Page 52 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“You are, Your Grace,” Bridget said. “I have—I am not certain that I should be speaking of such matters with you, even if you are courting me.”
“Perhaps, your mother,” Anthony said.
Bridget laughed and shook her head. She loved her mother dearly, but discussing the activities of the bedchamber with her sounded rather uncomfortable. That was assuming, of course, that her mother even would discuss such things.
“I suppose I must wait until marriage to discuss them.”
Bridget felt a knot twist in her chest. If Rose’s plan did not work, she might find herself learning the pleasures of thebedroom from the Marquess of Thornton. It was a blessing that the man had not yet returned to London.
“I suppose you must,” Anthony said, “whenever that shall be.”
Bridget had not considered that. “Yes. After I am free of the Marquess of Thornton, I suppose we will need to end your courtship in some manner.”
“I had not considered that. When the time comes, I am sure we will think of something.”
“You abandoned me!” Rose exclaimed.
Laughing, she joined them. Her face was flushed, and her eyes shined with excitement. “What did you think of the poem? I have never heard its like before!”
“Nor have I,” Bridget said.
Something seemed to capture Anthony’s attention, for he glanced away from them. His eyes narrowed, and Bridget thought she saw a shadow of worry cross his face.
“Is something the matter?” Bridget asked.
“Hm?” Anthony asked. “Oh, nothing. I merely thought I saw someone that I recognized.”
Rose laughed. “I imagine that you recognize many lords and ladies here, Your Grace!”
“I do,” he said. “It was nothing. I merely—I do not often see this person very often. It was an old friend.”
“Would you like to introduce us?” Rose asked.
“No,” Anthony replied. “We are not that close. I merely—I was surprised. That is all.”
Bridget furrowed her brow. She felt instinctively as if Anthony were hiding something, but she had not the faintest idea what that might be. Anthony would have no reason to lie about having seen someone he recognized.
Chapter 24
At the poetry reading, Anthony had been certain that he saw Lady Abigail Hastings. It had only been a quick, fleeting glimpse from behind, but he was certain that it was she. Anthony raked a hand through his hair. He began to pace across the floor of his study, thinking about her and Bridget and Anastasia.
If he were a younger and more foolish man, hearing such a scandalous poem read aloud would have set his blood so aflame with desire that he might have done something quite reckless with Lady Hastings. But the years had taught him restraint, if nothing else.
He had seen the way that Bridget looked at him, though. Her eyes had been alight with heat and desire, and even as Anthony apologized for the kiss, he could sense within her that she did not regret it. Perhaps, she even enjoyed it. James was correct on one account; Anthony did not need to decide if he loved Bridget yet. However, he did have an obligation not to give the lady false hope. He could not act upon his desires, even if she reciprocated them, without knowing that he was fond of her. That was how a gentleman ought to behave. It was so very difficult to exhibit restraint when Lady Bridget was so very lovely, though.
“What have you done to me?” Anthony muttered, his eyes cast upwards to the ceiling.
He was tempted to summon James, so he would have someone to share such feelings with. However, he suspected that the conversation would end much like all the others. Anthony would express his confusion over Bridget, James would be supportive, and nothing would really be accomplished. That was frustrating. Anthony had always delighted in accomplishments. He was a man, who always strived to move forward, and yet Bridget sent his thoughts into an endless loop of I love her and want her and cannot have her.
If Anthony said such to James, his loyal valet would remind him yet again that Anastasia would have wanted him to find love. She would have encouraged his affection for Bridget. Then, Anthony would feel even more wretched. At this point, it was best to say nothing at all.
Anthony crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. “I understand sometimes why people believe in seances and such nonsense,” Anthony said. “I would give anything to speak to you again, Anastasia.”
He found himself speaking only to empty space, though. Anthony chuckled as he imagined what might happen if his loyal staff wandered past and heard him speaking to no one. They would pity him because they were kind, and whileAnthony would much rather be pitied than detested, he did not particularly enjoy either prospect.
Anthony forced down the lump that rose in his throat. On an impulse, he pushed away from the desk and left his study. There was one particular room in the townhouse which he had not visited since Anastasia’s death. He knew that the maids cleaned it, but otherwise, it was left untouched. It was a cemetery filled with ghosts of the past, and Anthony sometimes feared that if he tarried there that the ghosts would all arise and strangle him. That would certainly explain why he felt such tightness in his chest and throat when he entered the room.
Anthony curled his hand around the doorknob and took a deep breath. “You would not want this room to remain closed forever,” he murmured.
