“Come on out, Mr. Peaches,” Bridget whispered, scanning the area.
“I’m right here,” a childish voice replied.
Bridget looked up and almost yelped when she saw the Duke holding Mr. Peaches in his arms.
“What did you do that for?” she demanded. “You scared the life out of me.”
“It was all I could think of to warn you I was out here,” the Duke replied, his face half-lit by her oil lamp. “If I had stepped up beside you, I would only have startled you more.”
“You may have a point,” Bridget relented, calming herself. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could not sleep,” the Duke replied. “It is still early for me, and I usually don’t fall asleep until much later.”
“Out chasing women?” Bridget asked.
“Or cats,” the Duke suggested.
Bridget watched Mr. Peaches in Nicholas’s arms. The cat was quite content to be held by him, and it rubbed its head against the Duke’s chin, purring contentedly. Bridget was pleasantly surprised to see the cat react in such a way to the Duke—she had always thought that animals were much better judges of characters than people.
“I must thank you for finding him,” she said. “He is Margaret’s cat, and she was quite worried about him. I was afraid that she might call the wedding off if the search for this naughty cat continued until then.”
“Well, it need continue no more,” the Duke told her.
She looked at the cat again, who was happy to be in the Duke’s arms and rubbing against him. Bridget shook her head a little.
“What is it?” the Duke asked.
“No, it’s just… I never expected you to be an animal lover or for animals to love you so much.”
“Well, that hurts, Lady Bridget.”
“No, I didn’t mean… I apologize, Your Grace. That came out wrong. Perhaps I never expected to see you with a cat in your arms. And Mr. Peaches does not usually take well to strangers.”
“So, his name is Mr. Peaches? I thought you were calling that into the night,” the Duke noted. “What does it suggest?”
“That cat taking to you so easily?” Bridget asked.
“Mmm.”
Bridget took a deep breath. “That you have some goodness in you.”
“Some goodness?” the Duke echoed. “You seem surprised. You have decided who I am before you even know me, and I am sure my reputation precedes me, but can’t a good person do questionable things at times? Or things that are questionable to others?”
“I suppose,” Bridget replied.
“I have never treated anyone unfairly,” the Duke told her. “I have not hurt anyone purposely. I am sure you would frown upon the things I have done, but I do them with a clear conscience. Do you not also strive for independence? Should you not get to do what you like as long as it does not hurt anyone?”
“I can’t disagree with your points, Your Grace. I strive to be seen as an equal to men in a world that does not view women that way, and I am sure I have done things that men might find disagreeable, but I have never set out to hurt anyone.”
The Duke stroked the cat’s head and then behind its ears. “Then we are not so different.”
“Perhaps not,” Bridget said.
It was all so confusing. She would never compare herself to the Duke, but she could only agree with his points. Did that make her more of a rogue than most people, or did she misunderstand who he was?
“He really likes you,” Bridget observed.
She was out alone in the darkness with a man, but she did not feel afraid. Nor did she feel he might try to seduce her. When she thought about it, he might have teased her, but he had been nothing but kind during their time together.
