His Lordship's Filly by Nina Coombs Pykare Page A

no doubt a great deal of empty talk.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “Talk! I don’t want to go. I’ve had enough talk to last me a long time.”
    He sighed. From the sound of it, Bridget wasn’t in a good mood. “I’m sure, my dear. But I’m afraid I’ve already accepted Lady Conyngham’s invitation.” He smiled. “You can wear one of your new gowns.”
    She gave him a bitter look. “Andrew! I don’t want to go.”
    He squeezed her waist. “Bridget, we’ve got to go about in society. After all, I want to show off my beautiful wife.”
    He bent to kiss her soft neck. “You’re just a little upset today, that’s all. I saw the Lindens’ carriage leaving. How was your visit?”
    She turned toward him, her lovely face flushed with anger.“Oh Andrew, I don’t know how you can even bear to speak to them. The Lindens are the meanest, most despicable creatures alive.”
    An unnerving suspicion hit him. “Bridget, they didn’t—You didn’t—You didn’t let them—”
    She frowned. “I didn’t let them provoke me, no. Oh, I was the perfect lady, whatever that is. But that woman, that awful, awful creature! Something should be done about her.”
    He tried a little humor. “The other day I suggested to Peter that she be shrunk and put on display with Lady Elizabeth’s shrunken heads.” He chuckled. “An admirable idea, but unfortunately not feasible.”
    Bridget didn’t laugh. “She told me the most horrible things,” she said, her voice taut with anger. “The most horrible things about people I’ve never even heard of.”
    She gave him an even angrier look. “And before that she told me something else—something really disgusting.”
    He wracked his brain. Disgusting? What could the fat old tattletale have known that would make Bridget so angry? “You mustn’t pay any attention to her.” He drew Bridget into the circle of his arm again. “Lady Linden will do anything, say anything, to get another on-dit to carry about town.”
    Bridget felt so tense in his arms, angry and withdrawn. She didn’t lean against him or turn her face to his for a kiss. She just stood there—stiff and wooden. He felt a spreading sense of discomfort, of loss. It was true that he’d married her because of the wager, but he cared about her. He really cared about her.
    Giving in to the inevitable, he asked, “What did Lady Linden say to you?”
    Bridget eased out of his grasp, moving away and leaning against the horse instead. He felt that twinge of envy again. “She said—she said they were calling me your filly. Betting on us. And then she said that the odds were in your favor. That people bet you would tame me.”
    He heard the anger, the sheer outrage, in her taut voice. He didn’t like her being talked about. He didn’t like it for himself either. But he couldn’t prevent it. He moved toward her, put a placating hand on her shoulder. “Little do they know,” he whispered, pitching his voice low and leaning toward her ear. “Little do they know that it’s you who have tamed me.”
    He felt the tension slowly leaving her body, her flesh literally unstiffening beneath his fingers.
    “Bridget, love,” he whispered, his voice gone hoarse with very real desire. “You know you have me in your pocket. What do we care what people say?”
    She turned to him, raising her face to his. “You’re right, Andrew,” she said. “We don’t care. We don’t care at all.” And she put her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him. Kissed him quite thoroughly—and without any regard for the stableboys.
    * * * *
    The next morning Bridget slipped out for her ride with a lighter heart. Hadn’t Andrew said he didn’t care what people said? That meant he wouldn’t mind about her early morning rides. Still, she saw no real reason to tell him.
    This morning her gallop was even more invigorating than usual. She felt so good—so alive. The greens of the park and the bright blue of the sky seemed so vibrant