Shock hindered her from reacting. But Anthony seemed to know exactly what he was doing and took full advantage of her state of mind.
Her good sense came rushing back, filling her with fierce indignation. She pressed both palms firmly against his chest and shoved with all her might, thrusting him away from her.
The rakish grin he wore drove her mind into a fury, and she reared back to deliver a swing that would possess the very real possibility of knocking the rogue quite firmly into the middle of next Sunday.
With all her might she aimed her closed fist at his perfect aristocratic cheekbone, but when he grabbed her wrist, absorbing all her power, and rendering the assault useless, Bridget very nearly lost her mind with rage. With a roar, she wrenched her hand free of his grasp and stepped back, scouring the room for a weapon that would prove fatal to the arrogant sod.
She lunged madly for the teapot, thinking to send it crashing straight through his thick skull, but Francis was too quick and rescued the teapot from her reach.
Her gaze raked the table for a sharp utensil. Only spoons!
Blast! Where were all the knives?
Francis must have seen her eyeing the teaspoons, because he deftly removed them from her vicinity without so much as twitch in his perfectly deadpan butler expression.
“Give me something, Francis!” she bellowed in exasperation.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the taciturn butler gracefully lifted the fruit bowl in one hand as if he were serving the royal table.
She could feel the wide evil grin spreading across her lips, as she leveled her gaze on Anthony, who seemed to shrink into himself in terror like a frightened turtle.
“Why thank you, Francis. I don’t mind if I do,” Bridget replied, as she wrapped her fingers around an enormous handful of brilliant red ammunition.
~ Beguiling Bridget: Waltzing with the Wallflower Book 2