Page 27 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“Bridget!” Her sister’s jovial voice sliced through Bridget’s forbidden thoughts. “There you are!”
Bridget’s face felt as if she had stepped into a furnace. Her sister could not possibly know the thoughts that swirled around in Bridget’s mind, but she nonetheless felt as though she had done something inappropriate simply by thinking about His Grace. It was strange, too. She scarcely knew the young lord, and her body had never reacted so strongly to a man’s presence before.
“Anna,” she said. “Did you enjoy conversing with Mr. Russell?”
Anna sighed, her face softening to a dream-like expression. “I did. He is such a knowledgeable man and so very supportive. I have every reason to believe that he will come to call soon.”
“That is wonderful!”
If the duke agreed to pursue this pretend courtship with her, he would surely come to call, too. Bridget smiled as a sudden warmth spread through her. The courtship would mean nothing, but she could not deny that there was a certain thrill in imagining that handsome man desiring to spend time with her.
“I am delighted for you,” she said.
“Oh! This is a rather scandalous painting,” Anna said, eyes alight with mischief. “It is fortunate that our father is not here, or I am sure he would disapprove. He might do as you suggested and paint over it all.”
“Surely not,” Bridget said. “He would try to tactfully keep us from looking at it.”
Anna nodded with mock seriousness. “Certainly. He would not want to chance either of us realizing we might desire the pleasures of the flesh.”
“Sometimes, I feel as though he disapproves of everything,” Bridget said wryly.
Anna laughed. “He means well.”
Bridget nodded, although she privately wondered how true that was. Could her father really mean well if he intended to doom her to a life of unhappiness? She did not doubt his love for her, but she did sometimes feel as though he still thought of her as a girl who knew nothing and needed protection from everyone and everything. It was as if she had never become a young lady in his eyes.
“He does,” Anna insisted. “I—I know that his choice of groom for you is unfortunate, and I hope our father sees reason soon. But I am sure he is thinking of your best interests. Maybeif—maybe if I refuse to entertain any suitors, he will be forced to admit that he has erred.”
“What?”
Anna nodded, her eyes resolute. “If I refuse to consider any suitors because of his forcing your marriage, maybe that will be enough to persuade our father to relent. Do you think, Bridget?”
Bridget could not hide an incredulous laugh. “You cannot sacrifice your happiness for mine! I have already noticed how highly you speak of Mr. Russell!”
“I do think very highly of him,” Anna replied, “but how can I allow myself to be courted by him or indulge his interest, knowing you are to be wed to the Marquess of Thornton?”
“Anna,” Bridget said, her voice softening, “how will the both of us being unloved improve the situation? It will not. If you like Mr. Russell, you must pursue him. Even if I cannot wed a man that I love, I will be made no happier by your own distress.”
Anna bit her lip. “That is… not true. If I refuse to entertain the affections of any man until he agrees that the match with Lord Thornton is unreasonable, surely our father will be forced to relent. All we need to do is support one another. I do not imagine that he will be able to justify the match if we are both united against him.”
“And what if your plan does not work?” Bridget asked. “Do you wish to lose Mr. Russell’s interest? Your face glows when you speak of him, and your eyes become so bright.”
“I have not known him for long,” Anna said. “It is not as if I have developed any deep fondness for him. I believe he is handsome, and there have been—perhaps—some un-ladylike thoughts involved. But I will not be devastated if I never see him again.”
That was likely true, but Bridget had never seen her sister so besotted. She had never heard Anna speak so highly of a man, nor so often. When Anna spoke seriously of men, which in itself was rare, it was often lamenting that they did not appreciate women’s contributions to art. Men too often believed that the fairer sex was unable to produce works of merit, and Bridget could not possibly deny her sister the company of a man who seemed to appreciate lady artists.
“But you like him,” Bridget said.
Anna sighed. Her gaze drifted to the painting before them, so Bridget looked at it, too. Her thoughts went at once to the duke, so handsome and virile. She wondered if her sister looked at the painting and thought what sweet pleasure she and Mr. Russell might find if they shared a bed.
“I was admiring the brushstrokes,” she said. “I feel like they really impact the composition of the piece. They reflect the same passion that I feel when I look at the couple.”
“I agree,” Anna said, reaching out and lightly touching the strokes that composed the woman’s thigh. “I believe this painter is fond of this particular model. I have seen her in a few of the pieces around the gallery. Can you imagine doing such a thing? Disrobing and letting a man paint you like this?”
Bridget could not, but the fantasy of doing such was delightful. She imagined His Grace asking her to pose like that. Bridget imagined herself spread over the bed, her head tossed back and her back arched, as the duke of Hamilton gazed at her from behind an easel. That place between Bridget’s legs, which she knew a proper lady ought not think of, ached with need. She tried to steady herself with a low breath of air.
Someone would take that painting home for all their guests to see. She ought to be appalled at the thought, but Bridget instead found herself shivering with something akin to delight. What would it be like to have someone gaze at her the same way that she looked at this painting? Her heart hammered against her ribs. What would it be like to have people think of her as being in love and desirable?
“I cannot imagine it,” Bridget said, sensing that her sister anticipated an answer. “Nor should you. If you want to speak ofmatters that would upset our father, you need try no harder than that.”
