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Hugh couldn’t help but think of his biggest question about Anthony and Lady Bridget. Why had Anthony offered to marry her? She was beautiful, yes, but she was an innocent . . . and Anthony had made it clear he preferred his mistress over his new wife. There were also plenty of women who fawned over Anthony who had much bigger dowries than the Reeve women.
Hugh knew his cousin enough to know that Anthony never did anything without a reason. Being a stand-up gentleman and proposing to Lady Bridget just wasn’t in his character.
The carriage slowed; they were nearing the posting inn. Hugh quickly moved to the other bench to put the proper distance between him and Lady Bridget. She might be his cousin by marriage, but he didn’t want any rumors started.
When the carriage stopped, Hugh opened the door and stepped out. He’d been cramped for so long that he wasn’t surprised to feel the aches and pains as he unfolded his long body. He extended his hand to help Lady Bridget out of the carriage. Although they’d been traveling for hours, and she’d slept most of it, she didn’t look any worse for the wear. Her hair had fallen out of its pins, but it only made her look more . . . Hugh snapped his attention away from the woman in front of him and released her hand. How long had he been holding it?
“I will go inquire straightaway,” he said. “Do you want to order tea?”
Lady Bridget shook her head. “I don’t want to delay. Besides, my body isn’t sure if it’s day or night.”
Hugh understood how she felt. Dawn was still hours away, and he could only hope they’d get some information here. He walked into the inn while she waited by the carriage. The place was quiet, but a set of candles burned on a table near the door. A portly man shuffled toward the entryway from some other part of the inn. He looked as if he’d hastily pulled on a coat.
“Good evening, sir,” the innkeeper said with a bow. “Do you need a room for the night?”
“Good evening,” Hugh said. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I’m in dire need of finding someone who I think has passed by here.” He held out a few coins.
The innkeeper’s eyes widened, and Hugh knew he’d selected the right amount to get this man to talk.
He described both Walter and Miss Phoebe, and the innkeeper nodded.
“You’ve seen them?” Hugh prodded.
“They stopped here and took their supper—although it was a bit late for supper,” the innkeeper mused. “The gentleman wanted to book a room, but the young miss seemed very agitated. Had my wife take her aside to see if there was anything she needed, but the miss insisted she was fine. So they left, headed north I’d guess.”
By the gleam in the innkeeper’s eyes, Hugh guessed the man realized they were eloping.
“How long ago was that?” Hugh asked.
The innkeeper paused. “My wife was already abed, and I had to wake her up to heat the leftover stew. I would guess . . .” He tapped his bottom lip.
Hugh pulled out his pocket watch and showed the man the time.
“I’d say . . . three hours ago.”
“Three?” Was that all? Had they made better time than Walter? Hugh wasn’t entirely sure he was getting the most correct information, but at least he knew the couple had stopped here, and they were still traveling north. “Thank you.” Hugh handed over another few coins.
“We’ve stew left, if you and your party would like to eat,” the innkeeper said, all smiles. “It’s a cold night out there. My wife thinks snow is on its way.”
“We must keep to a schedule, but thank you again,” Hugh said, then strode out of the inn.
Lady Bridget was leaning against the carriage, clutching her cloak about her, while the driver was back on his carriage perch, the horses already traded out.
He quickly informed Bridget of what the innkeeper had said, then he gave the directions to the driver.
Back inside the carriage, when they’d started on the road again, Hugh realized he was hungry. He picked up the basket. “Are you hungry?”
“My stomach is tied in knots,” she said. “I couldn’t possibly eat. Did the innkeeper really say three hours? Have we already closed that much in distance?”
“That’s what he said,” Hugh said. It was good news, but he didn’t tell Bridget how the innkeeper had also said her sister seemed fretful. That could mean a few things, but most worrisome was that Phoebe might be regretting the elopement. If that was the case, and Walter forced her into a marriage or compromised her, there would be hell to pay.
The more time Hugh spent with Bridget, the more protective he felt toward her and her family.
“We’ll be increasing our pace quite a bit when dawn arrives,” Hugh said. “I don’t dare go faster in the dark on unfamiliar roads.”
Lady Bridget nodded.
Hugh didn’t like the paleness of her face. “Are you sure you won’t have anything to eat? There’s a loaf of bread, cheese, some winter berries . . .”
“No thank you,” she said in a faint voice.
Hugh persisted and held a handful of berries out to her.
She hesitated, then plucked one off his palm. Hugh watched her eat it, then swallow. He realized he was staring and that she was blushing.
“Thank you,” she said again. “I’m fine.”
Hugh ate the rest of the berries in his palm, then he put together a sort of sandwich with the bread and cheese. After he finished the food and had calmed the angry growl in his stomach, he unfolded a blanket and set it over Bridget.
She gave him a faint smile but said nothing.
“We’re going to catch up with them,” Hugh said. This melancholy Bridget was worrying him.
Her gaze flitted to his, and all he saw there was doubt, and maybe fear.
“What if you’re right?” she asked. “What if Phoebe starts to hate me? What if this divides us forever? She’s . . . she’s my sister, but she’s also my best friend, my only friend.” She gave a soft laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all.
Hugh swallowed. “She’ll know you care about her and that you chased her down because you love her. And you didn’t want her to feel trapped.”
“I hope so,” Lady Bridget said in a voice that cracked. Then she turned her head toward the window, but Hugh knew she could see very little of the dark landscape beyond the yellow glow of the carriage lanterns.
“She’ll also realize her decision affects more than herself, just like all our decisions do,” he continued. Was he making her feel worse? “I don’t know your sister well, but I believe she looks up to you. You’ve been like a mother to her.” He could only assume this, but once the words were out, they felt like the truth.
Bridget sniffled and brought a hand to her mouth. She was trying to hold in her emotions.
Before he could think better of it, he moved to her bench and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t resist, didn’t stiffen. In fact, she seemed to melt against him, her head fitting neatly right below his chin and her cheek pressing against his neck.
Her shoulders started to shake as she cried, and Hugh held her tightly. After a few moments, she relaxed, the worst over, although she still clung to him. One of her arms was wrapped about his waist, anchoring them together, and her other hand clutched at the lapel of his coat. Her breathing evened out, and the comforting embrace started to turn into something else. Without either of them moving or changing position, the embrace became more intimate.
He could feel her soft breath at his neck and the silkiness of her hair against his chin. His heart rate increased, pumping hot blood through his veins. He should release her, put some distance between them. She’d stopped crying, and so he should return to his bench.
Instead, he ran a hand over her hair that had come unpinned, his fingers intertwining with the silky, blonde waves. She only nestled closer, and his mind shifted from relating to her pain and desperation to what it might be like to lift her chin and press a kiss on those rosy lips of hers. He imagined what it might be like to trail a line of kisses down her neck and breathe in the scent of her soft skin.
“You’re not who I thought you were,” she said in a half whisper.
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s good,” she said.
He closed his eyes. “Then I’m glad.” He paused. “You are definitely not the woman I imagined you to be.”
“No, I should think not.” She said it as a jest, but her words were like a caress against his skin. “Your cousin told me he wanted to marry me and get me with child so that his children would be older than any you might have,” she continued. “We never . . . I mean, our marriage was never consummated. Once we married, he said he had a plan to get you disinherited, and once that happened, he’d already be established with a brood of children.”
Hugh opened his eyes, not quite believing what he was hearing.
“Anthony painted you as some sort of cold, miserable man.” She lifted her head, her gaze connecting with his. “He said he despised you, but I figured he was only envious of your greater title. I knew one day I’d meet you, but to be honest, I was worried. You had a lot of power over Anthony, which he hated, and when Anthony drank . . . well, I could see him capable of terrible things. Not only was my husband a rake and a gambler and a drunk, but he routinely made threats against his own cousin. I didn’t even know you, but it terrified me to hear such venom from a man I was tied to.”
Hugh was stunned. He literally had no words, and he could only stare into her violet eyes. He knew he’d made Anthony angry many times, especially when he was trying to help his uncle by doling out consequences for Anthony’s debauched ways.
And this sweet, innocent woman had been drawn into Anthony’s world, forced to hear and see him do things no woman should ever be exposed to. He’d been using her. If Anthony was still alive today, Hugh would call him out, even if they had to go to France to duel. He would aim his pistol right at his cousin’s heart and shoot. Blood be damned.
Lady Bridget ran her fingers along Hugh’s jaw; her touch was feather light, but it calmed the rising anger in him and instead sent a jolt of pleasure through him. A very dangerous jolt.
“But you’re not cold, Hugh,” Lady Bridget whispered, her voice low and intimate.
He liked how she’d called him by his Christian name, liked it very much indeed.
“I could never be cold around you, Bridget.”
A faint smile crossed her face. Then she sobered as she searched his gaze, and he finally understood the pain in her eyes he’d first seen that night he’d confronted her in the garden. He understood how she must have seen him, the cousin of a monster, and how much courage it had taken for her to stand up to him.
“You’re nothing like Anthony told me you were,” she continued. “You’re the most honest man I’ve ever met. You’re warm, and caring, and—”
Hugh stopped her words by pressing his mouth against hers.
This kiss had been inevitable, he supposed, from the moment he first saw her in the violet dress that showed off her cream-skinned shoulders. And anyone who thought he should stay away from this enchanting woman should go hang himself. Because Hugh had given up trying to stay away from her.
So he tangled his fingers into her hair and kissed her quite thoroughly.
And thankfully she didn’t shy away. She didn’t push him or slap him. In fact, she kissed him back.
Hugh was lost. In her touch. In her warmth. In her acceptance. In her desire for him. For he desired her more than anything or anyone he could ever remember. Lady Bridget Wilde had consumed him, possessed him, and even four horses couldn’t drag him away.
And then one thought, and one thought only, forced him to pull away and release her. They were on their way to bring her sister home, and here he was, acting the part of a rake, in a carriage of all places.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have taken advantage—”
He didn’t finish because she kissed him again. He gave in and let himself become enveloped in everything that was Bridget. Her fingers caressed his neck, threading through his hair and pulling him even closer.
Hugh knew he should draw away from this intoxication. She had no idea what she was doing to him, what passions she was awakening.
The carriage lurched and then slowed significantly, nearly sending both of them to the floor.
Hugh righted himself, holding on to Bridget. The landscape outside was gray and murky with the approaching dawn, but it was still some time before the sun would be up. The carriage had come to a full stop, and Hugh opened the door.
The driver met him at the door. “There’s a carriage up ahead, sir,” he said in a hushed voice. “Looks like it lost a wheel, but I fear it might be a trap.”
Hugh exhaled. His mind was still foggy from all the kissing, and he needed a jug of cold water poured over his head. But the driver could be right—the broken carriage could be a trap. “Stay inside!” he commanded the startled Bridget. Then he grabbed his pistol and hopped out of the carriage.
“Let’s check it out,” he told the driver, after shutting the carriage door behind him.
The driver nodded and drew out his own pistol.
Hugh started to approach on one side of the road, while the driver walked the other side. The carriage up ahead had a broken wheel all right. There was nothing fancy or identifiable about the carriage itself, which told Hugh it was either hired or it belonged to a band of thieves that was now waiting in the trees to pounce.
He gripped the pistol tighter when he heard a sound in the trees. Swinging toward the sound, he saw the unmistakable dark form of a man.
“Watch out!” the driver screamed just as a gunshot split the air.
Hugh dove to the ground, and everything went silent.