What a pity. I might struggle to pay for the coal, but I could easily find the money to keep you at my beck and call. My own private fancy man.
Her wicked thoughts were shameful, but Bridget didn’t care. She wanted Stephen to know that she desired him. That she was prepared to bend or break as many rules as possible to get him into her bed. “So, if I was not your client, you would consider a relationship with me?”
“Yes and no. Once we get this case closed, I am open to you and me sharing your bed. But as for a relationship, that is completely out of the question. I am not seeking a long-term lover. We have one night together, and, in the morning, you shall find me gone.”
Of course, he wasn’t offering anything more than a discrete liaison. He was Sir Stephen Moore, master of the ballroomandthe bedroom. While she was theBarren Baroness, and most men wouldn’t consider her to be anything other than a short-term carnal conquest.
But isn’t that what you want? No strings attached. And no one crushing your heart because you cannot give him a child. Naomi was right. You should take a chance.
She held out her hand. “I agree to those terms. When this is all over, you and I shall spend one night together. A shared passionate embrace with no boundaries, and—no breakfast.”
He glanced at her outstretched fingers, and for a moment Bridget wondered if he might have changed his mind.
“Good,” he said.
And then he kissed her all over again.
Chapter Fourteen
They agreed to meet again the following morning. Time was of the essence, and apart from crossing Lady Bell off the list, they hadn’t actually made a great deal of progress in the past few days.
Bridget resisted the sensible notion of heading up to bed after Stephen finally left in the early hours of the morning. Her mind and heart were still in too much of a state of flux. The tall, fair-haired rogue had stirred so many things within her that she had thought long dead, that Bridget found herself unable to consider sleep.
If I am going to stay up, I may as well make use of my time.
She retrieved her mother’s diary and cribbage notebook from the bookcase and settled by the fire to read. It wasn’t until she had read forty pages of the diary before sleep finally caught up with her. Bridget’s fitful dream featured a shop full of modistes who sewed gowns made entirely out of cribbage cards, while clusters of people gathered around to watch.
When she woke, just before the dawn, she sat upright in the chair and attempted to stretch. Her neck was a tired knot. She winced as she rolled her stiff and cranky shoulders, trying to loosen them. As she shifted, papers crinkled under her foot. She glanced down.
The diary and notebook had fallen on the floor, and she was now standing on them. Bridget bent and picked up the notebook. As she did, several pages came loose and flittered onto the carpet.
She sighed. Her mother had entrusted these private possessions to her keep, and instead of taking care of them, she had torn them apart.
“Mama will not be pleased.”
Her interest stirred as she collected the pages. They were a different thickness to the rest of the notebook.
When she opened the first of them, Bridget’s curiosity quickly turned to deep concern. Spread before her was a rather risqué drawing of her mother. Lady Linton had been sketched reclining fully naked on a chaise lounge.
With her heart racing, Bridget opened the other pages. They were all detailed drawings of her mother in various states of undress.
I wonder if Papa knows about these. If he doesn’t, Mama and I will be having stern words. How reckless can you be?
Wasn’t it bad enough that someone other than her father had been permitted to see the countess naked? The fact that she had then allowed them to draw her made it all the more scandalous. What was her mother thinking?
When she got to the last drawing, her quiet hope that she had seen the worst of her mother’s secrets was quickly dashed. The picture itself was bad enough, but what had been written on the other side of the page brought Bridget to the verge of tears.
Lady Linton had kept a tally of the money she had won as a result of cheating during recent weeks. And to top it all off, she had also included the names of the people she had duped.
Her worries turned to deep concern as she took in the names. Some she knew quite well, while others were mere acquaintances. But only one was on both the list of her mother’s victims and Stephen’s roll of suspects.
The Duchess of Redditch. Lady Kitty Steele. Naomi’s mother.
Doing her utmost to hold her rising panic at bay, Bridget quickly penned a note to Stephen.
Within half an hour, a barely awake footman was headed out the door and on his way to Gracechurch Street.
Had Lady Linton pushed her old friend one step too far and now the duchess was seeking revenge? And what of Stephen? How would he handle it if the blackmailer transpired to be someone he held in high regard?
