Page 76 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
Anthony took a deep breath. He halted just a few feet away from her, taking in the sight of Bridget in her pale blue gown. The fabric emphasized her pale breasts and skimmed past her waist and hips, hinting at the beautiful form beneath. His fingers ached to remove the gown from her. He imagined Bridget, entirely naked, and stretched over a settee. Anthony envisioned himself painting her delicate form, his brush making long, smooth strokes as he crafted her perfect shape.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said, bowing.
She curtsied. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
Anthony sensed that the Duke of Norfolk and the Marquess of Thornton had halted their conversation and were watching him carefully. Let them talk. He hoped Lord Thornton was respectfully withdrawing his proposal at that very moment.
“You look lovely,” he said.
Bridget smiled and gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”
“It is not kindness to state what any man would see,” he replied. “I should like the honor of sharing a dance with you, if you would find that amenable, my lady.”
Bridget extended her hand, and Anthony escorted her to the dance floor. The song had just ended. Couples parted, finding new companions for the next dance.
“Are you well, Bridget?” Anthony asked.
There was a heat in her eyes that he had seldom seen before, and the intensity of it took his breath away. Sometimes, Anastasia had gazed at him that way. It was a look that stirred desire in a man, and he longed to pull Bridget to some private alcove or room, where they might engage in an activity that was more pleasurable than a dance.
“I am better now that you are here,” she said. “You have consumed my thoughts since our meeting in the park.”
“As you have mine.”
The first notes of a waltz lilted into the air. Anthony placed a hand on Bridget’s hip and took her other hand in his own. Waltzes were intimate dances, requiring much closenessand touching. At times, a gentleman’s legs might brush a lady’s skirts.
She smelled of English lavender and roses, so sweet and delicate that Anthony wanted to place kisses against her neck and let the scent of her consume him. He felt his pulse jump, but he danced, feigning nonchalance. As he spun with Bridget, his eyes snapped to the Marquess of Thornton. The man watched with a scowl spread across his reddened face, and Anthony grinned in triumph.
“It seems as though the Marquess of Thornton does not approve of us dancing together.”
“He does not seem like a man who approves of much,” Bridget said. “I shudder to think of what it will be like to be his wife.”
“You will not be his wife.”
“No?”
Anthony shook his head. They continued dancing, and with every touch, Anthony’s desire grew. His anger did, too. The Marquess of Thornton did not care what Bridget desired; if he did, he would not insist on marriage to a woman who disliked him. In Anthony’s mind, that made his an entirely unsuitable match for her. Bridget deserved someone who cared about herwants and needs, someone who saw her as something far more than the means to produce an heir.
“That is why we are playing this courtship,” Anthony said. “Is it not? I do not imagine anyone not believing we are madly in love. Why even I—”
He realized too late what he had nearly said: even I am beginning to feel as though I am really in love with you.
“Why, even you….?” she questioned.
He swallowed hard and smiled at her. Anthony tried to look debonair and dashing but was unsure if he succeeded. Being near Bridget made him feel unbalanced and awkward, like a man who needed desperately to impress someone. It was a feeling that was entirely unbefitting of a duke, much less one from a long and illustrious lineage.
“Even I am beginning to think that I am genuinely fond of you,” Anthony said, choosing his words with the utmost care. “I had not anticipated that we might become true friends during this performance.”
Bridget’s face pinkened. “Nor had I, Anthony. You have been so wonderful.”
They pressed their bodies together as closely as they could while still remaining within the boundaries of propriety.Bridget’s petticoats and his jacket felt like an entire sea between them. Anthony’s breath shuddered. Bridget was so warm and soft, and he imagined himself slowly and gingerly removing one of those delicate gloves from her hand. He ached to touch her, to feel her bare skin against his own.
“As have you. How does this end?” he asked, his voice rough to his own ears.
“What?”
“Us.”
Bridget’s own breath seemed to catch in her throat. Anthony heard an audible hitch, and he did not think it was from the exertion of dancing.
