Chapter 22

The Morning After

It felt like walking on air. That was the only way Bridget could describe it. Her heart was light, and it buoyed her entire body, lifting her onto her tiptoes as she walked. The kiss was still all she could think about.

If she had heard of another lady doing such a thing, she would have been shocked. Yet, she couldn't be shocked at herself when it had felt so right.

She entered the breakfast room to find her sister, Michael, and Nicholas.

"Good morning, Your Grace," she greeted. "Good morning, Lord Michael. Good morning, Margaret."

She received replies from all three before she sat down beside her sister.

Bridget was so giddy that she thought she might burst. It had been a ridiculous thought a couple of days ago, but she began to wonder if they would become a foursome.

Bridget looked over at the Duke as he ate his toast, and she saw something she had not seen before. When she had first met him, his reputation had preceded him, and it had clouded her judgment. Now that she knew him better and knew he was not that sort of man, she could appreciate just how handsome he was.

His black hair was swept to the side, his green eyes shone from across the breakfast table, and his pink lips reminded her of what they had done. She could not take her eyes off his lips as he bit into his toast. When a crumb stuck to his bottom lip, she wished to be that crumb. And when he licked his lips to remove the crumb, it made her stomach do somersaults.

"This is turning out to be a very fine day," Margaret stated.

It was then that Bridget realized she had been staring at the Duke for far too long, and she looked at her sister, expecting to see a knowing look in her eyes. They would talk later, and Bridget would tell her some things, but not everything. She would not dare tell anyone about the clandestine kiss in the middle of the night.

"Father has returned," Margaret added.

Bridget found that she looked straight at the Duke, as if he should be the one to comfort her. He looked back at her with a sad look on his face, and she was glad he understood her plight even if Margaret did not.

"Is it not wonderful news?" Margaret asked. Her frustration was showing through in the conversation she was having with no one.

"Yes, of course," Bridget said. "When did he arrive?"

"It must have been through the night," Margaret informed her. "I heard Mother talking about him to one of the servants this morning. He must have returned late and needs to sleep. He is having a late breakfast."

Bridget looked at the Duke again, and he gave her another depressing look. Perhaps she would take him up on his offer and have him speak to her father. The Earl might listen to him.

"How are the other wedding preparations going?" Bridget asked.

Margaret took a deep breath. "I finally feel like everything is falling into place. Father is back, and I am sure he will want to help with the preparations. I can't wait to see him dancing with Mother at the wedding."

Bridget's heart skipped a beat. "You wish to see them dancing and not me, dear sister?"

She wanted to change the subject.

"I did not know you enjoyed dancing," Margaret noted.

Bridget tried not to look at the Duke. "It has been some time, but it is your wedding, and we all should dance."

She took the opportunity to look around the room, and the Duke did not meet her eyes when she looked at him.

"If you have everything under control," Bridget continued, "perhaps we can play more parlor games. Charades was fun, and you must know some others we can play."

"You must excuse me," Nicholas spoke suddenly. "I have something I must attend to."

He finally locked eyes with Bridget, and she could not decipher what he felt. She watched him go.

Michael stood up soon after. "Please excuse me as well. I shall see what has gotten into my brother. That was rather rude," he said sheepishly.

"Oh, don't mind us, Lord Michael," Margaret said. "I am sure your brother has other things on his mind." She waited until Michael was gone before she nudged her sister with her elbow. "If anyone will know what has gotten into His Grace, it will be you."

"I… I have no idea what has gotten into him," Bridget admitted.

"Don't worry. I shall seat you together at the wedding breakfast, and I look forward to seeing you dance together. That is who you wish to dance with, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" Bridget asked.

"What has gotten into you, Bridget?" Margaret huffed.

"I have something I need to check on," Bridget said. "You must excuse me."

"Everyone has something they need to do," Margaret muttered. "I shall dine by myself, and I will enjoy my own company, thank you very much."

"I will be back soon," Bridget assured her. "I just…"

She did not finish and got up in a daze.

Bridget was sure something was wrong, even if she could not put her finger on it. The return of her father had left a bad taste in her mouth.

She did not know where to go—she did not know where the Duke had gone. Below all the unsettling feelings bubbling to the surface was still happiness that she was sure the Duke shared. She had seen the look in his eyes before he had returned to the house the previous evening. He had wanted the kiss as much as she did.

She almost bumped into him in the foyer as he walked with his brother toward the front door. They were followed by two footmen carrying a large trunk.

The Duke looked at her, and there was something behind his eyes that she could not quite place. She wanted to demand answers from him, but she could not demand them in front of Michael.

"Lord Michael," Bridget said, "I believe my sister might have mentioned she was looking for you, or perhaps she was to see you later this afternoon. My apologies, but I forget what she said."

"Thank you, Lady Bridget. I shall go and speak to her now. Is she still in the breakfast room?" Michael asked.

"She is," Bridget replied.

"I shall be back in five minutes to talk with you," Michael said, obviously frustrated with his brother.

Bridget waited until Michael was gone. "What is going on?"

"That is of no concern of yours," the Duke replied.

"Is it not?"

Nicholas looked around before he took her arm. "Come with me."

He took her outside so they could talk, and he motioned for the footmen to load the trunk onto the roof of the waiting carriage.

Bridget looked between the coach and the Duke and then between them once more. "Have you been called back to London?"

"I am returning to London," the Duke confirmed. He looked toward the coach.

"You can't even look at me," Bridget noted. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you did nothing wrong," he assured her. "I am the one who made the mistake."

Bridget tried to decipher what he was talking about, and she could only think of the kiss.

"I wanted the kiss," she told him. "You did nothing wrong. I wanted the kiss, and I think… I wish to spend more time with you."

The Duke shook his head. "That is something I cannot give you."

"What? Why not? We must spend more time together."

Bridget! Get a hold of yourself! Am I stooping to beg a man to be with me?

"No, I must leave," the Duke insisted.

Bridget placed a hand on her heart—it was beating furiously, but not in a pleasant way.

"I don't understand," Bridget murmured.

"I can't give you what you want," the Duke repeated. "I enjoyed the kiss also, but that is all it was—a kiss. We can't ever have more than that."

"What? Why? Because of what I have said? I never said I did not want to wed. I only?—"

"I know," the Duke interrupted. "It is because of what I feel. I am the one who does not want to marry and never will. I shall not tempt fate and be like my father. You wish to marry if you can find a man who respects you for who you are, and you deserve to find that. I do respect you, and I do enjoy your company—you must believe me—but I cannot marry you. If we spend more time together, I will only break your heart."

"You don't know what I want or need!" Bridget shouted.

"Do I not?" the Duke challenged. "Am I mistaken about any of the points I have made? You want more from me than I can give you—I can see it in your eyes. If I stay, I shall only break your heart, and that will break mine."

"There must be another way," Bridget begged.

"I know there is not. I felt it in the kiss. I could see our entire story laid out before me. We might be happy for a while, but it would only turn to bitterness. I might have feelings for you, and they might grow, but I cannot give you the respect you deserve by marrying you or starting a family with you. You will become another of my women, and neither of us want that."

Bridget tried to think of another way or to convince herself that she would be fine with that arrangement just to get some more time with him.

Perhaps I can convince him, change him.

"Please don't go," she croaked.

"I really did enjoy our time together," the Duke told her. "I enjoyed last night very much."

He reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it. Then, he dropped it, letting her go.

"Tell Michael I shall talk to him another time. I must leave." His eyes were glossed over. "Goodbye, Lady Bridget."

"Goodbye, Your Grace," she mumbled, unable to say anything else.