Before Grenville could respond, a familiar voice, rich with amusement, joined them.
“Ah, discussing the evening’s entertainment, are we?” Mrs. Honoria Bainbridge appeared at Barrington’s side, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Or are you both scheming something far more intriguing?”
Barrington chuckled. “Merely an observation or two. You know how I enjoy studying the field before play begins.”
Honoria’s gaze flitted briefly to Bridget, then back to Grenville. “Indeed. And I suspect tonight’s field will be quite the spectacle.”
Grenville sighed, already suspecting he was the subject of some private jest between the two. “You are both incorrigible.”
Honoria smiled as she patted Barrington’s arm. “Come, gentlemen. We mustn’t keep our hostess waiting. Besides, I, for one, am eager to see how our players handle the game before them.”
*
“Are you quitecertain you don’t wish to acknowledge Grenville, Lady Bridget?” Blackwood teased.
Bridget replied coolly, “I prefer managing without another lecture on unsolicited help.”
Blackwood smiled. “A story for another time, then.”
Grenville approached, his stride purposeful. Bridget felt her spine stiffen instinctively.
“Lady Bridget, Lord Blackwood,” he greeted, his tone polite but distant.
“Captain Grenville,” Blackwood replied. “We were just discussing the merits of chance encounters.”
“Is that so?” Grenville’s gaze flickered to Bridget. “I trust your day was less eventful than our last meeting, Lady Bridget.”
She met his eyes coolly. “Quite uneventful, thank you. A most welcome change.”
Grenville smirked. “And no call for heroics? How disappointing.”
Bridget lifted her glass, her tone dry. “I assure you, Captain, I managed to endure the day without catastrophe.”
“It seems my title, ‘Baron of Bother,’ is here to stay.”
“As long as you keep ‘Bonnie Battler’ confined to whispers, we shall manage.”
Blackwood glanced between them, a hint of curiosity in his expression. “It seems there’s a story here after all.”
“Nothing of consequence,” Bridget said dismissively. “Simply a misunderstanding during a storm.”
“Misunderstanding or not, I’m pleased to see you’ve arrived safely,” Grenville said.
“Especially when certain individuals insist upon interfering,” she retorted, lifting her chin slightly.
His eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. “A gentleman cannot, in good conscience, leave a lady in distress.”
“I was not in distress,” she countered. “Merely delayed.”
“Semantics,” he replied smoothly. “In any case, I meant no offense.”
Bridget felt a flush rising in her cheeks, not from embarrassment but from the familiar irritation that he seemed so adept at provoking. “Offense or not, I prefer to handle my affairs independently.”
“An admirable quality,” Blackwood interjected, casting a sidelong glance at Grenville. “Though sometimes, collaboration yields better results.”
Bridget’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Collaboration requires mutual agreement,” she countered, her tone measured but unwavering.
Grenville exhaled slowly, his gaze assessing. “Perhaps, then, we can at least agree the matter is settled,” he said, his tone cooling further.
