By Edith Layton
Intimate StrangersBridget Cooke possesses the presents London society prizes: genteel manners, intelligence, a stupendous determine. She lacks, even though, a fortune. A better half to icy relations, Bridget resigns herself to a lifetime of solitude, specifically a result of youth scar that mars her gorgeous face. Little does she anticipate to obtain the lively attentions of darkly good-looking, wealthy widower Lord Ewen Sinclair, Regency England's such a lot notorious rake. In an issue of days, the Sinclair whisks Bridget to the altar and into his passionate embody. brushing aside the vicious rumors surrounding their hasty marriage, Bridget is bound of Ewen's love, even if he's mysteriously known as away. yet then a stunning mystery from his prior emerges, threatening her happiness. If Ewen is a cad and their marriage ceremony a lie, because the gossips say, then why does Bridget's very obdurate middle nonetheless think his love is correct?
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The Viscount helped the ladies out. Bridget last. He took her hand with casual indifference and released it as soon as she stepped down, turning his attention back to Cecily and her mama. ” he asked, offering them each an arm. And so Bridget walked alone, behind them. They strolled the garden’s paths. Bridget saw some other well-dressed people walking by. They nodded as 28 / Edith Layton they passed. But she was disappointed. It wasn’t because the strangers acted as if they didn’t notice her, trailing behind the trio as though she were a servant; in fairness, even though she was a relative, she wasn’t more than that to either Cecily or her aunt.
This time the Viscount and Cecily walked together as a couple, with Bridget three paces behind them. The island was another disappointment to Bridget. She’d hoped for something exotic, but it was only more heavily treed and less formally landscaped than the gardens they’d left. The biggest difference was that Cecily didn’t have much to giggle about now. Bridget could hear the Viscount’s deep voice as he kept telling Cecily about the flowers, bushes, and trees they passed, and there wasn’t much humor in that.
But it’s not true. ” She raised her eyes to him, hoping he’d understood. He was frowning even more fiercely. “So little Cecily has more wit than I’d supposed,” he said in an angry rumble. “Or at least more bile, which passes for wit these days. ” He gestured to her lip in annoyance. “I’m not attracted to it, nor does it detract from your appearance. I told you that the other night. ” she asked in outrage. “Are you blind? ” She reined in her temper, remembering he was a nobleman, and that she was at his mercy now, besides.