She was also intelligent, loving, considerate, and her kind nature would make a wonderful mother to any children they would have.
Children. The one reason he’d been determined not to marry. That, and allowing his title to pass to the Crown to spite his father. But his father was dead. He would never know. And Cam was beginning to believe that he did not have his father’s disposition after all. Perhaps those who knew him best were right.
On the other hand, he had never expected to marry, so he hadn’t given a great deal of thought to loving his wife. Friendship, yes. Respect, yes. Fondness, yes as well. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure he was even capable of the type of love a wife would want.
Bridget raised her chin. “Instead of answering your question, answer one of mine. Do you love me?”
Cam ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Why does it matter? We have to marry, because you have been disgraced and ruined.”
“So, I am to be your penance for the rest of your life because someone did something dastardly to me.”
“Not a penance. I don’t know where you got that idea.”
“You.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have been saying since the night Davenport kidnapped me that we must marry. Not that you want to marry me, or anyone else for that matter. Only that we must make up for my disgrace.”
He reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “Not only your disgrace, Bridget, but you might be carrying my child.”
“Do not concern yourself with that. I know enough from overhearing the girls at school that it is a rare case to conceive after only one…” She looked away from him and blushed a bright red, which he tried not to find amusing.
He wasn’t sure he agreed with her statement, but only time would tell. As much as he had never wanted to bring a child into the world, the soft whisper at the back of his mind of a child with Bridget had teased him since they’d shared a bed.
“In any event, marriage is necessary. I have just come from White’s, where you and your escapade are being discussed by so many it would take days and dozens of bullets to call all of them out. My honor is on the line, and I will not allow it to be called into question when I can rectify the situation.”
She held out her hands in a pleading manner. “Don’t you see, Cam? Nothing you’ve said convinces me to marry you. You want to assuage your honor, you want to do what’s right, you want to rectify the situation. I am to be your self-flagellation.”
He glared at her, and even though his words would probably devastate her, she left him no choice. “If you do not consent to marry me, I will withdraw my pledge to help you with the women’s house.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bridget gasped. “What?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Cam shifted his hands to his hips and stared at the floor. “You leave me no choice.”
“We always have choices, my lord. What about our compromise?”
He raised his eyes, the pain evident there. It seemed his feelings did not match his words. “You didn’t live up to your part of the compromise.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. “How?”
“Your part of the deal was to not thwart my attempts to find you a suitable husband. I have just given you an honest offer of marriage. I am young, titled, wealthy, and therefore a suitable husband. You have turned me down.”
She spun on her heels and walked to the library window. “I don’t believe this.” She turned back to look at him, her eyes rimmed with tears. “You would actually take away my dream to coerce me into marriage?”
“I don’t understand why you do not acknowledge that we have no choice. I will never permit you to marry the man who ruined you, and right now, with the way things look, no suitable prospect will offer marriage. You might get some offers, but they won’t be respectable, and I will have to call them out.”
“According to you, I am a woman without virtue, anyway, so no one will have me even without the scandal.”
“That is a separate issue.”
That stung. He still did not believe her. Wonderful. A great way to start off a marriage. He thought she’d had a lover or two and he needed to step up as her savior to stop the scandal, even though he’d continuously said he would never marry. All the best reasons to take a wife and make a successful union. She remained silent.
He took in a deep breath. “Then I’m afraid the women’s house is on hold until you reach your twenty-third birthday.”
Bridget collapsed onto the chair behind Lord Dunmore’s desk. She studied her lap for a while, pleating the fabric of her skirts with stiff fingers. She could not allow any more time to pass without trying her best to help those in need. It would take months to get a house readied, and waiting for her twenty-third birthday to even begin was unacceptable. “Very well.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I will marry you.”
He waited for a few moments, and when she refused to add to her words, he cleared his throat. “I will obtain a special license. Today is Thursday. Shall we say Saturday?”
“No.” She drew herself up. “I will not marry you until the women’s house is secured.”
He nodded. “I will have Dunston take the necessary steps to purchase the last house we viewed.”
“Whatever you say, my lord.” She stood and smoothed out her gown. “If you will excuse me, I find I have the beginnings of a megrim.”
Cam put his hand out as she walked by. “Bridget…”
She swept past him and left the room.
Wearily, she climbed the stairs, feeling as though life was crushing her. Through no fault of her own she was now a scorned woman, left with no choices. She managed to hold her tears until she reached her bedchamber.
After gently closing the door, she turned and leaned against the wall, wrapping her arms around her middle.
She was disgraced.
Lord Campbell’s honor was being called into question.
He felt it his duty to rescue her, as if she were a princess in a tower and he a knight in shining armor.
Slowly, she slid to the floor, resting her forehead on her knees.
The worst part of the entire mess was being forced to marry a man who didn’t want to marry at all, who didn’t love her and probably never would, while she was desperately in love with him.
That realization had hit her after they’d shared a bed. She had wanted, oh so much, to accept his offer of marriage, but to commit herself for the rest of her life to a man who saw her as only a responsibility—who would eventually grow to hate her because of the trap he’d been caught in—terrified her more than the disgrace and scandal.
And the lack of faith in her virtue hurt more than it should have. It came down to one thing. He not only didn’t love her, he also didn’t trust her. He believed she was lying to him to cover up a more serious charge than being kidnapped.
…
Vows had been spoken in front of Mrs. Dressel and another witness provided by the vicar. With Bridget having no family, her friends from school scattered all over England, and both his sisters back in the country, there were no others to witness the rushed ceremony.
Cam had secured a special license, which he held until the papers had been signed and filed with the court for the purchase of the house on Southwark Street. He had graciously put the property in her name, although by law as her husband, he still had control over it. Along with her inheritance, which would now be released upon her marriage.
Which also belonged to him.
For the sake of appearances, she had pretended a happiness she did not feel. She might have fooled the vicar and Mrs. Dressel, but she took her vows with a heavy heart.
They shared a quiet wedding breakfast with just the two of them. She avoided looking at Cam and had met his eyes only once durin
g the wedding ceremony. Aside from him insisting that he needed her presence to sign the papers for the house, they hadn’t spent any time together in the two weeks since they’d come to their agreement.
Wedded bliss for a house.
Mrs. Dressel had begged to be excused right after the ceremony, which reminded Bridget that she no longer needed a chaperone, so pensioning the woman off was probably for the best.
When the meal had finished, she pleaded a headache and left Cam in the dining room slumped in his chair, staring after her.
It felt odd being in Cam’s house, knowing she was now the marchioness and had inherited the job of running this home as well as his five estates.
He’d mentioned, when they were still on speaking terms, that he wanted to retire to the country as soon as he arranged for renovations and furnishings to be started on the women’s house. It would take a while for the necessary work to be done and to deal with various issues and staffing. They would spend Christmas at his estate as well as another month or more before returning to London. The next session of Parliament would start around the time the women’s house would be ready for staffing and she’d set up a board of directors to handle donors.
Once she was in her bedchamber—which was attached to the sitting room that joined with Cam’s bedchamber, she slowly turned in a circle, studying the room, finding it hard to work up enthusiasm for redecorating, which Cam had assured her she was welcome to do.
Truth be known, she had little enthusiasm for anything. She was married—something she had never wanted. She had her money, but Cam controlled it. She had her women’s house, but at what price?
She sat on the bed and drew up her knees, resting her chin there. Slowly a tear tracked down her cheek, soon followed by more.
Wiping her eyes, she drew in a shuddering breath. What would her life be like now? A husband who viewed her as a punishment. A man she was in love with who would never love her in return.
…
Cam poured another brandy from the bottle on the sidebar in his bedchamber. He had not seen Bridget since she left him right after their wedding breakfast.
He snorted. Wedding breakfast. Hardly a celebration. Just the two of them and no words spoken except “this is lovely beef” and “do you care for more wine?” They’d had more to say to each other when they’d first met.
Now she was ensconced in her bedchamber and had sent word through her lady’s maid that she would have a tray in her room for dinner.
What the hell did that mean?
It was their wedding night, and he’d been having erotic daydreams about it ever since they’d shared a bed at the inn. Thinking about seeing her splayed naked on his bed, her hair spread over his pillow, her arms out to greet him, had kept him hard for the two weeks he’d waited for the house deal to close.
The declarations had been repeated before God and the witnesses. They’d had their wedding breakfast, he’d spent time rearranging the books in his library while Bridget did God-knows-what in her bedchamber, he’d eaten his solo dinner, and now he was ready to consummate his marriage.
He’d heard the footmen carry buckets of water for her bath. That was an hour ago. She should have been bathed, perfumed, dressed in her wedding-night gown, and ready for him. But he felt unsure. She’d had him off-balance ever since they’d agreed to the wedding.
As he knocked back the shot of brandy, he admitted that they had not agreed on a wedding; she’d merely acquiesced to his high-handed threat. But he’d had no choice. He could not allow her to remain in disgrace and to have Society treat her with disdain. It had killed him to see the hurt in her eyes when she’d been mistreated.
He paced a bit, running his fingers through his hair, and then decided he’d had enough. She was his wife, he had husbandly rights and needs, and it was time to confront her. He placed the glass on a table, tightened the belt of his banyan, and strode to the door separating their rooms.
He listened for a minute and heard no sound, so her lady’s maid must have left her for the night. With a light tap, he opened the door.
Bridget sat on a blue-and-white striped chair in front of the fireplace, resting against the padded back, staring into the fire. She didn’t turn but stiffened when he entered the room, telling him she was aware of his presence.
Not sure how to play the next few minutes, he opted for ignoring the coldness between them. He stepped in front of her and took her hand, pulling her up. She studied his face with no expression on hers. No welcoming, no joy, no anger, no anything. It was as if he looked into the face of a painted doll.
Gently, he cupped her face with his hands and brought his lips to hers. She attempted to remain impassive, but when he shifted her head so he could take the kiss deeper, she sighed, and her hands moved to grip his upper arms.
When she allowed him to enter her warm, sweet mouth, he pulled her closer, the curves of her body fitting exactly where they should. His hands moved lower to cup her buttocks, squeezing the perfect globes.
He pulled away from her mouth and kissed the soft skin under her ear. “I want you so much. It’s been hell waiting for tonight.”
At first he thought she would pull back, but then she smiled up at him and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him to her mouth. Their tongues tangled, sweeping and touching, playing the game of lovers.
With one swift move, he picked her up and strode across the room, through the door to his chamber. He placed her gently on his bed, untied the belt on his banyan, and let it drop to the floor. He climbed onto the bed, and with barely any effort, divested her of her nightgown, tossing it to the floor, on top of his dressing gown.
She did not extend her arms in welcome as she had in his daydreams, but she wasn’t pushing him away, either. He stretched out alongside her, watching the guardedness in her eyes. Something was missing from her that he hadn’t noticed until now, most likely since he’d spent very little time with her of late.
Was her spirit lacking? She seemed to be holding herself back. Not exactly angry with him anymore, but certainly not the warm, loving woman he’d grown to know over the past few months.
Afraid that words would put a wall between them that was already halfway built, he took her chin in his hand and kissed her. All the passion and wanting in his heart was in that kiss. He wanted her, desired her like no other woman in his life. Did that mean he loved her?
He’d been so adamant about never marrying that he’d never thought much about love. This was lust, he convinced himself. He desired her body, liked many things about her person, and felt those things were the only necessities for a successful marriage.
He was pleased when Bridget allowed her hand to wander down his chest, her fingernails raking his skin, past his belly button and the wiry hair at his groin to cover his swollen cock with her delicate hand. He drew in a sharp breath between his teeth and closed his eyes.
Heaven.
He returned the favor by covering the warmth and moistness between her legs with his hand. His fingers caressed and stroked the stiffened piece of flesh at the entrance to her opening as Bridget moaned and pressed her pelvis against his hand. “Yes.”
Again he watched her, but this time her eyes were closed, her plush lips slightly parted, ragged breaths coming from her mouth. He stepped up his ministrations, smiling at the flush on her face, the strain in her muscles as she thrashed, attempting to reach her climax.
He moved his mouth close to her ear and nibbled on her lobe. “Relax, sweetheart. Don’t strain. Let me do the work.”
Her head tossed back and forth on the pillow, a fine sheen of sweat covered her body as she continued to moan. Cam edged down and took her breast in a strong suckle, his teeth grazing the pebbled nipple. Within seconds, she called out his name and arched her back, pressing her center against his hand, her fingernails digging into his flesh.
Slowly, she lowered he
rself to the mattress and opened her eyes. He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut at the look on her face.
She loved him.
Before he could dwell on that and what it meant, he moved on top of her and settled between her opened legs. With one swift thrust he was inside her warm, tight moistness. He leaned his forehead against her, his eyes closed as he slid in and out in the timeless dance of lovers, all his senses focused on the one spot.
With as much as he’d desired her and the waiting game they’d been forced to play, he didn’t last very long. As he poured his life force into her, he was thankful that he’d given her pleasure before he took his own. He rolled over her and tucked her against his side, both of them still attempting to catch their breath.
He was nearing sleep when Bridget rose up on her elbow and leaned over him, her glorious hair falling around them like a silk curtain. “I need the use of the carriage in the morning, my lord.”
Cam awoke, confused at this request and the odd time she raised it. He stared at her. “Why?”
She rolled off the bed and shrugged into her nightgown, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I am moving into the women’s house.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next morning, Bridget looked around the room she’d occupied only long enough to take a bath and sleep one night. After her announcement to Cam, she’d left his room and returned to her bed—her cold, empty bed—and cried herself to sleep.
He’d said nothing in response to her words, either because he didn’t care now that his honor had been restored, or he didn’t believe she would do it.
But do it she would. She would not live day and night with the man who did not return her feelings of love. The pain would be too great. Perhaps, given time, he would one day feel love for her, but too much stood between them for that to happen. He had forced her into marriage by threatening to take away her dreams. He hadn’t yet apologized for his accusations about her lack of virtue, which told her he still didn’t trust her or believe her claim of innocence. And he hadn’t even seemed interested enough in her to try to stop her from leaving.
His Rebellious Lass Page 19