Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Bridget felt a delightful tingle sweep through her as she recalled the intensity of Anthony's eyes on her. Throughout the entire performance, she had thought of Anthony. She had thought of Lady Hastings's claims at first, but the more she played—delightfully aware of Anthony's gaze upon her—the more she lost herself to her music. The world drifted away, taking with it all her worries.

Anthony had been nothing but honorable. She did not need to doubt his loyalty. How could she when he had proven that he deserved her trust? And surely her body would not awaken so when she thought of him if her growing attraction was something that she ought not indulge in. She burned for him, and a dull ache tingled between her thighs.

When she could bear it no longer, Bridget silently left her seat and carefully wove through the crowd. Rose was still playing and would not immediately notice her absence, and Anna was too engrossed in her conversation with Mr. Russell to realize that her sister was absent.

She entered the gardens and found him at once, standing before the rose bushes. Bridget cleared her throat. She hurried to him, her heart beating so loudly that its echo reverberated inside her skull.

"Anthony," she said, her voice heavy with all the longing that she had tried so desperately to hide.

He turned and faced her. "Bridget."

As they stared at one another, Bridget's toes curled inside her slippers. Even if she had doubts about Anthony, she ached to have him kiss her once again. The fact that he was only pretending to court her had no bearing on her desires.

"I was uncertain if you would join me," Anthony said.

"I probably should not have," Bridget said. "You are only feigning your attraction to me. Secret meetings are a little untoward."

"Yes. They are."

Bridget swallowed hard. "But I find that I…"

"Yes?"

Her throat was so tight that she found it difficult to speak. "I feel like I… I do not regret the kiss."

He started, appearing visible taken aback. "You do not?"

"No. In fact, I should like to—to do it again," Bridget said. "If… if I had known we were going to kiss, I feel I could have enjoyed it more."

"I am only pretending to court you."

"I know," Bridget replied. "But I find that I still want…"

"You want me?" he asked, his voice ragged and raw. "To kiss you?"

"I—I should like it. Yes."

Anthony ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. "I see."

Bridget looked askance. They were still alone, for everyone else was still in the ballroom. It would be the perfect chance for Anthony to kiss her without anyone seeing.

"Would you like to kiss me?" she asked softly.

Anthony leaned forward and tilted his head. They stood so near one another that she felt his breath warm against her cheek.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

"Yes."

His lips pressed against hers, and Bridget moaned into his mouth. He smelled of orange blossoms and lavender, and she drank in the scent of him. His lips were soft and warm against her own. She pressed herself against him, wanting him to be her entire world. Her hands found his hair, and her fingers tangled in the thick locks.

When he broke the kiss, Bridget's chest heaved for air. Her mouth tingled, and her body felt pleasantly, wonderfully alive.

"Did you enjoy that?" he murmured.

"Yes," she breathed.

His hands found her waist and pulled her to him. Bridget's hips pressed against his thighs, and she gasped as she felt a hardness dig into her stomach. She looked at Anthony with wide and questioning eyes.

"Do you find me…? I have heard that men…"

"Yes," he said, gazing at her with heat in his eyes. "Does that disturb you?"

Bridget's thighs quivered. He desired her. His body reacted to her, just as hers did to his presence. "No," she replied. "No, not at all."

Anthony kissed her again, and Bridget curled her fingers more tightly in his hair. She arched her back and kissed him as though her life depended on it. Between her thighs, heat blossomed. She moaned and pressed herself more insistently against him.

"Shall I show you something?" Anthony murmured, kissing her jaw.

"Yes," she breathed. "Show me whatever you desire."

He kept one hand on her waist. With his other hand, he grasped a handful of skirts and petticoats and slowly lifted them past her knees. She shivered as the cool air swept up her legs.

Bridget pressed her thighs against him, silently urging him to touch her core, the source of such wondrous and strange sensations. Anthony's hand caressed the inside of her thigh, and Bridget gasped.

He pressed a kiss at the hollow of her throat and another at her jaw. "Tell me if you wish for me to stop," he murmured.

"Do not stop," she said, her breath coming raggedly.

Heat rose to her face, and Bridget's stays felt suddenly too constricting. Anthony traced a hand further up her thigh, and she clung to him. His fingers brushed through the delicate curls at the entrance of her maidenhood, and Bridget shivered. The ache between her legs worsened, and muscles that she had no name for pulsed inside her.

"Please," she murmured, unsure what she was even asking him to do. "Please, Anthony."

"Patience," he murmured.

She bucked her hips against him as his hand moved lower. He rubbed his thumb at her entrance, and a jolt of pleasure surged through her. Bridget gasped again, and Anthony chuckled.

She brought her hands down, curling her fingers into the fine material of his jacket. He slowly inserted a finger into her entrance, and Bridget gasped once more. Her inner muscles clenched around him as he pumped his finger in and out. She felt damp and hot, and the ache intensified. Her thighs quivered, and the muscles in her stomach became taut. Bridget groaned, pushing against his hand and silently urging him to move his fingers harder and faster.

She moaned and bucked and twisted against his hand, and he dipped his head, trailing kisses along her neck and jaw. The top of Anthony's head brushed against her chin, as he pressed kisses to the tops of her breasts. "Oh!" Bridget cried. "Anthony!"

Her body seemed to react on its own, pulsing and bucking and twitching, and everything inside her pulled tight. When she thought she could bear it no longer, all the tightness suddenly uncoiled. She sighed as a wave of bliss overcame her. It shattered her to pieces, and she became lost in the unfamiliar sensation. White spots obscured her vision, and she blinked quickly, trying to clear them. Her breath came in uneven shudders.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed. "So much."

He chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Then Anthony withdrew his hand and roughly adjusted her petticoats and skirts, trying to return them to some order. Bridget loosened her grip on his jacket and carefully straightened her bodice, which had been pulled lower during their shared moment of passion.

"Is that how it feels when a man inserts himself?" Her voice sounded strange to her, as if she were speaking from very far away.

"Sometimes," Anthony replied, "if the man knows what he is doing."

"You seem to know that."

He grinned. "I do."

Bridget felt the faintest flicker of doubt, for the warning from Lady Hastings still rang inside her mind. For Anthony to be so good at pleasuring women, he must have done so before. Of course, she could not expect that a man would have only ever shown affection for one woman in his life. Now, he was with her, and he desired her. The past did not matter—only the future.

She gazed at his flushed face and his shining eyes. His hair was a mess from her fingers curling in it. "Your hair," she rasped.

Anthony raked his hands through his hair, forcing it flat again. "Thank you."

Bridget's breath had finally slowed. She adjusted her gown, smoothing the rumpled fabric over her legs.

"We should return to the recital," Anthony said, sounding reluctant. "Otherwise, our absence will surely be noticed."

"You are right," Bridget said. "We should not return together, or people will talk."

"Indeed. You should return first. Lady Rose will be expecting you."

Bridget carefully smoothed her own hair. "You are right," she said, letting out a small laugh. "I will return first."

"Great."

The air between them seemed charged with something new and alive. Bridget smiled. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and enjoy this newfound feeling that was growing between them, and she wanted to kiss Anthony again and move his hand back to her core.

Slowly, the exhilaration of the moment dulled. Lady Hastings's warning rang louder than ever. According to her story, Anthony had seduced a young lady and abandoned her. Now, Bridget had let him do precisely that. She trusted him, though.

"I will see you soon," she said.

"Yes."

Bridget turned away, stealthily crossing the garden. She knew Anthony watched her, and the thought of his eyes being focused solely on her filled Bridget with excitement. Lady Hastings hadn't even given her the name of the alleged lady.

There were reasons for keeping the lady's name a secret. Bridget knew that. However, she only had Lady Hastings's account of what had transpired between Anthony and this mysterious lady. Surely that was not enough information for Bridget to make an informed decision about how to approach her growing love for Anthony.

She must learn more before making a decision, and until she knew more, Bridget would continue as she had before. She would work to make Anthony love her, as she did him.

Bridget entered the manor, pausing by a mirror. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were bright. There was nothing discernibly different about her appearance, yet she felt as though she surely looked changed, as if anyone who saw her would realize instinctively that she had done something inappropriate in the garden.

"Bridget! There you are!" Rose's cheerful voice lilted in the air.

Bridget smiled and turned to face her friend. "You played beautifully."

Rose arched an eyebrow. ‘Did you hear me play? I saw you leave."

"Apologies," Bridget said with a genuine flood of guilt. "I was feeling ill, so I went to sit in the parlor for a moment. You know I become so anxious when performing before a crowd."

"I know," Rose said, her expression softening. "I was surprised that you agreed."

Bridget smiled wryly. "My mother refused to accept anything except my enthusiastic agreement."

"You did well," Rose said. "You looked quite confident and played wonderfully. His Grace could scarcely look away from you. I saw him exchange a few words with my mother and Lady Hastings, but I suspect they were discussing your performance, for the duke kept returning his eyes to you."

Bridget felt that familiar, dreaded heat return to her face. Anthony had done far more that evening than watch her performance. She ached to tell Rose about what had happened in the garden, but she knew she could not. Her amorous congress with Anthony would have to remain a secret.

"What are you doing here?" she asked instead.

"Searching for you," Rose said, cheerfully linking her arm with Bridget's. "I wanted to be the first person to congratulate you on your wonderful performance."

"You are too kind to me," Bridget replied.

"Nonsense."

This was good. If Bridget reappeared in the ballroom with Rose, the ton would be less likely to gossip about her disappearance. Then Anthony would arrive on his own, ensuring no one would suspect them of having left together.

Bridget smiled. As much as she longed to tell Rose about what had transpired in the garden, another part of her was delighted to have a secret. It made her feel like the heroine in a romance, doing something daring and forbidden. In the afterglow of her passionate moment with Anthony, everything in the world seemed possible, and Lady Hastings and her warning felt very far away.