Beguiling Bridget by Rachel van Dyken, Leah Sanders

that Bridget had no desire to endure. And how was she to explain to a woman like her grandmother her reasons for not wanting to marry? It was impossible for anyone to understand the world in which Bridget had grown up. The constant pressure, the rejection, and finally the betrayal, which had caused such scars that Bridget could think of nothing worse than being married to a man who had the power to break her heart.
    The dowager scowled and grunted then turned her focus on Aunt Latissia, who squirmed under the weight of her mother’s cold stare. “I entrusted you with this very simple task, Latissia. I am…” She closed her eyes momentarily for effect. “ Disappointed in your incompetence. Bridget is a comely girl with a sizeable dowry. It should have been accomplished weeks ago. Your failure in this will not be tolerated. So if you have even a sliver of sense, you will set aside your own… amorous endeavors and attend to Bridget’s.”
    Geneva entered in that moment with the tea service, interrupting the thick tension of the moment.
    “I will not be staying for tea,” the dowager said and rose from her seat. Aunt Latissia and Bridget rose with her. “You understand my instructions. See to it.” She turned on her heel and was gone.
    Bridget released the breath she had been holding and glanced at her aunt expecting a similar sigh of relief.
    Instead the scowl on her aunt’s face was reminiscent of an angry wolf deprived of her latest kill.
    Slowly, Bridget lowered herself back into her seat and took up a cup of tea, avoiding eye contact for as long as possible, a strategy that soon proved to be ineffective.
    Aunt Latissia stepped directly in front of her and glowered down at her, leveling an index finger in Bridget’s face. “Now hear me. I shall not … endure that again. Tonight. At the ball. You shall affect a gentleman’s attention. And I shall haunt your every move until you do so.”

Chapter Six
    Conceding the Bout
     
    Self-consciously, Anthony raised his gloved hand to his cheek. The very same cheek on which Lady Bridget had indeed left a permanent impression the night previous. He saw it coming — saw the flash of anger in her eyes, the passion pulsing in her veins — as her breath grew labored, and finally the dainty gloved hand sailed through the air toward its target. He could have stopped it. After all, he had experienced such assaults from women who didn’t appreciate his charms. Though in his life, it had happened exactly twice. Nevertheless, he still knew what to expect.
    He smiled to himself as he strode toward the grand house. He wouldn’t have moved for all the tea in China. It was necessary to give her the pleasure of the slap, for it meant she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about taking pleasure in the kiss they shared, and he was entirely convinced she’d enjoyed it.
    With a chuckle he reached his destination. The Duke of Hasbrough was throwing his annual ball, and Anthony knew Lady Bridget would be attending. Of course, all odds were against her speaking to him again after the stolen kiss. So he waited along the wall for that glorious red hair to appear amidst the bland storm of browns and yellows.
    “There you are,” he whispered to himself as he spied Lady Bridget entering the ballroom. Erring on the side of caution, he chose to take advantage of the element of surprise. Quite like a burglar, he snuck up behind her, reached for her arm, and managed to sweep her onto the dance floor before her aunt realized she was gone.
    “I don’t believe you’re on my card, my lord,” Lady Bridget said through her teeth. Another advantage — she wouldn’t make a scene. She didn’t want the attention.
    “I’m claiming this dance, and all the rest of them, unless you give me a minute of your time. I have a proposition for you.”
    His words were met with an exaggerated eye roll. “Do you really wish to proposition me, at the ball? Truly? Do you wish to be turned down in front of everyone,