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“There should be no shame between a man and his wife, Bridget. You may gaze upon as much as you wish.”
What she was wishing for at that instant was to be in the circle of his arms and have his lips upon hers. Her hands began to rise, granting her wish to touch him, a thrill spiraling down her body, coating her in heat. Something moved between them then, followed by a bark.
Harry stepped away, then crossed the room, disappearing into his dressing room. Cato looked up at her innocently, not having the slightest inkling of what he had interrupted.
She was disappointed, but she was very fond of the dog, and he appeared as though he wanted her to play with him.
“Come,” she said, moving toward the door that led back to her chambers, “I made something for you.” Cato followed her eagerly, sitting near her bed while she went to her bureau and picked up a ball from atop it that she made by stuffing a stocking with some wool.
He barked happily when she raised it. She threw it across the room and he ran after it, fetching and returning it to her. After deciding her bedchamber was probably not the best location for such an exercise, she led Cato back out to the gardens. This did her a lot of good because she was able to keep her thoughts away from Harry for a time.
Harry was present at dinner, and she was unable to concentrate. Every time she looked at him, she remembered the state she had seen him in that afternoon.
“Bridget?” came his voice.
She straightened. “Yes?” Instead of sitting on the other end of the table, she had chosen to sit on his right, while Belinda was to his left.
He regarded her expectantly, and she realized he had asked her a question.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked sheepishly, raising her wineglass to her lips.
“I asked how your trip to Daventon went.”
“We…” The servants’ presence in the dining room gave her pause. She glanced at Belinda, and the woman gave a slight shake of her head. It was not something to be discussed at dinner. “It was a good day,” she said. Harry’s eye narrowed, and she pretended not to notice.
“Bridget made Cato a toy,” Belinda said cheerfully. “Did you see it, Harry?”
As if he knew they were talking about him, Cato walked into the room, the ball in his mouth, soaked. Harry frowned. “The object in his mouth is the toy?”
Bridget defensively said, “Yes, it is, and he is quite fond of it.”
Still frowning, he raised his hand and curled his forefinger, beckoning Cato. He obediently came to sit between them. “What is it?” Harry asked.
“A stocking stuffed with wool,” Bridget replied, her chin forward.
“I see.” He looked as though he was going to laugh.
“You do not think it good,” she observed.
“Well, it is soaked with his drool.” He gave a small shrug. “Wood would have been better.”
“You do not consider a woman’s sensibilities before you speak, do you?” she asked, unsure whether he was mocking her or truly thought the toy pathetic.
“You are not delicate, my dear Bridget,” he murmured in a low voice, the corner of his mouth tilted in a sly manner. When her lips parted in surprise, he said, “You told me so yesterday.”
“I did not tell you so you could repeat it in favor of yourself,” she countered. “And when you are able to craft a better toy for Cato, you may criticize mine.”
Harry looked down at Cato, who had dropped the wet ball near his boots, and grinned. Then he rose and walked out of the room, leaving Bridget very confused, and Belinda looking positively amused.
He returned a moment later with a blue pall mall ball, offering it to Cato. Bridget watched, wondering if the dog would prefer it to hers. Cato looked up at her as if to ask for her permission. She gave him a nod, deciding that she was not going to win the game her husband was playing.
Cato picked up her wet stocking ball and placed his paw on her lap. Belinda burst into laughter, and so did Bridget. She glanced up at Harry and found him laughing too.
“You win, Bridget,” he said, returning to his seat. “I am truly convinced that you have bewitched Cato.”
“Oh, Cato is not the only one, my dear,” Belinda put in. “The entire household is charmed by her.”
Bridget blushed. She wanted Harry to jest and laugh more, for it seemed he was a deeply cold and indifferent man.
