“Hmm?” Bridget asked.
“What has gotten into you, Bridget?” Margaret huffed.
“I have something I need to check on,” Bridget said. “You must excuse me.”
“Everyone has something they need to do,” Margaret muttered. “I shall dine by myself, and I will enjoy my own company, thank you very much.”
“I will be back soon,” Bridget assured her. “I just…”
She did not finish and got up in a daze.
Bridget was sure something was wrong, even if she could not put her finger on it. The return of her father had left a bad taste in her mouth.
She did not know where to go—she did not know where the Duke had gone. Below all the unsettling feelings bubbling to the surface was still happiness that she was sure the Duke shared. She had seen the look in his eyes before he had returned to the house the previous evening. He had wanted the kiss as much as she did.
She almost bumped into him in the foyer as he walked with his brother toward the front door. They were followed by two footmen carrying a large trunk.
The Duke looked at her, and there was something behind his eyes that she could not quite place. She wanted to demand answers from him, but she could not demand them in front of Michael.
“Lord Michael,” Bridget said, “I believe my sister might have mentioned she was looking for you, or perhaps she was to see you later this afternoon. My apologies, but I forget what she said.”
“Thank you, Lady Bridget. I shall go and speak to her now. Is she still in the breakfast room?” Michael asked.
“She is,” Bridget replied.
“I shall be back in five minutes to talk with you,” Michael said, obviously frustrated with his brother.
Bridget waited until Michael was gone. “What is going on?”
“That is of no concern of yours,” the Duke replied.
“Is it not?”
Nicholas looked around before he took her arm. “Come with me.”
He took her outside so they could talk, and he motioned for the footmen to load the trunk onto the roof of the waiting carriage.
Bridget looked between the coach and the Duke and then between them once more. “Have you been called back to London?”
“I am returning to London,” the Duke confirmed. He looked toward the coach.
“You can’t even look at me,” Bridget noted. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you did nothing wrong,” he assured her. “I am the one who made the mistake.”
Bridget tried to decipher what he was talking about, and she could only think of the kiss.
“I wanted the kiss,” she told him. “You did nothing wrong. I wanted the kiss, and I think… I wish to spend more time with you.”
The Duke shook his head. “That is something I cannot give you.”
“What? Why not? We must spend more time together.”
Bridget! Get a hold of yourself! Am I stooping to beg a man to be with me?
“No, I must leave,” the Duke insisted.
Bridget placed a hand on her heart—it was beating furiously, but not in a pleasant way.
