Page 56 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“There was a kiss,” Bridget said slowly.
“Oh! And he—he regretted it?”
Bridget nodded. “He assured me that he would never kiss me again.”
“But he is a gentleman,” Anna said. “Perhaps he felt obligated to say that he regretted the kiss. That does seem like a very proper thing to do.”
“But Mr. Russell did not say he regretted yours,” Bridget said. “Honorable or not, I cannot imagine that any man who is truly besotted with a lady would say that he regretted kissing her.”
“They might,” Anna argued. “It is not as if either of us has much experience with suitors. Certainly, we have neither beenso enamored with any men before. How can we say what a man would or would not do?”
“I suppose you are right. Maybe he was simply being honorable.”
Bridget felt a flutter spread through her chest. If Anthony was simply being honorable, he might truly enjoy her company. It should not matter; they were only pretending. Nevertheless, Bridget could not deny that she rather enjoyed the idea that their ruse might become something real. She knew she was not pretending to like him; she truly did. He was kind, thoughtful, and honorable.
And if he was just being a gentleman, that meant he might love her, too. Bridget could scarcely breathe. Her mind was awhirl with images of the two of them in a darkened bedroom, his lean physique beautiful in the flickering candlelight. She imagined her hands tracing over the firm muscles of his back, and everything inside Bridget felt as though it might come undone in the most wonderful way.
Chapter 26
Anthony tilted his head, gazing at the painting of Anastasia. It remained incomplete, but he had made significant progress on the piece. A few times, he had regretted his decision to finish the painting, but he persisted. While there was much to do, he had not caused the sort of irreversible damage to the piece that he had feared.
There was a polite knock on the door. “Enter!”
The maid Elizabeth opened the door and curtsied. “Mr. David Russell has asked to see you, Your Grace.”
Anthony frowned. He glanced at the window, noting that the sun was high in the sky. It seemed as though he had been unaware of the time passing. He smiled wryly at his own folly.
“Tell him that I shall only be a moment.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Anthony carefully closed the paints and cleaned his brushes, just as he had always done. When he had first begun to paint, with Anastasia’s encouragement, she had playfullychastised him for asking his staff to clean his materials for him. A proper artist tended to his own materials, she said. She had shown him how to clean all the brushes and told him all the little things artists did to ensure their materials were ready for the next session.
Once he was finished, he locked the studio behind him. He set a brisk pace as he descended the stairs. He did not wish to keep Mr. Russell waiting. Anthony entered his study, which was where he always met his guests. Mr. Russell was already seated before Anthony’s desk, but he rose at once.
“Your Grace,” he said.
“Mr. Russell, a pleasure. Please,” Anthony said, gesturing to the chair. “Would you like a glass of brandy?”
“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
Anthony filled the two glasses with his best brandy and offered one to Mr. Russell. The man smiled and raised his glass into a small toast. Anthony placed the stopper back into the crystal decanter and took a sip of his own drink. He savored the sweetness of the amber-brown spirit on his tongue.
“I will admit that I was surprised to receive your invitation, Your Grace,” Mr. Russell said. “I do not think we have ever spoken to one another outside of social functions.”
“We have not,” Anthony agreed. “I hope you do not take offense, Mr. Russell. Since becoming the Duke of Hamilton, I have seldom seen any man outside of social functions. I have been too occupied with other matters.”
His decision to invite Mr. Russell to pay him a visit had not even been a calculated one, but rather an act of impulsivity. Mr. Russell seemed to be a likable man, and he knew what it was to love one of the Duke of Norfolk’s daughters. He might understand something about the complicated feelings that surged through Anthony every time that he thought of Bridget.
“Understandable,” replied Mr. Russell. “I am sure managing a dukedom is an enormous responsibility, more so than being a merchant’s son.”
To that, Anthony had nothing to say. He imagined Mr. Russell was likely right, but he had not the faintest idea how to address the implied compliment.
“You are getting a small measure of what it involves,” Anthony said, “since you are attending so many functions this Season.”
“Well,” Mr. Russell said, “I am pleased to have received so many invitations. In the past, I have only received a few.”
“From my predecessor.”
