Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Bridget's eyes burned with barely contained tears. As she stepped onto the balcony, London's night air washed over her. With the wet champagne still dripping from the bodice of her gown and the crisp wind, Bridget felt as if she were being chilled all the way down to her bones. She longed for her shawl, but she did not dare turn around and face all those staring faces in the ballroom again.

She stepped more out of view from the ballroom, lingering in the shadows as best as she could in the hopes that she would not be noticed. Her breath came in quick heaves. Having champagne poured on her was embarrassing, but that was a situation from which one could emerge gracefully with relative ease. However, Lord Thornton had made the task infinitely harder. He had raised his voice at the servant, showing a horrific lack of empathy and understanding.

"And I am supposed to wed that distasteful man!" Bridget exclaimed, her breath shuddering.

This was even worse than she had imagined. Bridget had only imagined repulsive nights and cold mornings spent with Lord Thornton. Now, she imagined him shouting at the staff for even the smallest errors. She imagined him shouting at her for not being a perfect wife. The future spread before her seemed so loud and bleak, and Bridget wanted to just flee from everyone and everything.

The doors to the balcony opened, and the Duke of Hamilton joined her. "My lady," he said softly.

Bridget sighed and rubbed her eyes. She could not find the strength to muster a smile for him, but she was sure he would not fault her for being upset. "Your Grace, I am sorry for disturbing your evening."

He closed the doors behind him, glancing briefly inside the ballroom. It occurred to Bridget that they probably ought not be alone together without a chaperone, but after the night's humiliation, she felt as if nothing could possibly make the night worse. What was one more embarrassment if the ton noticed the two of them together?

They might not notice anyway. His Grace's broad shoulders hid most of the balcony from the view of those inside, and Bridget stood in the shadows.

"You did not disturb my evening," the Duke of Hamilton said. "If anyone ought to be saying that, though, surely it is I. I am sorry that another lovely gown of yours has been ruined, and I am most regretful that you were embarrassed tonight."

Bridget laughed quietly. The embarrassment was bad, but it was nothing beside what the night's events had revealed about Lord Thornton's character. She did not wish to burden His Grace with those feelings, though.

"I worry that the ton will gossip about me," she said. "That is all. I know that it was only an accident."

"You should pay the ton no mind," the Duke of Hamilton said, his voice soft and reassuring. "Such incidents happen to everyone."

He withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to her. Bridget smiled and took it from his hand. As she did, her fingertips brushed his, and a jolt of lightning shot through her. She felt as if the entire world shifted around her. A new awareness coursed through her, and everything inside Bridget became soft and warm.

"I cannot imagine that something like this has ever happened to you," she said.

"You would be wrong," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "It is true that no particular incident comes to mind, but I am certain there is something."

Bridget took the handkerchief and gently dabbed at her shoulders and clavicle, where the wine had spilled. Her face grew hot again, but this time, the sensation came from awareness rather than embarrassment. His Grace's eyes were on her, watching. She did not dare reach between her breasts to wipe away the cold champagne that had gathered there, but when she thought of it, her pulse quickened.

"I can help," His Grace said, removing his jacket. "This will be more efficient."

He rubbed the fabric of his jacket against her shoulder, carefully soaking the liquid into the fabric. Despite the cool temperature outside, Bridget felt as though she had stepped into a furnace.

"You will ruin your jacket."

The Duke of Hamilton only smiled. "I am sure my usual laundress can repair any such damage."

He was right about the jacket being more useful for drying her gown than the handkerchief. The duke carefully rubbed the garment over her arms, neck, and waist. He did not let his hands so much as drift toward her breasts, but Bridget found herself suddenly aching for him to make a mistake. She wanted him to touch her everywhere with those large, gentle hands.

Her eyes snapped to him in his shirtsleeves. A lady was not supposed to gaze upon a gentleman in such a state, but she could not refrain from looking. Her eyes traced over his broad shoulders and chest, which was emphasized by his blue waistcoat. Her throat was dry. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. She closed her eyes and forced herself to refrain.

"Perhaps, you should like to finish?" he murmured.

Bridget's eyes opened. Had His Grace been standing so near her the entire time, or had she only just noticed? She swallowed hard and took the jacket, her fingers brushing his once again. Bridget had never thought much of her gloves before, but that thin layer of fabric was suddenly infuriating. If she were not wearing gloves, she would have touched his bare skin.

She shivered, and His Grace made a strange sound from deep in his throat. They stared at one another for a long moment, Bridget losing herself in the warmth of his green eyes. He seemed to gaze at her with equal fervor. Did his heart also beat so loudly that its echo reverberated inside his own head? Bridget's fingers curled around his jacket; it smelled of his crisp Bay Rum cologne and something warm and masculine and undeniably him.

Bridget's mouth was dry, and she licked her lips. "You are very kind, Your Grace," she murmured.

"I try to be."

The doors opened, and the duke stumbled forward in surprise. Bridget gasped as he stumbled, nearly falling into her. His hands curled around the balcony, caging her in. Bridget muffled a groan as she fantasized about him simply tilting his head and closing the small distance between them.

He turned abruptly around, putting his back to her.

"Oh!" The familiar voice cut through the air. "Bridget! Are you all right?"

"Rose," Bridget breathed.

Her friend smiled, seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation and the potential scandal of it.

"I saw it happen," Rose said, her face soft. "Did you want to borrow one of my gowns for the remainder of the evening? It would be a little short for you, but it would be dry, at least."

"I am unsure if I wish to stay the remainder of the night," Bridget confessed. "After seeing how the Marquess of Thornton behaved—"

"Do not worry about him," His Grace interrupted. "I am sure he will be angry with me, rather than you."

Bridget sighed. "I am not worried about his anger."

The duke furrowed his brow. "What do you fear, then?"

She bit her lip. She should not tell him the truth. After all, she had not even told her own father that she knew of the proposed arrangement.

"I have a brilliant idea!" Rose exclaimed. "Oh, Bridget, it will be wonderful!"

"What?" Bridget asked.

"Your Grace," Rose said, clapping her hands together. "The Duke of Norfolk wishes for Bridget to marry the Marquess of Thornton!"

"Rose!" Bridget exclaimed. "You cannot just tell him that! Even I am not supposed to know that!"

"Why?" the duke asked.

"It matters not," Bridget said before Rose could reveal the entire truth to the Duke of Hamilton. "But they do."

"And I am sure your parents would not insist on you marrying the Marquess of Thornton if you were being courted by a duke!" Rose declared. "You and His Grace should pretend to court. Then your parents will have no choice but to reconsider the arrangement!"

"That will not work," Bridget said meaningfully. Her father would still be indebted if she did not marry the Marquess of Thornton.

"It will buy you some time," Rose explained. "This is a good plan!"

"Excuse me," His Grace interrupted.

He said nothing about Rose's outlandish plan. He did not even ask for elaboration on why Bridget might be forced to wed Lord Thornton. Instead, he turned away and left with only those two words of warning.

Rose blinked, looking taken aback. "I thought it was a good plan."

"It seems His Grace did not agree," Bridget said.

"But to leave so suddenly..." Rose trailed off.

Bridget shrugged. She curled her fingers into his jacket and, after a moment, wrapped it around her shoulders. His scent, steady and warm, surrounded her like the softest counterpane. She wanted to simply sit on the balcony and breathe him in a little longer.

"Well," said Rose, "let us find you something dry to wear."

"Of course," Bridget agreed.

But somehow, being drenched in champagne seemed like such a trivial matter given all the new and strange feelings that had come over her that night. Rose's plan had provoked the most recent of them. It was a ridiculous idea, and yet Bridget found the thought of pretending to court the Duke of Hamilton to be very lovely, indeed.