyebrow. Had he not just implied that their kiss was a mistake, Bridget might have thought that his eyes shined with desire. Certainly, there was something intense in his gaze. She felt as though he could see all the way down to her core, as if he could sense the effect that the poem had on her.

"The conjugal felicities?" he asked. Bridget stifled a laugh and covered her mouth with her hands. Anthony grinned mischievously. "Am I correct, my lady?"

"You are, Your Grace," Bridget said. "I have—I am not certain that I should be speaking of such matters with you, even if you are courting me."

"Perhaps, your mother," Anthony said.

Bridget laughed and shook her head. She loved her mother dearly, but discussing the activities of the bedchamber with her sounded rather uncomfortable. That was assuming, of course, that her mother even would discuss such things.

"I suppose I must wait until marriage to discuss them."

Bridget felt a knot twist in her chest. If Rose's plan did not work, she might find herself learning the pleasures of the bedroom from the Marquess of Thornton. It was a blessing that the man had not yet returned to London.

"I suppose you must," Anthony said, "whenever that shall be."

Bridget had not considered that. "Yes. After I am free of the Marquess of Thornton, I suppose we will need to end your courtship in some manner."

"I had not considered that. When the time comes, I am sure we will think of something."

"You abandoned me!" Rose exclaimed.

Laughing, she joined them. Her face was flushed, and her eyes shined with excitement. "What did you think of the poem? I have never heard its like before!"

"Nor have I," Bridget said.

Something seemed to capture Anthony's attention, for he glanced away from them. His eyes narrowed, and Bridget thought she saw a shadow of worry cross his face.

"Is something the matter?" Bridget asked.

"Hm?" Anthony asked. "Oh, nothing. I merely thought I saw someone that I recognized."

Rose laughed. "I imagine that you recognize many lords and ladies here, Your Grace!"

"I do," he said. "It was nothing. I merely—I do not often see this person very often. It was an old friend."

"Would you like to introduce us?" Rose asked.

"No," Anthony replied. "We are not that close. I merely—I was surprised. That is all."

Bridget furrowed her brow. She felt instinctively as if Anthony were hiding something, but she had not the faintest idea what that might be. Anthony would have no reason to lie about having seen someone he recognized.