Beguiling Bridget Read Free Page B

try,” she agreed. “Now how shall I help?”
    Anthony hated lying — hated being mocked by his brother, and thought to himself that it couldn’t get any worse — and then…
    “Aunt?” Lady Bridget approached.
    Anthony inwardly cursed. He must have done something horribly offensive for God to allow him to be embarrassed twice within the same hour in front of the same beautiful girl he was supposed to be impressing.
    “Ah, Bridget, my girl! I cannot attend to you just now. I have been given the task of nursing Viscount Maddox back to health! Did you know the poor gentleman was injured?”
    Bridget tilted her head and offered a sly smile. “No, Aunt. Perhaps I was stricken with a momentary blindness. For although I heard a scuffle, I was unable to ascertain what unfortunate accident transpired. Whatever happened, my lord?”
    Anthony glared. “Son of a—”
    “Saint!” Wilde blurted. “You are such a saint, my lady, for helping Lord Maddox, but I believe the best medicine will be for us to see him home for a much needed respite.”
    “Are you sure?” Lady Burnside seemed disappointed. Anthony, however, couldn’t decipher between his own aggravation with the Lady Bridget’s lack of interest and his pure fear of her aunt’s advances.
    “Positive.” Ambrose winked. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure.” With a curt bow, Ambrose motioned for Anthony to follow. He had no choice but to bow to both women and pray his face wouldn’t give way to the frustration he felt at Bridget’s comment. The little minx had done it on purpose!
    “Oh, Viscount Maddox?” Bridget called out as he turned to leave.
    Perhaps she did care. She was only jesting; he really should give her a chance, after all—
    “Be sure to sleep on your side.”
    Anthony’s nostrils flared and he took a step back in her direction. “Now see here—”
    “Good night to you, ladies.” Wilde pushed Anthony in front of him, making it impossible to give the girl a good set down.
    ****
    Bridget could feel the smug grin creasing her lips as she stared after the gentlemen’s retreat. The man would be nursing more than a bruised head this evening. She’d made sure of that.
    After doing her best to avoid attention from the gentlemen at the party, the last thing she needed was the Benson twins turning her into their own personal Pygmalion project. She hoped her interaction with Lord Maddox had gone unnoticed by the rest of the bachelors in attendance.
    She had promised her aunt she would participate in a Season, but she had no intention of participating in the marriage mart. There were far too many other worthy aspirations in life. Yes, even for a woman. Art, literature, politics, writing. Bridget longed for the liberty to follow her own desired pursuits.
    Most men expected women to sit at home and work on their needlework, or perhaps play the piano, or God forbid, visit other women who love nothing more than to gossip. She’d watched her mother’s light slowly fade as a child. Her parents had once seemed so happy, and then suddenly they weren’t. Memories of her mother reading to her and then hiding the same books she was reading replayed in Bridget’s mind, how her parents would fight when her father was again disappointed that her mother had been a bad hostess, or not ordered enough wine for the parties they had.
    Bridget wanted none of it. To have a man dictate her life, her happiness, was not only unfair but ridiculous. She would rather die a spinster. At least as a spinster she could pursue writing. Her true passion. Perhaps Pride and Prejudice was to blame; after all, the women in that book had strong opinions of their own. What would it be like to write such a tale? She sighed longingly.
    Feeling as though she was being watched, Bridget whipped around and noticed the heat of her aunt’s glare falling heavy on her. She waited for the inevitable derision. Aunt Latissia had promised Bridget’s grandmother she would see to a proper Season. And