Bridget
“Cryptic. Hmm. Please don’t let her mother have gone and done something foolish. I don’t think I could handle another Linton family case.”
Considering how their last encounter had ended—the one where she had thrown him out of her house—he felt well within his rights to refuse. And if it was indeed a delicate matter, she was hardly going to come knocking on his door if he did.
He sighed. It might have been weeks since he had seen her, but Bridget had got well and truly under his skin. He couldn’t refuse her.
“Mores the pity.”
Her remarks about him not giving a damn for other people had stung. They still did. He should just send the footman away and go back to trying to forget about Bridget.
And how has that been working out for you? Or are you going to continue to pretend that you don’t think about her a hundred times a day? Or that you search for signs of her at each and every party you attend.
He wasn’t going to even consider the fact that in the many weeks since he had last shared Bridget’s bed, he hadn’t been with any other woman. None of the wicked wives of thetontempted him.
“Oh well, at least she is the one who has yielded. It’s not my carriage sitting out the front of her house while a footman is delivering a note begging for an audience.”
Picking up his coat, he stuffed the note into the pocket. He headed back into the main room, where the footman was draining the last of a cup of coffee.
“Let’s go. I would hate to keep Lady Dyson waiting,” said Stephen.
He would come at her summons, but he was determined that she would be the one offering up the first apology.
Minx. Took your sweet time, but you clearly want more of me.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bridget was standing in very much the same spot in the upstairs drawing room that she had been in when Stephen last saw her. But this time instead of her arms being folded across her chest, they hung in front, her hands clasped tightly together. He couldn’t recall having ever seen her look so ill at ease.
And pale.
All his thoughts of gloating and making her beg for forgiveness fled his mind. He hurried over to her. “You are not well. Have you seen a physician?”
She gave a halting laugh. “I am feeling better today than I have in a long time. And in answer to your question, yes, I have seen a doctor. In fact, that is why you are here.”
Huh?
“Please have a seat. What I have to say may come as a bit of a shock, so you should be sitting down. I know it certainly floored me,” she said.
Stephen took a spot on one of the sofas. His nerves tingled when Bridget came and sat beside him. He wanted to reach out and take a hold of her hand, but her stiff posture stopped him.
I’ve missed you.
Any thoughts of them rekindling their affair dimmed as he took in her nervous fidgeting. The tight smile on her lips added further to his growing discomfort.
“I don’t have to explain the wonders of nature to you or . . . oh.” She wrung her hands. “Sorry, this is harder than even I had imagined it would be.”
Ignoring the warning bells which were going off in his head, he settled his warm hand over hers. “Just start at the beginning and be as clear as you can. I wouldn’t bother with the metaphors.”
“Alright. Have you ever heard of male infertility?”
Stephen raised an eyebrow. This was most certainly not the topic he expected to be discussing. “I have heard of men not being able to perform sexually.”
Not that it had ever been a problem for him.
“Yes, well I have discovered that a man can ‘get it up’ and still not be able to sire any offspring. I don’t suppose it is something that men even consider a possibility. If no children are produced in a marriage, the woman bears the blame.”
Stephen raised his free hand, slipping a finger into the top of his cravat. It was suddenly too tight.
