Lady Bridget's Diary(49)

“Good day, Lord Darcy,” Claire asked. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Now Bridget’s heart was racing. Would he say that he was calling to see her? Would he ask for a moment alone? Would he apologize for the kiss or would he propose? If so, what would she say? She was still half in love with Rupert, probably.

“I have come to see how Lady Amelia is faring,” he replied. “I am glad you have returned safely.”

None of the above. That was the worst.

“I am quite well, thank you,” Amelia answered. But she wasn’t quite well. She seemed wistful.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“We are so grateful that you accompanied Bridget on the search yesterday,” Claire said.

“It was my pleasure,” he murmured, his eyes locked with Bridget’s. The intensity of the look between them left little doubt in her mind that he was thinking of the kiss and speaking of the kiss. She felt warm and she felt an ache of longing for more. Was she blushing? Dear God, she hoped not.

She bit her lip, wanting to ask approximately 724 questions. Her every heartbeat was a question.

Ba-­bump, what does this mean?

Ba-­bump, will it happen again?

Ba-­bump, what are you thinking, you madly inscrutable man?

Ba-­bump, why do I even care in the slightest?

“I do hope we can be assured of your discretion,” Josephine drawled.

Darcy glanced at her, then to Bridget.

“Of course. It would be a pity for a lady’s prospects to be tarnished because of unfounded rumors.”

Bridget felt a prickling sensation along her skin. She had the peculiar feeling he wasn’t speaking just of Lady Amelia’s great adventure, but of their mad kiss in the rain. He must only care about her prospects if he wasn’t going to propose—­which was fine, she supposed, as she had no intention of marrying him just because he once kissed her.

But still.

She found herself feeling dismayed.

“You’re a good man, Darcy. Now how is that scoundrel of a brother of yours?”

“As much a scoundrel as ever, in spite of my efforts to keep him from the falling over the brink into disaster and ruin.”

“He is fortunate to have your support,” Josephine said. “But what he really needs is a wife.”

“He is thinking of marrying, finally,” Darcy said, his eyes locked on hers.

“Bridget has taken a liking to him,” Claire said, smirking.

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. Or was it? There was no measurable difference in his expression. There was no indication that he gave one whit that the woman he had passionately and illicitly kissed in a rainstorm actually preferred his brother.

There wasn’t even the slightest shift in tone when he said, “I have noticed.”

She couldn’t quite hold his gaze now. Instead she looked pleadingly at the duchess, who flashed her the briefest and smallest of smiles before turning to their guest.

“What of your prospects, Darcy? Have you proposed to Lady Francesca yet?”

Bridget tried to take a page from his book and adopt what she hoped was an inscrutable expression. Darcy and Lady Francesca were perfect together: they knew all the rules of society and had no trouble obeying them. But she wondered what Francesca would think of Darcy visiting with her misfit family. How would Francesca feel if she knew her intended was kissing another woman . . . a girl like her. She probably wouldn’t like it at all.

“Pardon me if I will refrain from gossiping about my personal affairs,” he said diplomatically, which only fanned the flames of Bridget’s curiosity.

“I ask only because I have three girls to get married off,” the duchess said, as if it were the cruelest hardship imaginable.

“I will never marry,” Amelia said dramatically.

“What happened yesterday?” Claire asked.

“Nothing,” Amelia declared. “Everything.”

Well, that summed it up quite nicely, Bridget thought.

Things I dislike about Dreadful Darcy

I can never tell what the man is thinking. This is especially vexing after our passionate kiss. But then again, I don’t even know what I am thinking! Why, I’m still in love with Rupert . . . right?

Rupert, who might have spent the whole day gallivanting and doing God knows what with my sister.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Darcy had taken his leave of the ladies when he encountered the duke in the foyer. He’d just been out for a long horseback ride and invited Darcy to join him for a drink.

They settled into the library, a masculine space with chairs of the proper size, unlike the delicate twigs and pillows called chairs in the drawing room. The late duke had left an excellent whiskey and they enjoyed it now.

“I came to see how yesterday’s situation resolved,” Darcy began.