Page 77 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
“I will admit that I am having some difficulty in figuring that out,” she said. “I have many thoughts and feelings about it, some of which are entirely inappropriate for a lady to share.”
“Indeed?”
“Lady Hastings warned me about you,” she continued.
Anthony hissed between his teeth. “I can explain.”
“I am certain that you can, but there is no need.”
Her response caught him unaware. He could not imagine that she believed him so readily. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know you. I am certain that you would never harm a lady, and I know you must have surely fought for her happiness. She insisted that you did not, but I cannot believe that.”
Anthony nodded. They danced while he gathered his thoughts. “I thought I loved her,” he said. “We engaged in certain acts of conjugal felicity. When her father learned, he insisted that she marry Lord Hastings.”
“She told me that much, though suggested the story was that of some other woman.”
“I protested the decision,” Anthony said. “I spoke with her father and offered to wed her instead, but he would not hear of it. He cared more for punishing his daughter than he did her happiness or even her future.”
“How awful…”
Bridget’s face softened. Anthony wondered if she recognized the similarities to her own situation.
“That will not happen to you,” he said. “You will live a long and happy life, married to a husband who loves you.”
“You say that as if it is the easiest thing in the world,” she murmured.
“I know it is not, but it should be.”
He sensed that the dance was coming to an end, and he grasped Bridget just a little more tightly. She parted her lips slightly, and her eyes widened in surprise. Anthony could lean forward and kiss her so easily. She was right there, so tantalizingly within reach.
“We should probably talk about what transpired in the gardens,” he said.
“I enjoyed it,” Bridget replied, as a dust of pink spread over her cheeks. “Indeed, I have thought so often of that wondrous sensation I felt. My body has ached to feel it again.”
“And I have ached for you,” he murmured. “I have longed to touch you there again and again.”
Bridget’s breath hitched. “Would you?”
He gazed at her, his manhood throbbing with the thought of burying himself deep inside her. Anthony traced circles over the back of her hand and wished that Bridget did not wear those thin gloves.
“There are risks. Having spoken to Lady Hastings, I am sure you realize that.”
“I do, but some risks are worth taking. Are they not?”
In the question, Anthony felt the weight of all the unspoken things said between them. He was unsure what he and Bridget were. They could no longer claim to be just acquaintances. Nor could they insist that they were only feigning affection for and attraction toward one another.
What Anthony felt for Bridget was strong. It was so powerful that he found himself thinking of Anastasia and struggling—longing—to reconcile his feelings toward Bridget with his grief over his lost love.
“That is true,” he said. “The difficult part is in knowing when something is worth the risk.”
“I disagree. I think you must only listen to your heart.”
“And if the heart leads you astray?” he asked, his breath quickening.
The music stopped. For a heartbeat, they stood still together and gazed into one another’s eyes. His heart ached to be with Bridget, to soothe all her worries and ensure she had everything that she would ever need in her life. He wanted tobe the man who spared her from having to worry the aged Marquess of Thornton, and he wanted to let his body press against hers.
Anthony imagined long nights, laughing and sneaking through the darkness. He thought about his large bed and its fine linens. He thought of the settee in the parlor and the rug on the floor of his study, positioned just between the fireplace and the large windows that overlooked the gardens behind the townhouse.
