Free Beguiling Bridget by Rachel van Dyken, Leah Sanders Page A

me on the end of your paintbrush than standing next to me right now. Admit it.”
    “With pride.”
    Anthony muttered a low string of curses and eyed her with suspicion. “Where is your aunt this afternoon?”
    “Gone.”
    “Gone?” His voice raised a few octaves.
    Lady Bridget smiled. “Lady Burnside is rarely home in the afternoons, my lord. She is making calls. I don’t expect her home for several hours.”
    “You,” he pointed at Lady Bridget and tried not to yell, “are not allowed to speak of any of this to anyone, do you understand? After all, I do have my reputation to consider.”
    “Perfectly.”
    “Good—”
    “Not only,” she interrupted, “do I have to endure your presence for the next two weeks but I’m not allowed to speak of it to any human being save the one man I would rather spit on than talk to.”
    “Lies.”
    “What?” She set down her paintbrush and crossed her arms.
    “I didn’t misspeak. I said lies. All of it. You like me.”
    “You arrogant man!” Lady Bridget poked him in the chest. “I want nothing to do with you. I want—”
    “Me. You want me. There’s no use denying it. But never fear. I’ll be patient for you to come to your senses.” He began stripping his coat and gloves.
    “W-what are you doing, my lord?”
    “Anthony. It’s Anthony, and I shall call you Bridget, or perhaps my stubborn little temptress. They are one and the same, I assure you.”
    “Anthony,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Would you please explain why you are removing your outer garments?”
    “You mean, why am I getting naked?”
    Bridget flushed and covered her eyes. A soft gasp escaped the throat of the maid sitting in the corner. “My lord, really—”
    “Ah, you have to use my name.”
    “Anthony,” she squeaked, still shielding her eyes. “Why are you taking off your clothes?”
    He shrugged. “I thought you meant to paint me?”
    “I did. I-I do.” She took another steadying breath and turned away from him. “But I’d much prefer to do so while you are fully clothed, if you don’t mind.”
    “Pity.” He shook his head and smiled at her back. He was just trying to unsettle her, but when he noticed her peeking through her fingers, his masculine pride swelled markedly. Perhaps he would have gone through with it. Yes, she would be ruined. She would be all his, and he would have her — whether she wanted to be had or not.
    “Shall we begin?” She still hadn’t turned back to face him. Most likely her face was scarlet with embarrassment.
    “I’m ready when you are.” His voice was low, seductive, and coaxing.
    Bridget shook her head, and an unruly strand of red silken hair fell out of her coiffure. She returned to the easel and set a new blank canvas on it. “Now, we both know you’re here merely to vex me and taunt my aunt. By all appearances, it will look like we’re courting, so you only need to stay for an hour or so.”
    “And if I want to stay forever?” he asked taking a seat on the settee.
    “Anthony—” She put her hands on her hips. “I choose to ignore your asinine insinuation. Please remember our bargain. Now, sit still so I can paint you.”
    “With my clothes on,” he half-grumbled.
    The canvas blocked her face, but he could have sworn he heard her giggle. “Yes, with your clothes on. And if you start disrobing again, I’m going to paint you with strawberries.”
    “I understand.” His voice was laced with irritation. “By all means, paint my demise. Death by strawberry. It seems to be the theme of my life.”
    Bridget sighed behind the canvas. “Fine. What would you like sitting next to you?”
    Anthony chuckled. She shouldn’t have asked such a question. Her virgin ears were going to burn by the time he was finished with her. He cleared his throat.
    “I desire to be lying across the settee, much like this.” He demonstrated. Bridget peeked around the canvas.
    “Brilliant.”
    “I’m not done.”
    She sighed.