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“Allevening, Gerard? We are only fashionably late,” Belinda said slyly, fanning herself with her free hand, her color seeming to deepen.Please do not swoon, Belinda,Bridget prayed.
“Indeed, you are.” He grinned. “May I have the honor of a dance, Belinda?” He extended his hand.
“Oh, it would be my pleasure, Gerard.” Belinda placed her hand in his, fluttering her lashes.
“I shan’t keep her from you for too long, Your Grace,” he said.
“Oh please, enjoy yourselves,” Bridget replied with a small giggle, encouraging them.
Lady Dilworth drew her attention to several ladies that joined the small group around her, introducing them. Bridget could not commit their names to memory because her chest tightened as she watched Belinda dance with Mr. Belmont, her yearning unfurling.
She imagined what dancing with Harry would be like, twirling in his arms, their gazes interlocked, the ballroom fading away such that they felt only the pleasure of their dance and their delight in each other’s arms.
“Is that not so, Your Grace?” asked one of the ladies, pulling Bridget from the grasp of her thoughts.
She tore her eyes from the dancing couples and regarded the lady with a smile. “Well, I am fond of both glass beads and pearls on dresses.” Despite her distraction, she had been listening.
“Did you hear that, ladies?” Lady Dilworth announced to the circle. “Our duchess approves both. Now we may bring this debate to a close.”
Bridget saw this as an opportunity to escape to the ladies' retiring room, certain that a moment alone to recompose her thoughts would do her well. Excusing herself, she found her way out of the ballroom, breathing deeply once she was in a hallway.
Footsteps followed behind her, and she quickly turned, unsure of whom she would find. Her shoulders grew rigid, and her stomach turned with distaste when she saw Magnus stalking in her direction.
“Your Grace,” he said, every word laced with contempt, and bowed. “I did not expect to find you here. Where is your duke?” As he straightened, he looked about the hallway as though he would find Harry there.
Bridget thought of disregarding his question, but then she countered it with, “Where is your betrothed?”
His lip curled but he maintained his smile. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Your Grace?” His address sounded like a mockery.
“There is no honor in dancing with you, Lore,” she replied through clenched teeth.
“Oh, but your duke is not present to dance with you.” He snorted then. “Honestly, I rather thought you capable of taming that beast.”
“You will be mindful of what you say to me or my husband,” she warned, standing rigidly in place even as he took a step toward her.
“Because you are a duchess now?” he sneered.
Bridget allowed herself a satisfied smile. “You did not think that I would ever recover, did you?”
“You married the Beast of Grayfield.” Magnus’ dark eyes gleamed with indignation. “That is nothing to be proud of, my dear Bridget.”
“I am proud of it,” she said confidently. “My rank has changed, yet you are still a Viscount, and unless you achieve some remarkable feat for the Crown, your rank is unlikely to ever change,” Bridget delivered without her smile ever wavering.
Her words shocked him and he took a step back. However one looked at their positions, she was more respected in society than he would ever be, scandal or not.
Magnus leaned closer, his dark eyes menacing. “You will not be so proud if every person in that ballroom learns of your husband’s secrets.”
“What—”
“Your Grace,” Belinda called, and Bridget quickly turned to see her and Mr. Belmont approaching them. Magnus quickly bowed and left.
“Was that gentleman giving you trouble, Your Grace?” Mr. Belmont asked, seemingly prepared to defend her if necessary.
Bridget was feeling quite triumphant after their exchange even though many unpleasant memories had been awakened. Smiling up at him, she said. “No, he was not but thank you, Mr. Belmont.”
He returned her smile pleasantly. “May I insist you call me Gerard?”
“Only if you would call me Bridget.”
