Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Anthony did not understand how the ton managed to attend so many functions. After only one ball, he felt as though he wanted to climb into bed and sleep for a week. Trying to sleep was futile, though, for his thoughts kept returning to Lady Bridget. After a few hours of trying not to think of the gooseflesh that had risen on Lady Bridget's breasts in the night air and the sweet scent of champagne wafting from her skin, he had realized sleep was impossible and retreated to his study.

He needed something to calm the fire in his blood. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, and try as he might, he kept thinking about how her soft breasts might have felt. They had been alone together, very close to one another. If Anthony had wanted, it would have been so easy to reach forward and slip his fingers beneath the fabric of that find gown.

Worse than his attraction to Lady Bridget was the guilt he felt at betraying the memory of Anastasia. He had once thought of her in the same intimate way. He had fantasized about their wedding and their first night together, both of which had never come.

With a grimace, Anthony poured another glass of brandy and downed it, savoring the burn against the back of his throat. He idly wondered how much he would need to drink to drive away the thoughts of Lady Bridget, but he suspected it would be far more alcohol than any man ought to consume on a single night.

There was a knock at his study door. "Enter," he said.

James, his valet, was the only man awake at such a late hour, and he was only awake because Anthony was restless. He entered with tea and biscuits, placing both near Anthony's elbow.

Anthony watched idly as James poured the tea, preparing it just as Anthony liked. The valet was a dark-haired man with brown eyes and a permanently amused expression, as if he thought existence itself was something endlessly amusing. Anthony had never seen the man angry or upset.

"If I may offer some advice, Your Grace?"

Anthony hummed. "It is not your place to offer me advice, as you well know."

James glanced fleetingly at him. They both knew that sometimes Anthony was difficult simply because he could be.

"I know. That would be why I asked a question, Your Grace, rather than simply sharing my advice outright."

"How clever."

"Indeed."

"Do you know how fortunate you are to be secure in your position, James?" Anthony asked.

"I am quite aware."

Anthony's lips twitched. He took a sip of the tea. It was mint, his favorite. "Sit and tell me your advice."

"I am unsure if the advice is such that it requires me to sit," James replied. Nevertheless, he did as Anthony had requested. "I wanted to say that you ought not let your worries keep you awake throughout the night."

Anthony sighed. "It is not precisely worries that keep me awake, James."

"What is it, then? May I ask?"

"You already have," Anthony replied, "but I shall give you an answer. I was thinking of Anastasia."

"Ah." James's face softened. "A worthy subject, if ever there was one."

"Indeed."

James said nothing, instead simply waiting in silence. Anthony wondered if he had grown too predictable. James knew Anthony seldom wanted anyone to offer advice or solutions to his plight. Anthony much preferred to solve his own problems, but he did enjoy talking about his predicaments, usually with James. His valet was as loyal as they came and abhorred gossip.

"I am not as young as I once was," Anthony said.

"You are not exactly Merlin," James replied, "Your Grace."

"Nevertheless," Anthony said, "I am growing older. It is time that I turn my thoughts to the future of the dukedom, which means I will need an heir. Perhaps that is why I am having such uncomfortable feelings of late."

"Uncomfortable feelings?" James asked.

"For a certain lady," Anthony clarified. "I find myself unable to think of anything save for her, and I suspect these emotions are tied to my desire for an heir."

"Only an heir," James said.

"What else would it be?" Anthony asked, taking a biscuit.

He chewed on it while James gazed at him with a thoughtful expression. There were certain disadvantages to staff who knew one too well.

"I do not wish to contradict you," James said.

Anthony shook his head. "You may speak freely. If I do not allow that, I know you will be terribly cross with me."

"You are correct. Wise as always, Your Grace."

Anthony snorted. "Sure."

"I wanted to say that it is fine—reasonable even—if you find yourself longing for female companionship after being deprived of it for so long," James said delicately. "There is nothing shameful in desiring other women, even after the tragedy that befell Lady Anastasia."

Anthony's muscles tensed, and he worked his jaw for a few moments before managing a strangled reply. "I know that."

"Of course you do. However, knowing something and being able to believe it are two entirely different things, Your Grace."

"You are right," Anthony mused. "I hate that you are right."

"Apologies, Your Grace."

"Your apology is not needed," Anthony said, sipping his tea. "If anything, I should be thanking you for your candor. I never imagined that there would be any lady after Anastasia. I loved her so much, and when she died, I felt like the entire world ought to stop and mourn her. It seemed like an unfathomable injustice that people just kept living their lives."

"She would have wanted that," James said.

"Yes, she would have. She would have wanted me to live my life, too."

James nodded.

Anthony placed his teacup on his saucer and took another biscuit in hand. He chewed it thoughtfully. "She was more selfless than any lady I have ever met. Anastasia got this look on her face when she talked about her causes. Her eyes would brighten, and her voice would take this certain pitch. I would find myself utterly enchanted by her and unable to look away for even an instant."

James smiled.

"I always thought that she would change the world," Anthony said. "She had such fire in her and such a sharp intellect. This young lady whom I have been thinking of… she is not like Anastasia, but there is still something compelling about her."

"That sounds nice," James said.

Anthony finished his tea. "It is difficult to explain precisely why I like her. We have only spoken on two occasions, and yet I feel as if there is some undeniable pull between the two of us. I want to be near her always, and I can sense that she feels the same."

"Are you thinking about pursuing her?"

"I am unsure. I think I may wish to, but I also feel as though pursuing this young lady might be a betrayal of Anastasia's memory."

"She would want you to be happy," James told him again, softly.

Anthony ran a hand through his hair. "I know."

A comfortable silence settled between them, and Anthony felt a lull pulling at him. His eyelids were heavy, which he suspected stemmed from his drinking the tea. James had probably brought the tea knowing it would manage to coax Anthony to restfulness at last.

"Thank you for your advice," Anthony said, "and for the tea and biscuits. I think I will retire now."

James climbed to his feet and bowed. "Good night, Your Grace."

"It is past time for you to retire, also," Anthony replied. "I would not have been upset if you had stayed in bed."

"I would not be a good valet if I slept while Your Grace was distressed."

"I would not call myself distressed," Anthony said. "Nevertheless, I thank you for your loyalty."

Sometimes, Anthony wondered if he was were really deserving of it. He tried his best to be an effective duke and a gracious employer, but there were moments—mostly when he thought of Lady Rose—when he wondered if he was really as kind-hearted and charitable as he thought.

James gathered the teacup and saucer, placing both onto the silver tray. "I shall tend to these first, Your Grace."

"Thank you."

Anthony left his study. He would not say that his unease had faded. As he walked toward his bedchamber, thoughts of Lady Bridget returned. She wore that same blue gown—Anastasia's favored color—and stood on the balcony before him, her beautiful and slender form framed by the starry sky. In his mind, he had not merely stood near her. He had taken her into his arms and touched her everywhere, like he had always wanted to do with Anastasia. Anthony even dared to imagine removing the sodden garment from her body and exposing her soft, round breasts to the air. He imagined her nipples hardening like tiny rosebuds in the coolness.

She would have looked at him with those wide, guileless eyes and her coral lips slightly parted. He imagined her tossing her head back, pins falling from those carefully crafted chestnut curls. Next, Anthony thought of her calling his name as he undressed her. She would press her body against his, shy and eager. Anthony's trousers became familiarly tight, and his breath quickened. He entered his bedchamber and lowered his hand to his manhood, grunting from the small amount of pressure.

"Lady Bridget," he murmured raggedly. "What have you done to me?"

He thought of Lady Rose's idea for he and Lady Bridget to feign as though they were courting. It was a ridiculous plan, but it was no more absurd than the thought of Lady Bridget being wed to the Marquess of Thornton. And maybe if Anthony spent some time with Lady Bridget, he would learn to master these newfound desires for her. Maybe he could even rid himself of them, and then his life would be considerably less complicated.

But then, what if the exact opposite happened? What if he spent time with Lady Bridget and discovered that he bore feelings for her besides a base lust for an alluring, young woman? Anthony swallowed hard, conflicted and exhausted. Perhaps answers would be forthcoming in the morning.