Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

“Please, do not make me say this to you again.” Jacob’s hand wrapped around the top of Seth’s arm. “This way.”

“Ow. Is there any point in telling you that this hurts?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Ow!” Seth said as Jacob’s grip grew tighter, and he made his pain more exaggerated, trying to make his friend laugh.

The aim was clearly a pointless one, though, as Seth was pushed outside. He found that he and Jacob were not the only ones out there. Daniel was sitting on the stone balustrade around the terrace, with his collar turned up against the cold breeze as he rubbed his hands together.

“Rachel will bite my ear off if we don’t have this conversation, Seth.” Daniel took a gulp from a glass of port beside him.

“Why do I feel as if I have been brought into some gang in the depths of London to see the boss? Should I be quaking in my boots?” Seth pretended to shudder, his knees knocking together.

Jacob laughed at his side, but Daniel found no amusement in the matter.

“You danced with Bridget,” Daniel said seriously, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Ah, well, I have always praised that eagle-eyed gaze of yours.” Seth pointed at him. “Was I being subtle?”

“How can we have a serious conversation like this?” Daniel groaned, thrusting a hand into his hair in frustration.

“He will not listen. I told you he wouldn’t,” Jacob said, moving to Daniel’s side and leaning against the stone wall. “I have seen him take too many ladies to bed to count.”

“You were worse than me before you met Emily,” Seth happily reminded him.

“My memory is clearly sketchier than yours.”

“I had noticed.”

“My point is,” Daniel cut in, “we have talked about this.”

“Seth and I had this conversation this very evening,” Jacob said, throwing his arm wildly in Seth’s direction. “He knows Bridget is out of bounds. My worry is that her being forbidden to him makes her more desirable.”

Both Daniel and Jacob looked sharply at Seth.

“Oh, if looks could kill.” Seth clutched his chest with both hands. “Those glares are worse than when you go shooting.”

“How much has he had to drink?” Daniel asked Jacob.

“Hardly anything. He’s just not in a serious mood.”

I rarely am these days.

Seth kept the thought to himself before realizing that jesting wasn’t going to help him right now.

“Very well, you wish me to be serious? Then I will.”

He turned his attention to a garden table and chairs set out on the stone terrace. He pulled the chair back and sat down, initially regretting it when he felt the dew seeping through his trousers.

Holding himself back from making a jest about his wet trousers, he sat rigidly, looking at the two of them. “I danced with Lady Bridget. I had no other intentions in mind.” He shook his head.

“Then why dance?” Daniel asked.

“Good Lord. You’d think dancing with a lady is equal to taking her to your bed.”

“I thought you were trying to be serious?” Daniel reminded him.

Seth held up his hands innocently and continued, “She wanted to dance. She was standing in a corner, quite alone.”

“She always does,” Jacob said simply.

Those words had Seth’s hands balling into fists on his thighs. He’d always hated Jacob’s attitude toward Lady Bridget.

Jacob was protective of her now that they were brother and sister, but Seth couldn’t help thinking that Jacob didn’t know the real Lady Bridget. Seth knew her better, for all his attempts to keep a distance between them.

“She doesn’t always wish to be in corners,” Seth countered, keeping his voice level. “I asked her to dance, and she accepted. It is nothing more than that. Believe me, you two have made it quite plain to me that I am not the man for her, and I know that very well.”

“Good, then we have come to an understanding.” Jacob clasped his hands together. “Pray, let this be the last we talk about this subject.”

“We are in agreement.” Seth stood, all too aware that Daniel was looking at him and hadn’t said anything at all. If anything, Daniel’s gaze had grown keener than before. “Now, may I return inside?”

“Yes,” Jacob said hurriedly.

“Wait.” Daniel stepped off the wall.

Seth halted, a step away from the door leading back into the ballroom. His hands clenched at his sides, and he forced himself to smile and look at ease as he turned back to face the pair of them.

“You said that we had made it plain you are not the man for her. Seth—” Daniel paused, angling his head to the side. “Do you have a wish to marry? Or… do you like your life as a bachelor?”

“Ha!” Seth laughed loudly. He couldn’t stand the penetrating look Daniel was giving him. He supposed it was Daniel’s training as a soldier that allowed him to see things others didn’t, but he had to halt this conversation now. “I am happy being a bachelor, Daniel. Do not doubt that. Now, I shall return inside.”

He opened the door and strode inside as hurriedly as he could. He strode across the room, putting as much distance between him and his friends as possible.

The truth of the matter—the truth that he would not tell Daniel, even if he asked—was that Seth had always thought he would marry when he had been young. It was only when his first love had pointed out to him that he was not a man a lady could ever marry that he had realized his life was not what he had thought.

* * *

This is hopeless.

Bridget sat opposite the Earl of Burnington throughout breakfast, but he never showed any interest in talking to her at all. In fact, he seemed much more interested in monopolizing conversation between a group of ladies and gentlemen at this side of the table.

Bridget sat poking at her foot, with the air smelling of coffee and the fresh pastries on her plate. It was as if the dance they had shared the night before lay long forgotten. She even wondered if she had dreamed it up.

As he engaged others in conversation, Bridget admired his handsome countenance with his blond hair. He, indeed, had a fair face, though perhaps his chin wasn’t pronounced as another’s, and his eyes weren’t as warm as the green ones she had thought of for most of the night.

What am I doing?

Finding her thoughts had inadvertently turned back to the Marquess of Ramsbury, she took a big bite of one of the pastries in front of her, trying to distract herself.

“Well, I see this is going well,” a familiar voice declared as someone pulled the empty chair beside her.

It was as if Lord Ramsbury had been summoned by her thoughts. He sat beside her, smiling easily. He nodded at the Earl of Burnington, who was sitting across from them, showing exactly what he was talking about.

“I think we were mistaken last night,” Bridget whispered, leaning toward Lord Ramsbury. When she caught sight of Rachel watching her rather keenly from near the head of the table, she feigned interest in the newspaper in front of Lord Ramsbury to justify why she had leaned so near to him. “Lord Burnington may have shared one dance with me, but I do not believe he would do so again. I am not sure he had even looked at me.”

“He must have done. He’d be mad not to,” Lord Ramsbury said simply, picking up the coffee pot and filling his cup.

“What did you say?” Bridget jerked her head up, looking him in the eye.

“I’m calling him mad.” Lord Ramsbury smiled, clearly not ashamed of the words he’d said.

“If you are going to help me as you suggested last night, I do not think you can continue with your flirtation.”

“On the contrary, that is exactly what I shall do. Consider it part of your lessons in seduction.”

“Lessons? Are we having anything so formal now?” Bridget suddenly felt a thrill rush through her at the idea of Lord Ramsbury standing before her, teaching her the art of seduction.

“I think it best.” Lord Ramsbury subtly nodded at the distracted Earl. “After breakfast, let us go for a walk, My Lady. That shall be your first lesson in flirtation.”

“I can flirt,” Bridget insisted. When Lord Ramsbury looked at her with his eyebrows raised, she repeated, “I can.”

“I have never seen you flirt.”

“That may have something to do with not wishing to flirt, rather than not being able to.”

“Very well, then prove me wrong.” Lord Ramsbury sat back in his chair, a great smile on his lips, as if he already knew the answer to this challenge. “Flirt now and capture Lord Burnington’s attention.”

Bridget couldn’t. She stared at Lord Burnington, seeing how deep he was in conversation. To try and even talk to the Earl now would be interrupting the conversation.

She leaned back and fussed with the napkin on her lap, feeling embarrassed and out of her depth.

“That’s what I thought,” Lord Ramsbruy said quietly. “There’s no shame in not knowing how to flirt. If anything, it’s a testament to your innocence.”

“My innocence?” Bridget’s brow furrowed as she looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” Lord Ramsbury paused as if searching for the right word. “Perhaps I’ll keep what I mean to myself, for now.”

Bridget leaned forward, eager to know what he meant, but he simply winked at her.

“Meet me for a walk after breakfast, and I shall give you your first lesson on flirtation.” Lord Ramsbury lifted his newspaper and began to read, indicating the end of their discussion.

In spite of herself, Bridget ate the pastry as hurriedly as she could, rather intrigued by the idea of the lesson.

When breakfast was over, she had to find a way to escape her sisters’ company. In the end, it wasn’t difficult, for they ended up playing with their children in the drawing room as most of Catarina’s guests gathered in the parlor to discuss a shooting party the next day. It offered Bridget the perfect opportunity to slip out of the house and find her way into the garden.

She pulled a fur pelisse over her shoulders and looked around as she reached the formal garden borders, checking that no one was watching her from the windows, out of fear of being seen unchaperoned in Lord Ramsbury’s company.

“I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“Oh my God!” Bridget whipped around to see Lord Ramsbury sitting on a nearby bench.

Clothed in a heavy frock coat, he sat perfectly at ease on a bench, half hidden by a great yew bush.

“Why is it you always have a habit of making me jump?”

“Perhaps I have that much power over the beat of your heart.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Now that is flirtation.” He held up his hands and stood. “Quickly, this way. Before anyone can see we are unchaperoned. I don’t fancy exercise today, and if we are seen, I think Daniel and Jacob would chase me so far that I’d be running for a long time.”

Bridget smiled as she followed him. They hastened down a path between the yew bushes, far away from the formal gardens and toward the woodland nearby. The moment they were hidden inside the woodland paths, Lord Ramsbury looked more at ease, no longer checking over his shoulder.

“So, I have a question for you before we begin this lesson.”

“What’s that?” Bridget asked, wringing her hands together and wishing she had brought her gloves.

The air was colder than she had thought, and the bare skeletal trees were rimmed in white frost. Even underfoot, the ground was slippery with ice.

“Have you ever flirted with any man?”

Bridget halted a few steps away from Lord Ramsbury and turned back to find he had come to a firm stop in the path.

“No lying now, my friend.” His voice had softened. “There’s no shame in not having flirted, and I need to know exactly what you do know if this lesson is to be thorough.”

“I…”

Bridget wished to say she had flirted, that she knew what to do, but the truth was, she knew nothing. She supposed the closest she had ever come to flirting with someone was the occasional quip she’d had with Lord Ramsbury himself.

“No.” She hung her head forward. “I have no experience.”

“Blush like that, and you’ll have any man falling at your feet without the need of flirtation.”

“What did you say?” She jerked her head up, but Lord Ramsbury went on as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

“There are principally two types of flirtation.” Lord Ramsbury started walking around her in such a tight circle that she flicked her head the other way, trying to watch him at all times. “There are words, of course—the leading flirtation of words, innuendo, and more. Yet, there’s also the physical flirtation too.”

“Physical?”

She flicked her head the other way but was a beat too late. A hand brushed her back. It was momentary, like the flutter of a wing from a passing bird, then it was gone.

“See?” Lord Ramsbury said softly. “The excuse to touch someone, or even stolen touches. They are something that will capture any man’s attention as much as words can.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like so.” He backed up from her and gestured toward a particularly icy path ahead of them. “Say you needed assistance, My Lady. By asking for my assistance, any gentleman such as the Earl of Burnington would happily oblige, and that connection begins. Like so.”

He offered her his hand. With shaking fingers, she reached toward him, knowing she had to be bolder if she was going to learn anything from him. She put her hand in his, and he led her across the frozen puddle.

“Now, say that you fear slipping and grab my hand tighter,” he whispered. “That would be the perfect opportunity.”

She did as he asked, tightening her grip on his hand, and then something foolish happened. Her boots truly slipped on the ice.