Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

C lad in one of the drabbest frocks she owned and with a cloak thrown over it, Bridget stepped into the hackney. When the indifferent driver had asked where she was headed, the words “ Brookhaven Castle ” had made the man a little less indifferent.

“Are y’ sure about that, lady?” he’d asked.

“Very,” Bridget had replied.

Taking advantage of Ellie’s absence, she’d slipped out of the house and hailed a hackney to the present address. As much as she hated deceiving her friend, she had no choice. She had to tell the duke, in no uncertain terms, to stay away from her and leave her in peace.

As the hackney rolled up the long drive, she observed the privacy afforded by the towering trees and hedges, and the estate perched on the hill in the distance.

The driver let her off at the open gates of the Tudor-style mansion and she stepped under the magnificent sweeping arched entrance before heading for the house. As she approached, she realized that the house was not as grand as she initially thought—part of it looked a touch ramshackle.

The front lawns were impeccable, but around the sides, she saw overgrown hedges and cracked stones. The marble steps were faded, and the columns had a thin coat of whitewash on them.

“I guess appearances are deceiving,” she whispered to herself.

When she rang the bell, a man in his senior years answered—his black suit, graying hair, and tailored insignia told her he was the butler. “How may I help you, Miss?”

“I am Bridget Wycliff and I need to speak with Duke Arlington.”

His brows lifted. “Do you have an appointment, Miss?”

“No, but he will want to see me,” she muttered. “You must know about the newspaper flashing my name with his and I cannot afford for him to smear my name anymore.”

“Dear me,” the man muttered. “Come in, please. I will see if His Grace is—”

“No need, Lane,” the duke’s voice came from the landing atop the sweeping staircase. “Send her up.”

Drawing the cowl from her head, Bridget gazed up to see him and was shocked to catch him improperly dressed. When the butler led her up to the landing, she swallowed a little at seeing his thick arms bared.

He looked like he had rolled out of bed and dunked his head into a basin of water to shock himself into wakefulness, with how his midnight hair curled at the collar of his brocade dressing robe. The deep V of his lapels showed the corded column of his throat, an intriguing glimpse of his muscled chest.

Levering from the balustrade, he asked, “No chaperone?”

“I did not think I needed one,” Bridget notched her head up. “I figured I only needed to spend less than a quarter-hour to get my point across.”

“Well, speak your piece then,” the duke said, while they stepped into a breakfast room, the sideboard oddly scant. “I would offer you tea but I do not think we have any. Coffee, perhaps?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, while pouring a cup and slumping into a wingback, head lolling to the side. “What do you need?”

“I need you to stop ruining my life,” Bridget declared emphatically while pulling out the folded newspaper and dropping it on his lap. “After last night, half of London mistakenly believes we’re… involved .”

The duke didn’t even spare a glance at the paper. “Aren’t we though?”

Her head jerked back. What did he mean by that? Nervously, she added, “No, we are not.”

“So, we have not kissed twice already?” He pinned her with a knowing look. “The alley and the masquerade, hm?”

Her heart sank and her blood chilled. He knew, and it felt like he had known all along. Still, she did not want to admit it. “N-no, we have not.”

Lifting a single shoulder, he scoffed. “Stop trying to deceive yourself, my lady.”

After swallowing her shock—and pride—she finally confessed, “I hoped you didn’t know, Your Grace. You acted like you did not for so long.”

“You would be hard-pressed to find something I don’t know,” he grinned wickedly. “And call me William , since we are already acquainted. As for how I knew who you were, I hired spies to tail Hansen which eventually led me back to you. And as for me acting like I didn’t know you—” He shrugged again. “—it was fun.”

“You—” She gaped, irritation sparking in her chest. “You—you—”

“If you are seeking a word to insult me, my dear, you will have a time of trying,” William said indolently. “I have been called some things that are worse than your delicate sensibilities could ever imagine, and they have slid off me like water off a duck’s back.”

Irked and mortified, she still bit back, “Nevertheless, I need you to not interfere with me and Lord Hansen. Leave us alone.”

He looked up, his eyes liquid amber as he swirled his drink. “I will do so… if you tell me one thing. Does his kiss light you up inside?”

Startled, she asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

Setting the cup on the side table, he stood and approached her. With every step he took forward, she retreated measuredly, until her back met a wall and his both palms planted on either side of her shoulders, trapping her.

His body blocked the light from the window, so in the flickering dimness, a wildfire turned his eyes into faceted amber gems. Intensity pulsed off him in waves of barely-controlled flames, and every drop of blood in her body responded to his potent energy.

“Do not lie to me,” his tone was dark. “Does his kiss spin your eyes to the back of your head? Does it make your toes curl in your slippers? Does it make your heart beat like a drum under your breastbone?”

The word slipped out in a whisper. “No.”

“Then why the hell will you marry him?” William pressed closer.

Her eyes flashed in defiance, “It is not as if I can marry you, can I?”

“What if I asked you to,” William declared, his eyes flitting from one of her eyes to the other. “Would you marry me?”

Her mouth dropped. “W-what? Are you… are you mad ?”

“Possibly,” William grinned.

The air crackled with the intensity of his stare. He cupped her cheeks between his large hands, bent his head, and slanted his mouth over hers.

Her mouth was open as his lips landed on her. He pressed his advantage to steak soft kisses but the gentle mood vanished when he threaded his finger through the soft hairs in the back of her head, tilted her jaw, and ravished her mouth with exquisite thoroughness.

He relished her dainty and limber frame, how easily he could wrench her up and down his manhood, holding her aloft with the thrusts of his hardness.

Her hands speared into his hair, and she pressed her mouth to his, kissing and kissing him as she took him deep inside. He drove in deeper still, yearning to be as close in body as he could.

William’s fingers steadily removed the pins from her coiffure, tumbling her hair to her shoulders, allowing it to fall to her mid-back.

“Your hair is like a curtain of waterfall,” he murmured against her mouth. “Beautiful.”

Lashes fluttering, Bridget stared at him, and slowly the haze over her eyes faded and panic suffused her face. Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed him away—but he did not budge. “You are mad.”

“You have not answered my question,” William replied, knowing she was right. Where had that offer come from?

Her face reddened like a copper pot on fire. “Lord knows why you want to marry me. We have nothing in common. You are a Duke, and I’m a country Miss—”

“You can learn to be a Duchess.”

“You’re a rakehell and your reputation is in the mud,” she said, hands balling into fists. “I have no interest in being married to a man who will eventually get bored of me and look elsewhere. Besides, I have dreams of my own, a purpose to fulfill—”

“I can help with anything you want,” William replied.

Her breath left her in a loud stream. “Why do you want to marry me? You... you don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”

“No, I don’t,” he said neutrally.

“Then what do you want?” Frustration was tearing at her words.

“Simply put, you ,” he replied.

She forced the words out of her tight throat. “You are proposing a marriage of convenience?”

“Yes.”

Swallowing, she admitted, “I have no dowry.”

“I do not need one,” William finally pushed away. “When I marry, my uncle will release the bulk of my fortune he is holding in trust. You shall have more than you ever bargained for.”

“You seek to marry me so you can gain a fortune and have me as an ornament on your arm, while I would be free to do as I please?” Bridget’s tone was stiff, her posture unyielding.

“Well. There is something you are overlooking.” His voice lowered to a seductive timbre. Stepping away, he sunk back to his seat and took his cup again, eyes dark and seductive as he swirled his drink. “Given our attraction to one another, I dare say we shall have enjoyable bedsport.”

Like a kettle bursting its top, she went vivid red. “That’s enough . You bounder! I—I will never— l-let me go!”

He looked up, lip curling. “Sweetheart, there is nothing holding you here.”

Bridget’s eyes shot to the doorway in shock, then she spun and ran.

“Dearest,” Eleanor murmured, her brows dipping as Bridget tugged her coat on and fixed her hat—all without looking once to her friend. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“P-perfectly fine.” This time, Bridget did look up— but it was more of a flicker than a true look—before she resumed fidgeting with her coat. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you have avoided looking at me, and I know you are nervous when you start stuttering,” Ellie replied. “Did something happen while I was away? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Bridget sighed, then met her friend’s eyes. “I am just upset… and worried. I am afraid that his continuous business with Duke Arlington will set Lord Hansen’s heart against me and I will lose him. While you were away, I kept reading the newspaper articles and I—I feel like there is this hollow sensation in my chest.”

“Oh,” Ellie’s expression cleared. “Lord Hansen is not that sort, Ellie. He is not one to look at minor issues when the truth is clear. Unusual circumstances happen and these run-ins with the duke are clearly just that. He will see through those.”

Bridget’s shoulders slumped. “You must forgive me, Ellie. I have not been in this situation for so long, I am anxious and double-guessing myself every moment of it.”

Sighing, Ellie enveloped Bridget in a warm hug. “You will be fine, dearest. If it is to be, it will be, but do not push yourself so far that you risk breaking something precious. Look at it as a glass bauble in your hand, dear. If you drop it, it will shatter, and you do not want that, do you?”

“Certainly not,” Bridget replied while pulling away. “Thank you, Ellie, I shall remember that.”

“Pardon me, my ladies,” a footman announced with a bow. “The carriage has arrived for you, Lady Bridget.”

“Thank you,” Bridget said, smiling at both the footman and Ellie. “I will be back next week.”

“You are welcome anytime,” Eleanor smiled as Bridget headed to the door. “I wish you a safe journey home.”

Safe is one thing, but holding onto my sanity is another.

Ribald cheers and shouts around the boxing ring rose in a rush of heat and noise, that it slightly threw William off for a moment. It was a good thing that this opponent was down, half sprawled on the ground, reeling from the uppercut William had just delivered.

The second match of the Circuit Rounds was underway and William was set on making this a quick win. Blood was sprinkled and splattered around the ring, but as far as William could make out, most of it was not his. He had managed to land only a few hits, but the ones he did land were heavy ones, or so he could only assume because his damned mind was otherwise occupied.

Bridget.

He knew it was unwise and dangerous to lose concentration in a match that could lend him grievous harm. Especially here in the alley in the backstreets of London, inside a square of fraying rope around a makeshift ring.

If the men clamoring in the stands had seen where he had learned to box, Oxford , they would know this was no ring. The flickering light from the weak gas lamps did not help his concentration either.

The opponent today was a young man with a wiry frame—perhaps too wiry—with light brown hair and dark blue eyes. The man had scars all over his body and while it was not unusual for streetfighters or brawlers to be so marked, the abundance of them made William wonder.

Was he—

William lurched to the side, just missing an errant fist flying in his direction by a very thin hair. Damn this distraction!

His opponent grinned, blood oozing from his nose. He dragged his wrapped wrist under his flared nostrils and began setting up for another punch.

“That was a close one!” Someone screamed.

Another shouted, “Hit him, Masked Man! Take him down!”

William circled slowly around the ring, conjuring a plan of attack before his eyes. “Ready to concede?” he taunted his opponent, wiping sweat from his brows so he could see the man clearly. “You look ready to collapse.”

“Don’t worry about me,” the other man spat, lurching forward, and William barely missed a blow to his chest, which would have been most injurious to his overall health—and his purpose, while grabbing the rope. “Worry about yourself.”

Just about done with this charade, William darted toward his opponent and delivered a complex set of punches on already purpling spots while batting away retaliatory blows.

He felt no pleasure as his opponent collapsed to the ground, clutching at his chest, but the crowd erupted nevertheless. The man tried to stand but his knee buckled, and he hit the ground with the force of a heavy sack.

“Don’t try to move anymore, lad,” William exhaled. “It's best if you stay down and catch your breath.”

“With seven to three, the match goes to the Masked Marauder!” one of the umpires shouted.

After about a minute, the man finally stood and rubbed his heaving chest, then pinned William with unsettlingly familiar blue eyes. With a straining voice, he muttered. “You—you will see me again.”

“Hopefully not,” William huffed while ducking out of the ropes. “Get some rest lad, you’ll need it.”

Silas accosted him the moment he stepped out and tossed him a towel. “You survived another match and the takings for this one were about two thousand pounds.”

“I need to head home,” William grunted.

“What?” Silas gaped. “The night is still young.”

“Not for me,” he headed to the alley mouth where his hired hackney waited. “I need a stiff drink and a warm bath.”

“And a woman?”

“Don’t you dare?” William glared.