A reply to her missive arrived mid-morning on the third day. It was short and painfully to the point.
Lady Dyson,
Sir Stephen is working with a new client and is at present unable to spare the time for social calls. I hope you understand.
A.T. Jones.
RR Coaching Company
“He can’t spare the time for social calls,” she muttered.
The sheer effrontery of the man. It was a good thing Stephen had declared he had no intention to ever marry.
“Because no sensible woman would have you. Fancy ending things in such a cold and perfunctory way.”
A wave of sadness washed over her.
“He did say he couldn’t promise you anything. And he never stayed for breakfast.”
She screwed the note up and tossed it into the fire.
Relationships of any kind were always fraught with danger. She had learned a hard lesson in allowing herself to yet again succumb to the temptation of love.
It was time to put her heart back on ice and forget about Stephen. Hopefully, the memories of their lovemaking and falling asleep in his arms would fade, and he would become nothing more than a dim and distant name in her past.
“The next man I involve myself with had better stick to his hard and fast rules about dalliances.”
Sir Stephen Moore had shared her bed for the very last time.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three weeks later
As much as he tried, Stephen couldn’t get Bridget out of his mind. His initial attempts at avoiding her had only stuck due to a pressing and dangerous case involving an old friend of the rogues of the road, Lisandro de Aguirre, the Duke of Tolosa and Maria de Elizondo, the kidnapped daughter of the Duke of Villabona. By the time Lisandro and Maria finally set sail from Portsmouth on theNight Windbound for Spain, it was close to three weeks since Stephen had last seen Bridget.
It should have been plenty of time for him to get the sexy widow out of his system. To forget about the wonder of being with her, of sharing the most intimate of moments. But his every waking hour was spent thinking about her. And at night, she came to him in his dreams.
He was at a loss to explain the effect she had on him. He had never had this sort of problem with a lover before.
This is the price you pay for going back to the same bed more than once. Fool. I hope you have learned your lesson.
While Gus slept on the long ride back to London, Stephen spent hours staring out the window of their coach. If only he could get Bridget out of his mind. No woman had ever had this effect on him.
This is madness.
Stephen Moore never felt anything for anyone. He was a product of his uncaring parents. Aloof should have been his middle name. Yet, Bridget had somehow managed to crack his hard veneer.
As soon as they reached the RR Coaching Company offices in Gracechurch Street, Stephen hailed a hack. If he couldn’t get her out of his system, then at least he could get into her bed. “Berkeley Square,” he instructed the driver.
She greeted him, in her drawing room, arms crossed and stony faced. A horrible sense of foreboding settled in his mind. The last time he had been in this room, Bridget had been feisty and ready for more of his sweet loving. This time, however, to say that the air between them was frosty would have been a gross understatement.
“Sir Stephen,” she said.
He had never had to grovel to a woman before and could now understand why men did all they could to avoid such situations. “I must apologize for my silence,” he began.
Her gaze ran disapprovingly over him.
This is not going well. Damn.
