Strolling the streets of Mayfair on the way with Vail to an upcoming meeting, there were any number of things Bridget should be focused on: the peril of becoming someone familiar to Polite Society when she’d only entered their folds to steal from one of their own. The gawking stares directed at her cheek by unrepentantly bold passersby. Instead, all she could think about…was jasmine. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Or rather, the scent of it. The same floral fragrance that had wafted from the note in his office.
Since she’d interrupted a second meeting of Vail’s yesterday and stumbled upon him with a slender beauty who embodied beauty and perfection, she’d been unable to think of anything but that pair. Their bodies’ positioning hinted at two people who’d shared…something. That mysterious note she’d spied upon his desk now indicated just what that something had been.
This was the woman he’d spoken of in the Portrait Room. She hadn’t required him to confirm it to know it to be so. She was the woman Vail had fought a war for. And Bridget hated the woman with every fiber of her being.
With the Countess of Buchanan’s perfect, cream white skin and flaxen curls, she was everything Bridget had never been, nor would ever be. Bridget had believed she’d found peace with who she was long, long ago. That she’d come to accept her imperfections. Only to stumble into Vail’s meeting with a beauty to rival Aphrodite and be proven so wholly wrong. Despondent, she stared blankly ahead.
“…I discovered a copy of a La Bibbia…”
For she wasn’t as at peace as she’d believed. She was filled with the same gripping, vicious resentment that some people were born perfect, without struggle, and then others, such as her flawed self, were born scarred and marked. Derided by Society for reasons beyond one’s control, and forever reminded of one’s defects daily in a mirror and in the whispers of strangers and—
“…and I used it for kindling earlier this morn…”
Vail’s words at last penetrated her single-minded focus. She whipped her head up. “You found what?” she blurted. And then his latter words registered and she shot her eyebrows to her hairline. “And you did what?” she squawked.
He winked at her. “Neither,” he drawled. “I was merely seeing when you might be paying attention.”
She opened and closed her mouth several times. “So, you didn’t obtain a copy of La Bibbia, Tradotta in Lingua Toscana? Because if you did—”
“I certainly wouldn’t set it afire,” he assured her. A glimmer danced in his eyes. “And not solely for monetary reasons but also because I’m not so ruthless that I’d burn an original edition of the bible.” He followed that with a smile and she forced a matching one for his benefit.
Only, he wasn’t ruthless. Despite what Archibald had shared in her cottage about the gentleman, there was nothing heartless about him. That evidence of his goodness chased away her false grin and filled her with a deeper sense of desolation.
“Come, Bridget,” he murmured softly, dropping his head lower to hers. “I didn’t bring you along today so you might feel sad.”
Why had he brought her then? She wanted to hurl the frustrated question at him. Why couldn’t he have simply allowed her to serve on as his housekeeper and never noticed that she was not only capable with antique books, but also hopelessly enthralled by the words contained within them. “I’m not sad,” she quietly offered. Liar.
“That was belated,” he correctly pointed out.
A handsome couple moving directly toward them snagged their notice on Bridget’s cheek. Such horror filled the delicate, blonde woman’s eyes that, this time, that derision struck painfully in her chest. Directing her gaze forward, Bridget jutted her jaw out.
“I’m—”
“Don’t,” she rasped, digging her fingers into the soft-flesh of her palm. “Don’t you dare.” She’d not have his apologies or pity or—
He stopped walking and placed a gloved hand on her arm, halting her movements and forcing her to face him. “What did you believe I intended to say?”
They stood in the middle of the pavement. A passing gentleman tipped his hat to Vail, who ignored that polite greeting. She gave her head a terse shake, hating that he’d expose her this way before the whole of London’s most powerful peers. She felt splayed open and on display.
His hard lips tightened. “I asked what—?”
“I don’t want your apologies,” she hissed. “I don’t want your pity.” She wanted him to treat her as he had from their first meeting where her hideous cheek and deafness didn’t matter. But she was a fool. It always mattered and always would. Her solitary existence stood as proof of that.
He drew back, shock stamped in his features. “Is that what you believe I intended? To apologize? That I’d ever pity you?” Hurt filled that question. “What reason would I—”
“Don’t do that,” she pleaded. “At least don’t pretend that I’m not different.” She loved him for being more honest and forthright than any person she’d ever before known. She… Loved him? A buzzing filled her ears, like a swarm of angry bees that had been set free inside her mind.
Vail moved closer, so nothing more than a hairsbreadth separated them, pulling her from that panicky reverie. “You are correct,” he said in hushed, solemn tones. “You are different.” She winced. He’d given her that honesty, only to prove her a liar. She didn’t want it from him…not in this. “You are different than any other woman I’ve ever known.” The beautiful Lady Buchanan who’d staked a possessive hand upon his lapel, flashed behind her mind’s eye, and the breath lodged sharply in her lungs. “You are more clever and more skilled than any I’ve known.”
He appreciated her mind. It should be enough. And yet—she drifted her gaze past his shoulder—for the first time in her life, she wanted to be beautiful…for this man.
Vail moved his mouth closer to her right ear. “And you are beautiful…” She made a sound of protest, moving away. “In every way,” he insisted.
“I know who I am, Vail. I confront myself every day in the mirror.”
“And what do you see?” he answered, not allowing herself to speak further. “You see a mark upon your cheek? You’ve let that define you. Do you know what I see? What I saw the moment you stepped inside my office and found you there?”
Do not answer. Remind him of where I am and the strangers passing by, sick fascination over the couple conversing in the middle of a thoroughfare. She darted her tongue out, tracing her lips. “What?” she asked, unable to call the question back. Nor wanting to.
“I saw these flame-tinged strands.” With his spare hand, he captured the errant curl she’d draped over her shoulder, rubbing it briefly. Her lashes fluttered wildly. The world was looking on. His actions were scandalous and the world would believe her to be his lover and she couldn’t bring herself to care from this day on to Sunday if the Lord himself disapproved. “I saw the curve of your chin.” He brushed his gloved knuckles over it. “Your eyes, pools that I could lose myself in. I was riveted in that instant.” Her breath caught. Vail’s thick, black lashes swept downward. “But it was and remains your mind and spirit that has captivated me.”
All the air left her on a shuddery sigh.
His eyes went to her mouth and, for a long moment, she believed he’d kiss her here, and she wanted it, wanted it even though the gossip columns would be abuzz with tales of Lord Chilton and… A stranger to Society, embracing in the middle of Mayfair. Regret darkened his gaze and he straightened. “Come, we’ll be late.”
“You’ve still not said where we’re going,” she observed, falling in step beside him.
“No, I haven’t.”
At that veiled, secretive reply, she wrinkled her nose. “Is it to Lord Marlborough’s?”
“Those details are still being worked out,” he said, offering nothing more.
“Are you conducting a sale?” she pressed, gesturing to the velvet sack tucked in the nook of his left arm.
Vail offered her another one of those teasing winks. “No.” He cradled the package in his arm with the same devotion she had Virgil.
At the thought of Virgil, a wave of wistfulness swept over her. All her life, she’d believed she was enough for him…that she and Nettie were the only family he needed. Now, walking beside Vail, a man who’d risen up from uncertain beginnings, and made a fortune and future for himself, she realized how horribly naïve she’d been. No matter how much she’d devoted herself to Virgil, he still so very desperately needed the influence of a man in his life.
“You’ve gone melancholy again.”
She started. How very well he knew her. “I’m not sad,” she lied. “I’m simply wondering after your mysterious appointment.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him, for he again grinned.
However, Vail had been correct. She ached with missing Virgil. At times, it was easy to lose herself in the distraction of her work and Archibald’s scheming, for remembering him was too hard.
“Here we are,” Vail announced, bringing her to a stop outside a white stucco townhouse. As he rapped on the front door, there should be a modicum of interest in the secretive visit. All she could think of, however, was the sobering truth: she could not have both Vail and Virgil in her life at the same time. Those two could never know one another and she could never have anything with the baron. Not that he’d truly indicated a desire for there to be more.
The front door was opened, interrupting her whirring thoughts. The young butler bowed and then smiled the way he might in greeting a familiar friend. “His Grace is expecting you,” he explained, stepping aside to allow Vail and Bridget entry.
His Grace. A duke. One of those powerful peers just a step below royalty.
Helping them from their cloaks and turning them over to the waiting footmen, the butler guided them through the grandiose townhouse. With white, Italian marble floors and gold satin wallpaper, the household bespoke wealth. She peeked about, stealing glances at the gilded frames lining the halls. Her own family had once been of similar wealth and prestige, but all of that had faded with her brother’s whoremongering and wagering. Bridget, shut away from the world, however, had known even less of that grandeur.
“Who is he?” she quietly asked, from the corner of her mouth, mindful of the servant several paces ahead. Was the gentleman another one of those fanatical collectors?
“This is not a business meeting,” he murmured, close to her ear. His breath stirred the sensitive spot upon her neck and sent delicious shivers racing through her.
Then his words registered. It was not a business meeting.
“He is my closest friend in the world, like a brother to me.” …I found friendship… Oh, God, this was the man he’d found as a boy. “The Duke of Huntly and I go back to…”
His words came as if from a great distance, with her mind slow to process and make sense of that revelation. His closest friend…a man who was like a brother to him was in fact—“The Duke of Huntly?” she repeated hoarsely, interrupting Vail mid-speak.
The butler cast a curious glance back.
“I assure you, Huntly is no more a pompous, self-righteous lord than I myself. He was born to modest beginnings and made his own way in the world. The only reason he found himself titled was through the death of a distant, distant relative.”
The contents of her stomach revolted and she swallowed back the bile stinging her throat. The man Vail called another brother was, in fact, married to the woman Bridget’s sister had nearly killed. Her legs weakened and she caught herself against the wall.
“Bridget?” Vail asked, quickly wrapping his arm around her waist and steadying her. “What is it?”
And then in her desperation, she gave him the absolute worst words. “I cannot be here.” They were the truest ones and, yet, he’d hear nothing in them beyond her insecurity in being part of this foreign world.
Vail gave the butler a meaningful look and, averting his eyes, the servant faded to the end of the corridor. But she was aware of him, lingering there. “Come, love,” he said with such a gentleness, it threatened to shatter her. “What is this about?”
“Vail…”
“Chilton!”
Her stomach lurched at the jovial greeting that echoed down the corridor. A tall gentleman with golden curls and an easy smile came forward, arms outstretched.
Bridget instantly shrank back, thankfully forgotten as the two men greeted one another. By the air of confidence and strength to him, there could be no doubting the gentleman before her was, in fact, the Duke of Huntly.
And my sister attempted to kill his wife.
The gentleman looked over to her and then back to Vail.
She immediately sank into a deferential curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured, directing that greeting to the floor. How did one go about meeting the eyes of a man who’d been so terribly wronged by one’s family?
“Huntly, may I present my…” His brow wrinkled. Yes, how did a nobleman otherwise go about introducing a mere servant he’d arrived with? “May I present Mrs. Hamlet,” he settled for.
Bridget braced for a cool derision, welcomed it, particularly from this man.
The duke smiled. “Mrs. Hamlet, I am so happy you are able to join us.”
Join us?
What in blazes? Her mind raced and she stared beseechingly at Vail. What was this exchange? Either ignoring or failing to note her gaze, he turned over the velvet sack in his hands. The other man widened his smile and collected it with a word of thanks. “Justina will thank you. I thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Vail assured. “May I have a moment with Mrs. Hamlet before we join you? We’ll be along shortly.”
“Of course,” the duke murmured, taking his leave but not before Bridget spied the interest in his eyes.
“Huntly requested a copy from my collection for his wife to read from. Her Grace holds a salon inside her home.” Her Grace. That young woman Marianne had been sent away to Bedlam for attempting to murder. “This visit is not motivated by my business or a need for your services, but rather simply one that I thought you’d enjoy.”
And through the horror and shame of being in this household, her heart quivered. “Why must you be so bloody nice?” she whispered, blinking back a sheen of tears. “Why can’t you,” And Lord Huntly, “be a cold, unfeeling nobleman who looks down upon others outside your sphere?”
He stroked the pad of his thumb in a little circle over her right cheek. “You wouldn’t want that and you don’t deserve that.”
He was wrong on both scores. Had he been cruel, her plans for him would have been easier and she should be the recipient of his loathing. And I will be.
Vail extended his elbow and waited.
She shook her head and he slowly let that limb fall to his side. “It is scandalous enough that I’ve joined you. What will the duke and duchess’ guests think of a baron arriving with his housekeeper?” He needn’t answer. Bridget knew precisely the opinion Society would form—that she was his lover.
“You should care less about Society’s opinion and more about your own happiness,” he said softly.
Bridget gave him a sad smile. “And this from the man who’s dedicated his whole life to caring for others.”
He frowned. “I’ve never complained or resented the role I’ve taken on.”
She shook her head. “No. But you’ve also taken on the role of father for nine others, without a thought of your own happiness.” Before he could speak, Bridget gestured around the hallway. “You’d bring me here and challenge me to find my own joy in life and, yet, all you do is work, Vail.”
A muscle jumped at the corner of his eye. “I enjoy what I do,” he said tightly, through his teeth.
“What do you enjoy about it exactly?” she challenged. “Everything can be bought, everything can be sold,” she said into his silence. “That is what you said.” She took his hands in hers and gave a light squeeze. “You have one of the largest collections in England and, yet, of all those books, you’d keep but one volume for yourself.” She shook her head sadly. “And even that book is one that only reminds you of the darkness that exists in life.”
He flinched, and the evidence of his tangible struggle hurt her like the physical lash she’d received from her brother for threatening to shame him before all Society if he didn’t allow her to care for Virgil. “Oh, Vail,” she murmured, caressing his face with her gaze, memorizing each sharp angle, the slight curve of his aquiline nose, his hard lips, all of it so when she was gone she’d carry him with her still. Before she did leave, she needed him to know the truth. “What happened to Erasmus was not your fault.” She pressed her fingertips to his mouth, silencing his protest. “Having returned earlier and found him sooner could not have cured his heart. You gave him the best life you could have when you did and that is what matters most.”
He clenched his eyes tight. “Him living mattered most.”
“No,” she said softly. “Knowing happiness while you are living is what is truly important. Otherwise, we’re just surviving.” Her throat worked spasmodically.
“Vail, are you…? Oh, forgive me.”
They looked to the end of the hall to where a golden-haired, elegantly clad woman smiled uncertainly.
“Lady Justina,” he greeted, his voice revealing none of the hoarsened emotion of before.
Lady Justina. The Duchess of Huntly. For a horrifying moment that hung on to forever, Bridget feared she’d been discovered for the fraud she was and that this young duchess knew Marianne’s blood flowed in her veins.
She stiffened as the young duchess swept over with her hands outstretched. Bypassing Vail, she took Bridget’s in her own. “I understand you’re also an admirer of Petrosinella.” Bridget blinked wildly. That is what she’d say? “His Lordship explained you also appreciate that work,” she explained, answering that unspoken question. “He was good enough to loan me the edition so we might read from it,” she said on a loud whisper. “And he thought you would wish to join me for the discussion.”
Bridget’s breath caught and she swiveled her head back to face Vail. He’d done this? “But I thought…I assumed…” That there had been something pertaining to one of his transactions. He, who’d claimed nothing mattered more than the sale of his collection would allow his friend’s wife to read from it…and he’d invited her to take part. How was it possible to feel equal parts joy and equal parts shame at the same time?
Vail winked at her; that subtle movement of his eyes that was so patently his.
“I would be honored to join you,” she said and allowed herself to be tugged along by the duchess.