“It is this lady’s sport.”
He continued to drag her, despite her pulling back with her full weight. Good heavens, the man was strong. She was no dainty lady, having inherited her Scottish forefathers’ strong frame and bulk, but he moved her as if she weighed no more than a mere child.
“What are you doing?” She panted, trying to catch a breath as he got closer to the house.
“I am returning you to spend the day with the ladies, doing all the proper things ladies do at a house party.”
When he loosened his hold, she was able to break free from his grasp. “I have never been subjected to the horrors of a house party before, but from what I learned from Minerva and your sister, all ladies do is sit around and gossip while the men do all the fun things.”
Cam stared at her, the two of them facing each other, both glaring, hands on hips, upper bodies leaning forward. “Go back into the house, Bridget, and take off those breeches and pretend you are a lady.”
“You mean an English lady. This Scottish lady wishes to hunt.” Her hand itched with the desire to slap his arrogant face. That would show him how much of a lady she was. Isn’t that what ladies did when men took advantage of them?
He ran his fingers through his hair and turned in a circle. “Dammit, Bridget, you could get shot.”
Ah, was he weakening? “The idea is to shoot the birds, my lord, or do you need instructions on how these things are done?”
He glared at her. “It is dangerous.”
“I rarely miss a target.”
He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “I assume this is a ridiculous question, but have you hunted before?”
She rolled her eyes, thinking of all the times she and Alasdair Douglas had ventured out together, hunting game for the table and birds for sport. The stable master had been her friend and teacher as much as an estate employee. He’d taught her many things besides riding astride.
“Yes. I have hunted before.” She closed her eyes and spoke as if to a slow-witted child.
“As your guardian, I am responsible for your reputation.”
Bridget raised her chin in the air. “I disagree, my lord. I am responsible for my reputation, and I fail to see how wearing sensible hunting clothes and engaging in a sport I am fond of, and quite good at, would affect my precious reputation.”
“That’s because you are Scottish.”
“And you are a Sassenach!”
Silence reigned as they glared at each other. She had no intention of giving in. She was about to pull her hair out by the roots, this house party was so very boring. She’d been banned from the billiard room the night before and would love a Scotch whisky, but all she’d been offered since her arrival had been sherry and tea.
If this was English Society, then she would rather be done with it and wait until her twenty-third birthday and fulfill her dream to help unfortunate women.
To her amazement, Cam burst out laughing. “A Sassenach?”
“Yes. A typical Sassenach. You think you know what is best for everyone in the world. You took away our culture, our dress, and even our music. You killed our men, raped and abused our women and children, and drove thousands to leave the land they loved to migrate to Canada.”
Cam shook his head, his demeanor changing to a very serious mien. “Bridget, if you are speaking of Culloden and the aftermath, that was more than seventy years ago.”
“Scots have long memories.” She was stunned to feel her eyes fill with tears. She’d been drilled on the history of England and Scotland and told stories that a young girl should not hear. A Highlander who had moved south to the Lowlands, Douglas had lost both his grandfathers and other Clan members in the Battle of Culloden. And she was correct. Scots had long memories.
His expression softened, and she hoped he had not witnessed her tears. She blinked rapidly to keep them from falling and embarrassing herself.
“We are getting way off track here.”
Maybe another tactic would work. “I really want to hunt, Cam. I am good at it, and I enjoy it. My stable master, Douglas, taught me all the safety measures. For heaven’s sake, I grew up with a shotgun in my hand.”
“Very well. But the hunting today will be driven game, so it will not be necessary for you to wear breeches, since we will be standing in a line.”
“Very well.” She repeated his words and tone. “You are quite fond of compromise, my lord. If I agree to change into a riding habit—don’t raise your brows because I said I didn’t have one—then you will allow me to participate in the shoot?”
He studied her for a minute while she held her breath. As much as she hated the idea, she would not be permitted to shoot if Cam said no. The fact that men held such control over a woman’s life was precisely why she would never contemplate marriage. At least not to a man who considered her a possession to be moved about like a chess piece, rather than a partner.
“All right. You may join the hunt. I will wait here for you.”
“I will be quick, I promise.” She hurried off to change out of her very comfortable breeches into the ridiculous so-called riding habit that had so much skirt to cover her legs while on the saddle that she couldn’t wear it without tripping.
Fiona quickly changed her, smirking the entire time that she’d been forced out of her breeches. “I can hear you giggling under your breath,” Bridget said as her lady’s maid fastened the back of the habit.
“Oh, milady, I am laughing because I’ve never seen you bow to the wishes of a man before.”
Bridget stuck her nose up in the air. “I did not bow to his wishes; I merely compromised.” She gritted her teeth as the fastenings tightened. “Are you finished yet?”
“No need to badger me, milady. I am not the one who ordered you to change.”
“I was not ordered, and when we return to London I shall fire you.”
“Yes, milady.”
“No reference.”
“I would expect none.”
If Bridget had a sixpence for every time she threatened to fire Fiona, who was not only her lady’s maid but a friend as well, she need not wait for her father’s money.
Fiona patted her on the back. “There you are. All ready to show those men how shooting is done.”
Bridget scooped up the bottom of the gown and tossed it over her arm. “Yes. Wouldn’t that show Lord Arrogant a thing or two?” With a wide grin, she left Fiona and returned to the stables.
“I thought you changed your mind.” Cam stood in front of the stable, holding the reins to two horses.
“Not my mind, my lord, only my clothing.” Before she could take another step, he moved forward, grasped her around the waist, and lifted her to the horse.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, this saddle is so unsafe.” Unfamiliar with the thing, she was having a hard time balancing herself. “Cam, I tell you, I am likely to fall from this ridiculous contraption and kill myself.” She wavered on the saddle, gripping the horse’s mane to keep from sliding to the ground.
Cam studied her. “You have no idea how to ride sidesaddle, do you?”
“No. I told you that before. I have this bulky riding habit only because you told the modiste to have a ‘proper’ wardrobe made up.”
Cam ran his palm down his face. “All right. I have a solution. The other men have already left for the shooting grounds, so I’ll have your horse re-saddled and you can do your best to sit astride with your gown.”
It would not be easy to deal with all the fabric on the gown, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about her very first house party ending in her funeral. “Excellent.”
He helped her down again, and he walked the horse to the stable, returning with another saddle.
Bridget turned from Cam, lifted the front of her skirt, bent to take hold of the back skirt, pulled it through her legs, and slipped it into the wa
istband, creating a very bulky, but at least practical garment.
Turning back, she smiled brightly at her cleverness, but her smile dropped when she saw the look on Cam’s face. She glanced down and noticed part of her left leg—a great part of her left leg—was showing. She quickly shifted the material to cover herself.
She raised her chin. “Are we ready?”
“Yes. Yes. We are ready.” He lifted her again, and she settled in.
He vaulted onto his horse, and they rode away from the stable to the hunting grounds.
The men were lined up in a row, guns at the ready. Beaters were busy driving the birds into the air. The smell of the woods and the sound of shotguns brought excited twinges to Bridget’s stomach.
No one seemed to pay her any attention as she slid from her saddle and quickly released the tucked-in fabric so the gown swirled around her feet.
They walked up to the line, where a footman handed Cam a shotgun. When he continued to watch the men shoot, Bridget said, “Sir, I would like a gun, please.”
The annoying man looked at Cam with raised brows.
“Yes. Please give the lady a weapon.”
The footman fumbled to ready another shotgun and handed it to her.
She was so angry she felt like shooting the man. If she did nothing else for the rest of her life besides helping women, it would be to see women treated like adults, not children.
Cam leaned in close. “Calm down, sweeting, and unruffle your feathers.”
Apparently her angst was visible on her face. Ignoring him, she took her place next to Mr. Connor-Smythe and raised her gun. The beater moved to a new area of the bushes, and within seconds, birds flew into the air.
Bridget took aim, squeezed the trigger, and brought down a nice-sized partridge. With a smug look, she turned to Cam, who grinned and gave her a slight salute. “Well done, Lady Bridget.”
She wished she didn’t feel so warmed by his praise.
Chapter Thirteen
Lord and Lady Banfield were holding a ball to end the house party. Gentry from the surrounding area had been invited, and they would arrive after the final dinner for the houseguests.
Cam glanced down the table at Bridget, who sat between Lord Melrose and Mr. Trentham. She appeared to be enjoying herself, despite having confessed to him on their morning ride that although she dearly loved the country, she was more than ready to return to London and get away from the “gossiping magpies.”
He’d been taken aback by the skill Bridget had displayed at the hunt the day before. She had every reason to be proud of her ability. The more time he spent in her company, the more difficult it became for him to think of a man suitable for her. The woman had a great deal to bring to a marriage in addition to her fortune.
He ran over in his mind the men who’d shown interest in her so far. Too somber, too eager, too odorous, too cold, too obnoxious, or the worst of all, too overbearing. He used to think if he found anyone willing to take her off his hands, he would be more than happy to sign the marriage contracts.
Then he got to know her, and every man whom he’d considered was simply not good enough. He wanted a man who wouldn’t stifle her enthusiasm for life, but at the same time protect the woman from herself. She also needed a man who would gladly work with her on her project. Someone who would cherish her character and encourage her kindness and caring for others. Someone who would not mind passing on all the Season’s events that Bridget so disliked and would spend time in the countryside that she loved.
Someone who would approve of breeches on a woman and enjoy the sight of her shooting and riding astride. Someone who would grow to love her.
Someone like me.
The thought rattled him to his core. He would never marry, which was precisely why he needed to reconsider some of the men he’d dismissed. Perhaps one or two of them were not so terrible after all.
The dinner came to an end, and with the ball beginning shortly, Lady Banfield passed on the usual custom of the women having tea in the drawing room, so both the men and women left the dining area to gather in the ballroom.
Davenport headed in Bridget’s direction, and Cam followed. As far as he knew this was the first time he’d approached her since the house party had begun. He was thankful he’d warned Bridget about Davenport’s interest, or she might have spat in his face right there in their hosts’ ballroom.
“Good evening, my dear. Don’t you look lovely?” Even the sound of his voice set Cam’s teeth on edge.
“My lord.” Bridget executed a barely acceptable curtsy, which Davenport seemed not to notice, since he smiled brightly at her.
Bridget glanced at Cam, but he shook his head slightly. If they did things his way, he would destroy Davenport much better than anything Bridget could do.
“I would be most honored if you stand up with me.” He leaned in closer, and Bridget eased back.
Instead of answering him, she stuck her arm out with the small white card and pencil dangling from her wrist. “No waltz, please. They have already been promised.”
“How unfortunate.” He took the pencil and wrote his name next to a cotillion.
“If you will excuse me, my lord, I see Lady Banfield is searching for me.” Bridget hurried off before Davenport could notice that Lady Banfield was deep in conversation with Mrs. Breakstone and not searching for anyone.
“I would like to arrange an interview when we return to London, Campbell. I want to get this proposal moving.”
Yes, time to kill another wife.
Cam attempted a smile, which he was sure came out more like the distaste he felt. “Excellent.” He slapped Davenport on the back, almost sending him to the floor. “Bring around your financial records Tuesday next. Say, ten o’clock. I will have my man of business and solicitor with me.”
“Yes, indeed.” He moved closer to Cam. “I understand the chit comes with a bit of blunt herself.”
Bloody hell, he wanted to punch the man in the jaw. But this was a better way. When he was through with Davenport, he would have to leave London, possibly even England, in disgrace.
“I will discuss my ward’s financial situation during our interview. Now if you will excuse me, I believe the music is about to begin, and I must fetch Lady Bridget for our dance.”
As he turned to walk away, Davenport grabbed his arm. “I’m a little concerned about your attachment to my future wife. I don’t want to be marrying the gel and find out she’s already in a family way. You know what I mean?”
If he weren’t so determined—now more than ever—to ruin Davenport, he would drag the cretin outside and pummel him until there was nothing left but scraps. Instead, Cam took a deep breath and yanked his arm free. “No need to worry, Davenport.”
He stalked off in Bridget’s direction. Rather than a dance, what he needed was a round of boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s.
“What is wrong?” Bridget asked. Cam took her hand and walked her to the dance floor as the music began.
“Davenport.”
“I saw you speaking with him. What did he say that upset you?”
He looked down at her upturned face, and something very strange happened to his insides. Even though it was all a farce, the mere thought of the likes of Davenport putting his hands on Bridget in any way at all, but especially in bed, brought out a protectiveness he’d never felt before. This was not good.
“It truly doesn’t matter what Davenport says. Nothing uttered from his despicable mouth is worth noting.” He moved them into a turn and pulled her closer to avoid crashing into another couple. He didn’t release her. It felt too good having her in his arms, so close to his body.
The sweet smell of lemon and lavender drifted from her hair. She was warm, soft, and all woman. Too much of a prize for her to accept just anyone. He must be exceedingly careful of the men who wished to pay her court.
/> “I think after we return to London, we should view the second property my man of business found for your women.”
Bridget grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Yes. That would be wonderful. I do want to proceed with the purchase of a building. It will most likely take some time to make it habitable. I fear some of the women who would benefit from it might be dead by their husbands’ hands before we can harbor them.”
“We shall leave early in the morning and reach London after dinnertime. I will dispatch a note to Dunston first thing the following morning and a note to you on the day and time for our perusal of the property.”
When the dance ended, Cam took Bridget’s hand and placed it on his arm. “I think a stroll about the gardens would be nice. I find it is quite warm in here.”
“Yes. A very good idea.”
What wasn’t a good idea was walking away from the main garden area and stepping up into the gazebo, hidden among a copse of trees. They sat side by side, enjoying the cool night air.
Bridget ran her hands up and down her arms.
“Are you chilly?”
“A bit.”
Cam shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
…
Bridget inhaled deeply as she was immediately surrounded by warmth and the spicy scent of Cam’s jacket. She tugged the sides together. “Goodness, this feels wonderful.”
“Perhaps we should return inside?”
“No. I find it stifling in ballrooms.” She grinned. “In fact, I find it stifling just about anywhere except outdoors. I do so love the countryside. Once I have my house for women well established, with a competent staff to see to their needs, I hope to purchase a house for myself in the country.” She grinned at him. “In Scotland.”
“Ah, but if you find the man of your dreams, you will be retiring to his estate in the English countryside, with no need to buy your own house.”
She sneered. “There is nothing dream-worthy about a man. Only nightmares.”
Cam laughed. “Surely you don’t believe that to be true?”
His Rebellious Lass Page 11