Page 45 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“You seem distracted,” Anna said.
“So do you,” Bridget argued.
Anna raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
Bridget nodded. “Every time I glance up from the pianoforte, you seem to be on the exact same page of that book. I do not believe that I have seen you turn a single page.”
Anna sighed. “I cannot help myself. I keep thinking about Mr. Russell. Oh, I adore him so!”
Bridget’s face softened. “You both seem to have much in common.”
“We do,” Anna said. “And he is so terribly handsome. I think about him constantly.”
Bridget bit her lip. She was still to be engaged to the Marquess of Thornton, and although she desperately hoped the pretend courtship spared her marriage to the man, she had no practical idea as to how that might happen. The kiss had thrown the whole plan into even more uncertainty.
“Have you spoken to our father about him?” she asked.
Anna sighed. “I have. He did not sound particularly happy with my choice. I suspect he fears that I plan to disgrace the family in some way.”
“Maybe he thinks you plan on becoming an artist’s model,” Bridget said. “He does not wish to see your body exposed to the world.”
“Knowing how our father is, maybe,” Anna said. “However, Father says that I have his blessing to allow Mr. Russell to court me and see how our courtship develops.”
Bridget nodded slowly. “That is good.”
“I wish that he was so indulgent with you,” Anna said. “I cannot believe that he still has not relented.”
“I can,” Bridget said.
She rested her cheek in the palm of her hand and glanced at Anna’s painting across the wall. She sighed.
“Do you think Father will let you court His Grace ? Have you asked about him?” Anna asked.
Bridget shook her head. “I have not. His Grace seems inclined to help me, though. Our mother might be able to speak some reason to Father. She did agree to accompany Rose and me to the modiste.”
“So that His Grace can finally replace those gowns for you.”
Bridget laughed. “Indeed.”
The thought of wearing gowns purchased with Anthony’s money filled her with warmth. She imagined arriving at a ball, dressed in one of those exquisite gowns. Bridget liked to imagine that she would have a coy, confident smirk on her face and thatAnthony’s breath would catch at the sight of her. She imagined herself walking to him and saying, “Do you like the gown that you bought for me?”
“You like him,” Anna said carefully.
“What?” Bridget asked.
Anna pursed her lips together. She tapped her fingers against the back of the settee and tilted her head a little. “You like the duke. You enjoy his company.”
Bridget’s heart thundered against her ribs. “You know I am only pretending.”
“You do not act like you are pretending,” Anna said. “I saw the two of you at the garden party. You seemed as if you truly enjoyed speaking to the Duke of Hamilton.”
Bridget’s mouth tingled when she thought of the kiss. She looked at the pianoforte, trying to focus her thoughts on something other than Anthony. If she did not, she feared her sister might guess that Bridget’s relationship with Anthony was far more than they said it was.
Bridget did not want to give her sister false hope, and besides, Anna was a romantic woman. If Bridget implied any closeness to Anthony, her sister would expect them to be wedwithin a week’s time. She would want to know every detail, and Bridget was not prepared for that.
“I do enjoy his company,” Bridget conceded, “but I—I do not wish to court him. You know that.”
“Why not?” Anna asked. “He is young and handsome. He has a title.”
