Lady Bridget's Diary (Keeping Up with the Cavendishes #1)(37)

“I did not,” he said. “And we are not.”

“You’re welcome for the family history lesson. After that, my sisters and I are supposed to learn French, which is a hopeless and pointless prospect. The lessons are only livened up by our efforts to persuade our tutor to teach us grossly indelicate language, which he refuses to do. In the afternoon, we have dancing lessons because one must not only waltz, but know the steps to at least a dozen strange and intricate country dances. Through it all, I’m bloody starving.”

Darcy had really heard only the last thing she said, and he responded to that.

“Why don’t you eat something?” Darcy asked.

“Have you tried to fit into ladies’ dresses these days?”

“I cannot say that I have,” he said dryly.

“Then you would know why one must be in a constant state of starvation.”

Darcy sensed that he had broached a sensitive subject and was all the more sure of it when he saw her shoulders shaking. Oh bloody hell, had he made her cry?

“I apologize if . . .” He paused, looking over at her. “Are you laughing?”

And with that she burst out laughing. And then he just knew what caused her such amusement.

“You’re imagining me in a dress, aren’t you?” he asked grimly.

“Perhaps,” she said, still laughing. “You look rather fetching. I think a dark blue silk would suit you tremendously. It would go well with your complexion.”

Darcy just stared at her. The things that went on in her head . . . And the things that came out of her mouth. It was always so unexpected. He found it oddly intriguing and even arousing.

“People don’t tease you very much, do they?” she said.

“No,” he said flatly. No one dared risk insulting him, an esteemed earl and valued member of Parliament. He knew he didn’t exactly encourage such informality either. And then he added, “Rupert does, occasionally.”

Lady Bridget surprised him once more. She placed her hand on his arm and said, “I think, Looord Darcy, that you might need me.”

It was then that he took a wrong turn.





Chapter 13


We have not yet had a lesson on what to do if one finds oneself alone with a gentleman. We have only been instructed to avoid it at all costs.

Lady Bridget’s Diary

Lady Bridget didn’t say anything and neither did he. A silence ensued. A long, tortuous silence in which he became acutely aware of their surroundings: the birds in the trees, the wind rustling through the leaves, the distant rumble of thunder. He noticed the way her leg was pressed against his, the way her entire body, in fact, was pressed against his. It was because the curricle was small, he told himself, knowing better deep down.

Darcy also noticed that the sky was darkening and they had definitely taken a wrong turn. The wide fields and broad avenues full of people had given way to quiet paths through the forest.

“It seems that we might have taken a wrong turn,” Bridget said. “But then again, I can’t imagine that Looord Darcy would ever take a wrong turn.”

“I know exactly where we are.” He did; they were in Hyde Park. In the remote corner where, as Bridget might say, Danger Might Befall Them. But the dangers he had in mind had nothing to do with gangs of marauders with murderous intent. No, he feared being alone with her, and his desire for her, away from the watchful eye of the public.

There, he admitted it. He desired her. Wanted to lay her down and have his way with her.

“I don’t suppose this is all part of an elaborate plot to abscond with me?”

“Do I strike you as the sort of man who absconds with gently bred young ladies?”

“No,” she said glumly. As if she wanted him to abscond with her. He slowly exhaled.

“Rain seems imminent. We should turn back soon,” he said, wondering if she detected the reluctance in his voice. If she did, would it even matter? Darcy reminded himself that she was in love with his brother. Who would never love her.

“Do you think we’ll make it home before the storm?”

“Doubtful. I heard of a gazebo in this area where we might wait out the storm.”

“I wonder if Amelia has returned. Perhaps she’ll be there when we get back. Then I shall curl up with a pot of tea and a shawl and listen to her adventures.” Bridget paused. “Gah, that makes me sound like an aged spinster.”

He cracked a smile at that.

“Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?”

“I shall be fine, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. I am only being chivalrous.”

“That’s the thing about chivalry. For a second you think it’s about you and then you realize it’s just how a gentleman treats all women. Which is a very good thing—-manners, respect, not absconding with females against their will, etc., etc. But a woman wants to feel special, I suppose. Like she’s the only one.”

“I had never thought of it that way. It’s how I was raised to behave. It’s like breathing.” He declined to mention that it was beaten into him by his tutors, his father, and the headmasters at Eton.

“Your instinct is to always be chivalrous?”

Not when you look at me like that. Not when you lean into me so close that I can breathe you in.